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Captain Peter Lewisham’s Diary

Kakardi, 1950, pages 60–65

20 December 1950 – Took Johnny, Derek and Danny down to the border on the Great Fowl Hunt. A winding valley running along the Abubed river. Just because we’re in Fuzzy-wuzzy Land, no reason to pass up a Christmas roast. We staked out the valley. Tesfay and the boys agreed to be beaters. Turned out a treat. We counted sixteen guinea fowl by the end – ten hens, six cocks. Came back and I showed the women in the canteen how to hang them. They giggled. Apparently local men steer well clear of the kitchen.

Christmas Day 1950 – Slap-up meal with all the staff. Derek and Danny decked the canteen with ribbons and invited some girls over from the village: pretty young things, all big eyes and whispers. We all agreed guinea fowl is actually better than turkey. The cook did her best with the stuffing, but it tasted strange: too many spices, Johnny reckoned. Still, quite a feast. We sang carols and toasted the King with the local whisky. God, it’s nasty stuff. Tiny has promised to drive over from Lira with some imported booze next time he’s on leave. Duncan got so drunk he fell asleep with his face in the gravy. All in all, I’ve got lucky. We all rub along together well enough, and I’m largely left to my own devices by HQ. Still, I’m looking forward to Christmas with Flo in Lyme Regis next year.

3 January 1951 – The boys have been hitting the local gut-rot for a week now. So today I took them on a route march. Woke them at 5.00 a.m. and marched them up the escarpment, along the crest and then down to Sitat. About sixteen miles in all. Johnny fainted halfway through, and two of the native boys were sick behind a wall when we got back to base. The lads will rib them for days about that. It feels good to be back in harness. I’ve got fifteen years on these chaps but I can still march them into the ground.

14 January – Pretty quiet week. Tesfay asked me to intervene in a local dispute. A dead donkey. I laughed my head off, but it’s serious stuff here, a big investment. I got Tesfay to summon the parties. We made it as official as we could. One farmer said he’d lent his donkey to his neighbour, who needed to pick up supplies from the market. Neighbour allowed the donkey to wander, it broke its leg and died. The farmer wanted compensation. The other chap said the donkey was sick when he took possession and collapsed on the way to market. ‘He beat his animals too much.’ King Solomon had nothing on me. I asked to see the body, which meant all of us piling into jeeps and heading off to Tentet. It stank to high Heaven – I almost lost my breakfast. No sign of a broken leg and the carcass was covered with whip marks, so I said there was no case to answer and ordered them to bury the body, chop, chop. I hate the way the locals treat animals. There’s no call for it.

27 January – Johnny came into my office in a terrible state. He’s only gone and got a village girl pregnant. Apparently she’s one of the ones who came to the Christmas bash. I tore a strip off him, asked him what he thought the johnnies Doc Sam gave him on arrival were for and did he plan to spend his life raising camels with a brood of café-au-lait urchins? He was in tears by the end. I’ve contacted HQ to request a transfer. What a bloody fool. We’ll be the ones who have to clear up his mess. The family will expect compensation and it’s not British government policy.

3 February – There’s been a shifta attack, the first for a long time: near the Italian bridge over the Abubed. Truck driver beaten up, his goods – mostly beer and fertiliser – gone.

11 February – Tiny drove over from Lira. It took him all day and he lost his way three times, perhaps not surprising given that he was still squiffy on arrival. That boy’s a miracle worker. Turkish champagne, French pastis, twelve bottles of sherry, twelve of gin, two crates of beer. Women’s drink, a lot of it, but anything as long as it’s not local is my motto nowadays. The party began forthwith, but we’re going to have to ration ourselves or this stuff won’t last till the weekend. Duncan’s been given orders to keep the rest under lock and key. And absolutely no drinking in front of the natives.