deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Rifle Butt Diplomats
The events covered in this story are based on real happenings although names of people and places have been altered for obvious reasons and the events themselves fictionalised.
The names of military units and the politicians are genuine.
More can be found out about these happenings by Googling British Guiana 1964.
Enjoy!
The Buggeration Factor
Racing through the sunlit streets of Georgetown that Sunday morning in their motley collection of vehicles plus the odd Landrover they arrived about twenty minutes after the bomb went off. The police were there already as were a group of bystanders lolling at one end of the street. Captain John Splint was horrified and shouted to this men “Get these bloody people back at least another hundred metres.” He was fearful that any further explosions would wreak havoc among the casual onlookers. Bombs were not a spectator event.
Spike joined the group of about twenty other soldiers under Sergeant Bill (Shiny) Buttons as they deployed across the width of street. They held their rifles across their body’s barrels pointing downward in as inoffensive a posture as it’s possible to carry a lethal firearm. “Right folks move away now, nothing more to see” roared Buttons. Most folk moved but a small group of African youths stayed put challenging his authority with sullen looks. Buttons was a reasonable man so he approached the lads cautiously. “Listen gents” he said quietly “If there is another bomb hidden around here it could be ticking as we speak. No one wants you sent home in a coffin yeah? Getting nothing but more sullen looks and shuffling feet in response to his reasonable request he continued with more authority in his voice “It’s for your own good now come on move OK.”
The ringleader of the youths was a large lad around eighteen years old six foot two tall with a heavy Build he glared defiance at the sergeant who was six inches shorter and 35 lbs lighter than him. The youth spoke in a slow measured voice. “This is my country white boy and you don’t tell me what to do. Why don’t you put down the gun and try movin’ me yeah?
Buttons looked as though he hadn’t heard a word of the challenge he simply raised two fingers in the air and made a forward motion pointing at the youth. Gunners Bowles and Ash ran forward and, passing each side of the youth, caught him under the shoulders and ran him backwards down the street. The youth shouted in outrage but there was nothing he could do against this well practiced drill he was carried away his legs thrashing ineffectually as he went. After a hundred metres or so he was released and the two men jogged back to their original position leaving him cursing in their wake but completely unhurt save his pride.
The lesson had been ably demonstrated to the rest of the group Shiny Buttons looked at them coolly and pointed down the street. With the assured authority of a Senior None Commissioned Officer barked “right lads like I was saying...” The group cowed by the ease with which their leader had been dealt with dispersed in a sulky silence.
More police arrived and arrangements were made for the bodies of the three women, the only victims of the outrage apart from the bomber himself, to be taken away. The bomber having lit the fuses and thrown two packages of dynamite through the window of the Peoples’ Progressive Party book shop and cafe had run twenty metres down the road and, with crass stupidity, had turned to watch the results of his handiwork. Clearly he had not been an experienced bomber.
As the building had been made from wood his body was skewered with splinters large and small. The soldiers now went to look at him lying in a heap on the pavement. Spike bent and picked up a spherical object examined it briefly then cupped it in his hand and approached young gunner Ames a lad barely eighteen whose first action this was.
As they stared fascinated at the body the younger soldiers who had never seen a person killed by violence before reacted in different ways some were merely curious others looked decidedly sick Ames was one of the latter. Spike approached him with a mischievous look on his face. “Here Ames I’ve got a souvenir for you.” He took the younger man’s hand and deposited the spherical object in it with a broad smile. Ames looked down “What the fuck?” he gasped staring at the object totally puzzled for a brief moment then dropped it horror-struck. “Oh Jesus! What the fuck’s that?” his ashen face registering his total disbelief. “It’s an eyeball mate said spike grinning “you could have it stuffed and mounted it’ll bring you good luck pal you can always say you’ve got someone keeping an eye out for you.” The older sweats that had been around a bit roared with laughter as Ames staggered to the wall and began to puke. Sergeant Buttons came over and quickly restored order. “Right Jones that’s enough of that get back on the truck there’s nothing more for us to do here. And so the first incident of many to come was over.
43 Battery (Lloyds Company) Royal Artillery had only been In British Guiana a couple of weeks at the time of this incident, the spring of 1964, and had taken over the Georgetown cricket pavilion as accommodation. Not ideal but hell this was an emergency situation and anyway they’d lived in worse places. People were killing each other here and they had to stop it as fast as possible. Like most of the world’s armies things happened in the same way. Rush, push, hurry scurry flown out at a moment’s notice then wait and then wait some more.
Spike had been bored that Sunday, laying in the shade of a big tree watching some local youth’s play cricket with remarkable skill on practice grounds that seemed to stretch forever along the flat coastal plain yet each of the two dozen pitches within his visual range seemed fully occupied by cricket playing youth. He was impressed by their skill and dexterity it seemed every male over the age of three played cricket like an expert. That’s when the ‘buggeration factor’ had kicked in and the bomb had gone off.
Explosive Mixture and Mischief
The Battery had been on standby in Barnard Castle North East England for Emergency First Response, a quick reaction force that could be flown to any part of the world at a moment’s notice. This was not as dramatic as it sounds just a lot of hard work packing stuff up, draining radio batteries and putting little condoms over the vents ready for air freight. Usually after about six weeks they unpacked the lot again and waited until the next time it was their turn. This time was to be very different.
There had been what was euphemistically called ‘unrest’ in British Guiana still a British colony then, the only part of the West Indies on the South American mainland. Anyway some bugger-or-other had decided to blow up a ferry full of workers in the middle of the Demerara river. Quite a few people perished that day and the powers that be had decided they needed reinforcements out there fast so it was ‘their turn in the barrel’ as British squaddies put it and before they properly knew where British Guiana was they were on their way. Being young soldiers they were an enthusiastic bunch chattering and speculating, looking forward to this new adventure. It was going to be an adventure none of them would ever forget.
They had flown in to the airport at Atkinson Field not knowing what they were about to find. The briefing on arrival made things a little clearer. The country had two main populations those of African descent and those of East Indian ancestry. The rest of the population was made up of a smattering of Chinese and Portuguese and the countries true owners, the Amerindians, the indigenous people who had been there since Inca days. This last group kept themselves to themselves having long ago come to terms with their situation reluctantly accepting that they had little say in what happened in the ancient land of their ancestors.
The East Indians had been getting a pretty bad beating at the hands of the Africans. Trouble was they couldn’t go to the police as the police were mostly Africans. Horror stories abounded of police standing by whilst Indian women were raped and their husbands murdered. It wasn’t called ethnic cleansing in 1964 but that is what it was. Whole villages were being ‘sanitised’ and it had to stop. The soldiers were there to do just that but little did they know what lay ahead of them.
The British Guiana Volunteer Force was in this power was the only thing that resembled a local military force again almost entirely African membership and a pretty useless, ineffective bunch they were too. From what the British soldiers saw of them they cruised about in Land Rovers mostly doing bugger-all.
The battery had to requisition vehicles from local folk as military stores had to come by sea and as usual there was a shortage. They locals weren’t too pleased about it but what the hell the soldiers took them anyway and issued a receipt. They eventually got them back in a damn sight better condition than they had been.
The Political powers in the land were one Dr Cheddi Jagan and his Peoples' Progressive Party and his former colleague Mr Forbes Burnham. Burnham had split from Jagan and the PPP because of the doctor's increasingly hard line leftist policies he also feared Jagan was being too much influenced by his pro Castro wife Janet. And so Burnham formed the Peoples’ National Congress and the former allies were now about to go at each other's throats.
The PNC were the minority party without much prospect of winning the forthcoming general election. That gave the British and American governments a twofold problem firstly there was the mineral and agricultural wealth of the country. Bauxite was mined very profitably by American and Canadian companies and the British had heavy investments in the sugar cane industry. None of these vested interests wanted to see a communist government that would probably have nationalised these lucrative industries.
The second source of concern was that America had just the year before seen off the Russians over the Cuban crisis when they had tried to install rockets with nuclear warheads in Cuba just ninety miles from the American mainland. As British Guiana was well within rocket range of the USA and finding those weapons in deep jungle might have proved very difficult with the technology of the day they were not pleased at the prospect of a far left regime taking over an independent Guyana.
The brilliantly simple solution the British Government came up with was to use a bit of political skulduggery and alter the constitution of the country so that a coalition of the PNC and another minority party would beat the PPP. Jagan and his supporters of course fought this change tooth and nail. Into this explosive mix came falling sugar prices on world markets and cane cutters being laid off. Their unions of course took strike action and so the scene was set and a very short fuse was lit.
Jump Up
As the population in general had nothing against the soldiers, indeed both sides were very friendly towards them, they were allowed out in their free time to go drinking and womanising in the bars and brothels of Georgetown and this they did with great enthusiasm. Rum was cheaper by far to buy than the coke they put it in so the norm was to buy four double rum measures in a pint glass then pour in a bottle of coke and maybe a couple of cubes of ice if there was room. That was the last coke the drink saw for the rest of the session. As the night wore on the glass became a muddy colour as more rum was added with a power that had to be experienced to be believed. Georgetown is on the banks of the Demerara River and the local Demerara rum has to be treated with great respect as many of the young soldiers found to their cost.
So that the soldiery was not left lying about in undignified heaps on the streets of the town a ‘passion wagon’ in the shape of a three ton truck was laid on each night and the men rounded up around eleven o’clock and returned to their beds to sleep it off. The most favoured bar was called Daddies it was run by a big amiable African whom everyone called Daddy he had a stable of very accommodating bar girls working for him so once a soldier was in and had had a drink or two there was little to entice him elsewhere. There were one or two fist fights usually over girls but nothing serious and the MP’s kept on top of the situation. If it hadn’t have been for the troubles this would have been the best posting in the Army.
A lot of the Guianese of both factions invited the soldiers into their homes in their off duty hours for what was known locally as a ‘Jump Up’ this was a party in which a variety of delicious West Indian food and of course copious quantities of rum were served. It surprised the men that these friendly, easy going people referred to each other in such harsh racist language. The East Indians would say things like: “When are you going to deal with these damn monkeys man?” and the African’s in their turn would say things like: “It’s about time you sorted out these coolies man.” Monkeys, Coolies and other terms of abuse seemed to be common terms of reference among what the soldiers thought of as friendly generous souls; if only that generosity were extended toward each other.
It was at a jump up that Spike met what he considered the girl of his dreams. He name was Alma 20 years old, tall willowy and with the most amazing eyes he’d ever seen. He didn’t approach her for he thought that such a beauty must have a serious boyfriend. After a few rums he got up the courage to ask for a dance. “Sure” she said with an easy smile “I thought you were never going to ask me.” As they danced and moved to the steel band music he asked her name where she came from etc. It turned out her father was a successful businessman who owned cinema’s bars and other property in the city. She pulled him a little closer and guided his arm further round her waist. She laughed at him and said "I like a man to hold me you know I won’t break.”
They had several more dances as the evening wore on and Spike grew more confident and asked for a date. "Ok" she said "but you do realise I’ll be coming with a chaperone don’t you?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice as he echoed “a chaperone?” “Yes this isn’t London you know respectable girls here go on dates with a chaperone. And so it turned out when Alma turned up for their cinema date she had her aunt with her. In truth the aunt didn’t get in the way and was most discrete and pleasant.
Spike was getting to know more about the country and liked what he found out things like criminals still got flogged with a cat o’ nine tails. Although not common it was still a punishment that was occasionally handed down by the courts a policeman had told him. He also added that very few ever came back for a second dose either.
After a few dates Alma suggested that she sneak away to meet him one afternoon so ‘they could get to know each other better’ she told him with a conspiratorial wink. Like him she was no longer satisfied with a mere peck goodnight whilst her aunt turned her back for a moment. “I’ll bring a picnic she told him we can go on the beach yeah?” “Won’t your folks notice you making a picnic and be suspicious?” he asked looking dubious. "Oh I’ve thought of that my friend Joan will make it for me at her house and I’ll collect it there. I’ll tell my mother I’m going to Joan’s house.”
And so it came about they strolled up the near deserted beach in front of the sea wall with the sun warm on their backs and the muddy brown estuary waters gently lapping.
They chatted about the differences between Guyana and England and how he found it strange that a lot of Guyanese people referred to England as home even though they’d never been there. It was about five o’clock when they found a hollow in the sand near a bandstand and Alma spread her blanket for them to eat a delicious meal of chicken and other West Indian delights all washed down with a beer.
Afterwards Spike, no longer encumbered by the picnic basket, reached for her hand. She smiled into his eyes and offered herself for a deep passionate kiss. He was surprised at the force she used and the urgent way she thrust her tongue down his throat. A young healthy man a long way from home he felt his urgent need arising. He felt himself grow hard and tried to avoid pushing himself against her for fear he would be rejected.
His fears proved groundless she pushed up against his body and gyrated her slender hips against his with a hungry lunge. He then put an exploratory hand on her breast which she pushed out readily offering it to him. He unbuttoned her blouse in the fading light he was conscious of the waves lapping and a kiskadee calling somewhere inland. Then her hands went to his belt and tore it open she was slipping her hand around his hard manhood like a woman possessed.
Lifting her skirt he slid his hand up inside her skimpy underwear as she moaned and spread her legs wider. Then she stopped abruptly “Oh please” she said in a hoarse voice “use this please” She handed him a condom. “Help me” he said his hands were trembling so much he could hardly control them.
Between them they got him covered and then he was on top of her aching to satisfy his need. She was very wet and so tight he had difficulty penetrating at first but he took his time not wanting to hurt this beautiful girl and slowly worked himself into her wetness.
It was clear she wasn’t very experienced as he made love to her he lifted her legs and put them over his. She found that better and started to draw him in deeper her hands pulling at his buttocks her hips thrusting upwards.
Spike was lost in the wild sensations running through his mind and body he thrust in deep and slow feeling her tight vagina crushing him. He increased pace as he felt himself approaching his climax, she responded by rotating her slender hips with the dexterity of a coiling python whimpering with passion, savouring every moment of their lovemaking until she let go a long cry of joy as she reached the pinnacle of her pleasure. At that moment he spurted with the force of a volcano again and again then slowly sank quenched on top of her.
Afterwards they lay side by side smoking and talking it turned out that was only the second time she’d had sex the first time being nearly a year ago with her second cousin who, like herself, had been a virgin. It had not been a really satisfying experience but had left her wanting more. In her fantasies she had masturbated whilst imagining making love with a slim young white boy it never failed to bring her to satisfaction and now she had achieved her dream she wanted to realise another of her fantasies.
“My girlfriends all talk about the 69 position” she said with a frankness he found so endearing. “Let me wash you off a bit” she purred reaching into the picnic basket she produced a damp cloth and began wiping his penis. When she had finished she used it on herself then lay back smiling. He pulled her legs a little further apart then put his head between her lovely thighs. Smelling her young fecund womanhood stimulated him and he moaned softly as his tongue explored her tender yoni.
Spike was amazed at how quickly this girl learned going on from straight hard sucking she developed to gentle flicks licks and tantalizing nibbling down the length of his shaft. She licked his tight scrotum and scratched it lightly with her fingernails. He for his part flicked her very stiff and surprisingly large clitoris. She moaned and writhed beneath his eager tongue. He was pushing it hard into her vagina exploring licking her labia teasing seeking the best way to give her pleasure. He found that the fastest, lightest flicks on the very tip of her clitoris drove her into spasms causing her to push his throbbing cock deeper into her throat. With a final upward thrust of her hips her dam burst and her hot feminine fountain bathed his face with gushing juices. This triggered his own orgasm and he came deep in her throat and felt her eagerly swallow.
Sadly he never saw her again after that night, he received a scribbled note at the pavilion a day later delivered to the guard at the door by a girl on a bicycle who had hurried away. Something had gone wrong and her father had discovered her deception. He had confined het to the house for a month and by that time Spike found himself posted far up river to a place called McKenzie but not before Georgetown had one more terrible violent shock for him.
Death of The Innocents
Gunner Andrew ‘Spike’ Jones’s job was that of radio operator it was his job to sit for hours listening to the other unit’s and to the Battery’s own patrols as they went around the city and outlying areas logging varius incidents as they happened. The base station radio was much more powerful than the man pack ones carried by the patrols so it fell to him to relay messages between them and generally control radio traffic. One afternoon a report came through that serious trouble was afoot in an outlying village. Details were vague but the tone of the message was that racial tensions were building up and a bar had been set alight. Trouble was brewing and troops were urgently needed.
As soon as he had reported the incident to his commanding officer one major Alex Tinsley-Hurst he was ordered to hand his shift to young Ames, get his kit and join the major as his signaller. A few minutes later forty men in three trucks were speeding towards the village. It took no more than ten minutes to arrive but in that time the fire had taken hold to a serious degree.
An African male had thrown a petrol bomb though the door of an Indian owned bar and restaurant. The bomb had hit the spirits bottles on the shelf at the back of the bar shattering several and the resulting fire had quickly got out of control. Flames were leaping though the doors and windows of the wooden building and were spreading out under the balcony that ran round around the first floor.
In the open window of the front bedroom two children were screaming. The building was now beyond saving people were trying to approach to save the children but were beaten back by the intense heat. The children’s mother was hysterically begging them to jump but there was nowhere to jump to without passing through the fierce flames roaring under the balcony.
Spike looked in horror at the two tiny figures clutching at each other in the window. Even above the roar of the flames he could hear their high pitched screams, totally terrified and with a note of utter despair that tore at every fibre of his being. He climbed out of the Landrover and stood next to the major. “Oh Christ sir! Oh sweet Jesus Christ what can we do?” He knew the answer before the major spoke “Nothing I’m afraid Jones not a bloody thing” The major sounded deeply sad and angry.
The screams grew louder and the children’s family were frantic, their mother hysterical, on her knees holding her arms out towards them in a hopeless, futile gesture. Then with a crash and an great eruption of flame and sparks the floor of the upper story collapsed and the children disappeared, their cries abruptly ceasing.
Spike turned away from the scene feeling nauseated what the hell did those kids ever do to deserve to die like that god? He thought. Are you up there? Do you give a toss? Why the fuck do you allow such shit? Then he heard laughter coming from a group of African men under a nearby tree. Two men sitting astride a motorcycle seemed to be entertaining their friends to some joke or other. They kept looking at the blazing building and laughing. Spike walked quickly across to them he was furious. “Something funny happened has it?” he asked belligerently his jaw jutting.
The group fell silent except for the guy sitting on the front of the motorcycle he seemed very full of himself. “Yeah man” he sniggered “A couple o’ coolies got fried that’s all.” Spike’s hands moved involuntarily his rifle butt swept up in a lightening sweep and there was a sickening thud as it connected with the man’s head. The man flew off the machine and landed motionless in the dust. The pillion rider started a shocked protest as the barrel of spike’s heavy Self Loading Rifle smashed him across the mouth knocking out several teeth. The man swayed dazed Spike screamed “Bastards” as he thrust the end of the barrel hard into the man’s solar plexus. The man doubled up and slumped from the bike gagging, puking out blood and teeth.
Rage still boiling Spike was moving around the fallen bike with the intention of continuing beating the men with his rifle butt when he was grabbed from behind by his friends O’Conner and Dillon. “Spike for god’s sake man calm down or you’ll end up in jail for murder“ O’Conner said in an urgent voice. Between them they dragged him away back to the Landrover. “Those bastards were laughing at this” Spike said his voice full of venom neither of his friends could remember when they’d ever seen him this angry. “Ok Mate let us deal with this now you wait here and have a smoke” said Dillon in a soothing voice and with that they were walking back towards where the group were still bent over their fallen friends.
“Right you lot” O’Conner spat “get your fuckin' arses out of here and take that shit with you.” He raised his rifle butt to emphasises he meant business. “What about the motor bike” one of the group asked nervously. “Tell ‘em to pick it up tomorrow it’ll be behind this bar” he said nodding at the blaze. The speaker looked puzzled but Dillon added “Better piss off mate while you’re still able.” The steely look in his eyes and the tone of his voice brooked no argument and they slunk off carrying their fallen friends between them.
Spike, calmer now, wandered over to join O’Conner and Dillon and between them they picked up the machine and wheeled it away around the back of the bar into the dusty compound that served as a garden and empty bottle store. Standing a little way off from the burning building Spike kick started the machine he then slipped it into gear letting out the clutch slowly and running alongside the bike with the other two pushing the pillion. They ran as fast as they could until the heat got too great Spike then gave one final twist of the throttle and sent the bike careering into the flames. “Let’s see how funny the bastards think that is” he said with satisfaction.
Back at the battery commander’s vehicle Tinsley-Hurst was talking to the senior policeman at the scene Spike couldn’t hear what he was saying but his body language showed he was angry and an angry Tinsley-Hurst was not a man to be trifled with. In the meantime two old 1950’s fire engines had finally turned up and were directing a couple of ineffective spouts of water into the building but it was obvious nothing could be done to save it.
Spike climbed into the back of the Landrover, put the headset on and half listened to the radio traffic. Suddenly he felt physically and spiritually exhausted, completely drained. Although he didn’t know it then those children’s screams would haunt his nightmares for many years to come. He learned it’s not just physical harm soldiers have to fear.
On the journey back Tinsley-Hurst, who had seen Spike approach the group of men but had then been distracted by the policeman and so had not witnessed the violence, asked “Were those blokes causing trouble Jones? They seemed to be laughing, most inappropriate.” Yes sir they were laughing at the loss of the kids so I persuaded them to leave sir.” Tinsley-Hurst had a very good idea of what his signaller meant by ‘persuaded’ but thought it better he didn’t know the details so he simply said “I see, good show Jones” and left it at that.
A lot of the soldiers in the battery didn’t like Tinsley-Hurst because he was a disciplinarian and also he’d come to them from the Army Air Corps which they regarded as fly boys who should be in the RAF. However Spike, who was his signaller in their normal artillery role back home, thought he was all right. As long as you were respectful you could speak your mind to him and he would listen. Spike had often had to tell him off for security breaches when using the radio. He’d do things like send their position in clear instead of letting him encode it first. The major took these 'bollockings' in good part and did try to improve.
At an earlier incident he had attended they had found a recently deserted house. As they approached it a group of men had run out of the back and disappeared into the sugar cane. In the house there was a strong smell of paraffin from soaked mattresses lying around between broken furniture. The floor also held a great deal of fresh blood and Spike had speculated as to whether it was African or Indian blood. O’Conner standing next to him had replied “Dunno mate that’s the trouble with blood no matter whose it is it’s all the same colour.” That simple phrase was to stay with Spike for the rest of his life; any time he heard a racist remark that phrase, so casually spoken, came into his mind.
Tinsley-Hurst had come into the room he looked deep in thought. He had a habit of twirling a little cheroot in his fingers for anything up to five minutes before he actually lit it. He looked around the house accompanied by his two men twirling his cheroot as he went. Finally returning to the living room he said “Well we’ll have to keep an eye on this village I think I’ll have a word with them.” With that he took out his lighter and was about to light his smoke when Spike shouted “No sir” and knocked the lighter out of his hand. That was the only time, apart from on the Rugby pitch, that Spike had ever struck an officer.
Tinsley-Hurst had looked startled for a moment and said “What the..? Oh yes, I see, sorry Jones silly of me.” The major was supposedly related to some duke or other so the story went but no one knew which one if any. Though a hard man and a stickler for detail he loved his creature comforts. He had a large florid face with a sandy soup strainer moustache and small deep blue intelligent eyes. He often adopted the air of a bit of a bumbler but those who knew him were well aware this was an act to put people off guard. He had his Landrover fitted with a special padded seat, a head rest and padded folding arm rests long before Range Rover’s were invented.
The radio had speakers specially fitted so he didn’t have to wear a headset like everyone else and his microphone was on an arm that folded into the roof and put the radio to transmit when he pulled it towards him. His brother officers had nicknamed this vehicle The Power Puff Chariot a name they never used to his face however. Another thing Spike liked about Tinsley-Hurst he was fair and even handed when dealing with the men and not without a sense of humour either.
On the front wings of the powder puff chariot Tinsley-Hurst had Spike fit two Tannoy speakers normally used for communicating with the guns he had the idea that they might be good for crowd control this in spite of the fact that no other commander had seen fit to employ such equipment. However Tinsley-Hurst was about to put them to use.
“Right” he said with brisk determination “Get these buggers out of their houses I want a word with them.” Spike reached inside the vehicle and switched the microphone on. “Everyone in this village is required to come outside now” he announced then repeated the order the place looked deserted and no one appeared. Tinsley-Hurst was having none of it he ordered his men to go around banging on the doors and getting people out. "Drag the buggers out if you have to I want to speak to 'em."
Sheepishly the men obeyed running from door to door banging and shouting come on out, come on out. Slowly the street started to fill with bemused citizens who stood around in small groups wondering what the hell was going on. After some three dozen souls had been rounded up Tinsley-Hurst went to his Landrover and picked up the Mike. “I am Major Tinsley-Hurst I am the supreme commander of East Coast Demerara he said with great pomposity. (He was no such thing!)"I am not going to put up with this sort of behaviour from you people” he said pointing at the house they had just left. Spike was embarrassed listening to the imperious tone of voice and the major’s serious expression his bristling moustache added an almost comic opera air to the proceedings.
Spike half expected the people gathered to burst out laughing and walk away but they stood and listened in stony silence. “If I have to call to this village again I will punish you all most severely” He announced in his grandiose way waving his pace stick aloft for dramatic effect. He then continued to lecture the villagers as to how he expected them to behave finally finishing with “You are all the queen’s subjects you know; don’t make her ashamed of you.” It may have just been coincidence but they never had any more trouble with that particular village.
Finally finished he climbed into the Landrover and the people looking even more bemused than before started returning to their homes. An elderly lady approached the officer and said in a sing-song voice “Please sir there are some bad men behind me house sir an' they causing disturbance.” “Jones, O’Conner go with her and see what it’s all about.” Tinsley-Hurst ordered curtly then added in a softer tone “Be careful lads take no chances.” They followed the old woman across the street and behind a rundown shanty rifles at the ready.
They found two men lying on their backs in a comatose state eyes staring up at the sky in the blazing sun. O’Conner bent over them “Bejaysus Spike they’re as pissed as rats the pair of them.” “Best turn them over or the sun’ll burn their eyes out” Spike said. Just then there was a noise from a nearby shed and a very obviously drunk a man came staggering out clutching a bottle. “You fellas come to take me rum?“ he slurred. The two soldiers looked at each other shaking their heads in amusement. “What rum is this then” O’Conner enquired? It turned out that the men had been distilling their own rum and when they saw the soldiers coming thought they were going to be arrested and their illicit booze confiscated so they had make a valiant but foolish attempt to drink as much as they could before it happened. As they had around twenty gallons of the stuff it had been a forlorn hope.
Spike and O’Conner burst out laughing and told him they weren’t interested in taking their rum just as long as they didn’t cause trouble and to leave the old lady alone or they’d come back and smash their still. The drunk, a man in his fifties, gave them a gap toothed grin and offered them a drink. Spike took a cautious swig and immediately spat out the raw spirit. “Oh Christ” he cursed the Navy could take rust off battle ships with that.” He handed back the bottle to the drunk who was smiling and swaying “Ah suppose it takes a bit o’ gettin’ used to man.” He said in his lilting accent. He was just pleased to be keeping his booty. They returned to the major telling him what they’d found wondering why anyone would make rotgut when the real thing was plentiful and dirt cheap.
The Fiery Fanny Fandango
And so the days passed patrols followed by trips to Daddies Bar followed by more patrols then practice riot control where half the troops played rioters and the other half played soldiers dispersing them. 'Shiny' Buttons usually took this practice he took the job seriously considering it his duty to make it as real as possible consequently it was not unknown for some quite bad injuries to occur.
The British soldier can be a bloody minded bugger at times with the rioters throwing real bricks and using sticks with determination the snatch squads went in hard rifle butts swinging to perform their task with Buttons screaming "Take it easy, tone it down yer pack o' bastards."
One day Shiny said “right lads today we’re practicing with real tear gas so get your gas masks and get onto the field.” They marched down the field in crowd dispersal formation. There was no one on the cricket fields as it was a working day and the wind was blowing gently out to sea over the sea wall some hundred metres away. When they were a long way from the pavilion Shiny ordered the squad to a halt gathered them in a semi circle and proceeded to teach them what they already knew.
Taking a gas canister out of his pack he explained how the thing worked. “Just the same as a hand grenade hold the clip down, pull the pin and throw but this time throw up wind of your target so the gas drifts down onto them ok? He then ordered gas masks on and threw the canister up wind of the men.
The thing with tear gas is that it attacks any wetness so although the masks protected eyes and throat it caught the sweat around the rubber masks and stung as did any perspiration in arms the pits, crotch etc. The soldiers knew from the training room that to rub the effected parts only caused more irritation as it spread the moisture and no matter how tempted you were to rub leaving it alone was always best. As the smoke drifted away they took off their masks.
From some bushes growing at the edge of the cricket fields came a long howling wail and two middle aged women who, unbeknown to the men, had been taking a rest in the shade after a long sweaty walk from the town came dancing out hands up their skirts rubbing furiously and jumping up and down their eyes streaming. “Agghh OOH! OOW! Me scunt man, me scunt on fire” One was screaming. The other woman was rubbing her eyes with one hand and her fanny with the other. Not all Guyanese ladies are given to wearing knickers in such a hot climate finding a longish skirt enough to guard their modesty and so the unprotected parts of their anatomy suffered.
Despite feeling sorry for them the lads couldn’t help laughing hysterically at the sight of the two rather large African women doing a very lively dance whilst trying to rub away the effects of the gas and run away at the same time.
It was a full five minutes before Buttons managed to restore order and that was the last time they practiced throwing the tear gas canisters. Soldiers, being what they are, told the tale with great relish and much adornment to those who had not been present referring to the incident as the Fiery Fanny Fandango.
The Nympho
Spike was not pleased at his new orders. The base radio was being moved into a shack some distance from the main accommodation and he had been ordered to sleep there for security purposes. The shack had no running water or toilet facilities it was just a bare floor on which to put his canvass camp bed. Spike was a gregarious man who liked the company of his fellows so being isolated in this way was not a pleasing prospect. O’Conner laughed and said “mind the Nympho don’t get yer Spike I hear she’s a bit vicious.”
The Nympho was a young lady with a very large appetite for sex and was reputed to take on six soldiers one after the other. So far this woman had proved elusive no one knew for certain she even existed as they had only heard second hand reports of her from other military units in the area.
After about a week of radio duties and sleeping in what was referred to as Spike’s shed the man was feeling a bit ill used. He had not been to town for about ten days and was longing for some drinking and still held on to the hope he might see Alma.
Sitting at breakfast one morning a guy called Miller whom Spike didn’t like much came sidling over to his table. “Hey Spike” his sly eyes flicking about looking for an audience. “The Nympho came last night mate, shagged the whole guardroom one at a time, boy what a fuck that girl is! She can’t get enough mate. Stewart wanted to send her over to you but I said not to tell her you were there as you needed your kip.”
Spike looked at the sneering face weighing his answer so as not to give the man any satisfaction. “Well” he said after a short pause “Thanks mate most kind of you.” He managed to affect a note of genuine gratitude. "You’ll probably all get a dose o’ clap and serve you right too.” The condoms issued by the army were the extra thick type and Spike knew that most soldiers didn’t use them much. Miller, seeing that his attempt at disappointing Spike had failed sneered “Well you’re ok in that wanking palace anyway plenty of privacy when you want to gallop yer maggot.”
Ten days later Miller and six of that nights guard detail were reporting to the medical officer and receiving the needle up the arse for the clap. They also got a good bollocking From Sergeant Buttons and a week’s extra duties for not using protection.
Spike saw Miller in the cookhouse the lunchtime after he had got back from the doctors sitting with his cronies. Walking up he to his table he handed Miller a condom and said with mock sympathy “I thought you might find one of these useful Charlie.” Charlie Miller looked at the offered condom not knowing quite what to say but sensing the quicker witted man was planning something said with bravado “No thanks pal my dick’s too big for those things.” “ Oh I wasn’t thinking of down there mate” Spike smiled “I thought you could pull it over your head to remind us all of your nickname.” Miller’s cronies all burst out laughing and the red faced Miller could only manage a quick “fuck off” at Spike’s departing back.
To be continued.....
‘
The names of military units and the politicians are genuine.
More can be found out about these happenings by Googling British Guiana 1964.
Enjoy!
The Buggeration Factor
Racing through the sunlit streets of Georgetown that Sunday morning in their motley collection of vehicles plus the odd Landrover they arrived about twenty minutes after the bomb went off. The police were there already as were a group of bystanders lolling at one end of the street. Captain John Splint was horrified and shouted to this men “Get these bloody people back at least another hundred metres.” He was fearful that any further explosions would wreak havoc among the casual onlookers. Bombs were not a spectator event.
Spike joined the group of about twenty other soldiers under Sergeant Bill (Shiny) Buttons as they deployed across the width of street. They held their rifles across their body’s barrels pointing downward in as inoffensive a posture as it’s possible to carry a lethal firearm. “Right folks move away now, nothing more to see” roared Buttons. Most folk moved but a small group of African youths stayed put challenging his authority with sullen looks. Buttons was a reasonable man so he approached the lads cautiously. “Listen gents” he said quietly “If there is another bomb hidden around here it could be ticking as we speak. No one wants you sent home in a coffin yeah? Getting nothing but more sullen looks and shuffling feet in response to his reasonable request he continued with more authority in his voice “It’s for your own good now come on move OK.”
The ringleader of the youths was a large lad around eighteen years old six foot two tall with a heavy Build he glared defiance at the sergeant who was six inches shorter and 35 lbs lighter than him. The youth spoke in a slow measured voice. “This is my country white boy and you don’t tell me what to do. Why don’t you put down the gun and try movin’ me yeah?
Buttons looked as though he hadn’t heard a word of the challenge he simply raised two fingers in the air and made a forward motion pointing at the youth. Gunners Bowles and Ash ran forward and, passing each side of the youth, caught him under the shoulders and ran him backwards down the street. The youth shouted in outrage but there was nothing he could do against this well practiced drill he was carried away his legs thrashing ineffectually as he went. After a hundred metres or so he was released and the two men jogged back to their original position leaving him cursing in their wake but completely unhurt save his pride.
The lesson had been ably demonstrated to the rest of the group Shiny Buttons looked at them coolly and pointed down the street. With the assured authority of a Senior None Commissioned Officer barked “right lads like I was saying...” The group cowed by the ease with which their leader had been dealt with dispersed in a sulky silence.
More police arrived and arrangements were made for the bodies of the three women, the only victims of the outrage apart from the bomber himself, to be taken away. The bomber having lit the fuses and thrown two packages of dynamite through the window of the Peoples’ Progressive Party book shop and cafe had run twenty metres down the road and, with crass stupidity, had turned to watch the results of his handiwork. Clearly he had not been an experienced bomber.
As the building had been made from wood his body was skewered with splinters large and small. The soldiers now went to look at him lying in a heap on the pavement. Spike bent and picked up a spherical object examined it briefly then cupped it in his hand and approached young gunner Ames a lad barely eighteen whose first action this was.
As they stared fascinated at the body the younger soldiers who had never seen a person killed by violence before reacted in different ways some were merely curious others looked decidedly sick Ames was one of the latter. Spike approached him with a mischievous look on his face. “Here Ames I’ve got a souvenir for you.” He took the younger man’s hand and deposited the spherical object in it with a broad smile. Ames looked down “What the fuck?” he gasped staring at the object totally puzzled for a brief moment then dropped it horror-struck. “Oh Jesus! What the fuck’s that?” his ashen face registering his total disbelief. “It’s an eyeball mate said spike grinning “you could have it stuffed and mounted it’ll bring you good luck pal you can always say you’ve got someone keeping an eye out for you.” The older sweats that had been around a bit roared with laughter as Ames staggered to the wall and began to puke. Sergeant Buttons came over and quickly restored order. “Right Jones that’s enough of that get back on the truck there’s nothing more for us to do here. And so the first incident of many to come was over.
43 Battery (Lloyds Company) Royal Artillery had only been In British Guiana a couple of weeks at the time of this incident, the spring of 1964, and had taken over the Georgetown cricket pavilion as accommodation. Not ideal but hell this was an emergency situation and anyway they’d lived in worse places. People were killing each other here and they had to stop it as fast as possible. Like most of the world’s armies things happened in the same way. Rush, push, hurry scurry flown out at a moment’s notice then wait and then wait some more.
Spike had been bored that Sunday, laying in the shade of a big tree watching some local youth’s play cricket with remarkable skill on practice grounds that seemed to stretch forever along the flat coastal plain yet each of the two dozen pitches within his visual range seemed fully occupied by cricket playing youth. He was impressed by their skill and dexterity it seemed every male over the age of three played cricket like an expert. That’s when the ‘buggeration factor’ had kicked in and the bomb had gone off.
Explosive Mixture and Mischief
The Battery had been on standby in Barnard Castle North East England for Emergency First Response, a quick reaction force that could be flown to any part of the world at a moment’s notice. This was not as dramatic as it sounds just a lot of hard work packing stuff up, draining radio batteries and putting little condoms over the vents ready for air freight. Usually after about six weeks they unpacked the lot again and waited until the next time it was their turn. This time was to be very different.
There had been what was euphemistically called ‘unrest’ in British Guiana still a British colony then, the only part of the West Indies on the South American mainland. Anyway some bugger-or-other had decided to blow up a ferry full of workers in the middle of the Demerara river. Quite a few people perished that day and the powers that be had decided they needed reinforcements out there fast so it was ‘their turn in the barrel’ as British squaddies put it and before they properly knew where British Guiana was they were on their way. Being young soldiers they were an enthusiastic bunch chattering and speculating, looking forward to this new adventure. It was going to be an adventure none of them would ever forget.
They had flown in to the airport at Atkinson Field not knowing what they were about to find. The briefing on arrival made things a little clearer. The country had two main populations those of African descent and those of East Indian ancestry. The rest of the population was made up of a smattering of Chinese and Portuguese and the countries true owners, the Amerindians, the indigenous people who had been there since Inca days. This last group kept themselves to themselves having long ago come to terms with their situation reluctantly accepting that they had little say in what happened in the ancient land of their ancestors.
The East Indians had been getting a pretty bad beating at the hands of the Africans. Trouble was they couldn’t go to the police as the police were mostly Africans. Horror stories abounded of police standing by whilst Indian women were raped and their husbands murdered. It wasn’t called ethnic cleansing in 1964 but that is what it was. Whole villages were being ‘sanitised’ and it had to stop. The soldiers were there to do just that but little did they know what lay ahead of them.
The British Guiana Volunteer Force was in this power was the only thing that resembled a local military force again almost entirely African membership and a pretty useless, ineffective bunch they were too. From what the British soldiers saw of them they cruised about in Land Rovers mostly doing bugger-all.
The battery had to requisition vehicles from local folk as military stores had to come by sea and as usual there was a shortage. They locals weren’t too pleased about it but what the hell the soldiers took them anyway and issued a receipt. They eventually got them back in a damn sight better condition than they had been.
The Political powers in the land were one Dr Cheddi Jagan and his Peoples' Progressive Party and his former colleague Mr Forbes Burnham. Burnham had split from Jagan and the PPP because of the doctor's increasingly hard line leftist policies he also feared Jagan was being too much influenced by his pro Castro wife Janet. And so Burnham formed the Peoples’ National Congress and the former allies were now about to go at each other's throats.
The PNC were the minority party without much prospect of winning the forthcoming general election. That gave the British and American governments a twofold problem firstly there was the mineral and agricultural wealth of the country. Bauxite was mined very profitably by American and Canadian companies and the British had heavy investments in the sugar cane industry. None of these vested interests wanted to see a communist government that would probably have nationalised these lucrative industries.
The second source of concern was that America had just the year before seen off the Russians over the Cuban crisis when they had tried to install rockets with nuclear warheads in Cuba just ninety miles from the American mainland. As British Guiana was well within rocket range of the USA and finding those weapons in deep jungle might have proved very difficult with the technology of the day they were not pleased at the prospect of a far left regime taking over an independent Guyana.
The brilliantly simple solution the British Government came up with was to use a bit of political skulduggery and alter the constitution of the country so that a coalition of the PNC and another minority party would beat the PPP. Jagan and his supporters of course fought this change tooth and nail. Into this explosive mix came falling sugar prices on world markets and cane cutters being laid off. Their unions of course took strike action and so the scene was set and a very short fuse was lit.
Jump Up
As the population in general had nothing against the soldiers, indeed both sides were very friendly towards them, they were allowed out in their free time to go drinking and womanising in the bars and brothels of Georgetown and this they did with great enthusiasm. Rum was cheaper by far to buy than the coke they put it in so the norm was to buy four double rum measures in a pint glass then pour in a bottle of coke and maybe a couple of cubes of ice if there was room. That was the last coke the drink saw for the rest of the session. As the night wore on the glass became a muddy colour as more rum was added with a power that had to be experienced to be believed. Georgetown is on the banks of the Demerara River and the local Demerara rum has to be treated with great respect as many of the young soldiers found to their cost.
So that the soldiery was not left lying about in undignified heaps on the streets of the town a ‘passion wagon’ in the shape of a three ton truck was laid on each night and the men rounded up around eleven o’clock and returned to their beds to sleep it off. The most favoured bar was called Daddies it was run by a big amiable African whom everyone called Daddy he had a stable of very accommodating bar girls working for him so once a soldier was in and had had a drink or two there was little to entice him elsewhere. There were one or two fist fights usually over girls but nothing serious and the MP’s kept on top of the situation. If it hadn’t have been for the troubles this would have been the best posting in the Army.
A lot of the Guianese of both factions invited the soldiers into their homes in their off duty hours for what was known locally as a ‘Jump Up’ this was a party in which a variety of delicious West Indian food and of course copious quantities of rum were served. It surprised the men that these friendly, easy going people referred to each other in such harsh racist language. The East Indians would say things like: “When are you going to deal with these damn monkeys man?” and the African’s in their turn would say things like: “It’s about time you sorted out these coolies man.” Monkeys, Coolies and other terms of abuse seemed to be common terms of reference among what the soldiers thought of as friendly generous souls; if only that generosity were extended toward each other.
It was at a jump up that Spike met what he considered the girl of his dreams. He name was Alma 20 years old, tall willowy and with the most amazing eyes he’d ever seen. He didn’t approach her for he thought that such a beauty must have a serious boyfriend. After a few rums he got up the courage to ask for a dance. “Sure” she said with an easy smile “I thought you were never going to ask me.” As they danced and moved to the steel band music he asked her name where she came from etc. It turned out her father was a successful businessman who owned cinema’s bars and other property in the city. She pulled him a little closer and guided his arm further round her waist. She laughed at him and said "I like a man to hold me you know I won’t break.”
They had several more dances as the evening wore on and Spike grew more confident and asked for a date. "Ok" she said "but you do realise I’ll be coming with a chaperone don’t you?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice as he echoed “a chaperone?” “Yes this isn’t London you know respectable girls here go on dates with a chaperone. And so it turned out when Alma turned up for their cinema date she had her aunt with her. In truth the aunt didn’t get in the way and was most discrete and pleasant.
Spike was getting to know more about the country and liked what he found out things like criminals still got flogged with a cat o’ nine tails. Although not common it was still a punishment that was occasionally handed down by the courts a policeman had told him. He also added that very few ever came back for a second dose either.
After a few dates Alma suggested that she sneak away to meet him one afternoon so ‘they could get to know each other better’ she told him with a conspiratorial wink. Like him she was no longer satisfied with a mere peck goodnight whilst her aunt turned her back for a moment. “I’ll bring a picnic she told him we can go on the beach yeah?” “Won’t your folks notice you making a picnic and be suspicious?” he asked looking dubious. "Oh I’ve thought of that my friend Joan will make it for me at her house and I’ll collect it there. I’ll tell my mother I’m going to Joan’s house.”
And so it came about they strolled up the near deserted beach in front of the sea wall with the sun warm on their backs and the muddy brown estuary waters gently lapping.
They chatted about the differences between Guyana and England and how he found it strange that a lot of Guyanese people referred to England as home even though they’d never been there. It was about five o’clock when they found a hollow in the sand near a bandstand and Alma spread her blanket for them to eat a delicious meal of chicken and other West Indian delights all washed down with a beer.
Afterwards Spike, no longer encumbered by the picnic basket, reached for her hand. She smiled into his eyes and offered herself for a deep passionate kiss. He was surprised at the force she used and the urgent way she thrust her tongue down his throat. A young healthy man a long way from home he felt his urgent need arising. He felt himself grow hard and tried to avoid pushing himself against her for fear he would be rejected.
His fears proved groundless she pushed up against his body and gyrated her slender hips against his with a hungry lunge. He then put an exploratory hand on her breast which she pushed out readily offering it to him. He unbuttoned her blouse in the fading light he was conscious of the waves lapping and a kiskadee calling somewhere inland. Then her hands went to his belt and tore it open she was slipping her hand around his hard manhood like a woman possessed.
Lifting her skirt he slid his hand up inside her skimpy underwear as she moaned and spread her legs wider. Then she stopped abruptly “Oh please” she said in a hoarse voice “use this please” She handed him a condom. “Help me” he said his hands were trembling so much he could hardly control them.
Between them they got him covered and then he was on top of her aching to satisfy his need. She was very wet and so tight he had difficulty penetrating at first but he took his time not wanting to hurt this beautiful girl and slowly worked himself into her wetness.
It was clear she wasn’t very experienced as he made love to her he lifted her legs and put them over his. She found that better and started to draw him in deeper her hands pulling at his buttocks her hips thrusting upwards.
Spike was lost in the wild sensations running through his mind and body he thrust in deep and slow feeling her tight vagina crushing him. He increased pace as he felt himself approaching his climax, she responded by rotating her slender hips with the dexterity of a coiling python whimpering with passion, savouring every moment of their lovemaking until she let go a long cry of joy as she reached the pinnacle of her pleasure. At that moment he spurted with the force of a volcano again and again then slowly sank quenched on top of her.
Afterwards they lay side by side smoking and talking it turned out that was only the second time she’d had sex the first time being nearly a year ago with her second cousin who, like herself, had been a virgin. It had not been a really satisfying experience but had left her wanting more. In her fantasies she had masturbated whilst imagining making love with a slim young white boy it never failed to bring her to satisfaction and now she had achieved her dream she wanted to realise another of her fantasies.
“My girlfriends all talk about the 69 position” she said with a frankness he found so endearing. “Let me wash you off a bit” she purred reaching into the picnic basket she produced a damp cloth and began wiping his penis. When she had finished she used it on herself then lay back smiling. He pulled her legs a little further apart then put his head between her lovely thighs. Smelling her young fecund womanhood stimulated him and he moaned softly as his tongue explored her tender yoni.
Spike was amazed at how quickly this girl learned going on from straight hard sucking she developed to gentle flicks licks and tantalizing nibbling down the length of his shaft. She licked his tight scrotum and scratched it lightly with her fingernails. He for his part flicked her very stiff and surprisingly large clitoris. She moaned and writhed beneath his eager tongue. He was pushing it hard into her vagina exploring licking her labia teasing seeking the best way to give her pleasure. He found that the fastest, lightest flicks on the very tip of her clitoris drove her into spasms causing her to push his throbbing cock deeper into her throat. With a final upward thrust of her hips her dam burst and her hot feminine fountain bathed his face with gushing juices. This triggered his own orgasm and he came deep in her throat and felt her eagerly swallow.
Sadly he never saw her again after that night, he received a scribbled note at the pavilion a day later delivered to the guard at the door by a girl on a bicycle who had hurried away. Something had gone wrong and her father had discovered her deception. He had confined het to the house for a month and by that time Spike found himself posted far up river to a place called McKenzie but not before Georgetown had one more terrible violent shock for him.
Death of The Innocents
Gunner Andrew ‘Spike’ Jones’s job was that of radio operator it was his job to sit for hours listening to the other unit’s and to the Battery’s own patrols as they went around the city and outlying areas logging varius incidents as they happened. The base station radio was much more powerful than the man pack ones carried by the patrols so it fell to him to relay messages between them and generally control radio traffic. One afternoon a report came through that serious trouble was afoot in an outlying village. Details were vague but the tone of the message was that racial tensions were building up and a bar had been set alight. Trouble was brewing and troops were urgently needed.
As soon as he had reported the incident to his commanding officer one major Alex Tinsley-Hurst he was ordered to hand his shift to young Ames, get his kit and join the major as his signaller. A few minutes later forty men in three trucks were speeding towards the village. It took no more than ten minutes to arrive but in that time the fire had taken hold to a serious degree.
An African male had thrown a petrol bomb though the door of an Indian owned bar and restaurant. The bomb had hit the spirits bottles on the shelf at the back of the bar shattering several and the resulting fire had quickly got out of control. Flames were leaping though the doors and windows of the wooden building and were spreading out under the balcony that ran round around the first floor.
In the open window of the front bedroom two children were screaming. The building was now beyond saving people were trying to approach to save the children but were beaten back by the intense heat. The children’s mother was hysterically begging them to jump but there was nowhere to jump to without passing through the fierce flames roaring under the balcony.
Spike looked in horror at the two tiny figures clutching at each other in the window. Even above the roar of the flames he could hear their high pitched screams, totally terrified and with a note of utter despair that tore at every fibre of his being. He climbed out of the Landrover and stood next to the major. “Oh Christ sir! Oh sweet Jesus Christ what can we do?” He knew the answer before the major spoke “Nothing I’m afraid Jones not a bloody thing” The major sounded deeply sad and angry.
The screams grew louder and the children’s family were frantic, their mother hysterical, on her knees holding her arms out towards them in a hopeless, futile gesture. Then with a crash and an great eruption of flame and sparks the floor of the upper story collapsed and the children disappeared, their cries abruptly ceasing.
Spike turned away from the scene feeling nauseated what the hell did those kids ever do to deserve to die like that god? He thought. Are you up there? Do you give a toss? Why the fuck do you allow such shit? Then he heard laughter coming from a group of African men under a nearby tree. Two men sitting astride a motorcycle seemed to be entertaining their friends to some joke or other. They kept looking at the blazing building and laughing. Spike walked quickly across to them he was furious. “Something funny happened has it?” he asked belligerently his jaw jutting.
The group fell silent except for the guy sitting on the front of the motorcycle he seemed very full of himself. “Yeah man” he sniggered “A couple o’ coolies got fried that’s all.” Spike’s hands moved involuntarily his rifle butt swept up in a lightening sweep and there was a sickening thud as it connected with the man’s head. The man flew off the machine and landed motionless in the dust. The pillion rider started a shocked protest as the barrel of spike’s heavy Self Loading Rifle smashed him across the mouth knocking out several teeth. The man swayed dazed Spike screamed “Bastards” as he thrust the end of the barrel hard into the man’s solar plexus. The man doubled up and slumped from the bike gagging, puking out blood and teeth.
Rage still boiling Spike was moving around the fallen bike with the intention of continuing beating the men with his rifle butt when he was grabbed from behind by his friends O’Conner and Dillon. “Spike for god’s sake man calm down or you’ll end up in jail for murder“ O’Conner said in an urgent voice. Between them they dragged him away back to the Landrover. “Those bastards were laughing at this” Spike said his voice full of venom neither of his friends could remember when they’d ever seen him this angry. “Ok Mate let us deal with this now you wait here and have a smoke” said Dillon in a soothing voice and with that they were walking back towards where the group were still bent over their fallen friends.
“Right you lot” O’Conner spat “get your fuckin' arses out of here and take that shit with you.” He raised his rifle butt to emphasises he meant business. “What about the motor bike” one of the group asked nervously. “Tell ‘em to pick it up tomorrow it’ll be behind this bar” he said nodding at the blaze. The speaker looked puzzled but Dillon added “Better piss off mate while you’re still able.” The steely look in his eyes and the tone of his voice brooked no argument and they slunk off carrying their fallen friends between them.
Spike, calmer now, wandered over to join O’Conner and Dillon and between them they picked up the machine and wheeled it away around the back of the bar into the dusty compound that served as a garden and empty bottle store. Standing a little way off from the burning building Spike kick started the machine he then slipped it into gear letting out the clutch slowly and running alongside the bike with the other two pushing the pillion. They ran as fast as they could until the heat got too great Spike then gave one final twist of the throttle and sent the bike careering into the flames. “Let’s see how funny the bastards think that is” he said with satisfaction.
Back at the battery commander’s vehicle Tinsley-Hurst was talking to the senior policeman at the scene Spike couldn’t hear what he was saying but his body language showed he was angry and an angry Tinsley-Hurst was not a man to be trifled with. In the meantime two old 1950’s fire engines had finally turned up and were directing a couple of ineffective spouts of water into the building but it was obvious nothing could be done to save it.
Spike climbed into the back of the Landrover, put the headset on and half listened to the radio traffic. Suddenly he felt physically and spiritually exhausted, completely drained. Although he didn’t know it then those children’s screams would haunt his nightmares for many years to come. He learned it’s not just physical harm soldiers have to fear.
On the journey back Tinsley-Hurst, who had seen Spike approach the group of men but had then been distracted by the policeman and so had not witnessed the violence, asked “Were those blokes causing trouble Jones? They seemed to be laughing, most inappropriate.” Yes sir they were laughing at the loss of the kids so I persuaded them to leave sir.” Tinsley-Hurst had a very good idea of what his signaller meant by ‘persuaded’ but thought it better he didn’t know the details so he simply said “I see, good show Jones” and left it at that.
A lot of the soldiers in the battery didn’t like Tinsley-Hurst because he was a disciplinarian and also he’d come to them from the Army Air Corps which they regarded as fly boys who should be in the RAF. However Spike, who was his signaller in their normal artillery role back home, thought he was all right. As long as you were respectful you could speak your mind to him and he would listen. Spike had often had to tell him off for security breaches when using the radio. He’d do things like send their position in clear instead of letting him encode it first. The major took these 'bollockings' in good part and did try to improve.
At an earlier incident he had attended they had found a recently deserted house. As they approached it a group of men had run out of the back and disappeared into the sugar cane. In the house there was a strong smell of paraffin from soaked mattresses lying around between broken furniture. The floor also held a great deal of fresh blood and Spike had speculated as to whether it was African or Indian blood. O’Conner standing next to him had replied “Dunno mate that’s the trouble with blood no matter whose it is it’s all the same colour.” That simple phrase was to stay with Spike for the rest of his life; any time he heard a racist remark that phrase, so casually spoken, came into his mind.
Tinsley-Hurst had come into the room he looked deep in thought. He had a habit of twirling a little cheroot in his fingers for anything up to five minutes before he actually lit it. He looked around the house accompanied by his two men twirling his cheroot as he went. Finally returning to the living room he said “Well we’ll have to keep an eye on this village I think I’ll have a word with them.” With that he took out his lighter and was about to light his smoke when Spike shouted “No sir” and knocked the lighter out of his hand. That was the only time, apart from on the Rugby pitch, that Spike had ever struck an officer.
Tinsley-Hurst had looked startled for a moment and said “What the..? Oh yes, I see, sorry Jones silly of me.” The major was supposedly related to some duke or other so the story went but no one knew which one if any. Though a hard man and a stickler for detail he loved his creature comforts. He had a large florid face with a sandy soup strainer moustache and small deep blue intelligent eyes. He often adopted the air of a bit of a bumbler but those who knew him were well aware this was an act to put people off guard. He had his Landrover fitted with a special padded seat, a head rest and padded folding arm rests long before Range Rover’s were invented.
The radio had speakers specially fitted so he didn’t have to wear a headset like everyone else and his microphone was on an arm that folded into the roof and put the radio to transmit when he pulled it towards him. His brother officers had nicknamed this vehicle The Power Puff Chariot a name they never used to his face however. Another thing Spike liked about Tinsley-Hurst he was fair and even handed when dealing with the men and not without a sense of humour either.
On the front wings of the powder puff chariot Tinsley-Hurst had Spike fit two Tannoy speakers normally used for communicating with the guns he had the idea that they might be good for crowd control this in spite of the fact that no other commander had seen fit to employ such equipment. However Tinsley-Hurst was about to put them to use.
“Right” he said with brisk determination “Get these buggers out of their houses I want a word with them.” Spike reached inside the vehicle and switched the microphone on. “Everyone in this village is required to come outside now” he announced then repeated the order the place looked deserted and no one appeared. Tinsley-Hurst was having none of it he ordered his men to go around banging on the doors and getting people out. "Drag the buggers out if you have to I want to speak to 'em."
Sheepishly the men obeyed running from door to door banging and shouting come on out, come on out. Slowly the street started to fill with bemused citizens who stood around in small groups wondering what the hell was going on. After some three dozen souls had been rounded up Tinsley-Hurst went to his Landrover and picked up the Mike. “I am Major Tinsley-Hurst I am the supreme commander of East Coast Demerara he said with great pomposity. (He was no such thing!)"I am not going to put up with this sort of behaviour from you people” he said pointing at the house they had just left. Spike was embarrassed listening to the imperious tone of voice and the major’s serious expression his bristling moustache added an almost comic opera air to the proceedings.
Spike half expected the people gathered to burst out laughing and walk away but they stood and listened in stony silence. “If I have to call to this village again I will punish you all most severely” He announced in his grandiose way waving his pace stick aloft for dramatic effect. He then continued to lecture the villagers as to how he expected them to behave finally finishing with “You are all the queen’s subjects you know; don’t make her ashamed of you.” It may have just been coincidence but they never had any more trouble with that particular village.
Finally finished he climbed into the Landrover and the people looking even more bemused than before started returning to their homes. An elderly lady approached the officer and said in a sing-song voice “Please sir there are some bad men behind me house sir an' they causing disturbance.” “Jones, O’Conner go with her and see what it’s all about.” Tinsley-Hurst ordered curtly then added in a softer tone “Be careful lads take no chances.” They followed the old woman across the street and behind a rundown shanty rifles at the ready.
They found two men lying on their backs in a comatose state eyes staring up at the sky in the blazing sun. O’Conner bent over them “Bejaysus Spike they’re as pissed as rats the pair of them.” “Best turn them over or the sun’ll burn their eyes out” Spike said. Just then there was a noise from a nearby shed and a very obviously drunk a man came staggering out clutching a bottle. “You fellas come to take me rum?“ he slurred. The two soldiers looked at each other shaking their heads in amusement. “What rum is this then” O’Conner enquired? It turned out that the men had been distilling their own rum and when they saw the soldiers coming thought they were going to be arrested and their illicit booze confiscated so they had make a valiant but foolish attempt to drink as much as they could before it happened. As they had around twenty gallons of the stuff it had been a forlorn hope.
Spike and O’Conner burst out laughing and told him they weren’t interested in taking their rum just as long as they didn’t cause trouble and to leave the old lady alone or they’d come back and smash their still. The drunk, a man in his fifties, gave them a gap toothed grin and offered them a drink. Spike took a cautious swig and immediately spat out the raw spirit. “Oh Christ” he cursed the Navy could take rust off battle ships with that.” He handed back the bottle to the drunk who was smiling and swaying “Ah suppose it takes a bit o’ gettin’ used to man.” He said in his lilting accent. He was just pleased to be keeping his booty. They returned to the major telling him what they’d found wondering why anyone would make rotgut when the real thing was plentiful and dirt cheap.
The Fiery Fanny Fandango
And so the days passed patrols followed by trips to Daddies Bar followed by more patrols then practice riot control where half the troops played rioters and the other half played soldiers dispersing them. 'Shiny' Buttons usually took this practice he took the job seriously considering it his duty to make it as real as possible consequently it was not unknown for some quite bad injuries to occur.
The British soldier can be a bloody minded bugger at times with the rioters throwing real bricks and using sticks with determination the snatch squads went in hard rifle butts swinging to perform their task with Buttons screaming "Take it easy, tone it down yer pack o' bastards."
One day Shiny said “right lads today we’re practicing with real tear gas so get your gas masks and get onto the field.” They marched down the field in crowd dispersal formation. There was no one on the cricket fields as it was a working day and the wind was blowing gently out to sea over the sea wall some hundred metres away. When they were a long way from the pavilion Shiny ordered the squad to a halt gathered them in a semi circle and proceeded to teach them what they already knew.
Taking a gas canister out of his pack he explained how the thing worked. “Just the same as a hand grenade hold the clip down, pull the pin and throw but this time throw up wind of your target so the gas drifts down onto them ok? He then ordered gas masks on and threw the canister up wind of the men.
The thing with tear gas is that it attacks any wetness so although the masks protected eyes and throat it caught the sweat around the rubber masks and stung as did any perspiration in arms the pits, crotch etc. The soldiers knew from the training room that to rub the effected parts only caused more irritation as it spread the moisture and no matter how tempted you were to rub leaving it alone was always best. As the smoke drifted away they took off their masks.
From some bushes growing at the edge of the cricket fields came a long howling wail and two middle aged women who, unbeknown to the men, had been taking a rest in the shade after a long sweaty walk from the town came dancing out hands up their skirts rubbing furiously and jumping up and down their eyes streaming. “Agghh OOH! OOW! Me scunt man, me scunt on fire” One was screaming. The other woman was rubbing her eyes with one hand and her fanny with the other. Not all Guyanese ladies are given to wearing knickers in such a hot climate finding a longish skirt enough to guard their modesty and so the unprotected parts of their anatomy suffered.
Despite feeling sorry for them the lads couldn’t help laughing hysterically at the sight of the two rather large African women doing a very lively dance whilst trying to rub away the effects of the gas and run away at the same time.
It was a full five minutes before Buttons managed to restore order and that was the last time they practiced throwing the tear gas canisters. Soldiers, being what they are, told the tale with great relish and much adornment to those who had not been present referring to the incident as the Fiery Fanny Fandango.
The Nympho
Spike was not pleased at his new orders. The base radio was being moved into a shack some distance from the main accommodation and he had been ordered to sleep there for security purposes. The shack had no running water or toilet facilities it was just a bare floor on which to put his canvass camp bed. Spike was a gregarious man who liked the company of his fellows so being isolated in this way was not a pleasing prospect. O’Conner laughed and said “mind the Nympho don’t get yer Spike I hear she’s a bit vicious.”
The Nympho was a young lady with a very large appetite for sex and was reputed to take on six soldiers one after the other. So far this woman had proved elusive no one knew for certain she even existed as they had only heard second hand reports of her from other military units in the area.
After about a week of radio duties and sleeping in what was referred to as Spike’s shed the man was feeling a bit ill used. He had not been to town for about ten days and was longing for some drinking and still held on to the hope he might see Alma.
Sitting at breakfast one morning a guy called Miller whom Spike didn’t like much came sidling over to his table. “Hey Spike” his sly eyes flicking about looking for an audience. “The Nympho came last night mate, shagged the whole guardroom one at a time, boy what a fuck that girl is! She can’t get enough mate. Stewart wanted to send her over to you but I said not to tell her you were there as you needed your kip.”
Spike looked at the sneering face weighing his answer so as not to give the man any satisfaction. “Well” he said after a short pause “Thanks mate most kind of you.” He managed to affect a note of genuine gratitude. "You’ll probably all get a dose o’ clap and serve you right too.” The condoms issued by the army were the extra thick type and Spike knew that most soldiers didn’t use them much. Miller, seeing that his attempt at disappointing Spike had failed sneered “Well you’re ok in that wanking palace anyway plenty of privacy when you want to gallop yer maggot.”
Ten days later Miller and six of that nights guard detail were reporting to the medical officer and receiving the needle up the arse for the clap. They also got a good bollocking From Sergeant Buttons and a week’s extra duties for not using protection.
Spike saw Miller in the cookhouse the lunchtime after he had got back from the doctors sitting with his cronies. Walking up he to his table he handed Miller a condom and said with mock sympathy “I thought you might find one of these useful Charlie.” Charlie Miller looked at the offered condom not knowing quite what to say but sensing the quicker witted man was planning something said with bravado “No thanks pal my dick’s too big for those things.” “ Oh I wasn’t thinking of down there mate” Spike smiled “I thought you could pull it over your head to remind us all of your nickname.” Miller’s cronies all burst out laughing and the red faced Miller could only manage a quick “fuck off” at Spike’s departing back.
To be continued.....
‘
Published 17th Jan 2013
| Edited 18th Jan 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 0
reading list entries 0
comments 0
reads 921
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
