A Childs War by Richard Ballard Read Free Book Online Page B

made him wear over his short trousers and socks to keep him warm. They buttoned up at the sides of his legs causing them to fit tightly and Alex’s own protestations that they itched were ineffective. George put on his long black overcoat and took his bowler hat from the peg on the hall stand and off they went.
    The outward journey was amusing. George had things to tell Alex, and Alex had things to ask George. It was George who cleared up the mystery of the large stones with handles in the doctor’s fireplace by explaining that they were curling stones used on frozen ponds in a Scottish sport. He knew this because of going ashore at Rosyth once during a short visit by courtesy of Grey Funnel Line. That led to a long explanation of the difference between the colour used on home fleet ships and those, which were painted in the more comely Mediterranean Grey, and how captains of ships in time past had been responsible themselves for having their ships painted. It was on this walk that Alex first heard of Nelson, the British admiral with an eye and an arm missing who in spite of his disabilities had destroyed the sea power of someone called Bonaparte who ruled France a hundred and fifty years ago, and about someone called Pétain who had taken power in part of France now and whose ships had also been sunk by the Royal Navy in order to keep them out of German hands in a port with the intriguing name of Mers-el-Kebir. Alex noticed that George’s delivery of these lengthy pieces of information made him a little out of breath. When Alex commented on this, George replied, “Yes. I’m getting a bit like the guide who used to be at Rochester Castle when we used to go there as boys: if anyone asked him a question, he had to start his speech all over again because he had learned it by heart and couldn’t stop in the middle of it without forgetting what he was saying”
    â€œDid you learn all that about Nelson by heart, Dad?” asked Alex.
    â€œI suppose I did when I first learnt it.” George replied. “You heard the bit about Marshal Pétain and the ships at Oran for yourself on the news, though, didn’t you?”
    â€œWhere’s Oran?”
    â€œOn the northern coast of Africa in a country called Algeria which has been a French colony for more than a century.”
    Then followed explanations about what colonies were, and how Great Britain had many of them and therefore needed a strong navy, which was now being eclipsed by American sea power . . .
    When Alex became tired, George took off his bowler hat and lifted him onto his shoulders to carry him part of the way. The hat was entrusted to Alex’s safe-keeping for this, although George was a little anxious that it should not get out of shape at his son’s hands. After a quarter of an hour, George asked Alex if he felt like walking again.
    â€œNo, but I will,” he said, and he was lifted higher before being put down. “These leggings do itch. Can’t I take them off, Dad?”
    â€œNo. Your mother told me expressly to keep them on you, so it’s more than my life’s worth to let you take them off.”
    â€œWill she know?”
    â€œYou can’t keep secrets from her, you ought to know that!”
    So the leggings and the itch stayed, but a huge glass of squash was set before him on a seat outside the Perch and George set a pint glass before himself on the table before them.
    â€œI bet this tastes better than that,” said Alex.
    â€œTry it, then,” said his father. After one mouthful Alex said he had not had enough to make up his mind and after three reserved his public judgement, glad that his father had treated him as an equal.
    When they began to feel the cold they got up to go. The way to the river led past a patch of open ground where the landlord of the Perch was keeping some geese for eggs at present and for the table later on. One of the huge birds came towards Alex and began