Jenin Camp, Palestine, 1939

          The first night I went to the canteen was an eye opener. There was a bloke by the door as I
        approached and as I was about to pass him to enter the canteen, he did a quick bend forward and cried "Hughy!" I narrowly escaped getting wet through with partly processed bad beer and mixed veggies.
          "Sorry aboot that mate" he said after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ah feel like Ah
        hev just eaten a scabby heedet wain (scabby headed baby), but Ah'm awor en agin as sun as ah catch mah wind, ye ken (but I'm going back in as soon as I have caught my breath)." Keeping one eye on him and the other on the steps, I steered round him and ventured into the canteen. I saw a couple of blokes I knew and grabbed a seat and joined them.
          "No, it's mah turrrn," said Ginger Craig, "an Ah'm away the noo, watch mah seat," and he pushed
        through the mob of blokes milling around the counter. Shortly he returned with two pints and a shandy, the shandy was for me.
          "Did you no' hear aboot they Indians?" asked one of the blokes, and I was all ears. "What Indians?"
        asked Ginger Craig, so the bloke began with his yarn.
          "There was this tribe o' Fucarwe Indians, an' they wus on'y wee folk. Every day they would gan'
        huntin' and fishin' and then they would walk hame through this long grass, and it wus way ower their heed. No ither tribe would attack they, 'cause they were afeer'd o' naebody. An' to prove it, when they got intae this long grass on the way hame, instead o' hidin' they would jump up and doon screaming, "We're the Fucarwe! We're the Fucarwe!"
          "Now, there was the Rangy Tangy bird. This was a unique bird in that if it was attacked, it would fly
        in ever-decreasing circles until finally disappeared up its own ass. From this point of vantage it eagerly scanned its baffled enemies . . ."
          A bloke at the counter was having trouble with the Arab bar keeper. "Ah jus' gin' yer the money!
        Yer no' get'n ne mair! (you are getting no more)" The Arab would not part with the tray of drinks and our mate was adamant. He had paid and was trying to prise the tray away from the equally stubborn Arab. Suddenly the bloke stuck the nut in ( gave the Arab a head butt) and the Arab went down with claret (blood) running down the front of his white gown. >"Aye that's reet, gi'im the heed!" One bloke was just raising his glass to drink, and hearing the commotion turned to look, but his glass hand did not get the message and he poured half a glass of beer into his left ear. So he too was now upset, and all wet.
          Outside it was dark, and except for the light over each hut doorway of the barracks the canteen was
        brightly lit. That's when some Arabs on top of the hill behind the canteen decided to thin a few of us out.
          Zip and thud as bullets hit wood, and shattered windows. We vacated the canteen a lot faster than
        we went in.
          "The lights, the lights, get the f----n' lights!" a voice was screaming, and suddenly the lights went out.
        Then as if to copy, one by one the other barracks lights went out.
          Next day the curious of us went to the canteen to have a look, but there was nothing exiting to see.
        A few holes, most of the windows on the side facing the hill had no glass in them, and there was an Arab cleaning up all the broken glass.
          The following day was very different. We were at breakfast when a Sergeant came into the dining
        hall and cried "right drop everythin'!"
          Another voice crooned, "Ooh, Ah didn't know yu cared," and chuckles rippled round. "Silly sod,"
        somebody said.
          "Everybody get dressed (meaning equipment) and be on parade in four minutes!" Then we heard
        truck engines start up.
          We fell in on parade outside the hut and the sergeant did a quick check and yelled "Right! On
        truck!" and pointed to the trucks now lined up at the gate, ready to go.
          We ran over to the trucks and climbed in and because they were 30 cwt Morris trucks with metal
        hoops over the back part of the truck covered with a drab green canvas we nearly always elected to stand and hold on to the roof part of the metal loop. If you sat down on the wooden seats and the truck hit a bump, you either had to have an operation to open a certain duct that was now riveted closed or you got denutted(neutered).
          After a dusty ride of maybe an hour the trucks stopped and we got out. It was good to feel the fresh
        air. A couple of blokes strolled to the side of the road and unbutton the front of their shorts and while standing there sighing with relief one would say to the other, "Time I had a leave, else Ah'm gittin' too much starch in me diet," and his mate would grin.
          "Roight, then get fell in!" roared the sergeant, and little snippets of conversation could be heard.
          "SHIT IN IT AN' GET FELL IN!" roared the sergeant.
          Then we formed up in columns of three and began to march. After a while we came to a village and
        while we waited on the outskirts an officer with a Sergeant and a platoon of men went to pay a visit to the Muktar (head man). It appeared that some bandits were in the area and one of our informers (paid) had reported they seemed to be making for that village.
          Knowing the area, we began a sweep away from the village in the general direction of where the
        baddies could be. This led us through a gully that had caves and a couple of wells sunk into the ground. We spent the rest of the afternoon searching these places and where it was too difficult to access we threw in a couple of hand grenades or dropped them down wells. All in all it was a disappointing day. We did not get any baddies and we had to march all the way home and I now sometimes wonder if that wasn't just a ploy to get us to march in the heat of the day and toughen us up.
          Ginger Craig, Bob Moat, Danny McCormack, George Baxter and Tom Barker (me) got leave to go
        to Haifa, but that's another story.

        Jenin, Palestine as it appeared when Tom was stationed there in 1939.