Philip Caveney - Tiger, Tiger

Harry spotted Dennis sitting at one of the small tables.

‘Hello old chap!’ chuckled Dennis. ‘It seems we’re a bit early for our game today. Let me get you a drink.’

‘Fresh orange juice, please.’ Harry settled into a chair as Dennis signalled to the barman.

‘Two fresh oranges, please. Plenty of ice,’ Dennis grinned and turned his attention to the game in progress. ‘All action out there today,’ he observed. ‘Hope they don’t expect that sort of routine from us.’ He had a plump, ruddy-complexioned face that always wore a happy expression. His cornflower blue eyes were hidden today behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses. ‘Strewth,’ he exclaimed. ‘Is it just me or does it get hotter here all the time?’ He motioned to Harry’s sweater. ‘Beats me how you can wear that thing.’

‘Well, don’t forget Dennis, I’ve been living in this climate for most of my adult life. India, Burma, Malaya, all got one thing in common – they’re bloody hot. Couldn’t stand it any other way now.’

Dennis nodded.

‘You er … wouldn’t fancy going back to Blighty ever?’

‘I should say not! I’d freeze to death.’ He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘Why did you ask that?’

‘Oh, no reason, really …’

‘No reason, my hat! What’s up? C’mon Dennis, spill the beans, you know you never could hide anything from me.’

Dennis raised his hands in capitulation.

‘Alright, alright, I surrender!’ He leaned forward, lowered his voice slightly. ‘It’s just that word came through today about some more cuts and –’

‘ More cuts!’ Harry shook his head. ‘Don’t see how they can do it, frankly. Surely they’ve cut the Gurkhas down as much as they possibly can. Trimming the force to ten thousand men, it’s butchery!’

Dennis nodded sympathetically.

‘Well, you know my views on that one Harry, I couldn’t agree with you more. But the particular news I’m referring to concerns Kuala Hitam in particular. Seems the top brass have got it into their heads that it’s unnecessary. It’s got to go, old son. Complete demobilization by 1969. Fact. Heard it myself, just this morning.’

‘What … you mean … everything ?’

‘The works. Lock, stock, and barrel. What troops we leave in Malaya will be based at the barracks in Singapore. As for this lot –’ He gestured briefly around him and then made a sawing motion across his throat with his index finger. ‘Which is why I asked you if you ever thought of going home,’ he concluded.

Harry stared at the grey Formica top of the table.

‘Dammit Dennis, this is my home. What the hell would there be for me over there, anyway? My relatives are all dead –’

‘You’ve a nephew, haven’t you?’

‘Oh yes, and very pleased he’d be to have a crotchety old devil like me descending on his household from the far-off tropics, I’m sure.’

Dennis smiled. ‘I wouldn’t call you crotchety,’ he said.

‘Well, thank you for that anyway. But let’s face it, Dennis, here I be and here I stay, until the Lord in all his infinite wisdom sees fit to reorganize my accommodation. What will you be doing?’

‘Oh, I’ll be going back home. Expecting confirmation any day now. Suffolk, I hope. Where my roots are. The fact is, I’m quite looking forward to it. I keep imagining snow at Christmas, all that sort of thing. I’m a romantic old devil at heart, you know. And Kate’s thrilled to bits. There’re lots of things she misses. Good shops, fashions, family … Well, she’s all but got the bags packed.’

Harry nodded.

‘And what about that pretty young daughter of yours?’

‘I think Melissa is pleased too. Things are a bit too quiet around these parts for her liking.’

The barman arrived with the drinks, tall glasses filled with freshly blended orange juice and topped with crushed ice. He set them down on the table and left.

‘I’ll miss you,’ observed Harry, after a few moments’ silence. ‘I’ll miss you all.’

‘Yes … well, look here, old chap. If you ever want to come and visit us, there’ll always be a place for you. I hope you realize that.’

Harry sipped his drink thoughtfully, and stared impatiently at the couple sweating it out on the tennis court. ‘Are they never going to finish?’ he muttered. ‘In the old days, these games always finished bang on time …’ His voice trailed off as he recognized one of the players. It was the loudmouthed Australian from the night before. ‘I say Dennis, who is that fellow on the court?’

Dennis lifted his sunglasses, peered in the direction that Harry was indicating.

‘It’s Corporal Barnes, isn’t it?’

‘No, not him! The other one.’

‘Oh! You mean Bob Beresford.’

‘Do I indeed? And who, may I ask, is Bob Beresford? He’s not an enlisted man, surely to God?’

‘No, a civvy. He’s working at Kuala Hitam on the Gurkha repatriation scheme though, so he’s been given the run of the place.’

‘Yes. He was at the Mess last night. Just what exactly is he supposed to be teaching the Gurkhas? How to tell dirty stories?’

‘I don’t think so. Farming techniques, I believe. You know … irrigation, animal husbandry, that sort of thing. How to make the most out of very limited resources, basically. I can’t help thinking that these repatriation schemes are more an attempt to salve the British government’s conscience than anything else. But Beresford seems to be making the best of it. He’s certainly well-liked by the men.’ Dennis smiled warily at Harry. ‘I get the impression he hasn’t made an instant hit with you though,’ he observed.

Harry grimaced and shrugged.

‘Well … you know how I feel about the Aussies, Dennis. I mean, good God, they’ve all descended from convicts anyway! And that one was in the Mess last night, shouting his mouth off to all and sundry, telling some filthy story … it … shows a lack of respect, that’s all.’

Dennis chuckled.

‘Oh come on, Harry. None of us are above telling a dirty story now and then. The British tell it in a whisper and the Aussies tell it to the world. I’m not so sure that they haven’t got the healthier attitude. It just comes down to what you’re used to really. Beresford isn’t so bad; and I tell you what, you’ve got something in common with him.’

Harry fixed his friend with a suspicious look.

‘Really? And what might that be?’

‘By all accounts, he fancies himself a bit of a crack-shot. Done some hunting in his time, or so he tells me.’

Harry shook his head.

‘I haven’t hunted for years, as well you know. If this Beresford chap still does, it just confirms that he’s got some growing up to do.’

Dennis laughed out loud.

‘Good heavens, Harry, give the poor lad a break, will you! It seems you’ve really got it in for him.’

‘Not at all, not at all! I just think people should show a little bit of resp – Ah, looks as though they’ve finally called it a day!’

Beresford and his partner were leaving the court. The Australian was pumping his partner’s hand in what looked like an exaggerated display of good sportsmanship.

‘Great game, Ron! Let me buy you a drink …’

Dennis and Harry collected their kit and walked out towards the court. Beresford eyed the two of them with a mocking glint in his eye. As he walked past, Harry distinctly heard the Australian say to Corporal Barnes, ‘Strewth, look at these two old buggers goin’ out for a bash!’ Barnes smothered a laugh, but Harry pretended he had heard nothing. He wasn’t going to let the observations of some jumped-up sheep-farmer from the outback make any impression on him. He followed Dennis into the court and closed the metal gate behind him.