Tea, Love and War by David Mitchell

Author:David Mitchell [MITCHELL DAVID]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780889658
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The ripple of an offshore breeze gently rattled the long green blades of the palm tree overhead. Stuart took another draw of his iced gin and tonic and returned to his letter writing. Another beautiful day beckoned. Already he felt the unaccustomed relaxation of the muscles in his shoulders, the tensions of the past months beginning to fade. He took a moment to gaze again at the backcloth of green hills above the pale blue of the bay with its fringe of white sand. He fought to avoid fevered visions of the bombed cities of his home country, flames mingling with grey rain, and the contrast with his present situation.

24.11.41

Had letter (only one) but with Christmas cheque. Happy Christmas! Can’t say anything, fear of number of multi-nationals that make up the Malyasian population. Anyway, now on leave – first pukka leave since joined up. Gorgeous spot, top of small hill, little hotel. Separate bungalows, sitting room as well as bedroom. Swimming pool and tennis courts. Palm trees and mountains. Golden sands. Black rocks. Japs headline news. Washington talks over?

The same day – cut to total chaos – could it be the centre of Calcutta? Of course it wasn’t; but the similarity was in Stuart’s mind as he threw himself, suitcase in hand, out of the slowly moving train from Penang into a mêlée of domestic and thundering military traffic mixed with running people and frightened animals, all in a state of high alert. Was it only four hours since he had sat, gin in hand, at the edge of paradise? Then there had come the hurrying feet of the usually imperturbable hotel manager, waving the flimsy telegram, breaking his reverie:

‘Sir! Sir! Sir! Leave cancelled, return soonest!’

He supposed that he should have taken issue with such a confidential telegram being read by the manager but the whole country was on tenterhooks, fearing invasion, and the impact of his recall was hardly going to be capable of concealment.

The train from Penang had been held for him. Ejected from the hotel shooting brake to which he had been so gracefully welcomed seven short days before; propelled by willing hands, thrust past the ticket office; launched on to the waiting train; then the grinding impatience of the slow wheezing progression through the peaceful foothills and silent rubber plantations to the assembly point for the Matador force.

Stuart’s section was a vital part of the North-West strike force. Centred on the railway line the sappers’ first function was to check the line for explosives and debris: not that High Command’s expectation that fifth columnists would sabotage the rails in advance was widely accepted. This precautionary slow-moving first troop train would then be followed by others, whilst alongside the railway the supporting infantry and mechanized forces would thrust forward.

The sheer volume of men, of transport and armed vehicles, of artillery pieces and equipment, assaulted the eyes. All were drenched by the continuous tropical rain. The ears were attacked by a mixed cacophony of fired-up steam locomotives,

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