FURLOUGH BOUND!

Cue (NZERS), Issue 31, 15 September 1945, Page 35

FURLOUGH BOUND !

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O IMKINS had heard a lot about & the South Islandtoo much really. But what he had heard made him a little curious to see it. There had been some who said it was just like Italy, with the Southern Alps like the Apennines, the lakes like Italian lakes, even some of the rivers like the flumes of I tieland, Which were they again—the Waitaki like the Sangro, the Clutha like the Voltumo, the Taieri like the Tiber, and the Avon like that irrigation drain near Gioia that all but dried up in summer. Yes, it would be quite tvorth a trip down there, especially as Pete was paying for it.

Carefully Simkins produced his torn and tattered diary and perused the addresses therein. He came to a page headed ’’Bludge here”. Yes, that was right. He could stay with Charlie in Christchurch, Willie in Timaru, Abraham in Dunedin, and Paddy in Invercargill, and if he did go anywhere near Queenstown and the West Coast he had plenty of addresses. He had made a point of collecting addresses — was quite easy in his job. He saw so many old letters one way and another. And he could always turn up at a house and say ’’Remember me, Alf”? and could ask suitable questions about the ’’missus” and the kids. Yes, there were advantages in being a sanitary corporal.

Packing was no trouble to Herbert, once he had got rid of his mother. The poor old soul had produced a couple of suitcases and offered to fold and pack his clothes. Herbert had all but

laughed in her face as he refused. His kit-bag and valise were good enough for him, and he had got to work stuffing his gear into them. He was pretty good at it, after four years’ practice overseas. ’’Hurry up, Herbert,” his mother called. ’’You’ve only got ten minutes.” ”O.K. ! O.K. ! Don’t do your — bun,” he answered, pulling the rope tight round his bedroll.

’’Why on earth are you taking your bedding?” Mrs. Simkins asked, poking her far from prepossessing head round the door.

Herbert snorted. Madonna mia! When would these stay-at-home New Zealanders become travel-minded? A distant train whistle reused him. to action. Seizing his gear, he rushed out of the room, down the hallway and out the front door. ’’Ariverderci, Momma," he shouted. Damn this place, he thought as he looked in vain for a gharry. Not like Italy, he fumed, as he looked in vain for. a passing army truck. Just then a middle-aged woman drove by in a Ford roadster,, and he thumbed her furiously. She glared at him so indignantly that she stalled her engine. Simkins seized the chance and leapt on board, his bags nearly jolting the woman from her seat.

”O.K. Drive on, signora,” Simkins said grandly, and the woman was so overcome with surprise that she did. ’’And how’s tricks?” Herbert asked brightly, removing the kit-bag from

around the woman’s shoulders and settling down more comfortably.

The woman gave him a strange, frightened look and drove steadfastly on. As she turned into the main street a milk float nearly had an argument with her front bumpers—the car’s, of course.

’’What the . . . .” The words flowed from Simkins as plonk flows from a jar, and with just as much acid and corroding effect. ’’That’s telling the dirty Wog r,” he added boastfully, turning to the woman beside him. The look on her face stopped him from completing the sentence. No appreciation at all, these New Zealand women, he thought, but then, of course, they weren’t so educated as the women he had —in more ways than one, too. He was rather proud of his command of languages.

Suddenly the car stopped outside a squat, stone building, and the woman got out smartly. ”Molte grazie,” Simkins called out after her as he climbed out with his gear, but she did not look round. A little puzzled, the corporal thumbed a baker’s van successfully. As he was dumping his dusty gear among the loaves in the back, he saw the woman coming down the steps with a policeman. Going to report that milkman. thought Simkins. Serve him right, too. Just like an Itie peasant the way he drove his cart. Probably groaned ”Eee, adi—h” at his horses and went to sleep on the job, too. The pair seemed to be making towards him. Probably wanted him for a witness, he thought, ami was thankful the baker drove off smartly.

The train was about to leave when he reached the station but he had no difficulty in getting on board, even though some of the people did not seem to like being pushed .about. One little man looked quite peeved when he got a butt in the waistcoat with a kitbag, but he would stand there like a damned Wog. Just for the dir tv look

he gave the corporal, Simkins ”cliftied” the paper he had under his arm.

The journey was fairly uneventful. Certainly there were the usual complaints about smoking in a non-smoker and there was one woman who seemed to object to the stories he told the chap across the aisle, but Herbert felt things were going quite nicely by the time they reached Palmerston. (South Islanders please note: This is' really Palmerston North.) Simkins felt thirsty as they pulled through the main street. lie was easily first out of the carriage, even though some of the women seemed to think they were going to win for a while, and he was near the first line at the refreshment counter.

’’Who’re you shoving, mate?” a rough voice enquired in the corporal’s ear. ’’You tell me and we’ll ah know,” replied Simkins feeling it was a ven neat reply. ’’And another thing, don t call me ’mate’. You can call me

’chum’, lad,” he said, breaking into broad Pongo dialect, ’’tint not mate. Do you know . . . ' He wasn’t given time to explain the difference for a girl was asking what he wanted.

”A cuppa chai, lass, and a coupla Naafi buns,” he continued. The girl looked at him strangely. And a nice bint, too, thought Simkins. A pretty face, nice eyes and mouth, attractive neck, and beautifully-shaped uniform, to say nothing of the lovely silk stockings. . She pushed a handleless, brown cup of tea towards him and two sausage rolls.. He took them mechanically, not even resenting the high price charged, and thought to himself, unfortunately aloud, ’’l couldn’t ’alf take ’er to the Ensa.”

The cup reminded him of the NAAFI at its worst and it .was so hot it 'burned his fingers. Once again his comments were received coldly, and the woman with the fox furs (not Italian issue) looked a little annoyed at getting some of the tea as he pushed his way out.

No one seemed to understand him in this country, Simkins thought gloomily. But it might be different in the South Island. He had heard they were different from Taranakians. He remembered seeing a drawing in the ”NZEF Times” once entitled ’’What has Taranaki got that Southland hasn’t?” If it meant what he thought it meant, Southland must certainly be an interesting [place, with interesting animals, too. No good for men like him, though. He would have to be rehabilitated in Taranaki. He had thought of just the job for him, unless, of course, he could be rehabilitated in the way ERS had never mentioned in ’’Serviceman to Civilian.” Pity he hadn’t joined that unit, Herbert thought to- himself. He might have been put in charge of a section looking after the disciples of his scheme. He had got the idea from the Italians in the ’first place. They made the women do all the work and they lived on them

in many instances. Now his plan for ex-servicemen was to find beautiful bints with at least an incoma of L4OO or LSOO a year. He was going to try it out for himself on his furlough, and if that didn’t work, well there was always that job in the stables.

Drcams of a worry-free future carried Herbert happily along until the train steamed into the Wellington Station. He had no trouble in getting a taxi but he didn’t like the driver. Snooty sort of chap who didn’t like loading on a soldier’s gear. Simkins snorted. Worse than a Wog or an Ite, the lazywell, fellow. But out of sheer goodness of heart he tossed him a cigarette. He didn’t like Woodbines anyhow. The bloke was even more snooty when it came to paying the fare. He didn’t seem at all satisfied with two bob, even after Simkins pointed out with commendable restraint that he had driven the whole way without switching on his engine and hadn’t even used his brakes to pull up but had merely swung round into the wind.

The adjectival fellow was still calling cut when Herbert walked up the gangway, but the soldier didn’t hear him. He was sighing blissfully. He was going back on board a ship. How he loved them. With his bed roll on his shoulder and his kit-bag under his arm, there wore only a few things missing to make him really happy. He longed for his rifle, his web, his packs, his water tin, his bivvie, bis sea-kit, his respirator, and his tin hat. In fact, he felt alittle naked and almost blushed when he found a group of women looking at him curiously. But he manoeuvred his bed roll into their faces to cover up his confusion or whatever it was that was unclad.

A steward offered to help him at the top, and for a moment Herbert resented it. Then he remembered that he was on furlough and he could afford to let a ciwie help him. Moreover, he still had a couple of packets of Woodbines, and there would be time for him to dash back to the Waterloo for a few

quick ones, that was if he could get anyone to listen to his Cassino stories. He gave the chap his ticket and a couple of cigarettes and off he went in search of plonk.

The ship was about to sail when Herbert returned to the wharf, and as he walked up the gangway he was quite sure it was already at sea, the way it rolled and bucked. He looked at his ticket and then set off for his cabin. It was not difficult to find.. He pushed open the door and there was a two-berth cabin. And then his whole conception of New Zealand life, the shipping company, and the whole world in general changed completely. In the lower bunk reclined a lovely blonde, just like the one he had met on the Corso Torso in Rome. She hadn’t heard him come in, so noisy was the ship, and for a moment he gazed incredulously. „ «

’’Scuse me,” f said Herbert. ’’Have you got LSOO a year or can you earn as much?”

Then Corporal (Simkins received an even better idea of atomic action than the Japs had obtained. There was a dazzling kaleidoscope of white legs, peroxide hair, red lips, and flowing neglige and Herbert was out in the passage-way, with a ringing ear and a stinging rear. So that was rehabilitation, the ....

. ’’Just a moment, soldier, what did you say?” a voice snapped at him, and he turned to see a man in a blue uniform and braided cap. ”1 said I couldn’t find the switch and I wanted the little bar-steward, Herbert said glibly. ■ ’’The bar is down below,” the sailor replied curtly. ”I’ll find the bar-steward,” Herbert said, ’’and when I get my hand on that little bar-steward again, I’ll wring or precious little neck.” .