SATURDAY RIDE 7

41. The police Land Rover arrived in a few minutes and came to a stop some 30 feet from where I was still sitting on the BSA. Sergeant-Major Algernon Green ("my friends call me Al but you can call me Sergeant-Major") disengaged his six-foot-three frame from the passenger side of the vehicle. With his piercing blue eyes and large, hooked nose directed at me, he strode to my side.

42. "I might have known it," he boomed. "You've really done it this time, lad." I thought this statement was a bit unfair, as the only trouble I'd ever had with Sgt. Green and his department had been entirely due to a misunderstanding.

43. "Into the back of the Rover with you," Green ordered. "Do we have to restrain you?"

44. "No, Sergeant-Major," I assured him, and climbed into the back seat.

45. Sgt. Green turned to his driver. "I must go inform Captain McGroaty we are arresting one of his men," he said, and spinning on his heels he marched off toward the Motor Transport office.

46. My pal Ernie slowly approached my place in the open car, wearing a doleful expression on his face. "We want you to know that if we never see you again, we've enjoyed soldiering with you and we'll never forget you," he mournfully intoned. I shook his outstretched hand while the rest of the group nodded their heads and made small noises of agreement.

47. "Thanks, Ernie," I said; but I didn't really want to think about what he was implying.

48. Pete also reached out to shake my hand. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll take care of your gear 'til someone tells us what to do with it." I managed a weak smile. Obviously my friends had written me off as beyond all hope, and never expected to hear from me again.

49. Regimental Policeman William Johnson turned to look at me from his place behind the wheel of the Land Rover. "You must be bloody stark bloody raving bloody bonkers," he observed, smiling broadly. Johnson was a big, red-faced, good-natured south Londoner who was much too friendly to be an effective policeman, and only took the job because, as he put it, "It's bloody better than bloody working." If the word "bloody" had never been coined, Bill's conversation would have been effectively cut in half. It was also a fact that "bloody" was the strongest language anyone had ever heard him use no matter what the provocation.

50. I looked up to see Capt. McGroaty, my commanding officer, striding toward me minus his cap and jacket, with Sgt. Green following closely o his heels. I jumped from my place in the Land Rover and, as he drew close, snapped a smart salute. "Never mind that," he said, vaguely waving his right hand in the vicinity of his right eye in acknowledgement. "What the hell have you been up to this time?"

51. I stood at rigid attention, and decided to use an answer that had sometimes worked when I used to be confronted with the same question from my father. "Nothing, Sir," I ventured.

52. "Nothing!" he exploded. "Dammit, man, Sgt. Green tells me you have just ridden a motorcycle through the offices, and you tell me 'Nothing'!"

53. "Yes, Sir," I replied. It was obvious the Captain was a tougher problem than my Dad.

54. Suddenly his eyes softened and his shoulders relaxed. "You're a damn fool, Hart," he said. "I can't imagine what possessed you to do such a stupid thing, but I'll talk to the Colonel and do what I can for you. No go with the Sergeant-Major."

55. "Yes, Sir; thank you, Sir." I hoped I sounded as grateful to him as I felt. A word from the Captain in the Colonel's ear could not fail to help me. It was plain to see why all of us who were under his command would have done anything Capt. McGroaty asked of us.

56. As Sgt. Green and I took our places in the Land Rover, Johnson pressed the started and we moved off on our way to Regimental Police headquarters. From my seat in the back I turned and waved to my friend; but the festive mood of fifteen minutes before had disappeared and my wave was answered by a few half-hearted hand movements.