BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP

Subject: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: wysiwyg
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 12:38 PM

A friend's stories were entrusted to me some time ago, before he died, and I am getting the final draft ready to send to his children as he wanted. For reasons I can't go into here, I am having to retype them all from an earlier draft that includes my editing marks... my friend was always very faithful in following my edits, but although I know he made the corrections, I don't have his last clear copy to send to the children.

What I am looking for is help spotting JUST words that are mis-spelled or make no sense at all, that the spellchecker and my re-read have missed. I'm under a tight deadline-- again, I can't explain why-- so others' eyes on that would be much appreciated.

I will not be able to use any other input, though I know we have some great language aficionados here. I just need another look over the typing. In exchange, I promise you will get to read some lovely stories of times long gone by. I'll post a short one, next post.

~S~

Subject: Story: THE BOAT
From: wysiwyg
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 12:39 PM

THE BOAT

Being a child in the 1930's was a mostly happy time for me. True, the Great Depression had caused mass unemployment throughout Britain. However, my father was employed as a tailor's cutter by a manufacturer of prestigious men's raincoats and topcoats. Although he was among the fortunate who still had a job, his wages were held down due to the masses of men who waited for the chance to work. We were quite poor, but I didn't know it.

Dad and I were very close, and we spent as much time together as he could squeeze out of his schedule. He continued to instruct me in the finer points of cricket, and spent many hours honing my soccer skills. I also learned from him whatever tolerance and compassion I now have.

The company for which Dad worked was expanding, so they moved to a larger building in another part of London. Dad when with them, and we moved closer to his job.

I had to start attending a different school and, at age seven, this was a daunting experience. I had to make new friends, which took a little time; but the worst part of any new school was being called upon to fight several of the boys in order to establish my position in the "pecking order." I did not fare well.

One of the nicest things about our new home was a nearby park. Mum and Dad often took my brother and me there, especially to a shallow round pond, some 100 feet across, made expressly for sailing model boats. I would watch, fascinated by the various types and sizes of the power boats, many of them built by their proud, grownup owners.
But it was the sailboats that received most of my attention, from the small sloops to home-built schooners with masts reaching almost three feet above their decks. My imagination ran unchecked as I stood and watched the owners setting the sails to propel their ships across the small ocean, until I was reluctantly dragged away to continue our walk.

"Look what came for you," Mum smiled as, a couple of weeks after my introduction to the boating pond, I entered our house after a day at school. She handed me a fairly large box, which had been delivered with that day's mail. Immediately I started to open it.

"Perhaps you'd want to wait for Dad to get home before you do that, "Mum suggested. I knew she was right, and reluctantly put down the package, looking at the clock and hoping it was time for Dad to walk in the door.

Some two hours later I heard Dad's key in the front door lock and I ran to meet him, clutching the box to my chest.

"Can I open it now Dad?" I pleaded. Dad smiled, "Yes, you can open it now."

With fumbling fingers and Dad's help I tore the box open, revealing the most beautiful model sailboat I had ever seen. Looking back I now realize that my parents must have made quite a few sacrifices to enable them to vive me such a wonderful gift.

My father stepped the mast, connected the boom, and fitted the sails. "What a beauty she is." I was enraptured. "Thanks, Mum and Dad," and I hugged and kissed them each in turn as I gazed at my green-hulled craft with its snow-white sails.

"When can we try it, Dad?" I felt I couldn't wait another minute. Dad laughed aloud at my excitement. "We'll go to the park on Saturday," he promised.

And on that Saturday, and many more Saturdays, we sailed my pride and joy. Dad taught me to set the sails to drive the boat across the pond, and I would run to the other side to await its arrival. But, once in a while, the breeze would drop, or change direction, and my sloop would become becalmed in the middle of the pond, together with many other sailboats.

"I'll get them," Dad would laugh, and, stripping off his shoes and socks and rolling up his trouser legs, he would step into the sixteen-inch-deep water, returning to shore dragging the limp-sailed boats behind him, like Lemuel Gulliver towing the diminutive fleet of Blefescu back to Lilliput.

Under Dad's tutelage I seen became adept at sailing my craft, and together we spent many happy hours until the second relocation we were to make because of Dad's job. I never saw such a fine model boating pond again.

###

Subject: Story: BLITZ!
From: wysiwyg
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 12:41 PM

And a longer one, below.

~S~

=====================================================

BLITZ!

July 10, 1940 is generally considered to mark the opening of the Battle of Britain.

The German Air Force began bombing coastal towns in southeast England to soften them up for operation "Sea Lion," which was the proposed invasion of Britain.

They soon realized that the Royal Air Force was stronger than they had first thought, and so, in early August, the Luftwaffe turned from the seaports to concentrate on our fighter airfields—with considerable success. Many bases in the southeast and in the London area were rendered almost non-operational, and British air supremacy was in jeopardy.

On August 15, a major action in the Battle of Britain took place. All 22 squadrons of the RAF were engaged, many twice and some three timers. It was a disaster for the German Air Force, which lost some 106 aircraft and their crews, while British losses were only 34 fighters with some of their pilots parachuting to safety.

In September, the Luftwaffe turned to bombing London, which—being the world's largest city at that time—required very little accuracy to hit. This gave RAF Fighter Command the respite it desperately needed to repair its runways and to make its bases fully operational. After sporadic raids on the city during August, the Battle of London was now to be fought.

From September 7 to November 3, an average of 200 German bombers attacked London every night. These raids were accompanied by daylight attacks by small groups or even single planes, and air raid sirens sounded at intervals throughout the entire 24 hours for that period.

On September 15, the Luftwaffe made its greatest concentrated effort on London. Every British fighter was used before the battle was finished; at the end of the action, German losses were reported as 183 aircraft, with the RAF losing 40.

This, then, was where we children found ourselves in the middle of October of 1940. Nightly air raids were now accepted as normal, although the earth-shuddering noise of exploding bombs and our own anti-aircraft gunfire took a bit of getting used to. The great majority of Londoners went about their business as usual, with a marked disdain for the Luftwaffe's efforts. Our group of 11- and 12-year-olds were no exception.

Areas of destroyed or damaged houses and other buildings were being added to each night; among the early casualties were two neighborhood schools, mine being one if them.

I left home early one morning as I always did, and met some of my friends for the walk to school as usual. We were animatedly discussing the previous night's air raid as we turned the corner into the street where our school dominated the surrounding terrace houses.

"Blimey," Alan said quietly.

We looked at him and then in the direction of his pointing finger.

A large part of our school building was piled in the playground; the street was covered with rubble, and grey dust blanketed everything.

"No school today," observed David.

"No school for quite a while, I'd say," said Arthur, putting into words what most of us were slowly beginning to think.

"Let's tell the others!" Doreen yelled over her shoulder, breaking into a dead run as she started back the way we had come. We needed no urging, and for the next twenty minutes we dashed about joyously telling every school-bound child the good news.

Finally, several hundred noisy children crowded the street, and with great confusion, tried to locate their teachers that they might assemble by class. This was finally accomplished, and we slowly quieted down at our teachers' insistence.

The headmaster carefully climbed a pile of wrecked building parts so we could all see him, and told us to go home.

"Your parents will be notified when we are able to find a suitable place to hold classes, " he said. "Behave yourselves—and good luck." A great cheer arose from hundreds of throats and we stampeded from what was left of our school, rejoicing in our new-found freedom.

Thus a large number of children fond themselves at loose ends, and many of us gravitated to a quite extensive nearby park each day. It was common to see a hundred or more children yelling, running, and playing, with no indication that they had been frightened out of their wits just a few hours before.

A few of us had known each other for several years, either being in the same school class or living in the same neighborhood. Although we played with children who were outside the group, it seemed that we preferred each other's company. It was almost as though we were more brothers and sisters than just good friends. We all contributed something, and we all seemed to take from each other that which was necessary for our development as individuals. My small group of close friends would singly make their way to the park every morning, and the first arrivals would hang around the swings in the playground area until the group was complete. Only then would we consider how we were going to occupy our time that day.

There was Alan, who was born on the same day as I. We were in the same class in school, and our grades in all subjects were almost always identical. We were both capable cricketers and aggressive, fairly skillful football (soccer) players, but it was in the hundred-yard dash that we really came head to head. Neither of us could consistently defeat the other, and the only sure thing on school sports day was that one of us would win and the other would be close behind. Alan was short and stocky, I was taller and thinner. Alan was very handsome, I was taller. Alan had a magnificent shock of curly blond hair, I was taller. Alan had a beautiful singing voice, I was taller.

Arthur had an enormous head, out of all proportion to his size. This large roundness, resting on narrow shoulders, was covered with short black hair; from the back he resembled a diminutive Grenadier guardsman wearing a bearskin. At twelve-and-a-half going on fifty, Arthur was the oldest of the group. Because he usually listened intently to his parents' conversations, and because his father was interested in everything under the sun, Arthur was easily the best informed of any of us. Peering through round, steel-rimmed spectacles like some strange owl, he would explain why the war was going to last a long time and why our side would eventually win. He possessed a terrific sense of humor and would entertain us for hours with strange and hilariously funny stories. Arthur always thought he was right—the exasperating thing being that he always was. Arthur was our intellectual, although he seldom received the respect from his peers that he deserved.

David was gullible and trusting. He believed everything anyone told him, no matter how far-fetched or bizarre. He was the one who at our urging, went into the local undertaker's establishment and innocently asked if they had any empty boxes to give away. Whenever we decided it would be great fun to knock on people's doors and then run away and hide, David did the knocking and running while the rest of us did the hiding. He also was the most bewildered by the nightly air raids, the destruction, and the smell of dust. David was the one of whom the boys were most protective and whom the girls wanted to mother.

Doreen was beautiful with straight blonde hair cut in the style of a medieval pageboy, skin without a blemish, and a pair of intense blue eyes that commanded attention. Heads turned for a second look whenever she passed, but she never appeared to notice for Doreen was a tomboy in every sense. When Alan and me selected team members for a pickup game of soccer, Doreen would be picked between David and Arthur. She could run, jump, and field a cricket ball with any of us. She happened to be the one who "pubesced" earliest, and forsook our group first.

Jean, nicknamed "Duchess," was slender and tall, taller than any of us, and very elegant. She was not beautiful, but somehow it didn't matter because she was all class—always cool, calm, and every inch an 11-year-old lady. Her presence automatically cleaned up our vocabulary and brought out the best in us. Jean was very bright, and she and I spent many hours just sitting on the grass in the park talking of everything we had discovered in our short lives. Jean explained to me the difference between men and women, and described the "facts of life (which I didn't fully believe). Jean was also the recipient of my first hormonally-induced kiss.

Sarah was small and thin, with a tiny face surrounded by a mop of curly brown hair that always needed combing. Her painfully thin legs seemed inadequate to the task of keeping up with the rest of us—but she always did. Sarah was compassion: she ministered to those of us who fell and skinned knees and hands, she scrounged scraps of food, and she insisted we all do the same for the stray dogs and cats that haunted the bombed-out remains of their former homes. An injured bird received from Sarah the most loving nursing, and the most tears when it died. Never a harsh word was ever said to Sarah. Sarah was our little sister, loved and protected by all of us.

* * *



This morning I was late.

After a particularly noisy night during which our part of London had received a great deal of unwanted attention from the Luftwaffe, Mum was not feeling well. I had breakfasted with Dad, aroused my brother, and taken a cup of tea up to her.

"Would you go 'round the corner to shops for me, Jack?" she asked. "I don't really feel up to it this morning." Mother, along with all the other neighborhood mothers, went to the shops every morning both to purchase our rations and to see what could be scrounged, to supplement our rather meager food allotment.

"Alright, Mum."

She rummaged around in her capacious handbag, retrieving the family's ration books and a short grocery list.

"You just need to go to the grocer's and the butcher," she instructed as she gave me some money, "and see if Mr. Young has any liver."(which was considered not part of our meat ration).

Grabbing a well-used grocery bag, I ran all the way to the row of shops that served out local families. I quickly bought the few groceries on my mother's list, and joined the end of the line waiting patiently to be served by the butcher.

"Where's your ma today, then?" Mr. Young inquired when it was finally my turn at the head of the line.

"She's ill in bed, Mr. Young," I answered, "and she said 'please do you have any liver?'" Mr. Young always set great store by politeness.

He wrapped up some liver and, with a smile, handed it to me. "Hold on a minute, " he instructed as he walked into the back room of his shop. Moments later he reappeared with a large bone festooned with shreds of meat, which he also wrapped up and handed to me.

"Have your dad make some soup with this," he said,
"and tell your ma to be up and about real quick0-like." Several of the waiting women echoed his concern as I sped off home.

So, this morning, I was late.

Again I left my house on the run, turning the corner at the end of the street and taking a left into a cul-de-sac and through the pedestrian walkway at its end. The alley opened out into another street, across from which was a row of bomber-out houses used my many children as a marvelously exciting playground. I entered through the front window of one of the derelicts, running through the front room and the remains of the kitchen, and exiting by way of the gaping hole where the back door had used to be. Crossing the rubble-filled back garden, I approached a high wooden fence, pushed aside two planks, and entered the park as the two planks swung closed behind me.

I spotted my friends in their usual place by the swings, and ran to join them. "Sorry I'm later," I panted; "Mum's ill in bed and I had to go shopping."

Jean smiled. "It's alright, you're not the last."

I looked around. "Where's Sarah?"

"We don't know," Arthur said, "but there was a lot of noise up on the Hill last night." The "Hill" was Sarah's neighborhood.

"Let's go and see," suggested Alan, who hated inactivity as much as I did.

"Perhaps Arthur'd better stay here in case she shows up, " I thought out loud.

"I'm not bloody stayin'," and he sheepishly looked at Jean. "I'm coming with you lot."

" 'Course you are!" agreed Doreen, and we started to walk toward the park gate closest to the direction we wanted.

We made our way to the Hill, and as we came close we could see the barricades the Air Raid Precaution people had set up. Walking around the barriers, we soon were at the end of the street where Sarah lived. Their house, along with several others, was just an immense pile of rubble.

The ARP people and some firemen were searching for survivors, or bodies, in the still-smoking ruins.

"What do you kids want up here?" a fireman called to us, but without irritation.

"One of our friends lived here, " Jean replied, "and we're trying to find her." The fireman shrugged and returned to his work.

There was not much we could do, but we helped where we could, carrying away such pieces of brick, wood, and other building materials as we could manage. Occasionally one of the ARP wardens blew a whistle, and everyone stopped what they were doing and quietly listened for cries for help, tapping, or any indication that someone buried in the devastation was still alive.

Alan touched my arm. I looked at him and he inclined his head to the left, to where David was standing before some sort of notice board. We made our way to David's side. A damaged street door had been set up with messages affixed to it by nails retrieved from the splintered woodwork. "Bert and Elise Jenkins and children are all OK and staying with Aunt Jane in Enfield." "Samuel and Rachel Tollman are temporarily living in their shop in Wood Street."... and so on.

The others soon joined us, as, with tears streaming down his face, David pointed to an unofficial tally of those known to have been killed. There were fourteen or fifteen names on the list. Third from the bottom was Sarah's.

Quietly we turned away and retraced our steps to the park. And as we walked, we cried.



* * *



I stayed in touch with Alan for many years, until marriage and the pursuit of our livelihoods inevitably separated us.

Arthur's father landed a good job somewhere in the north of England and the family moved there around February of 1941 and as far as I knew was never heard from again—which I've been told sometimes happens to people who move to the north of England!

David's family decided that they had had enough excitement for their lifetimes; so in the spring of 1941 they moved into the country east of London. A little over three years later the whole family was killed by a doodle bug-- an errant V1.

Doreen was married at 18, and for several years produced children at an alarming rate, becoming quite matronly in the process.

I saw Jean from time to time, even after she had married a young man every bit as cool and elegant as she.

And Sarah—our Sarah—remains in my thoughts.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: wysiwyg
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 12:56 PM

~Please note that any opinions expressed by the writer are the writer's alone-- and are boyhood recollections, not editorials.~

~S~

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: wysiwyg
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:06 PM

Got a corrected version of THE BOAT with a GREAT way of showing me where to look-- hope she'll post it here, too...

Madly typing--

~S~

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: Nigel Parsons
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:09 PM

Susan,

Nothing major, first one looks fine (but scans by others may pick things I've missed!)

Second one:
4th para "All 22 squadrons of the RAF were engaged, many twice and some three timers." Last word should probably be 'times'

Halfway through:
"When Alan and me selected team members for a pickup game of soccer, Doreen would be picked between David and Arthur" should be "Alan & I", but quite acceptable if it was recorded that way as reported speech, as it's a common problem.

Long paragraph just before Sarah goes missing:
"The alley opened out into another street, across from which was a row of bomber-out houses used my many " should be "Bombed-out"


Cheers

Nigel

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: wysiwyg
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:12 PM

Wonderful, thanks, Nigel.

~S~

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: jacqui.c
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:15 PM

I've done the Blitz as well

BLITZ!

July 10, 1940 is generally considered to mark the opening of the Battle of Britain.

The German Air Force began bombing coastal towns in southeast England to soften them up for operation "Sea Lion," which was the proposed invasion of Britain.

They soon realized that the Royal Air Force was stronger than they had first thought, and so, in early August, the Luftwaffe turned from the seaports to concentrate on our fighter airfields—with considerable success. Many bases in the southeast and in the London area were rendered almost non-operational, and British air supremacy was in jeopardy.

On August 15, a major action in the Battle of Britain took place. All 22 squadrons of the RAF were engaged, many twice and some three timers. It was a disaster for the German Air Force, which lost some 106 aircraft and their crews, while British losses were only 34 fighters with some of their pilots parachuting to safety.

In September, the Luftwaffe turned to bombing London, which—being the world's largest city at that time—required very little accuracy to hit. This gave RAF Fighter Command the respite it desperately needed to repair its runways and to make its bases fully operational. After sporadic raids on the city during August, the Battle of London was now to be fought.

From September 7 to November 3, an average of 200 German bombers attacked London every night. These raids were accompanied by daylight attacks by small groups or even single planes, and air raid sirens sounded at intervals throughout the entire 24 hours for that period.

On September 15, the Luftwaffe made its greatest concentrated effort on London. Every British fighter was used before the battle was finished; at the end of the action, German losses were reported as 183 aircraft, with the RAF losing 40.

This, then, was where we children found ourselves in the middle of October of 1940. Nightly air raids were now accepted as normal, although the earth-shuddering noise of exploding bombs and our own anti-aircraft gunfire took a bit of getting used to. The great majority of Londoners went about their business as usual, with a marked disdain for the Luftwaffe's efforts. Our group of 11- and 12-year-olds were no exception.

Areas of destroyed or damaged houses and other buildings were being added to each night; among the early casualties were two neighborhood schools, mine being one if them.

I left home early one morning as I always did, and met some of my friends for the walk to school as usual. We were animatedly discussing the previous night's air raid as we turned the corner into the street where our school dominated the surrounding (terrace) terraced houses.

"Blimey," Alan said quietly.

We looked at him and then in the direction of his pointing finger.

A large part of our school building was piled in the playground; the street was covered with rubble, and grey dust blanketed everything.

"No school today," observed David.

"No school for quite a while, I'd say," said Arthur, putting into words what most of us were slowly beginning to think.

"Let's tell the others!" Doreen yelled over her shoulder, breaking into a dead run as she started back the way we had come. We needed no urging, and for the next twenty minutes we dashed about joyously telling every school-bound child the good news.

Finally, several hundred noisy children crowded the street, and with great confusion, tried to locate their teachers that they might assemble by class. This was finally accomplished, and we slowly quieted down at our teachers' insistence.

The headmaster carefully climbed a pile of wrecked building parts so we could all see him, and told us to go home.

"Your parents will be notified when we are able to find a suitable place to hold classes, " he said. "Behave yourselves—and good luck." A great cheer arose from hundreds of throats and we stampeded from what was left of our school, rejoicing in our new-found freedom.

Thus a large number of children (fond) found themselves at loose ends, and many of us gravitated to a quite extensive nearby park each day. It was common to see a hundred or more children yelling, running, and playing, with no indication that they had been frightened out of their wits just a few hours before.

A few of us had known each other for several years, either being in the same school class or living in the same neighborhood. Although we played with children who were outside the group, it seemed that we preferred each other's company. It was almost as though we were more brothers and sisters than just good friends. We all contributed something, and we all seemed to take from each other that which was necessary for our development as individuals. My small group of close friends would singly make their way to the park every morning, and the first arrivals would hang around the swings in the playground area until the group was complete. Only then would we consider how we were going to occupy our time that day.

There was Alan, who was born on the same day as I. We were in the same class in school, and our grades in all subjects were almost always identical. We were both capable cricketers and aggressive, fairly skillful football (soccer) players, but it was in the hundred-yard dash that we really came head to head. Neither of us could consistently defeat the other, and the only sure thing on school sports day was that one of us would win and the other would be close behind. Alan was short and stocky, I was taller and thinner. Alan was very handsome, I was taller. Alan had a magnificent shock of curly blond hair, I was taller. Alan had a beautiful singing voice, I was taller.

Arthur had an enormous head, out of all proportion to his size. This large roundness, resting on narrow shoulders, was covered with short black hair; from the back he resembled a diminutive Grenadier guardsman wearing a bearskin. At twelve-and-a-half going on fifty, Arthur was the oldest of the group. Because he usually listened intently to his parents' conversations, and because his father was interested in everything under the sun, Arthur was easily the best informed of any of us. Peering through round, steel-rimmed spectacles like some strange owl, he would explain why the war was going to last a long time and why our side would eventually win. He possessed a terrific sense of humor and would entertain us for hours with strange and hilariously funny stories. Arthur always thought he was right—the exasperating thing being that he always was. Arthur was our intellectual, although he seldom received the respect from his peers that he deserved.

David was gullible and trusting. He believed everything anyone told him, no matter how far-fetched or bizarre. He was the one who at our urging, went into the local undertaker's establishment and innocently asked if they had any empty boxes to give away. Whenever we decided it would be great fun to knock on people's doors and then run away and hide, David did the knocking and running while the rest of us did the hiding. He also was the most bewildered by the nightly air raids, the destruction, and the smell of dust. David was the one of whom the boys were most protective and whom the girls wanted to mother.

Doreen was beautiful with straight blonde hair cut in the style of a medieval pageboy, skin without a blemish, and a pair of intense blue eyes that commanded attention. Heads turned for a second look whenever she passed, but she never appeared to notice for Doreen was a tomboy in every sense. When Alan and (me) I selected team members for a pickup game of soccer, Doreen would be picked between David and Arthur. She could run, jump, and field a cricket ball with any of us. She happened to be the one who "pubesced" earliest, and forsook our group first.

Jean, nicknamed "Duchess," was slender and tall, taller than any of us, and very elegant. She was not beautiful, but somehow it didn't matter because she was all class—always cool, calm, and every inch an 11-year-old lady. Her presence automatically cleaned up our vocabulary and brought out the best in us. Jean was very bright, and she and I spent many hours just sitting on the grass in the park talking of everything we had discovered in our short lives. Jean explained to me the difference between men and women, and described the "facts of life (which I didn't fully believe). Jean was also the recipient of my first hormonally-induced kiss.

Sarah was small and thin, with a tiny face surrounded by a mop of curly brown hair that always needed combing. Her painfully thin legs seemed inadequate to the task of keeping up with the rest of us—but she always did. Sarah was compassion: she ministered to those of us who fell and skinned knees and hands, she scrounged scraps of food, and she insisted we all do the same for the stray dogs and cats that haunted the bombed-out remains of their former homes. An injured bird received from Sarah the most loving nursing, and the most tears when it died. Never a harsh word was ever said to Sarah. Sarah was our little sister, loved and protected by all of us.

* * *



This morning I was late.

After a particularly noisy night during which our part of London had received a great deal of unwanted attention from the Luftwaffe, Mum was not feeling well. I had breakfasted with Dad, aroused my brother, and taken a cup of tea up to her.

"Would you go 'round the corner to shops for me, Jack?" she asked. "I don't really feel up to it this morning." Mother, along with all the other neighborhood mothers, went to the shops every morning both to purchase our rations and to see what could be scrounged, to supplement our rather meager food allotment.

"Alright, Mum."

She rummaged around in her capacious handbag, retrieving the family's ration books and a short grocery list.

"You just need to go to the grocer's and the butcher," she instructed as she gave me some money, "and see if Mr. Young has any liver."(which was considered not part of our meat ration).

Grabbing a well-used grocery bag, I ran all the way to the row of shops that served out local families. I quickly bought the few groceries on my mother's list, and joined the end of the line waiting patiently to be served by the butcher.

"Where's your ma today, then?" Mr. Young inquired when it was finally my turn at the head of the line.

"She's ill in bed, Mr. Young," I answered, "and she said 'please do you have any liver?'" Mr. Young always set great store by politeness.

He wrapped up some liver and, with a smile, handed it to me. "Hold on a minute, " he instructed as he walked into the back room of his shop. Moments later he reappeared with a large bone festooned with shreds of meat, which he also wrapped up and handed to me.

"Have your dad make some soup with this," he said,
"and tell your ma to be up and about real (quick0-like.) quick-like." Several of the waiting women echoed his concern as I sped off home.

So, this morning, I was late.

Again I left my house on the run, turning the corner at the end of the street and taking a left into a cul-de-sac and through the pedestrian walkway at its end. The alley opened out into another street, across from which was a row of(bomber) bombed-out houses used (my)by many children as a marvelously exciting playground. I entered through the front window of one of the derelicts, running through the front room and the remains of the kitchen, and exiting by way of the gaping hole where the back door had used to be. Crossing the rubble-filled back garden, I approached a high wooden fence, pushed aside two planks, and entered the park as the two planks swung closed behind me.

I spotted my friends in their usual place by the swings, and ran to join them. "Sorry I'm later," I panted; "Mum's ill in bed and I had to go shopping."

Jean smiled. "It's alright, you're not the last."

I looked around. "Where's Sarah?"

"We don't know," Arthur said, "but there was a lot of noise up on the Hill last night." The "Hill" was Sarah's neighborhood.

"Let's go and see," suggested Alan, who hated inactivity as much as I did.

"Perhaps Arthur'd better stay here in case she shows up, " I thought out loud.

"I'm not bloody stayin'," and he sheepishly looked at Jean. "I'm coming with you lot."

" 'Course you are!" agreed Doreen, and we started to walk toward the park gate closest to the direction we wanted.

We made our way to the Hill, and as we came close we could see the barricades the Air Raid Precaution people had set up. Walking around the barriers, we soon were at the end of the street where Sarah lived. Their house, along with several others, was just an immense pile of rubble.

The ARP people and some firemen were searching for survivors, or bodies, in the still-smoking ruins.

"What do you kids want up here?" a fireman called to us, but without irritation.

"One of our friends lived here, " Jean replied, "and we're trying to find her." The fireman shrugged and returned to his work.

There was not much we could do, but we helped where we could, carrying away such pieces of brick, wood, and other building materials as we could manage. Occasionally one of the ARP wardens blew a whistle, and everyone stopped what they were doing and quietly listened for cries for help, tapping, or any indication that someone buried in the devastation was still alive.

Alan touched my arm. I looked at him and he inclined his head to the left, to where David was standing before some sort of notice board. We made our way to David's side. A damaged street door had been set up with messages affixed to it by nails retrieved from the splintered woodwork. "Bert and Elise Jenkins and children are all OK and staying with Aunt Jane in Enfield." "Samuel and Rachel Tollman are temporarily living in their shop in Wood Street."... and so on.

The others soon joined us, as, with tears streaming down his face, David pointed to an unofficial tally of those known to have been killed. There were fourteen or fifteen names on the list. Third from the bottom was Sarah's.

Quietly we turned away and retraced our steps to the park. And as we walked, we cried.



* * *



I stayed in touch with Alan for many years, until marriage and the pursuit of our livelihoods inevitably separated us.

Arthur's father landed a good job somewhere in the north of England and the family moved there around February of 1941 and as far as I knew was never heard from again—which I've been told sometimes happens to people who move to the north of England!

David's family decided that they had had enough excitement for their lifetimes; so in the spring of 1941 they moved into the country east of London. A little over three years later the whole family was killed by a doodle bug-- an errant V1.

Doreen was married at 18, and for several years produced children at an alarming rate, becoming quite matronly in the process.

I saw Jean from time to time, even after she had married a young man every bit as cool and elegant as she.

And Sarah—our Sarah—remains in my thoughts.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: TheBigPinkLad
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:15 PM

check pm

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: My guru always said
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:20 PM

The Boat, nearly at the end:

Under Dad's tutelage I soon (not I seen, surely)

Nice stoty! Carrying on reading while making the tea...

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: rumanci
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:22 PM

I expect you've picked up these !!   :-D

THE BOAT

Opening line……no apostrophe needed in 1930s

Third paragraph…….Dad WENT with them……

Tenth paragraph ……….enable them to GIVE me

Last paragraph ……….. SOON became adept…..

rum

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: Wesley S
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:27 PM

Have you thought of sending these to yourself as an e-mail and using spell check ?

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: Grab
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:27 PM

Two in the first section:-

- Dad when with them

- to vive me

I'll have a go at the second section this evening.

Graham.

Subject: WAR BEGINS
From: wysiwyg
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:38 PM

Wes, these HAVE been spell-checked, I just need to be sure spellchecker isn't giving me garbajje.

Keep 'em coming folks.... here's one more and I'm taking a short break before starting the next.

~S~

===============================================================

WAR BEGINS

The day started out just like any other Sunday. We all slept a little late; Mother cooked bacon, eggs, and fried bread for breakfast, which I hungrily wolfed won so I could go into our back garden to play—just like any other Sunday.

I walked across the grass, past the flower beds, and into Dad's beautifully-kept vegetable garden. We lived in a neighborhood of row homes, built facing outward on three sides of a square. All the back gardens adjoined, making it possible to view about 30 of them. Normally, on a Sunday morning, the garden area would be full of men tending their plants, mowing their grass, drinking their morning tea, calling to their neighbors, or just chatting to each other over the low fences.

But this Sunday was different—the backyards were quiet and deserted. No one was outside tending their flowers and vegetables, no one was drinking their tea, and gone was the pleasant sound of neighbors talking to each other. That is, with the exception of old Mr. Threfall, whose garden ran across the bottom of ours.

"Good morning, Jack," he called from his seat on a bench he had placed under one of his fruit trees.

"Good morning, Mr. Threfall," I replied.

"Why don't you come over for a while?"

I climbed the fence and sat down beside him. "Where is everybody this morning, Mr. Threfall?" I asked, knowing he would take the time to explain anything I asked him. Old Mr. Threfall – I always thought of him as old—was my friend, and the only adult other than my Mother and Father who talked to me as though I were a grownup and not a ten-year-old boy.

"Didn't you listen to the wireless this morning, Jack?" he asked.

"Just for a minute, Mr. Threfall. There was no music on, just a lot of people talking."

Mr. Threfall chuckled. "Well, Jack, everybody is probably in their houses listening to the news. It appears Britain will soon be at war with Germany."

I pondered this information for a while. My only knowledge of war had been gained from films I had seen, the study of the Great War (World War I), and the few stories my father and a couple of uncles had told of their experiences in France.

"Why are we going to have a war with Germany, Mr., Threfall?" I asked. "I thought we'd just had one about 20 years ago."

"So we did, Jack," he answered, "but it looks like we are going to have to do it again."

"Why?"

"Do you really want me to tell you the whole story, Jack?" Mr. Threfall questioned.

"Yes, please, Mr., Threfall." I had always enjoyed hearing Mr. Threfall's tales, and senses that an important story was about to be told. I hoped I would be able to understand most of it. Mr. Threfall stood up and walked to one of his apple trees. Picking two apples, he returned to his seat, handing one of them to me.

"Have you heard of a man named Adolf Hitler?" he asked, taking a bit of his fruit.

"Yes, I have, Mr. Threfall," I assured him, following his lead with my own apple.

"Well, here's pretty much what has happened." Mr. Threfall then began to explain the events in Europe leading up to that day, Sunday, September 3, 1939. Although it is impossible for me to remember his exact words, the following is the gist of his story.

As early as 1935, Germany—under the leadership of Adolf Hitler, breaching previous treaties—had reinstated conscription of its young men into the armed forces; was rebuilding its navy, with submarines on the British scale; had already created a military air force which Hitler openly claimed to be the equal of the British Royal Air Force; and was in the second year of active munitions production.

In March of 1936, barely two hours after proposing a 25-year pact with Britain, France, Belgium, and Italy, Hitler announced his intention of occupying the Rhineland. This was a corridor of land east of the Rhine River. It had been taken from Germany to be used as a buffer zone between Germany and France, Belgium, and the Netherlands, but the Armistice Treaty after the 1914-18 Great War.

Two years later in March, 1938-- one month after Hitler had assumed supreme command of the German armed forces-- Austria was invaded and soon conquered. Meanwhile, Britain and France did nothing, believing Hitler's assurances that this wold be the end of his territorial ambitions in Europe.

About this time a conference, attended by representatives of France and Italy and by Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain of Britain, and Hitler, convened in Munich, Germany. During this conference Hitler gave a written assurance that "This (Austria) is the last territorial claim I have to make in Europe."

Upon Mr. Chamberlain's return to London, he was pictured in a newspaper photograph waving a piece of paper over his head containing Hitler's written assurance, and declaring, "It is peace in our time."

Early in March, 1939, German armed forces invaded Czechoslovakia and, by the end of the month, had subjugated that entire country.

On March 31, 1939, Chamberlain (who was finally convinced that Hitler meant war), backed by the French leaders, gave a guaranty to Poland that if it was attacked by Nazi Germany, Britain (and France) would immediately come to Poland's aid. Poland was attacked by Germany at dawn on September 1, 1939. The mobilization of all British forces was ordered the same morning. An ultimatum was given to Germany at 9:30 p.m. on September 1, and another at 9:30 p.m. on September 3.

"So you see, Jack," Mr. Threfall concluded, "Hitler has invaded Poland, and that is why the whole country's ears are glued to the wireless this morning."

"I think I understand now, Mr. Threfall, "I said. Then I went on to tell him that my father maintained that everyone knew that Hitler would have to be stopped, so why had Britain and France done nothing to help Czechoslovakia, which had a reasonably well-equipped army, but were now willing to back Poland whose idea of military tactics at that time was a cavalry charge.

"Well, Jack, I'm sure I don't know; I suppose Mr. Chamberlain thought he was doing the right thing." Mr., Threfall didn't sound convinced.

For over a year the vast majority of Britains' working class-- including my parents, their friends, and our relatives-- had had no doubt that a war with Germany was inevitable in order to stop Hitler's territorial ambitions. They were exasperated at their government's do-nothing attitude and it's total failure to prepare for the coming confrontation. Dad's opinion was that Neville Chamberlain was too naive about world affairs to be an effective leader. Mother was not as generous in her assessment of his abilities, invariably referring to Mr. Chamberlain as "that silly old fool."

Mr. Threfall and I were still sitting on his bench chatting, when Dad came bursting through our back door and ran down the garden toward us.

"We're at wear, Mr. Threfall," he shouted as he ran. "We're at war!"

Mr. Threfall looked at his watch. "It is 11:30, Jack" he said. "Remember the time, 11:30."

Dad leaned over the fence. "The Prime Minister has just said that we have been at war with Germany since 11 a.m. and that our troops are already reporting to their units," he informed us. Mr. Threfall and Dad then started to discuss the seriousness of the situation.

I listened for a while and then, climbing back over the fence, walked back to the house to see if Mum had anything to eat.

* * *

My mother made a sandwich for me but before I had eaten it, a strange, frightening, prolonged wailing noise broke upon our ears. I ran to the back door, followed closely by Mum and my younger brother, who were as scared as I was, down the garden to where Dad and Mr. Threfall were standing—their conversation now impossible to continue in that awful din.

"What is it, Dad?" I yelled in his ear to make myself heard.

"It's the air raid warning siren," he screamed.

"Will we have an air raid, then?" I loudly asked as the rising and falling wailing sound slowly died away into silence.

Mr. Threfall looked at the four of us. "Maybe it is only a test of the siren," he said.

We all stood in silence, gazing at the sky. Around us some of our neighbors emerged from their homes and also looked upward. Nobody spoke, as each of us was nervously alone with our thoughts.

After about ten minuets had passed the wailing broke out again, only this time it was a single, high-pitched note. "That's the all-clear signal," dad said. "Well be alright now." Mum sighed with relief.

We never did find out if a few German planes had paid us a visit, or if it was indeed a test of the warning system as Mr. Threfall had thought. Although we didn't realize it then, we were destined to hear that dreaded sound many, many times in the years ahead.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: JudyB
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:41 PM

Susan -

Here's what I found in BOAT & BLITZ:

BOAT para 3 - Dad when with them - second word should be went

BOAT - paras 5 & 6 don't have a space between them

BOAT - para 10 - "Can I open it now Dad?" - comma before Dad

BOAT - para 11 - to vive me such a wonderful gift - second word should be give

BOAT - last para - Under Dad's tutelage I seen became adept - 5th word should be soon

BLITZ - para 13 - street was covered with rubble, and grey dust - semicolon before and

BLITZ - para 17 - street, and with great confusion, tried - either comma before with or no comma after confusion

BLITZ - para 20 - Thus a large number of children fond - last word should be found

BLITZ - para beginning David was gullible - He was the one who at our urging, went - either comma after who or no comma after urging

BLITZ - para beginning Doreen was beautiful - When Alan and me selected team members - should be when Alan and I unless it's intended to be colloquial

BLITZ - para beginning Jean - described the "facts of life (which I didn't fully believe) - needs a close quote after life

BLITZ - 6th para after *** - see if Mr. Young has any liver."(which was considered not part of our meat ration). - possibly better without the period after liver

BLITZ - 7th para after *** - served out local families - second word should be our

BLITZ - 11th para after *** - unnecessary return after he said and quick0-like has a zero instead of an O

BLITZ - 13th para after *** - bomber-out houses used my many - first word should be bombed and next to last should be by

BLITZ - 13th para after *** - had used to be - better as either used to be or had been

BLITZ - 3rd para after 2nd *** - lifetimes; so in the spring - should be a comma, not a semicolon

BLITZ - 3rd para after 2nd *** - doodle bug-- an errant V1 - hyphen different than others

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: TheBigPinkLad
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:46 PM

Story 1:

The company for which Dad worked was expanding, so they moved to a larger building in another part of London. Dad when with them, and we moved closer to his job.

Looking back I now realize that my parents must have made quite a few sacrifices to enable them to vive me such a wonderful gift.

Story 2:

All 22 squadrons of the RAF were engaged, many twice and some three timers

Our group of 11- and 12-year-olds were no exception.


Areas of destroyed or damaged houses and other buildings were being added to each night; among the early casualties were two neighborhood schools, mine being one if them.

Thus a large number of children fond themselves at loose ends, and many of us gravitated to a quite extensive nearby park each day.

When Alan and me selected team members for a pickup game of soccer, Doreen would be picked between David and Arthur

"Alright, Mum."

"and tell your ma to be up and about real quick0-like."

The alley opened out into another street, across from which was a row of bomber-out houses used my many children as a marvelously exciting playground.


Sorry I'm later," I panted;

Jean smiled. "It's alright, you're not the last."

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: My guru always said
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:49 PM

Hmmm... or even story why on earth do I think I can proof-read this???

BTW my Dad did much the same sort of thing, but typed his & gave each of us a copy while he was still with us. When he passed on I received his own copy, full of photos, drawings & oddments.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: TheBigPinkLad
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 01:59 PM

Story 3

We all slept a little late; Mother cooked bacon, eggs, and fried bread for breakfast, which I hungrily wolfed won so I could go into our back garden to play—just like any other Sunday.

and the only adult other than my Mother and Father who talked to me as though I were a grownup and not a ten-year-old boy

"Why are we going to have a war with Germany, Mr., Threfall?"

Yes, please, Mr., Threfall."

"Have you heard of a man named Adolf Hitler?" he asked, taking a bit of his fruit.

Meanwhile, Britain and France did nothing, believing Hitler's assurances that this wold be the end of his territorial ambitions in Europe

"I think I understand now, Mr. Threfall, "I said.

They were exasperated at their government's do-nothing attitude and it's total failure to prepare for the coming confrontation.

"We're at wear, Mr. Threfall," he shouted as he ran. "We're at war!"

After about ten minuets had passed the wailing broke out again, only this time it was a single, high-pitched note. "That's the all-clear signal," dad said. "Well be alright now." Mum sighed with relief.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: My guru always said
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 02:06 PM

Few oddments from the Blitz that don't seem to have been mentioned (but I could be wrong):

terraced houses, not terrace
roused, not aroused
to the shops, not to shops (unless a Northern accent)
used to be, not had used to be (I think)
and should I quibble that the Royal Air Force were, not was?
and perhaps middle of October 1940, not middle of October of 1940, or perhaps use mid-October 1940

*running for cover*

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: JudyB
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 02:11 PM

from WAR BEGINS - the hyphens also seem inconsistent, though I didn't mark those unless they were inconsistent in a single sentence:

The day started out just like any other Sunday. We all slept a little late; Mother cooked bacon, eggs, and fried bread for breakfast, which I hungrily wolfed down so I could go into our back garden to play - just like any other Sunday.

I climbed the fence and sat down beside him. "Where is everybody this morning, Mr. Threfall?" I asked, knowing he would take the time to explain anything I asked him. Old Mr. Threfall - I always thought of him as old - was my friend, and the only adult other than my Mother and Father who talked to me as though I were a grownup and not a ten-year-old boy.

"Yes, please, Mr., Threfall." I had always enjoyed hearing Mr. Threfall's tales, and sensed that an important story was about to be told. I hoped I would be able to understand most of it. Mr. Threfall stood up and walked to one of his apple trees. Picking two apples, he returned to his seat, handing one of them to me.

"Have you heard of a man named Adolf Hitler?" he asked, taking a bite of his fruit.

In March of 1936, barely two hours after proposing a 25-year pact with Britain, France, Belgium, and Italy, Hitler announced his intention of occupying the Rhineland. This was a corridor of land east of the Rhine River. It had been taken from Germany to be used as a buffer zone between Germany and France, Belgium, and the Netherlands, by the Armistice Treaty after the 1914-18 Great War.

"Well, Jack, I'm sure I don't know; I suppose Mr. Chamberlain thought he was doing the right thing." Mr. Threfall didn't sound convinced.

For over a year the vast majority of Britains' working class-- including my parents, their friends, and our relatives-- had had no doubt that a war with Germany was inevitable in order to stop Hitler's territorial ambitions. They were exasperated at their government's do-nothing attitude and its total failure to prepare for the coming confrontation. Dad's opinion was that Neville Chamberlain was too naive about world affairs to be an effective leader. Mother was not as generous in her assessment of his abilities, invariably referring to Mr. Chamberlain as "that silly old fool."

"We're at war, Mr. Threfall," he shouted as he ran. "We're at war!"

After about ten minuets had passed the wailing broke out again, only this time it was a single, high-pitched note. "That's the all-clear signal," dad said. "We'll be all right now." Mum sighed with relief.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: My guru always said
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 02:22 PM

Story 3, a few to add:

sensed, not senses
by the Armistice, not but
guarantee not guaranty (never seen it spelt like that anyway)

Sorry, not good at comma's and apostrophe's but there seem to be others who can help with them....

Subject: Story: COUNTRY SCHOOL
From: wysiwyg
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 02:39 PM

Don't need punctuation advice, the writer had his own way-- also some of the hyphens are probably em dashes not pasting in properly from the Word doc.

Here's the next. Sorry they are out of sequence a bit!

~S~

------------------------------------------------

COUNTRY SCHOOL

Those of us children who were evacuees realized very early in our stay in Chawleigh that we would have to get used to being called "Townies." After a while we found we didn't really object to this derogatory name, but rather took pride in being set apart from the village and farm children.

"Be you a Townie, then?" was usually the first question we were asked upon meeting an adult, followed by, "Where be ye stayin'?" I would reply, "At Bell's Farm with Mr., and Mrs. Webber," whereupon I would be informed of my good fortune in being billeted with such "fine, fine people."

Being a boy Townie meant we were often called out to fight. Our city life had provided many occasions for fights, and we Townie boys felt ourselves considerably tougher than our country counterparts. We usually gave a good account of ourselves, and soon were rarely challenged. We also had to answer incessant questions about London, which the village children had only read about or heard about. Of course we usually embellished our descriptions of life in the city and the horrors of air raids, some of which was derided, nut most of which was believed.

About a week after our arrival we had to report for school, for which I still had no taste. AT that time I could never understand why we had to spend long hours learning mathematics and the basics of English grammar—promptly forgetting most if it when I left school, except how to count money.

I did enjoy history and geography, being fascinated by one and intrigued by the other, but my favorite was Friday afternoon's art class. Our art teacher was a beautiful, dark-skinned woman with long, black hair, who was said to be a Gypsy. By then I had been drawing for several years, pressing into service any scrap of paper I could find, even opening envelopes to sketch on the blank inside. I had occasionally used the pages of my mother's writing pads and been chastised when she wanted to write a letter and her paper was used up. Imagine my complete joy when my "gypsy" art teacher presented me with my very first sketch book. I knew then I would be her slave forever.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My brother was to attend the village school. He would be taught by the teacher who was supposed to have had us billeted on her, but who had crossed the cobblestoned courtyard to the Jubilee Hall early and taken the twin girls. I was greatly relieved that I didn't have to live in a school, and couldn't imagine a worse fate.

The school in which I was to put in my time was in a small town some two miles from Chawleigh. Every school morning, we boarded a bus outside the village hall for the 20-minute ride, picking up other students at farms along the way.

Chulmleigh School was laid out in a square, an open corridor facing a grassy quadrangle. Along one side was the Assembly Hall with its stage at one end and kitchen, where our lunches were concocted, at the other. Another side was devoted to a woodworking shop and the art room. On the third side of the quadrangle, the home economics room and teachers' lounge were housed—together with the Headmaster's office, with which I was destined to develop an intimate relationship.

Occupying the fourth side of the square were four classrooms, each with huge windows and French doors opening onto the school playing fields beyond, much different and far more pleasant that anything us Townies had known in London.

Chulmleigh School was designed to serve the farm and village children of the several small communities in the area. The influx of evacuees, however, strained its walls to the bursting point. Now, with twice the students it was designed for, classes contained 45-50 pupils each with the woodshop, art room, and home economics room being pressed into service as makeshift classrooms. Confusion was a daily occurrence, especially when one of the specialized rooms had to be vacated for a regularly-scheduled class.

We soon settled into a routine, as children usually do, but most of us boys openly did not like school with its unreasonable discipline. Perhaps we weren't supposed to like it—perhaps grownups felt we would be better people by being forced to do something we hated.

One day each week, the boys of each class went to the woodshop where we were introduced to the secrets of hammers, saws, chisels, and other carpenters' tools. There we made quantities of ill-fitting dovetail joints, bookends, and pipe racks—all of wavily-planed boards—and a great many other articles, none of which should ever have seen the light of day.

Meanwhile, the girls were in the home economics room trying all manner of recipes in their search for culinary perfection. At the end of their cooking sessions they would return with plates of ill-shaped, grey-colored cookies, which no amount of tempting, pleading, or cajoling could induce us boys to eat.

Also, once a week we had to attend a class held in the Assembly Hall, presided over by an elderly dowager who attempted to teach us "social graces." The boys bore this cross with reasonably good nature—except when it came to ballroom, dancing, which was just too humiliating.

Girls lined up on one side of the Hall and boys on the other, and when an antiquated record player started grinding out dance music the boys were required to pick a girl and ask her to dance. The only thing I found made this indignity tolerable was being able to get close enough to a girl to tread on her toes, or—even better—to pinch her to the point of embarrassment (hers, not mine).

For these transgressions I was frequently sent to the Headmaster's office, where I was punished in the then-traditional manner. The pupil held out one hand, palm up at shoulder level; the Headmaster, using a thin bamboo cane, administered a firm and accurate whack on the outstretched target. The number of strokes varied with the severity of the crime. I always found the pain of the punishment a small price to pay for the pleasure I gained from teasing the girls.

But Friday's art class was different. We were taught the fundamentals of drawing using pencil and charcoal, and the basics of perspective; once in a while I was permitted to use the teacher's box of watercolors. Our black-haired "gypsy" made me realize how little I knew about art; she constantly urged me to draw and sketch, lending me many of her own books to keep my interest whetted. However, it took several years before I realized how much more I had learned from her than just art. She taught me that learning never stops, that nobody has the right to squander talent that has been given them, and that limits on any accomplishment can only be set by oneself.

We Londoners soon settled into the daily routine of a quiet bus ride in the morning to school, classes all day, and a happy, boisterous return ride in the afternoon. Our assimilation into village life was complete when us Townies began asking, "How be ye, then?" in broad Cockney accents, upon meeting fellow villagers.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: TheBigPinkLad
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 02:48 PM

Story 4: just one ...

Of course we usually embellished our descriptions of life in the city and the horrors of air raids, some of which was derided, nut most of which was believed.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: wysiwyg
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 02:49 PM

That's going to have to be it, for this afternoon-- Ihave a commitment to get ready for. I sure appreciate the quick and helpful help!

I have two more from the childhood-era to go, including one of my favorites, "Scrumpin' ". Might get them knocked out later tonight.

Then there is a set of military-service escapades that are a HOOT, for early tomorrow AM and hopefully a late-evning finish-off.

With all your wonderful help, that means I can make the fixes Wednesday, do a final hardcopy read, and deliver them Thursday or Friday-- ON TIME.

~Susan

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: JudyB
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 02:57 PM

COUNTRY SCHOOL

Being a boy Townie meant we were often called out to fight. Our city life had provided many occasions for fights, and we Townie boys felt ourselves considerably tougher than our country counterparts. We usually gave a good account of ourselves, and soon were rarely challenged. We also had to answer incessant questions about London, which the village children had only read about or heard about. Of course we usually embellished our descriptions of life in the city and the horrors of air raids, some of which was derided, but most of which was believed.

About a week after our arrival we had to report for school, for which I still had no taste. At that time I could never understand why we had to spend long hours learning mathematics and the basics of English grammar - promptly forgetting most if it when I left school, except how to count money.

We Londoners soon settled into the daily routine of a quiet bus ride in the morning to school, classes all day, and a happy, boisterous return ride in the afternoon. Our assimilation into village life was complete when we Townies began asking, "How be ye, then?" in broad Cockney accents, upon meeting fellow villagers.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: wysiwyg
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 03:21 PM

PS, I'll number the paragraphs on the next lot. I mean batch. I'm turning Brit!?

~S~

Subject: Story: NEW BOOTS
From: wysiwyg
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 03:55 PM

NEW BOOTS

1. "Dad and I think you should have some new clothes to start your new school," Mum announced with a smile.

2. We had made our second move into a nice three-bedroom terrace house. I was about to celebrate my eighth birthday, and would be attending my third school in three years. World War II would start within three more years, and then Dad's employer would prosper making military uniforms. They would subsequently take over the entire factory from the other tenants, and remain in the same building. This house would prove to be the home in which Mum and Dad would live out the rest of their lives.

3. Mum and Dad made all our clothes (except socks and underwear), because it was much cheaper than buying them and because they knew how.

4. Dad was a tailor's cutter. He would run his tape measure over me and, from the resulting figures, make a pattern from brown wrapping paper. This he used to cut out a garment which was guaranteed to fit.

5. For several years before she was married, Mum had =worked as a seamstress for a French dressmaker in London's fashionable West End. She did beautiful work and could quickly put a garment together, while rapidly treadling her old Singer sewing machine. Mum also made dresses for a select few ell-to-do women, who seldom left after a fitting without giving me a pat on the head and a sixpenny piece.

6. In a few days I was the proud owner of a new jacket, two pairs of trousers, and several shirts.

7. "All you need now, Jack, is a new pair of shoes," Dad said while trying to coax a shine from my old ones. "On Saturday we'll go to the High Street and see what we can find."

8. Saturday we returned from our shopping at the large, open-air market with our purchases, among which was a pair of heavy, serviceable black shoes.

9. "I'll just put some Blake's on them for you and then you'll be ready for school on Monday," Dad said.

10. Every pair of shoes I had ever owned had had their soles and heels protected by Blake's, which were steel studs and plates. Dad would put the shoes on his metal last and nail horseshoe-shaped metal to the heels and flat plates to the toe of the soles, adding four rows of round studs. These would be replaced as needed, ensuring that although the uppers would ultimately wear out, the bottoms would remain as good as new.

11. Monday morning came all too soon. Wearing new clothes and my lovely new shoes, I set off for school together with Mum and my brother. Mum went into the office and returned accompanied by a bird-like woman who guided us to the classroom to which I would report every day. The teacher came out into the corridor to greet us; after saying goodbye to Mum, she took me into the room, which was occupied by about 30 children.

12. "This is Jack," she introduced me. "We'll all make him welcome, won't we?"

13. I looked around the small sea of faces. If they were making me welcome, they sure were keeping it a secret. I was given an empty desk—which would be mine until the end of the school year—and sat down, looking about me at my fellow students.

14. Inevitably, I knew that one of the boys would challenge me and this would be followed by challenges from other boys until my position in the class was established. Sure enough, at recess I was approached by a rather husky boy of my own height.

15. "I'm William," he growled, "and after school I'm going to beat you up!"

16. I then new that William was not the toughest fighter in the class. The class champ would never challenge a new boy without first seeing him in action, for fear of maybe losing face by getting whipped.

17. After school, I walked outside to find quite a large crowd of children gathered for the coming spectacle.

18. "Here he is," someone called, and a number of boys shoved me into the middle of a circle of eagerly-waiting spectators. William was waiting, his jacket already removed.

19. "I'll hold yer coat," a small boy offered as he helped me off with my new jacket.

20. William immediately came toward me, his hands reaching out. He wanted to get this over as soon as possible, and I knew I would be unable to prolong the proceedings. Boys were divided into tow basic groups—the punchers and the wrestlers. I had been trounced by both, many times. William was obviously a wrestler.

21. He made a sudden lunge for me and I side-stepped to avoid being grasped. I certainly wasn't looking forward to rolling around on the ground in my new clothes, because I knew I'd catch it from Mum and dad.

22. William snarled and lunged again. This time he succeeded in grabbing me, but on attempting to elude him I accidentally came down hard on his instep with my heavy, studded shoes.

23. "Ow!' William screamed as he forgot me ands danced around on one foot.

24. I was not ready for this sudden turn of events, but saw my advantage. Stepping close to him I stamped hard on his other foot.

25. "Ow!!!" William screamed again, as he changed the foot he was nursing. This was too good to be true and, with the cheers of the audience in my ears, I gave him several kicks in his shins. William was now totally demoralized and, pressing my incredible advantage, I proceeded to hit him about the face as hard and as often as I could.

26. A couple of William's friends came to his aid and, pushing through the circle of children, escorted him from the field of battle.

27. The next morning before classes started, William came up to me.

28. "You don't fight fair, you don't," he complained. I grinned.

29. I was not challenged again while I was at that school. I wish I could say I never lost another fight but that would be untrue; however, from that time on, when faced with an unavoidable fight, I quickly started with a flurry of foot-stamps and shin-kicks and, using my boots as weapons, won far more than I lost.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: TheBigPinkLad
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 04:15 PM

Story 4:

5. Mum also made dresses for a select few ell-to-do women, who seldom left after a fitting without giving me a pat on the head and a sixpenny piece.

16. I then new that William was not the toughest fighter in the class.

20. Boys were divided into tow basic groups—the punchers and the wrestlers.

21. I certainly wasn't looking forward to rolling around on the ground in my new clothes, because I knew I'd catch it from Mum and dad.

23. "Ow!' William screamed as he forgot me ands danced around on one foot.

Subject: Story: "SCRUMPIN' "
From: wysiwyg
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 04:56 PM

I'm really off now for a while. Here's the classic tale of Scrumpin' .

~S~

======================================================

"SCRUMPIN' "


1. My steel-shod boots rang on the cobblestones of the courtyard of Bells Farm as I ran to the open back door.

2. "I've finished all my chores, Aunt Win," I called.

3. Aunt Win appeared in the doorway to the main room, wiping her hands on her white smock. She always wore it when working in the dairy, which was in the center of the house.

4. "Did you fill the woodbin and bring in the kindling?" she asked.

5. "Yes," I replied. "I also fed the chickens and collected the eggs, I added, pointing to a basket on the kitchen table.

6. "How about taking care of Prince?" she questioned.

7. "I gave him some oats, filled his water trough, and rubbed him down," I answered. I needed no reminding to take care of our horse, which was easily my favorite responsibility on the farm.

8. "Can I go now?" I pleaded.

9. "Does Uncle Char have anything for you to do?"

10. "No, he said to ask you."

11. "Alright, you can go, but be back in time to fetch the cows for milking," she admonished.

12. "Thanks, Aunt Win," I smiled.

13. "Where are you going?"

14. "Probably to Bare Hill, " I called over my shoulder as I clattered over the stones again at a run.

15. Since coming to live at Bells I had gradually been given various responsibilities as my knowledge of the farm increased under the guidance of Uncle Char. Doing chores was expected of me, as it was of all farm children, but I was never asked to do anything beyond my physical capabilities or skills.

16. But today was Saturday, and I now had a few precious hours to myself and didn't want to waste them, although I didn't feel like spending them alone.

17. Walking toward the center of the village I saw my friend Dennis leaning on his elbows on the wall outside his house. Dennis was a village boy and lived with his grandmother. His parents had abandoned him when he was a small child, and although he often talked of returning to live with them, he didn't really believe it; neither did anyone else.

18. Dennis was a studious-looking boy and did odd jobs for the Methodist Chapel, attending services faithfully every Sunday morning and evening, and singing in the choir. Because of his close association with the chapel he had been given the nickname, "Parson," which he never resented, even taking some pride in it.

19. "Hello Parson," I called, taking a position on the other side of the wall. "What are you doing?"

20. "Nothing," he stated the obvious; "how about you?"

21. "I have the afternoon off and I'm going to Bare Hill," I replied. "Want to come along?"

22. "Yes," he brightened up; "let me tell Gran where I'll be." And he dashed into the house where I heard him and his grandmother talking loudly.

23. "She's not too happy about me leaving for a couple of hours," he said as he came thro8guht the gate of their front yard, closing it behind him. "But I expect she'll get over it."

24. Together we retraced my steps to Bells Farm and beyond, taking a left fork on the road about a half-mile from the last cottage in the village.

25. Another mile brought us to the gate of Bare Hill, which consisted of three meadows connected by openings in the hedgerows.

26. "Look at all the rabbits," Dennis whispered.

27. About two dozen of them were feeding close to the edge of the field.

28. "Let's catch one," I whispered back.

29. Clambering over the five-bar wooden gate, which was much more fun than opening it, we gave chase whooping and yelling in an attempt to confuse our quarry. The rabbits quickly disappeared into the entrances of their warrens in the hedgerows, leaving us panting and empty-handed.

30. "Look, the hazelnuts will soon be ready," Dennis observed. These filberts we gathered when they were ripe, and were a delicacy we all enjoyed from autumn until Christmas.

31. Coming upon a large clump of blackberries, we gorged ourselves on the sweet fruit until our fingers and tongues were bright purple from the juice.

32. Dawdling our way through the fist and second fields we entered the third. This was by far the largest and consisted of a big, grassy hill for which "Bare Hill" was named.

33. "I'm thirsty," I said. "Let's go to the spring."

34. Climbing one side of the hill and running down the other, we were soon at the bank of a small stream. This rivulet was fed by four springs, which gurgled from some rocks, filling small stone basins before joining together below. Falling on our stomachs, we slaked our thirst with the clear, cold water. We then rolled on our backs to watch the clouds scudding by.

35. Turning my head a little I looked at an apple tree visible above the hedge.

36. "How about we scrump some apples," I suggested. 'Scrumping' was a term used to describe taking apples and other fruit from trees which did not belong to us. We did not regard it as theft but rather as using fruit which otherwise might have joined that which rotted on the ground every autumn.

37. "But that's the Vicar's orchard," Dennis replied doubtfully.

38. "Don't worry, I've been over there before and he won't miss a couple of apples."

39. "Just a couple, then," Dennis agreed.

40. Climbing the hedge we were soon munching the crisp fruit. The Vicar's orchard stretched before us, and over a small hill we could just see the chimneys of the manse. I reasoned that if we couldn't see the house, the Vicar couldn't see us, so I suggested we venture farther into the orchard. Reluctantly, Dennis followed.

41. We picked and ate apples from other trees, whispering to each other lest the Vicar's haring was acute enough to hear us from a quarter of a mile away.

42. "I've had enough apples," Dennis groaned.

43. "Me too," I agreed. "But there's a big pear tree over there, and I sure would like some."

44. "Do you think we'd better?"

45. "We'll only take two each," I reassured him.

46. After all, the secret to successful scrumping was to take only as much as could be consumed on the way home; thus the evidence would be destroyed before entering the village.

47. We silently made our way toward a huge pear tree bearing an abundance of beautiful fruit.

48. "Look," Dennis whispered. "Somebody's left a ladder against the tree!"

49. Sure enough, the rungs of a picker's tapered ladder disappeared into the dense, lush foliage above.

50. "I'll go up and throw some down to you," I volunteered, and began climbing.

51. Up and up I went, until the absolute worst thing that could possibly have happened—did. Horrified, I found myself staring at the heels of a pair of work boots.

52. I don't remember my feet touching the rungs on the way down. "Run!" I screamed, and, with the Vicar calling to us to stop, Dennis and I tore through the orchard, hurdled the hedgerow, streaked across the three fields of Bare Hill, and didn't stop until we arrived, panic-stricken and gasping for air, at the gate leading to the road.

53. "Maybe he didn't see us," Dennis said, but with no hope in his voice.

54. "We were probably too quick for him," I answered without conviction.

55. Promising never to mention the episode to anyone, ever, we returned to our respective homes.

56. "You weren't gone for very long," Aunt Win observed. "I didn't think you'd be back for quite a while."

57. "There wasn't much to do," I mumbled.



58. Next morning being Sunday, Aunt Win, my brother and I, dressed in our good clothes, started for church. On the way, we carried a pan containing the meat and vegetables for our Sunday dinner to be dropped off at the baker's shop. There it would be placed in the ovens, along with pans from other churchgoers. It would then be collected, perfectly baked, upon our return from the service.

59. Entering the sanctuary my brother and I took our usual places in the back row of the choir. This was not due to our angelic voices but because Aunt Win played the organ which was immediately behind. Thus she could reach around and give us a whack if we became too noisy.

60. The Vicar, preparing for the service, looked over and wished us a good morning. I suddenly became very interested in my shoes.

61. That Sunday morning's service was the longest I ever sat through, and the sermon was interminable. The Vicar took the Ten Commandments as his text, with particular emphasis on "Thou Shalt Not Steal." I had no doubt whatever that the entire sermon was for my benefit.

62. My torture finally ended with the recessional hymn, and with great relief I ran from the church to wait for Aunt Win and my brother to catch up. Collecting our now-cooked dinner we headed back to Bells, and the more distance I put between myself and the church, the better I felt.

63. After our meal I helped Aunt Win wash the dishes while Uncle Char settled back in his easy chair for his usual Sunday afternoon nap. My brother sat on a bench at the huge table where had just eaten, laboring over a letter to our parents in London.

64. Hearing footsteps on the stones outside the kitchen, I glanced out the window and, to my dismay, watched the Vicar heading for our back door.

65. I fled though the main room and up the stairs to my bedroom, to await the Vicar's departure.

66. "Jack, come down here, someone wants to talk to you," Aunt Win called up the stairs. I sat perfectly still and pretended I didn't hear her.

67. "Jack, come down, the Vicar wants to see you," she called again.

68. My heart sank. He obviously wanted to confront me with the whole orchard episode, which would elicit a lecture from Aunt Win and, even worse, would make Uncle Char extremely angry.

69. With great misgiving I slowly descended the stairs and entered the main room. The Vicar was standing by the fireplace, his face wrinkled in a large smile.

70. Puzzled, I looked at Aunt Win who was standing next to the Vicar, also smiling. Apparently he had not told her of my transgressions yet, but was waiting until I was present to hear the whole story. Still, I didn't understand the smiles.

71. "Look what the Vicar has brought you," Aunt Win grinned.

72. The Vicar reached down behind him and lifted a basket of fruit into view. I recognized three varieties of apples and two kinds of pears, one of them from that fateful tree.

73. "I know boys enjoy fruit so I thought I'd bring you some," he said. "I have more than enough," he added, still smiling broadly.

74. "Well, what do you say to the Vicar then?" Aunt Win asked.

75. "Thank you, Vicar," I mumbled, looking down at the flagstone floor.

76. "When this is gone and you would like some more, just come to the manse and I'll be happy to give you whatever you like," the Vicar invited.

77. Again I mumbled my thanks. Perhaps he wasn't going to tell of my scrumping escapade after all. I brightened visibly.

And so it was. To my knowledge the Vicar never told a soul about Dennis and me and the pear tree. I never had the nerve to go to his home to ask for fruit. Of course he knew I wouldn't, so from time to time he would come to the back door of Bells carrying a bag of fruit for us, until the season ended and the cold winter winds started to blow. But they never tasted as good as those we scrumped.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: TheBigPinkLad
Date: 21 Nov 05 - 05:12 PM

1. My steel-shod boots rang on the cobblestones of the courtyard of Bells [possesive or descriptive?] Farm as I ran to the open back door.

11. "Alright, you can go, but be back in time to fetch the cows for milking," she admonished.


23. "She's not too happy about me leaving for a couple of hours," he said as he came thro8guht the gate of their front yard, closing it behind him. "But I expect she'll get over it."

32. Dawdling our way through the fist and second fields we entered the third.


41. We picked and ate apples from other trees, whispering to each other lest the Vicar's haring was acute enough to hear us from a quarter of a mile away.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: JudyB
Date: 22 Nov 05 - 10:16 AM

NEW BOOTS

5. For several years before she was married, Mum had =worked as a seamstress

7. "All you need now, Jack, is a new pair of shoes," Dad said while trying to coax a shine from my old ones. "On Saturday we'll go to the High Street - is "the High Street" colloquial? and see what we can find."

10. Every pair of shoes I had ever owned had had their soles and heels protected by Blake's, which were steel studs and plates. Dad would put the shoes on his metal last - never heard of a metal last - but there are many things I've never heard of and nail horseshoe-shaped metal to the heels and flat plates to the toe of the soles, adding four rows of round studs. These would be replaced as needed, ensuring that although the uppers would ultimately wear out, the bottoms would remain as good as new.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: JudyB
Date: 22 Nov 05 - 10:30 AM

"SCRUMPIN' "

63. After our meal I helped Aunt Win wash the dishes while Uncle Char settled back in his easy chair for his usual Sunday afternoon nap. My brother sat on a bench at the huge table where we had just eaten, laboring over a letter to our parents in London.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: vectis
Date: 22 Nov 05 - 11:06 AM

Corrected version here with English spelling

WAR BEGINS

The day started out just like any other Sunday. We all slept a little late; Mother cooked bacon, eggs, and fried bread for breakfast, which I hungrily wolfed down so I could go into our back garden to play—just like any other Sunday.

I walked across the grass, past the flower beds, and into Dad's beautifully-kept vegetable garden. We lived in a neighbourhood of terraced homes, built facing outward on three sides of a square. All the back gardens adjoined, making it possible to view about 30 of them. Normally, on a Sunday morning, the garden area would be full of men tending their plants, mowing their grass, drinking their morning tea, calling to their neighbours, or just chatting to each other over the low fences.

But this Sunday was different—the backyards were quiet and deserted. No one was outside tending their flowers and vegetables, no one was drinking their tea, and gone was the pleasant sound of neighbours talking to each other. That is, with the exception of old Mr. Threfall, whose garden ran across the bottom of ours.

"Good morning, Jack," he called from his seat on a bench he had placed under one of his fruit trees.

"Good morning, Mr. Threfall," I replied.

"Why don't you come over for a while?"

I climbed the fence and sat down beside him. "Where is everybody this morning, Mr. Threfall?" I asked, knowing he would take the time to explain anything I asked him. Old Mr. Threfall – I always thought of him as old—was my friend, and the only adult other than my Mother and Father who talked to me as though I were a grownup and not a ten-year-old boy.

"Didn't you listen to the wireless this morning, Jack?" he asked.

"Just for a minute, Mr. Threfall. There was no music on, just a lot of people talking."

Mr. Threfall chuckled. "Well, Jack, everybody is probably in their houses listening to the news. It appears Britain will soon be at war with Germany."

I pondered this information for a while. My only knowledge of war had been gained from films I had seen, the study of the Great War (World War I), and the few stories my father and a couple of uncles had told of their experiences in France.

"Why are we going to have a war with Germany, Mr., Threfall?" I asked. "I thought we'd just had one about 20 years ago."

"So we did, Jack," he answered, "but it looks like we are going to have to do it again."

"Why?"

"Do you really want me to tell you the whole story, Jack?" Mr. Threfall questioned.

"Yes, please, Mr., Threfall." I had always enjoyed hearing Mr. Threfall's tales, and sensed that an important story was about to be told. I hoped I would be able to understand most of it. Mr. Threfall stood up and walked to one of his apple trees. Picking two apples, he returned to his seat, handing one of them to me.

"Have you heard of a man named Adolf Hitler?" he asked, taking a bit of his fruit.

"Yes, I have, Mr. Threfall," I assured him, following his lead with my own apple.

"Well, here's pretty much what has happened." Mr. Threfall then began to explain the events in Europe leading up to that day, Sunday, September 3, 1939. Although it is impossible for me to remember his exact words, the following is the gist of his story.

As early as 1935, Germany—under the leadership of Adolf Hitler, breaching previous treaties—had reinstated conscription of its young men into the armed forces; was rebuilding its navy, with submarines on the British scale; had already created a military air force which Hitler openly claimed to be the equal of the British Royal Air Force; and was in the second year of active munitions production.

In March of 1936, barely two hours after proposing a 25-year pact with Britain, France, Belgium, and Italy, Hitler announced his intention of occupying the Rhineland. This was a corridor of land east of the Rhine River. It had been taken from Germany to be used as a buffer zone between Germany and France, Belgium, and the Netherlands, by the Armistice Treaty after the 1914-18 Great War.

Two years later in March, 1938-- one month after Hitler had assumed supreme command of the German armed forces-- Austria was invaded and soon conquered. Meanwhile, Britain and France did nothing, believing Hitler's assurances that this would be the end of his territorial ambitions in Europe.

About this time a conference, attended by representatives of France and Italy and by Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain of Britain, and Hitler, convened in Munich, Germany. During this conference Hitler gave a written assurance that "This (Austria) is the last territorial claim I have to make in Europe."

Upon Mr. Chamberlain's return to London, he was pictured in a newspaper photograph waving a piece of paper over his head containing Hitler's written assurance, and declaring, "It is peace in our time."

Early in March, 1939, German armed forces invaded Czechoslovakia and, by the end of the month, had subjugated that entire country.

On March 31, 1939, Chamberlain (who was finally convinced that Hitler meant war), backed by the French leaders, gave a guarantee to Poland that if it was attacked by Nazi Germany, Britain (and France) would immediately come to Poland's aid. Poland was attacked by Germany at dawn on September 1 1939. The mobilization of all British forces was ordered the same morning. An ultimatum was given to Germany at 9:30 p.m. on September 1, and another at 9:30 p.m. on September 3.

"So you see, Jack," Mr. Threfall concluded, "Hitler has invaded Poland, and that is why the whole country's ears are glued to the wireless this morning."

"I think I understand now, Mr. Threfall, "I said. Then I went on to tell him that my father maintained that everyone knew that Hitler would have to be stopped, so why had Britain and France done nothing to help Czechoslovakia, which had a reasonably well-equipped army, but were now willing to back Poland whose idea of military tactics at that time was a cavalry charge.

"Well, Jack, I'm sure I don't know; I suppose Mr. Chamberlain thought he was doing the right thing." Mr., Threfall didn't sound convinced.

For over a year the vast majority of Britains' working class-- including my parents, their friends, and our relatives-- had had no doubt that a war with Germany was inevitable in order to stop Hitler's territorial ambitions. They were exasperated at their government's do-nothing attitude and its total failure to prepare for the coming confrontation. Dad's opinion was that Neville Chamberlain was too naive about world affairs to be an effective leader. Mother was not as generous in her assessment of his abilities, invariably referring to Mr. Chamberlain as "that silly old fool."

Mr. Threfall and I were still sitting on his bench chatting, when Dad came bursting through our back door and ran down the garden toward us.

"We're at war, Mr. Threfall," he shouted as he ran. "We're at war!"

Mr. Threfall looked at his watch. "It is 11:30, Jack" he said. "Remember the time, 11:30."

Dad leaned over the fence. "The Prime Minister has just said that we have been at war with Germany since 11 a.m. and that our troops are already reporting to their units," he informed us. Mr. Threfall and Dad then started to discuss the seriousness of the situation.

I listened for a while and then, climbing back over the fence, walked back to the house to see if Mum had anything to eat.

* * *

My mother made a sandwich for me but before I had eaten it, a strange, frightening, prolonged wailing noise broke upon our ears. I ran to the back door, followed closely by Mum and my younger brother, who were as scared as I was, down the garden to where Dad and Mr. Threfall were standing—their conversation now impossible to continue in that awful din.

"What is it, Dad?" I yelled in his ear to make myself heard.

"It's the air raid warning siren," he screamed.

"Will we have an air raid, then?" I loudly asked as the rising and falling wailing sound slowly died away into silence.

Mr. Threfall looked at the four of us. "Maybe it is only a test of the siren," he said.

We all stood in silence, gazing at the sky. Around us some of our neighbours emerged from their homes and also looked upward. Nobody spoke, as each of us was nervously alone with our thoughts.

After about ten minutes had passed the wailing broke out again, only this time it was a single, high-pitched note. "That's the all-clear signal," dad said. "We'll be all right now." Mum sighed with relief.

We never did find out if a few German planes had paid us a visit, or if it was indeed a test of the warning system as Mr. Threfall had thought. Although we didn't realize it then, we were destined to hear that dreaded sound many, many times in the years ahead.

Subject: Story: DAY TWO
From: wysiwyg
Date: 22 Nov 05 - 06:47 PM

Thanks to LilyFestre, who says she enjoys typing. More to follow later this evening.

These are out of sequence, but now Jack is a young man doing his military duty.

~S~

------------------------------------------------------

DAY TWO

1. I was startled awake by the sound of a bugle and rolled over in my bed to peer through bleary, sleep-filled eyes at the clock on the wall. Some maniac was playing at six o'clock in the morning! As if that wasn't bad enough, the noise was blaring over some sort of loud speaker.

2. Before I had even begun to figure out what was going on, the door burst open and Sergeant Parker exploded into the room yelling, "Come on you dozy lot, let's be having you out of get right now!" He was joined by Corporal Tomkins and together they went up and down the rows of beds, ripping blankets off people who were desperately trying to hang on to the last vestiges of sleep.

3. In a few minutes everyone was out of bed and grumbling their way to showers and shaves, and by seven o'clock we were all ready for breakfast with beds made and the barracks room swept.

4. At 8 a.m. we "fell in" with passable skill and more or less marched to our first regimental assembly on the vast parade ground. The two platoons of us who had arrived the day before were the only ones still in civilian clothes and were uncomfortably conspicuous amid the sea of khaki.

5. After the sergeants had all reported their platoons present and their men accounted for, we were dismissed and taken back to our barracks room where Sgt. Parker inspected our housecleaning and bed-making efforts. Nobody passed.

6. "Today we will attempt to make you look a little more like soldiers, " Sgt. Parker announced. "We'll be going to the Quartermaster's stores and you will be issued everything you need for your military career. We'll even give you nice boxes to send your civvies home in."

7. Accordingly we made our way to a large single-story building with small windows protected by iron bars, and were herded inside. Immediately each of us received a white canvas kit bag, and we were instructed to line up in single file.

8. Stretching away in front of us was a long wooden counter, backed by racks and shelves, which disappeared into the cavernous recess of that huge room. Masses of clothing and equipment filled every space. Behind the counter stood a line of soldiers who tossed an assortment of khaki garments, canvas straps, and strange-looking bundles into our open kit bags as we shuffled along. The air of confusion was completed by the almost deafening noise made by these equipment issuers, as they called out the names and quantities of the missiles they were throwing at us.

9. I faced the counter and held my bag open. "Four shirts," called a quartermaster's clerk as he skidded four shirts across the wooden surface. Thrusting them quickly into my bag, I moved a couple of steps to my left. "Two blouses, battledress."   I grabbed and moved. "Two shirts, PT; two shorts, PT." "One belt, web." "One pack, small." "One pack, large."   And so it went until I reached the end of line and joined the rest of the platoon outside, trying to cram all my new belongings into a kit bag that, apparently, had shrunk as I had moved through the line.

10. Slowly we made our way back to the barracks room, bags bulging and arms festooned with assorted uniform parts.

11. "Try your uniforms on for size," Sgt. Parker instructed. "Anything that doesn't fit will be exchanged this afternoon."

12. For the next hour our room looked like a rummage sale in a church basement. Hardly anyone had been lucky enough to get a fit the first, the first time, so we yelled out the sizes we had and the sizes we wanted. We dressed, undressed, dressed, undressed and dressed again, until most of us were satisfied with the results of our swaps.

13. Sgt. Parker called for quiet. "Spread everything on your beds in some kind order," he said. "Cpl. Tomkins and I will help you check your gear against the inventory list." We arranged our equipment and Sgt. Parker started to read. "Four shirts." I counted my four shirts. "Two blouses, battledress." Yes, I had them and two trousers, battledress. "Four drawers, cellular," the sergeant continued.

14. "Sgt. Parker," I called. "Drawers, cellular-are those underpants?"

15. "That's right, lad," the sergeant replied.

16. "Well, Sergeant, I only have three pairs," and I held them above my head for him to see.

17. Cpl. Tomkins approached my bed and made a meticulous search of my displayed clothing for the missing drawers, as Sgt. Parker continued to read and we continued the check.

18. The inventory completed, Sgt. Parker looked inquiringly at Tomkins. "He only has three pairs, Sergeant," said the corporal.

19. The sergeant looked up and down the room. "Is anyone else short of anything?" he asked. There were no replies. "Well, lad, come with me and we'll go and see the Quartermaster Sergeant," and within a few minutes I was back at the storeroom.

20. "Quartermaster!" called Parker, and an immense figure strode forward from behind a row of shelves, followed by his corporal assistant. The Quartermaster was twice as wide and almost a foot taller than I. With a voice to match his bulk he roared, "What's this then?" As he looked down at the top of my head.

21. Now by this time I had learned that a sergeant wore three stripes on his sleeve and made a great deal of noise, and that a corporal had two stripes and made as much noise as a sergeant but without the confidence. So, trying very hard not to be intimidated, I stammered, "I-I-I was only issued three pairs of drawers, cellulars, Sergeant."

22. "That's impossible, Private," the Quartermaster bellowed. "Everyone is given four pairs because that is regulations. What have you done with the fourth pair we gave you?"

23. "That's what I'm trying to tell you Sergeant, I didn't get four pairs, only three" and I looked at Sgt. Parker, who seemed to be using his eyes to tell me to be quiet.

24. The Quartermaster was furious; his eyes glared, his ears turned crimson, and he appeared to grow about six inches taller.

25. "Are you calling me a liar, soldier?" he fumed.

26. "Only if you insist that I was given four pairs of drawers," I answered, fighting for control over my quaking body.

27. "What!" he roared.

28. Unfortunately I mistook his what, exclamation point, for a what, question mark, and so though he desired me to recapitulate. "I said I'm not calling you a liar unless you keep saying I was given four pairs of drawers when I know I only got three pains, Sergeant," I explained, looking up into his purple-mottled face.

29. "That does it, Private" he screamed. "You're on a charge! Corporal, bring me a charge form." The corporal disappeared behind some shelves and returned almost immediately with the requested form which he handed to his superior.

30. The Quartermaster took a pen from his pocket and glared down at me. "Name?" he asked. I told him. "Serial number?" he continued. "I don't know, Sergeant, " I confessed.

31. "You don't know your Army serial number?" he snarled. "What kind of soldier are you, anyway?"

32. I thought it best not to answer "a reluctant one" and instead tried to explain that I had only been given the number the previous afternoon and had not had time to memorize it. A smug look appeared on the sergeant's face. "We'll just have to stand here until remember, won't we, " he gloated.

33. In a flash of inspiration I remembered the identification tags on the cord around my neck. Opening my shirt I triumphantly held up the tags in front of his face.

34. Sgt. Parker made a choking sound, and as I looked in his direction he turned his back to us.

35. The Quartermaster angrily shoved the charge form into his corporal's hand. "Here, you finish this and I'll fill in the charges and sign it later," he said, as he turned and stormed away. The corporal completed the sheet and Sgt. Parker indicated that I should leave and return to the barracks with him.

36. We walked side by side without talking until, still looking straight ahead, he said, "You know lad, you've got more guts than good sense," and lapsed back into silence. I took it as a compliment.

37. "Sgt. Parker, what is a charge?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

38. Parker stopped and looked at me with the quizzical look of someone trying to figure out if he is being had. Apparently satisfied that I honestly didn't know what I was getting into, he explained that when a soldier contravenes Army regulations he is charged with is "Crime" and is required to appear before his company commander for a hearing and punishment.

39. "What kind of punishment, Sergeant?" I questioned.

40. "Well, for small things the punishment is usually being confined to barracks (CP), with an extra duty such as cleaning up the regimental area, or scrubbing out the mess, or preparing vegetables and other work in the kitchens," he answered. "For more serious crimes one could be sent to regimental prison or even military prison," he concluded. I digested this information as we started to walk again.

41. "Sgt. Parker, what do you think I'll get?" I asked.

42. "CB with extra duty," he said.

43. My questions answered, I was relieved to have an idea of what I would be facing, but one thing still concerned me. "Sgt. Parker, will I get my fourth pair of underdrawers?"

44. Sgt. Parker laughed aloud.

45. The platoon had barely started marching practice after our midday meal when a messenger approached Sgt. Parker and briefly spoke to him. Parker gave the command to halt and walked over to stand directly in front of me.

46. "Private hart, you are on company orders at 13:30 hours so you'd better cut along now," he said. "Go along with this man," indicating the messenger, "and he will show you where you must report."

47. I took my place beside the soldier, and we started to walk along the road around the parade ground, which would take us to the company offices.

48. "Are you the group that arrived yesterday?" he asked.

49. "Yes."

50. "And you are in trouble already?" he continued.

51. "The Quartermaster put me on a charge this morning. Something about some lost clothing," I explained, and refrained from going into more detail. We walked the rest of the way without further conversation until we reached and entered the main office building.

52. "In there," my companion said, indicating a door marked C Company, as he continued to walk down the corridor and disappeared from sight. Entering the room I was immediately asked my name by a corporal seated at a desk just inside the door. I gave my name and he pointed to a bench along the far wall where two other soldiers were seated. "Wait over there, you'll be called when you are needed," he said as he made some notes on a pad. Then, he walked across the room to enter an inner office door.

53. The corporal returned to the outer office and was met by a sergeant, who had just entered from outside carrying a file folder. They were engaged in conversation when another corporal stuck his head out of the inner door and announced, "the captain's ready for you, Sergeant," and held the door open.

54. The sergeant opened his folder and approached the bench where the three of us were sitting.

55. "Which one of you is Hart?" he asked.

56. I stood up. "Me, Sergeant," I identified myself.

57. "Alright Private, attention!" he commanded. I sprang to attention.

58. He then did something that took me completely by surprise.

59. Announcing, "Prisoners must appear for their hearing bare-headed," he knocked my cap to the floor with one swipe of his hand. I was dumbfounded. My brand new cap-- which I had been instructed to take care of, along with all my other gear, and which I had been told, must last me for the duration of my army service-- was now lying on a floor which didn't look any too clean. I bent down to retrieve my hat and walked to hang it on one of several pegs on the wall just inside the outer door.

60. "What do you think you are doing!" screamed the sergeant. "You were at attention and disobeyed a direct order by breaking ranks, and that is a chargeable offense!" I inwardly groaned and returned to my former position at attention.

61. "Double-time, march," ordered the sergeant. I trotted through the open door and was commanded to halt in front of the Captain's Desk. The Captain was the same large moustache and bored expression who had welcomed us the previous day. He looked at the contents of the folder the sergeant had put upon his desk, and then at me.

62. "It says here you have lost a piece of your equipment and were insubordinate to the Quartermaster Sergeant," he accused. "Have you anything to say for yourself?"

63. "I was never issued the drawers the Quartermaster says I was, and I argued with him about it," I said.

64. "Address the Captain as 'Sir: Private," the sergeant ordered.

65. "Sir," I added as I looked at the Captain.

66. The Captain read the charge sheet again and raised his eyes to mine. "I am prepared to believe you were not issued the garment in question, however, I must find you guilty of insubordination," he said. "So I sentence you to 14 days, C.B. with extra duty. Therefore, starting tomorrow, you will report at Defaulter's parade every day at 1900 hours until your punishment is completed. You recruits must learn to obey orders without question and never argue with your superiors. That is all."

67. "Sir, do I get my drawers, sir?" I asked.

68. "Yes, I'll instruct the Quartermaster to issue them when you go to the stores," the Captain answered.

69. "Thank you, sir," and I left the room at the double-time trot.

70. I walked to the wall to get my hat. "Is that all Sergeant?" I asked.

71. "Not by a long shot," he rejoined. "There's that matter of breaking ranks that must be taken care of. Sit down and wait! You'll be seeing the Captain again as soon as these other two lads are finished."

72. Some twenty minutes later I again found myself standing in front of the Captain's desk. He looked at me, looked at the sergeant, who handed him another charge sheet, and back at me.

73. "I didn't expect to see you quite so soon," he said as he read the new charges against me. "You are charged with disobeying a direct order, do you have anything to say?" he asked.

74. "Sir, the sergeant knocked my hat on the floor and I picked it up because it's new and I was told to take care of my kit, sir." I blurted.

75. "All prisoners must appear for their hearings bare-headed," he explained. "What happened to you is normal Army procedure. Therefore, I must sentence you to five days CB with extra duty to be served after the other, er, 14 I believe it was."

76. "Yes, sir" I said quietly.

77. The escorting sergeant double-timed me back into the outer office. "That's all for now, Private; get your cap and report back to your platoon," he instructed.

78. "Is it alright if I get my other pair of underwear while I'm this close to the stores, Sergeant?" I asked.

79. "I suppose so," he replied. "If you have any trouble, ask the Quartermaster to telephone this office and they'll explain the Captain's order. I thanked him, left the office, and was soon entering the Quartermaster's stores for the third time that day. The corporal who had written my charge sheet earlier greeted me. "What can we do for you this time?" he asked.

80. "I have to see the Sergeant," I told him.

81. The corporal started to walk back among the shelves, calling over his shoulder, "Wait there."

82. In a few moments the Quartermaster appeared and strode toward me. "I've just had a telephone call from the company office telling me to expect you," he said.

83. He handed me a pair of underdrawers.

84. "Thank you, Sergeant," I said as I took the garment, rolling it into a small wad and stuffing it into a tunic pocket.

85. "That will be all," the Quartermaster growled.

86. "Yes, Sergeant."

87. "I said, that will be all," he loudly reiterated.

88. "Yes, Sergeant," I answered.

89. In the neighborhood where I was raised in East London, it was imperative to establish standing among one's peers. When involved in an argument one must always have the last word, and when fighting one must always deliver the last punch. It was a matter of pride. It therefore occurred to me, in a flash of insight that I could always have the last word in the Army by the simple expedient of agreeing verbally with the last statement made by any of my superiors.

90. "You can leave now," the Quartermaster ordered.

91. "Yes, Sergeant," I responded, savoring my newly discovered power but with my mouth parched from fright at what I was doing.

92. "Shut up and go back to your platoon." He was starting to get angry.

93. "Yes, Sergeant."

94. "Go, and not another word!" he yelled, his face turning red.

95. "Yes, Sergeant; no, Sergeant." Scared as I was, I was determined he would leave this confrontation first. And amazingly he did. With a roar of frustration, he turned and stalked away leaving me in sole possession of the field of combat. I was elated and left the building almost laughing aloud.

96. Seeing my barracks at the other side of the parade ground, I decided it was silly to walk to it by way of the encircling road; and so I struck out across the ground at a brisk pace, taking a short cut toward my new home. I had marched about seventy-five yards, listening to my new steel-shod boots ringing a cadence on the macadam surface, when a loud voice interrupted my reverie.

97. "That man!" the voice called. "That man!" it came again.

98. Someone was in trouble, I thought, and turned to see who it might be.

99. "Yes, you Private, come here." A young second lieutenant was pointing a finger in my direction.

100. I looked about me to see if someone else might be warranting the officer's attention, but I was alone in the center of the parade ground.

101. Marching up to the lieutenant I came to attention and gave him my best salute with the question, "Sir?"

102. "What the devil do you think you are doing out there?" he fumed/

103. "Taking a shortcut to my barracks, sir," I answered, turning to wave my hand in the general direction of the buildings at the other side of the parade surface.

104. "You are at attention, Private," he screamed, and I quickly dropped my arms to my sides and complied.

105. "Don't you know the parade ground is off limits unless you are drilling or on parade?" he asked loudly.

106. "No, sir."

107. "Well it is, and you have disobeyed regimental regulations." He turned toward the company office and called to a sergeant who was passing by. The sergeant approached and gave the lieutenant a magnificent salute.

108. "Put this man on a charge for shortcutting across the parade ground," the officer ordered, and strode away.

109. "Didn't you know you are not supposed to use the parade ground as a shortcut?" the sergeant asked.

110. "No, Sergeant, I only got here yesterday afternoon and nobody told me," I explained.

111. "Well, I have to follow orders the same as you, so come along with me," and he led me back to the C Company office where I sat down on the bench, already occupied by three other soldiers, to wait my turn again.

112. The sergeant conferred with the corporal clerk who went to a large filing cabinet, removed a file folder, and handed it to the sergeant. After completing some paperwork, which I correctly assumed was my charge sheet, the sergeant also settled down to wait.

113. A half-hour later, after hanging my cap on one of the pegs inside the door, I was double-timed to the Captain's desk for the third time that afternoon.

114. The Captain read the charge sheet handed to him by my sergeant escort. He looked at me with a trace of smile under is moustache.

115. "This is not your day, is it, Private?" he said, thumbing through the other papers in my folder.

116. "No, sir."

117. "You know the reason for this charge, do you?" he asked.

118. "Yes, sir," I answered.

119. "Do you have anything to say?" He looked at me expectantly.

120. "No, sir."

121. "Well, Private, this will cost you seven days CB with extra duty to be served after you have completed the...the..." he looked at the file again, "the five and 14 days you already have."

122. "Yes, sir," I responded.

123. "And Private, try to stay out of any further trouble," he admonished. "That's all."

124. "Try to stay out of trouble, fat chance," I mumbled to myself as I collected my cap and opened the door of the outer office.

125. "You say something?" questioned the corporal from his seat behind the desk.

126. "No, Corporal, just clearing my throat," and closing the door behind me I went outside.

127. "Stay out of trouble...I didn't even know I was in trouble, 'til it was too late," I grumbled under my breath as I started to walk back to the barracks – the long way around.

Subject: Story: THE FINAL DAY
From: wysiwyg
Date: 22 Nov 05 - 06:49 PM

Another input job thanks to LF.

~S~

---------------------------------------

THE FINAL DAY

1. The day following our march was Friday, and my body still ached. After the daily parade, Sgt. Parker informed us that we had nothing scheduled for the balance of the morning.

2. "However your new assignments are posted on the Company bulletin board so I suggest you check it out as soon as possible," Parker said, "then get back here right away." Excitedly we made our way to C Company offices and crowded around the board to see where we would be going.

3. I found my name and read my fate with mixed emotions. My new regiment would be the Royal Artillery. Good, I thought, I probably wouldn't have to slog it on foot anymore, but the rest of my assignment puzzled me. Based on an aptitude test we had all undergone several weeks before, I was trained as a vehicle mechanic—me, who would know an internal combustion engine if I tripped over it. But first, with uncharacteristic insight, the Army was sending me to a base in North Wales to be taught how to drive.

4. Talking animatedly about our new regiments, we returned to where Parker was waiting.

5. "As you can see, I also have a list of your postings, but I wanted you to see them for yourselves," he said. As he read the list aloud we realized that the entire platoon would be going to various infantry regiments, except four of us, whose destination was the Royal Artillery.

6. "You people who are going to be Gunners (the Artillery equivalent of private) will be turning in their infantry equipment," Sgt. Parker said. "Corporal Tomkins will take you to the Armory to return your rifles and bayonets, then to the Quartermaster's Store to give back your cross-straps, ammunition pouches, and canteen. Be sure you get receipts for all of your returned gear."

7. Clutching the now-redundant infantry equipment, the four of us were marched to the Armory and then to the Quartermaster's, where, upon seeing me, the Quartermaster Sergeant glowered and disappeared, leaving the counter to his corporal.

8. I was elated at how little I had to do to get ready for our final Saturday muster the next morning, and had my preparations finished before the noon meal. After we had eaten we returned to our room to find Sgt. Parker waiting for us.

9. "The following people will be in charge of the various groups traveling to new assignments on Sunday," and he read out the names. To my surprise, I had been selected to lead the other three, who were also going to the Artillery. I went with the other leaders to the C Company offices. There we were given travel vouchers, railway timetables, and explicit directions to our new bases. I was starting t leave when a Corporal called my name.

10. "Yes, Corporal?" I questioned.

11. "The Captain wants to see you," he answered.

12. My heart sank. I didn't remember breaking any military rules lately. Apprehensively I knocked on the Captain's door.

13. "Come in," he called. "Oh, it's you, Hart." he said, as I stood at attention in front of this desk, giving him a smart salute.

14. "I think this is the first time you've stood there with your hat on," he observed.

15. "Yes, Sir!"

16. Pulling my file from a desk drawer, he spent some time looking it over.

17. "I see you have done quite well with your training but your punishment record is even more impressive," he said. I remained quite. "According to your file you still have 22 days extra duty left to serve," he continued.

18. "Yes, Sir!" I had lost count of the jankers days, but I was sure he was right.

19. "Private, I'm sure you realize this is a dismal start to your military service, and I really dislike sending you to your new regiment with punishment left to serve," he said as he pulled a few sheets of paper from my file and jabbed at them with a forefinger. "It gets you off to a bad start." He looked up at me from his seat at his desk.

20. "Therefore, I am removing your extra duty record from your file, so you can go to the Artillery with a clean slate."

21. "Thank you very much, Sir," I answered, greatly relieved that, not only was I not in any new trouble, but also at the tremendous break he was giving me.

22. "Good luck in your new assignment, and keep you nose clean—dismiss!"

23. "Thank you, Sir," I answered as I started to leave his office. Reaching the door I heard the Captain calling and I turned to face him.

24. "Sir?"

25. "Private Hart, my personal opinion is that you will never make a soldier as long as you have a hole in your arse," he said. I started to grin, but realizing he was deadly serious, quickly wiped the smile off my face.

26. "Yes, Sir," I answered as I left the room.

27. *   *   *

28. That afternoon I went to the kitchen of the mess to the cooks I had been relieved of all punishment, and to say goodbye to the friends I had made. I wanted to see them before they became busy with the preparations for the evening meal.

29. "No more jankers," Sgt.   "Chin's" grinned. "Just when you were becoming an expert with the dishwashing machines."

30. My Cockney Corporal friend came over with several of the other kitchen staff and we shook hands and wished each other good luck. I knew I would miss them, as they had been good to me. I also knew I would miss the extra food they always gave me.

31. "Would you like me to write you a letter of recommendation to the mess Sergeant at your next base?" Sergeant "Chins" roared with laughter and shook like a bowl full of Jell-O.

32. "No thanks, Sergeant," I assured him, "I hope to stay out of trouble from now on."

33. This was the signal for all of them to double up with laughter. "Fat chance!" My Corporal friend chuckled, his face mottled red with the effort of his merriment.

34. That evening my plate was again piled high.

35. *   *   *

36. Our travel arrangements had us leaving early Sunday morning, which left Friday and Saturday evenings free, and for which we had been given passes to leave the barracks.

37. So, Friday evening about a dozen of us left the barracks, bound for a country pub we had spotted on our various training marches. There we spent a pleasant few hours drinking beer and talking about our homes, civilian jobs, girlfriends, the past six weeks, and speculating on our new assignments.

38. "Let's come here again tomorrow night as it will be our last in Exeter," someone suggested. We all agreed. "How about we invite the rest of the platoon and have a bit of a party? Another rejoined. Again, we all agreed.

39. "Do you think we should as Sgt. Parker and Cpl. Tomkins to come too?" A third voice queried. This time there was no ready agreement.

40. We all had another beer and discussed this radical suggestion, finally agreeing to ask them both, but only for the sake of appearances. None of us were really comfortable with the idea, being sure they would put a damper on our festivities if they did decide to meet us.

41. Next morning three of us approached Sgt. Parker and asked if he and Cpl. Tomkins would want to meet us at the "Wheatsheaf" pub that evening. "We'd both like that," he said, much to our surprise.

42. Saturday afternoon we packed our kit bags and backpacks to be ready for an early start Sunday morning. Saturday evening about half of the members of the platoon made their way to the "Wheatsheaf" to enjoy our last few hours together. Some time later Sgt. Parker and Cpl. Tomkins joined us. Parker was a totally different man off duty. While Tomkins draped his gangling frame into an easy chair, Parker regaled us with some hilarious stories of his experiences during the recent war, having seen action in North Africa, Italy, and D-Day—the Allied invasion of Europe, collecting several medals and a couple of wounds along the way.

43. Finally it was time for us to return to the barracks.

44. "Before we break up I'd like to buy you all a drink and propose a toast," Sgt. Parker announced. Quickly we gathered around with our beer.

45. "I must admit that I didn't give you people a hope in Hades that you'd ever successfully complete your basis training," he said. "The most I hoped for was that you wouldn't embarrass me too badly. But, you all fooled me, and so I give you, "The Dozey Platoon!" We had no trouble drinking to that.

46. I looked around at the young men with whom I had just spent 24 hours a day for the past six weeks. It was easy to see that we had all changed and matured from the boys who had arrived at Topsham Barracks a month-and-a-half earlier, I knew I would miss these lads that I had come to know so well. I suppose what we had experienced together is now referred to as "Male Bonding," a rather cold, clinical term for what we thought of as comradeship back in the 1940's. I knew I would miss the daily stimulation of training, the constant attention of Sgt. Parker and Cpl. Tomkins and, strangely, even the extra duty punishment the Army had so generously sent my way. I had also gained about 12 pounds of muscle, was in the best physical condition of my life, and possessed confidence in myself I had never known before.

47. With more than a little sadness, I tagged on the end of the line that was filing past Sgt. Parker and Cpl. Tomkins, to add my goodbye. Shaking hands with each of them in turn, I thanked them for all their efforts with us. Sgt. Parker solemnly shook my hand and wished me luck, and, as I walked through the pub door into the cool night air, I heard him vigorously blowing his nose.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: LilyFestre
Date: 22 Nov 05 - 08:10 PM

Line 46 of DAY TWO...Hart needs to be capitalized.

And I *DO* like to type!!!    :)

Michelle

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: wysiwyg
Date: 22 Nov 05 - 08:42 PM

And before I forget-- dozey, not dozy.

~S~

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: JudyB
Date: 22 Nov 05 - 08:43 PM

DAY TWO

2. Before I had even begun to figure out what was going on, the door burst open and Sergeant Parker exploded into the room yelling, "Come on you dozy lot, let's be having you out of get - is this bed or a slang term? right now!" He was joined by Corporal Tomkins and together they went up and down the rows of beds, ripping blankets off people who were desperately trying to hang on to the last vestiges of sleep.

12. For the next hour our room looked like a rummage sale in a church basement. Hardly anyone had been lucky enough to get a fit the first, the first time, so we yelled out the sizes we had and the sizes we wanted. We dressed, undressed, dressed, undressed and dressed again, until most of us were satisfied with the results of our swaps.

28. Unfortunately I mistook his what, exclamation point, for a what, question mark, and so though he desired me to recapitulate. "I said I'm not calling you a liar unless you keep saying I was given four pairs of drawers when I know I only got three pains, Sergeant," I explained, looking up into his purple-mottled face.

40. "Well, for small things the punishment is usually being confined to barracks (CP - it's CB in para 42, which seems more logical), with an extra duty such as cleaning up the regimental area, or scrubbing out the mess, or preparing vegetables and other work in the kitchens," he answered. "For more serious crimes one could be sent to regimental prison or even military prison," he concluded. I digested this information as we started to walk again.

57. "Alright Private, attention!" he commanded. I sprang to attention.

64. "Address the Captain as 'Sir: quote, not colon Private," the sergeant ordered.

66. The Captain read the charge sheet again and raised his eyes to mine. "I am prepared to believe you were not issued the garment in question, however, I must find you guilty of insubordination," he said. "So I sentence you to 14 days, C.B. - no periods in paras 40 and 42 with extra duty. Therefore, starting tomorrow, you will report at Defaulter's parade every day at 1900 hours until your punishment is completed. You recruits must learn to obey orders without question and never argue with your superiors. That is all."

78. "Is it alright if I get my other pair of underwear while I'm this close to the stores, Sergeant?" I asked.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: JudyB
Date: 22 Nov 05 - 09:00 PM

THE FINAL DAY

3. I found my name and read my fate with mixed emotions. My new regiment would be the Royal Artillery. Good, I thought, I probably wouldn't have to slog it on foot anymore, but the rest of my assignment puzzled me. Based on an aptitude test we had all undergone several weeks before, I was trained as a vehicle mechanic - me, who would - should this be "wouldn't"? know an internal combustion engine if I tripped over it. But first, with uncharacteristic insight, the Army was sending me to a base in North Wales to be taught how to drive.

9. "The following people will be in charge of the various groups traveling to new assignments on Sunday," and he read out the names. To my surprise, I had been selected to lead the other three, who were also going to the Artillery. I went with the other leaders to the C Company offices. There we were given travel vouchers, railway timetables, and explicit directions to our new bases. I was starting t - to leave when a Corporal called my name.

17. "I see you have done quite well with your training but your punishment record is even more impressive," he said. I remained quite. "According to your file you still have 22 days extra duty left to serve," he continued.

22. "Good luck in your new assignment, and keep you nose clean - dismiss - should this be dismissed?!"

28. That afternoon I went to the kitchen of the mess to tell? some verb the cooks I had been relieved of all punishment, and to say goodbye to the friends I had made. I wanted to see them before they became busy with the preparations for the evening meal.

29. "No more jankers," Sgt.   "Chin's" - something seems off - just extra spaces? grinned. "Just when you were becoming an expert with the dishwashing machines."

39. "Do you think we should as - ask Sgt. Parker and Cpl. Tomkins to come too?" A third voice queried. This time there was no ready agreement.

45. "I must admit that I didn't give you people a hope in Hades that you'd ever successfully complete your basis training," he said. "The most I hoped for was that you wouldn't embarrass me too badly. But, you all fooled me, and so I give you, "The Dozey Platoon!" We had no trouble drinking to that.

46. I looked around at the young men with whom I had just spent 24 hours a day for the past six weeks. It was easy to see that we had all changed and matured from the boys who had arrived at Topsham Barracks a month-and-a-half earlier, - I know you said to ignore punctuation, but this one's too big for me to ignore I knew I would miss these lads that I had come to know so well. I suppose what we had experienced together is now referred to as "Male Bonding," a rather cold, clinical term for what we thought of as comradeship back in the 1940's. I knew I would miss the daily stimulation of training, the constant attention of Sgt. Parker and Cpl. Tomkins and, strangely, even the extra duty punishment the Army had so generously sent my way. I had also gained about 12 pounds of muscle, was in the best physical condition of my life, and possessed confidence in myself I had never known before.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: wysiwyg
Date: 22 Nov 05 - 10:25 PM

I love you, JudyB!

More tomorrow afternoon-- I just wasn't up to doing any, tonight.

Six left to go, one of them quite long-- but you will not believe where Jack rode the motorcycle!

~Susan

Subject: Sroty: 'JANKERS'
From: wysiwyg
Date: 23 Nov 05 - 08:44 AM

'JANKERS' (The Third Day)

1. The next morning I was awakened, it seemed, by the strangeness of my surroundings. The bed I was occupying was not my own; neither was I in my old familiar bedroom, and, most perplexing of all, sleeping bodies surrounded me.

2. Of course, I remembered, I was now one of His Majesty's infantrymen.

3. I lay quietly, pondering the events of the previous day. I certainly didn't want to continue the way I had started. Ideally I would like to find a way to become invisible, but failing that I resolved to become unidentifiable within the platoon, and to try my hardest not to attract the attention of anyone with the rank above that of private.

4. I bugle sounding Reveille interrupted my thoughts and the sound had barely faded into silence when, right on cue, the door burst open and Sgt. Parker and Cpl. Tomkins entered to give us an encore of their previous morning's performance. Again we were exhorted, encouraged, and bullied awake and, with much heartfelt grumbling, we prepared ourselves for another day.

5. At 8 a.m., resplendent in our new uniforms, we marched to the parade ground and took our places with the other platoons for regimental assembly. By 8:30 we had been reported present and correct, and were back in our barracks. The rest of the morning was to be spent stencilling our names and serial numbers on every piece of equipment and clothing we had, using stencils and ink provided by Sgt. Parker.

6. Since my name contains only four letters I was one of the first to finish the marking chore; settling back on my bed, I prepared to enjoy the frustration of those with a dozen or so letters to stencil.

7. My enjoyment was brief. Sgt. Parker suddenly appeared at the foot of my bed, his neckless head thrust forward in my direction. "Well, well; what exactly do you think you are doing, you dozey man?" he asked loudly enough for everyone to hear.

8. I sprang to my feet. This was disaster. After my early morning decision to become anonymous, the last thing I wanted was Parker's or anyone else's personal attention! In less than four hours I had failed miserably in my new resolution.

9. Sgt. Parker posed his question again. "Well, what do you think you are doing?!" he bellowed.

10. "Resting, Sergeant?" It was more a question vainly seeking approval than an answer. His eyes flashed, his face turned scarlet, and I knew I had made a serious tactical error. "This dozey old lady is resting," he loudly informed the room full of suddenly silent and motionless youths, each one grateful that I, and not they, was the victim of the sergeant's anger.

11. "Corporal Tomkins!" Parker called, and the corporal approached from the far end of the room. "Take this man to the Mess Hall, give the duty cook sergeant my compliments, and tell him to put this man to work. I don't want to set eyes on him again until 1200 hours."

12. "Come on," Tomkins ordered, and grabbing my cap I followed him outside and fell into step beside him.

13. We marched together in silence for several minutes. "You must always look busy," he said abruptly. "No matter where you are, or what you are supposed to be doing, you must always look busy. It's the only way you can hope to stay out of trouble in the Army."

14. I thought it best not to point out to the corporal that I had already found ways of getting into trouble in the Army that "looking busy" wouldn't have helped a bit.

15. "Thanks, Corporal," I answered instead, and mentally filed his advice with that of my father regarding volunteering.

16. We neared the Mess; passing the main entrance, we made our way to the rear of the building, entering through wide, open double doors.

17. I looked about me in amazement. I was in the largest kitchen I had ever seen. Everywhere, cooks were moving around gleaming stainless steel sinks, dishwashers, ovens, and tables in steamy confusion.

18. Just inside the door a huge man dressed in white, with sergeant's stripes on a khaki band around his arm, was seated at a large, cluttered desk. He stood and turned to Cpl. Tomkins and me as we entered, and in a voice that matched his size asked, "What can I do for you lads today?"

19. Cpl. Tomkins delivered Sgt. Parker's compliments and message, and with a sorrowful look at me, marched through the door and disappeared outside.

20. "What's your name, lad?" the cook sergeant asked.

21. I told him, together with my Army serial number which I had decided would be prudent to memorize and use.

22. "The name is familiar," he said, and turning to his desk, started to rummage through piles of paper. He finally retrieved one sheet and waved it in the air between us.

23. His florid face was the color of a newly-ripened tomato, and a pair of light blue eyes sparkled from above a generous stack of chins. His immense girth was almost frightening, and I was sure his waist measurement exceeded his height. He obviously enjoyed the consumption of food, and, as I was to find out, the preparation of it.

24. With a big grin he jabbed and index finger at the sheet of paper he was waving and chortled, "You are on my jankers list for tonight!"

25. "What is 'jankers', Sergeant?" I hesitantly questioned.

26. "Jankers, my boy, is Army slang for the extra duty punishment given to defaulters, like you," he boomed. "How long have you been a soldier that you don't know that?"

27. "Two days, Sergeant," I apologized.

28. "To days!" he exclaimed, and took another glance at the paper in his hand. "Two days?" he repeated. "Is that all.... It says here you have 26 jankers days to do. Who did you upset to get yourself 26 days punishment your first two days in the Army?"

29. He seemed genuinely interested in my story, so I told him as briefly as I could, and as I talked, his merriment became louder and louder.

30. I finally reached the end of my narrative. Roaring with stomach-quivering laughter, the sergeant turned to a corporal who was busily arranging peeled potatoes in a large baking pan.

31. "It seems we have a one-man crime wave among us," he hooted, and repeated the pertinent facts of my rapid downfall as the corporal walked toward us, grinning broadly.

32. The sergeant finally gained control of himself long enough to instruct the corporal, "Let him help you until 1200 hours," and he turned back to his desk and started to laugh again.

33. I worked with the corporal for the rest of the morning, arranging potatoes, filling big pots with water and already-prepared vegetables, and listening intently as the corporal explained the inner workings of that vast kitchen. I met and joked with a few of the cooks, and was actually sorry when the time arrived for me to report back to my platoon.

34. A few minutes later I was back in the Mess, only this time on the receiving side of the counter, with plate in hand.

35. "You back already?" smiled one of my new-found cook friends as he placed an extra large piece of meat on my proffered plate. "Here, you worked on these this morning," said another as he served me an extra baked potato. In a short while I was seated at a table with a heaping plate of food that was the envy of my companions.

36. That afternoon, those of us who had finished stencilling our equipment were put through our paces on the parade square starting, stopping, turning, wheeling, and marching until every member of the platoon had joined us.

37. Sgt. Parker then took us to the auditorium where we had been welcomed by our captain a two-day eternity ago, and we were treated to a lecture and slide presentation on the magnificent opportunities awaiting us in the "Modern British Army."

38. "Are there any questions? asked Sgt. Parker as the show came to an end and the lights were switched back on. Silence was the reply.

39. "Does anyone have any idea what they might like to do during their service time?" he questioned. We looked at each other, but nobody spoke.

40. "What about you, dozey man," and with dismay I saw Sgt. Parker's finger pointed directly at me.

41. "Well, Sergeant," I started. Images of a happy, fat sergeant; of good-natured ribbing between soldiers who enjoyed their work--and especially of heaping plates of good food-- passed rapidly before my eyes. "I think I'd like to be a cook."

42. Sgt. Parker actually smiled. "I expect you'll have plenty of opportunity to decide of that's what you want in the next few weeks," he said, and I knew exactly what he meant.

43. At that moment a young second lieutenant entered the room and stood beside. Parker. Salutes were exchanged and the sergeant announced, "I want you all to meet our Platoon Officer, Second Lieutenant Reed." Reed said a few words that I did not hear, as I was appalled to realize this was the same officer who had been so put out at my crossing the parade square the day before. I also couldn't help but notice his look of recognition as his eyes wandered over his platoon.

44. At last our afternoon training session was over, and I again stood in line in the mess hall line with the rest of my platoon.

45. "See you later," said a cook as he piled food on my outstretched plate. "Don't be late," admonished another with a smile as he filled my tea mug. I assured them I would be on time, and sat down to eat another generous meal, ignoring the rather pointed remarks of my jealous messmates.

46. The evening meal over, I hurried back to the barracks room. I knew I had to report for punishment parade at 1900 hours, and I had no idea when I would be finished. I also realized my boots had to be polished, my brass buttons and buckles must be buffed, and the rest of my equipment cleaned in readiness for the next morning's regimental parade.

47. For the next 45 minutes I dashed bout like a man possessed. Before seven o'clock I had everything in order and, redressed in a khaki denim work uniform, stood in front of C Company office with about a dozen other miscreants as a bugler sounded the "Defaulters" call.

48. A corporal appeared at the office door with a clipboard in his hand. "Fall in and answer when I call your name," he instructed. We fell is, he called, and we answered. He then marched s to the back door of the Mess and for the second time that day I was face to face with the Sergeant of the Chins.

49. "Can't stay away, can you?" he laughed and, jabbing me in the chest with a sausage-like finger, ordered, "You stay here."

50. I waited while he marched the rest of the group around the kitchen and Mess Hall, assigning them to cleaning work in two's and three's until all of them were busy.

51. The sergeant returned to where I was still sitting. "Come with me," he said, and I followed him to a row of six gleaming stainless steel dishwashing machines. "Since you are going to be with us for a while, I thought it would be a good idea if you learned something," he explained. He then showed me how to load dirty plates from which someone else had hosed the food particles; how to operate the controls; and how to load the clean plates onto rubber-tired carts and park them at the head of the serving counter.

52. It didn't take me long to realize that this was a real piece of cake, and I set about my duties with considerable enthusiasm but very little skill.

53. I was unloading and stacking my first load of clean plates when Sgt. "Chins" approached me, accompanied by a corporal I had not seen before.

54. "This is the villain I was telling you about," he said to the corporal, indicating me with a smile and a wave of his hand. "This is the night duty cook, who will be in charge of you from now on," he added for my benefit, and with a cheerful "goodnight" he turned and walked away.

55. "Watcha mate, you doin' alright? the new arrival greeted me. I couldn't believe my ears! A kindred Cockney accent amid the sea of West Country brogue!

56. "Yes, thanks, Corporal."

57. "We got anuvver Cockney then do we?" the corporal asked.

58. I answered affirmatively and told him where I lived in London. It turned out he had been raised in an area about a mile from my neighborhood. We found we had been entertained in the same cinemas, that we'd danced at the same dance hall, and that we'd enjoyed the same beer in some of the same pubs.

59. "Come and see me when you are finished," he suggested, and moved off to check on the progress of the rest of his jankers squad.

60. In what seemed like minutes, but was actually almost two hours, I had all the plates cleaned and stacked, and the dishwashers wiped down inside and out. Walking over to the desk, I waited for the corporal, who was inspecting the work of the other defaulters before dismissing them.

61. "You in a hurry?" he asked as he came toward me.

62. I shook my head. "Not really, but I suppose I have to be back with the platoon before 'lights out,' don't I?"

63. "Don't worry about it, you have an hour yet," he looked at his watch. "Well, almost. Want some tea, are you hungry?"

64. I of course said yes to the tea, and assured him I was always ready to eat.

65. He filled two mugs with tea, handed me one, and disappeared through the door of the large cool-room. In a few moments he returned, carrying a handful of eggs and two thick slices of ham. "Come on, mate," he called. "I'll give you your first cooking lesson."

66. We soon had a couple of pans going and in no time were sitting down to our ham and eggs, accompanied by bread baked that afternoon and unlimited quantities of strong, sweet tea. For the first time since I had left home, I felt comfortable and at ease.

67. "Twenty-six days extra duty in only two days," the corporal mused almost to himself, and then, directly to me, "You must've got up somebody's bloody nose pretty bad to get 26 days, didn't you?"

68. I assured him I had no idea whose nose I had invaded, but that jankers didn't seem that difficult to accumulate.

69. "I know one thing, Corporal," I added with a mouth full of delicious ham, "This punishment doesn't seem half bad to me," and we both roared with laughter.

70. "You know, I thought I had trouble when I first joined the Army," he said. "But I only managed 17 days punishment in the first week, and here you've still got four days 'til your first week is over!"

71. We finished our meal and talked for a while, mostly about London. "It's getting late," he finally announced, looking at his watch. "You'd better cut along now and I'll see you tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow." And we both grinned at his ribbing.

72. That night I fell on my cot completely exhausted, and within seconds I was in a deep sleep. I would have liked to have slept the night through, but about the third time I awoke I resolved never again to drink that much tea so late in the day.

Subject: Story: WHERE ARE POLICEMEN WHEN YOU NEED ONE?
From: wysiwyg
Date: 23 Nov 05 - 09:25 AM

Gotta run-- wish I had a motorcycle. More later this afternoon.

~S~

--------------------------------------------

WHERE ARE POLICEMEN WHEN YOU NEED ONE?

1. Sergeant-Major Green turned his motorcycle from the road and on to the concrete apron at the front of the motor-pool workshops, coming to a stop in front of the bay in which I was working.

2. Pulling his machine onto its kickstand, he strode toward me removing his helmet.

3. "Good morning, Hart," he smiled. "How are things with you today?"

4. "Alright, Sergeant," I answered, trying to keep suspicion out of my voice. I was sure he hadn't made the ride from Regimental Police Headquarters just to ask me how I was. I didn't have long to wait.

5. "I've been notified that I must get my bike inspected today," he said.

6. I looked at my worksheet for the day. "That's right, Sgt. Green."

7. "Unfortunately I haven't had time to properly clean it," he continued, "and I've already had two bad reports in a row." Do you think you could help me out?"

8. So that was why he was being so nice to me.

9. In the British Army at that time, all vehicles were signed out to their drivers, who were responsible for keeping them clean and neat. Once a month, every conveyance in the regiment had to undergo a mechanical inspection and cleanliness check by the workshop mechanics, of which I was now one. Three negative cleanliness reports resulted in the vehicle being taken from its driver and signed out to another.

10. "I can't lie about your motorcycle's condition on the report, Sergeant-Major, you can understand that," I answered, while taking another look at my worksheet. Sgt. Green's face fell; he really didn't want to lose his personal transportation.

11. "I tell you what I can do for you, Sergeant-Major," I said. "I'm not too busy this morning, so I'll take some time and clean and wash your b9ke for you before I inspect it."
12. \
13. Sgt. Green had always treated me well whenever circumstances had thrown us together, and I also reasoned it wouldn't hurt to have the man in charge of the Regimental Police owe me a favor.

14. Sgt. Green brightened visibly. "You'd do that for me?" he asked.

15. I nodded; "You can pick it up after three this afternoon."

16. That afternoon Sgt. Green returned to collect his bike, and smiled with pleasure at his now-immaculate machine.

17. "I appreciate what you've done for me," he beamed. "You know sometimes I just don't seem to get time to take care of it properly and I would hate to lose it."

18. "Perhaps I could take care of cleaning your bike every month if that would help," I volunteered. I figured I had him hooked, and it was time to reel him in.

19. His astonishment showed. "If you would do that for me, I would be very grateful, and I would be more than willing to trade favors. If there is anything I can do for you, just ask," he offered.

20. I thanked him, knowing what I wanted but unsure how to broach the subject. Sgt. Green made it easy.

21. "Well, lad, is there something I can do for you right now?" he asked.

22. "Well. Sergeant..." I hesitated.

23. "Go on, lad."

24. "Well, Sergeant-Major, I have a girl friend in Makenham, and I only get to see her once in a while on Saturday night because the town is at least 15 miles away and it is very difficult to get transportation," I explained. At best, I hoped to hitch a ride on one of the police patrol vehicles.

25. Sergeant-Major Green pondered this for a while; and then, bending down from his six-foot-three height to put his head closer to my ear, he quietly said, "You know that small woods behind the police building?" I nodded. "Well, once in a while I've seen a motorcycle parked among the trees."

26. This was better than anything I could possibly have imagined. Sgt. Green really did seem grateful, and I decided to push it as far as I could.

27. "Do you think it might be there this coming Saturday evening?" I queried.

28. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised," he grinned and, kicking his motorcycle into life, he rode away, still smiling.

29. On Saturday evening, dressed in my best uniform, I took the narrow path through the trees. Sgt. Green's motorcycle was there. On its seat were a white helmet emblazoned with the word "Police" on the front, a whiter Police belt, and a Regimental Police armband.

30. Donning the equipment, I quietly and nervously wheeled the bike through the trees to a lane beyond before starting the engine and making for Makenham. This was exhilarating, and the first of many successful Saturday night visits to my girlfriend.

31. Every month from then on, Sgt. Green delivered his motorcycle for inspection, and I made sure he received a good report. The bike and equipment were available whenever I needed them, and consequently y love life was good.

32. Only once was my police imitation seriously threaten3ed with exposure.

33. It was a Saturday night. Resplendent in my police equipment, I happily sped toward Makenham and my usual date.

34. As I started down the hill toward the town center, a frantically-waving figure leaped in front of me. I skidded to a stop and a young second lieutenant with a flushed face approached me.

35. "Thank goodness you came along," he panted. "There's a fight between some soldiers going on in there," he pointed to a pub next to us. "You must go in and stop it."

36. This was something I had never considered. Here was someone who actually wanted me to act like a regimental policeman—I'd better do something fast! If I was found out to be an imposter, I'd not only find myself in serious trouble, but—much worse—Sgt. Green would be in it with me.

37. I knew there was no way I was about to thrust my 135 pounds into a donnybrook of heaven knows how many brawling, possibly drunken, soldiers.

38. Quickly I noted the Lieutenant's shoulder patches, which identified him as being from another regiment. That was a real break for me. I was also quite sure he hadn't noticed my regimental insignia, since his only concern seemed to be my police gear.

39. "Is there a back door to the pub, Sir?" I asked as I put the bike on its kickstand.

40. "Yes, Officer," he replied.

41. "Well, sir, it might be a good idea if you went around to the back and used your rank to stop anyone attempting to get way when I go in the front," I suggested.

42. "Right," he replied, and running into the alley beside the pub, he disappeared behind the building.

43. Straddling my motorcycle as fast as I could, I coasted quietly down the hill, not starting the engine until I was sure I was out of earshot of the waiting lieutenant.

44. This was the only near-catastrophe I experienced, and I never told a soul about the episode; but I often wonder how long that second lieutenant waited for escaping soldiers while his policeman stopped the fight.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: TheBigPinkLad
Date: 23 Nov 05 - 11:26 AM

JANKERS:

4. I bugle sounding Reveille interrupted my thoughts and the sound had barely faded into silence when, right on cue, the door burst open and Sgt. Parker and Cpl. Tomkins entered to give us an encore of their previous morning's performance.

16. We neared the Mess; [ditto line 34]

28. "To days!"

38. "Are there any questions?close quotes asked Sgt. Parker

40. "What about you, dozey man,replace , with ?"

42. Sgt. Parker actually smiled. "I expect you'll have plenty of opportunity to decide of that's what you want in the next few weeks," he said, and I knew exactly what he meant.

43. At that moment a young second lieutenant entered the room and stood beside. remove periodParker.


47. For the next 45 minutes I dashed bout like a man possessed.


48. We fell is, he called, and we answered. He then marched s to the back door of the Mess and for the second time that day I was face to face with the Sergeant of the Chins.

50. I waited while he marched the rest of the group around the kitchen and Mess Hall, assigning them to cleaning work in two's and three's until all of them were busy.

55. "Watcha mate, you doin' alright?it's two words: all right + close quotes the new arrival greeted me.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: TheBigPinkLad
Date: 23 Nov 05 - 12:28 PM

WHERE ARE POLICEMEN WHEN YOU NEED ONE?

1. Sergeant-Major Green turned his motorcycle from the road and on to the concrete apron at the front of the motor-pool workshops, coming to a stop in front of the bay in which I was working.

4. "Alright, Sergeant," I answered, trying to keep suspicion out of my voice.

7. "Unfortunately I haven't had time to properly clean it," he continued, "and I've already had two bad reports in a row." [remove quotes] Do you think you could help me out?"

11. "I tell you what I can do for you, Sergeant-Major," I said. "I'm not too busy this morning, so I'll take some time and clean and wash your b9ke for you before I inspect it."

22. "Well. [replace period with comma] Sergeant..." I hesitated.

24. "Well, Sergeant-Major, I have a girl friend [one word, see 30] in Makenham,


31. The bike and equipment were available whenever I needed them, and consequently y love life was good.

32. Only once was my police imitation seriously threaten3ed with exposure.

38. Quickly I noted the Lieutenant's shoulder patches, which identified him as being from another regiment.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: TheBigPinkLad
Date: 23 Nov 05 - 01:02 PM

Danged bolding! :o)

32. Only once was my police imitation seriously threaten3ed with exposure.

38. Quickly I noted the Lieutenant's shoulder patches, which identified him as being from another regiment.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: JudyB
Date: 23 Nov 05 - 01:15 PM

'JANKERS' (The Third Day)

Nothing that TheBigPinkLad didn't already find

WHERE ARE POLICEMEN WHEN YOU NEED ONE?

Only thing to add is that paragraph 12 just contains a slash and no text - TheBigPinkLad is good!

JudyB

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: TheBigPinkLad
Date: 23 Nov 05 - 01:39 PM

Aw, shucks, thank you JudyB ;o)

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: wysiwyg
Date: 23 Nov 05 - 04:04 PM

I love you ALL.

Just so you know-- Jack had his own spelling conventions.... I think they grew out of his mixed-culture background, having come to the US pretty young. Example-- "dozey," not "dozy," but "labor" instead of "labour."

Because he was otherwise quite a reliable speller, and because these stories are for his children who knew their father's speech patterns so well, I'm leaving a lot of his spelling intact. Jack had his own flavor-- and abhorred correctness for the sake of being correct. Most of you are right when you point out the non-standard usage-- please don't take offense if I stick with what Jack OK'd in life and avoid cleaning up his stuff much further now that he's beyond OKing even a sensible change.

Keep 'em coming! I'll sort it all out-- few more to go yet. The paragraph numbers are a help, aren't they??? I appreciate so much when you take the trouble to bold-face your comments/corrections.

~S~

Subject: Story: ITSY BITSY SPIDER
From: wysiwyg
Date: 23 Nov 05 - 04:56 PM

With apologies to my Scots friends...

~S~

------------------------------

ITSY BITSY SPIDER

1. At some time during their school days, every British child learns the story of a Scottish King of many, many years ago—Robert the Bruce—and his encounter with a small spider.

2. It seems King "the Bruce" had suffered a major defeat at the hands of his enemies. His army was scattered, and Bob was hiding out ("took refuge in" was, I think, the popular phrase) in a dark, dank cave.

3. Tired, hungry and despondent, the King sat with his head in his hands, feeling sorry for himself and wondering aloud, "What's the gude of onything ony muir?" in his best Scottish accent.

4. After a while, he noticed a small spider valiantly and optimistically attempting to string a web across the moth of the cave. Time after time, the spider attempted to attach its delicate strands from one side to the other; and time after time, it failed. Over and over it persevered; and over and over it was unsuccessful until—at last!—after several hours of sustained effort, the spider managed to build its web from wall to wall of the cave opening, and settled down to await dinner.

5. King Robert was impressed. "If one of the wee-est of God's creatures can struggle and overcome adversity, then so can Robert the Bruce," he said to himself.

6. And right then and there he decided to follow the example of the spider: to never give up, to rally his army, and to lead it to eventual victory (which the legend said he did).

7. Having made this momentous decision, according to the legend, he leapt to his feet and dashed headlong from the cave... totally destroying the poor, wee spider's brand new web.

8. My own personal encounter with an arachnid was somewhat less inspiriting.

9. * *

10. The fourth day of our training started with the by-now-familiar bedlam generated by Sgt. Parker and Cpl. Tomkins. After the early-morning routine of cleaning, shaving, showering, breakfast, and parade, Sgt. Parker told us this was to be the day were issued rifles.

11. "Your officers seem to think you are ready for real weapons," he said, but his dubious look let us know he did not share his superiors' confidence.

12. "But God help us all," he added, "if they ever decide to give you dozey people real cartridges!"

13. We marched to the Armory, where each of us was given a great gob of grease, inside which (we were assured) was a .303 caliber Lee-Enfield military rifle.

14. The rest of the morning was spent troweling off the grease and thoroughly cleaning the exposed weapon.

15. Parker walked up and down, encouraging and criticizing our efforts.

16. "You are going to keep these rifles spotlessly clean at all times," he informed us. "A dirty weapon is a useless weapon and will not function properly. Some day your life and those of your companions might depend upon your rifle," he looked skywards, adding, "Heaven forbid."

17. After our mid-day meal, Parker and Tomkins spent the afternoon teaching us how to disassemble, clean, and reassemble our rifles. By the end of the day, our weapons were immaculate, and we were taking them apart (and putting them back together) with our eyes closed.

18. Next day our training continued, with close-order drills and various marching formations on the Parade Ground. This "square bashing" was made more difficult by the addition of our rifles. We learned to "Slope Arms" (place our rifles on our shoulders), "Order Arms" (take them off), "Present," "Port," and the "Rifle Salute."

19. Sgt. Parker's "dozey" platoon proved to be so inept at all these basic military maneuvers that it was decided not to allow us to carry our rifles to Saturday morning's parade. As Sgt. Parker put it, "Someone could get seriously injured."All the following week we practiced, and were yelled at, drilled, and were yelled at; by Friday we were judged ready to take our wood and steel companions to Saturday morning's muster.

20. By this time I had fallen into a routine of training all day and working off my punishment in the kitchen every evening. Consequently, I'd developed a system whereby I could squeeze time for the care of my equipment by utilizing any break time we were granted.

21. Saturday morning arrived. We had been told we would be taking our rifles on parade, so I gave my weapon a last-minute cleaning and ran a "pull-through" through its barrel, going to breakfast satisfied that it was as spotless as possible.

22. Sgt. Parker and Cpl. Tomkins marched us to the parade and for once we did everything right, causing Parker to comment, "For the world's doziest platoon, you don't look too bad!"

23. The Parade Ground was crowded with participating soldiers assembled by platoon and company. After the sergeants had made their reports regarding their charges, we stood at attention awaiting inspection by our Platoon Lieutenant.

24. The procedure for inspecting our rifles was as follows. Upon the command, "For Inspection, Port Arms!" we were required to bring our weapons diagonally across our bodies, the muzzle to the left about head-high and the butt held in the right hand a little below our waists. At the same time, we had to open the bolt to expose the breach.

25. Sgt. Parker gave the "Port Arms" command, and we moved as one.

26. The Lieutenant moved slowly along the line, peering critically into each rifle. One in a while he would stop before a recruit and tap the displayed weapon. This was the signal for the soldier to swing the barrel of his rifle to the front, putting his thumb into the breach to reflect the light, which enabled the lieutenant to inspect the cleanliness of the barrel.

27. Finally, the Inspecting Officer stood before me. After a brief look into its inner workings, he tapped my Lee-Enfield and I smartly swung the muzzle toward him, sticking my thumb into the breach.

28. A look of disbelief crossed his face, followed quickly by one of anger. Grabbing the rifle from my hands, he presented the muzzle to my eye, sticking his own thumb into the breach for my inspection.

29. "What do you see, Private?" His voice was like ice.

30. I peered into the rifle and, to my horror, saw a small spider anchored in the rifling in an otherwise-gleaming barrel.

31. "Well, Private, what do you see?" he demanded again.

32. "It's a bloody spider, Sir." I couldn't believe my eyes.

33. "That's right, Private, it's a bloody spider, Sir," he mimicked.

34. The Lieutenant thrust the weapon into my hands and turned to Sgt. Parker. "See that this man is charged with neglect of his rifle," he ordered.

35. Sgt. Parker was following the young officer; when he passed me he whispered, "Bad luck, Hart."

36. So, predictably, I was charged and soon found myself in the Company Commanders' office and, also predictably, was awarded several more days of "Confined to Barracks with Extra Duty." And for the rest of my training, the Lieutenant never missed an opportunity to check my rifle barrel.

37. If I learned anything from the episode it was this: that spiders may be inspirational to Scottish kings, but they have absolutely no respect for English military trainees.

Subject: RE: BS: Proofreading Help Needed ASAP
From: TheBigPinkLad
Date: 23 Nov 05 - 05:16 PM

1. At some time during their school days, every British child learns the story of a Scottish King [lower case, except when preceeding 'Bruce'] of many, many years ago—Robert the Bruce—and his encounter with a small spider.

13. We marched to the Armory, where each of us was given a great gob of grease, inside which (we were assured) was a .303 caliber Lee-Enfield military rifle.

18. Next day our training continued, with close-order drills and various marching formations on the Parade Ground. This "square bashing" was made more difficult by the addition of our rifles. We learned to "Slope Arms" (place our rifles on our shoulders), "Order Arms" (take them off), "Present," "Port," and the "Rifle Salute."

23. The Parade Ground was crowded with participating soldiers assembled by platoon and company. After the sergeants had made their reports regarding their charges, we stood at attention awaiting inspection by our Platoon Lieutenant.

24. The procedure for inspecting our rifles was as follows. Upon the command, "For Inspection, Port Arms!" we were required to bring our weapons diagonally across our bodies, the muzzle to the left about head-high and the butt held in the right hand a little below our waists. At the same time, we had to open the bolt to expose the breach.


28. Grabbing the rifle from my hands, he presented the muzzle to my eye, sticking his own thumb into the breach. for my inspection.


34. The Lieutenant thrust the weapon into my hands and turned to Sgt. Parker.

36. So, predictably, I was charged and soon found myself in the Company Commanders' office and, also predictably, was awarded several more days of "Confined to Barracks with Extra Duty." And for the rest of my training, the Lieutenant never missed an opportunity to check my rifle barrel.