order of march in order that the spouse could serve as a forward mine detector. The occasional itinerant Arab wandered into the no-man’s-land valley apparently to dig stones. Both sides being short of ammunition, we took little notice unless the wanderer turned towards either slope, when a burst over his head sent him scampering terror stricken over the rocks.
“Wogs may do it, sir,” said Corporal Hink, “but you’d never get nothing out of them. They don’t speak no knownlanguage. And Jerry soon shoots them up if they make for the djebel.”
“That’s because they do it in the open. There’s plenty of cover among the wadis that a trained soldier could use to get a decent O.P.”
“And how are you going to turn a Wog into a trained soldier?”
“I’m not. But we could turn a trained soldier into a Wog.”
They looked at me in amazement. Their untrained minds had not been able to make so swift an analysis of the situation.
“Do you mean, sir,” said Sergeant Transom, “that you want somebody to dress up as a Wog and do a Lawrence of Arabia?”
“Yes. One brave volunteer could then achieve more in ten minutes than ten nights of patrol.”
“One brave volunteer?”
“Yes. He should, of course, be an N.C.O. A private soldier would not be capable of the reconnaissance required.”
I waited confidently for all four of them to volunteer.
“I’d be in there like a shot,” said Corporal Hink, “but you’d never make a Wog out of me with this mop.” He ruffled up his Harpo mass of straw-blond hair.
“Same here,” said Corporal Globe, “but I can’t see across the room if I take off my glasses. And whoever saw a stone-digging Wog in horn-rimmed glasses?”
“And there’s no man I’d let be down there before me,” said Corporal Dooley, “if it weren’t that there’s six foot and over fifteen stone of me. There’s not one of these Wogs that weigh more than a whippet and Jerry would never believe the size of me in a burnous.”
“And I’d not be able to deceive them neither,” said Sergeant Transom standing as straight-backed as Queen Mary. “After twenty years of drill parade, I could never drop myself into the proper Wog civilian slouch. You could dress me up in all the bed sheets and bath towels in Bolton and the Boche’d still pick me out as a regular soldier. I’m afraid, sir, I just haven’t got the necessary histrionic ability. I have to confess I’m just not up to the job.” He shook his head in sad,professional defeat. “And if you don’t mind my offering my opinion, sir, there’s only one person here with the right figure, acting ability, and natural bearing to play Lawrence of Arabia…. Just look at him, boys.”
And with a gesture of an impresario, he pointed at me.
“You’re dead right, Sergeant,” said Corporal Hink admiringly . “Just look at them noble, hawklike features. Spitting image of an Arab sheikh with anaemia.”
“And that carriage!” said Corporal Globe. “Just a pale-faced son of the desert. A bit of brown boot polish over your gob, sir, and you could have just stepped off a camel.”
“If Mrs. Lawrence ever see you sudden, sir, she’d reckon it was her own boy come back,” said Corporal Dooley. “When you get sunburned there’s going to be Bedouin bints from all over Arabia coming after you. No doubt about it, sir, you’re the dead ringer for the job.”
I must confess that I had cast myself in this particular operation as planner rather than executant, bearing in mind that my training and experience would be of more value to the war effort in interpreting the information than in obtaining it. However, now that I looked around my subordinates I could see that it would be difficult to make any of them into convincing Arabs. And since they drew attention to my resemblance to Lawrence of Arabia—I feel this was as much in reference to my qualities of leadership as it was to any mere physical similarity—and I had suggested the
“Wogs may do it, sir,” said Corporal Hink, “but you’d never get nothing out of them. They don’t speak no knownlanguage. And Jerry soon shoots them up if they make for the djebel.”
“That’s because they do it in the open. There’s plenty of cover among the wadis that a trained soldier could use to get a decent O.P.”
“And how are you going to turn a Wog into a trained soldier?”
“I’m not. But we could turn a trained soldier into a Wog.”
They looked at me in amazement. Their untrained minds had not been able to make so swift an analysis of the situation.
“Do you mean, sir,” said Sergeant Transom, “that you want somebody to dress up as a Wog and do a Lawrence of Arabia?”
“Yes. One brave volunteer could then achieve more in ten minutes than ten nights of patrol.”
“One brave volunteer?”
“Yes. He should, of course, be an N.C.O. A private soldier would not be capable of the reconnaissance required.”
I waited confidently for all four of them to volunteer.
“I’d be in there like a shot,” said Corporal Hink, “but you’d never make a Wog out of me with this mop.” He ruffled up his Harpo mass of straw-blond hair.
“Same here,” said Corporal Globe, “but I can’t see across the room if I take off my glasses. And whoever saw a stone-digging Wog in horn-rimmed glasses?”
“And there’s no man I’d let be down there before me,” said Corporal Dooley, “if it weren’t that there’s six foot and over fifteen stone of me. There’s not one of these Wogs that weigh more than a whippet and Jerry would never believe the size of me in a burnous.”
“And I’d not be able to deceive them neither,” said Sergeant Transom standing as straight-backed as Queen Mary. “After twenty years of drill parade, I could never drop myself into the proper Wog civilian slouch. You could dress me up in all the bed sheets and bath towels in Bolton and the Boche’d still pick me out as a regular soldier. I’m afraid, sir, I just haven’t got the necessary histrionic ability. I have to confess I’m just not up to the job.” He shook his head in sad,professional defeat. “And if you don’t mind my offering my opinion, sir, there’s only one person here with the right figure, acting ability, and natural bearing to play Lawrence of Arabia…. Just look at him, boys.”
And with a gesture of an impresario, he pointed at me.
“You’re dead right, Sergeant,” said Corporal Hink admiringly . “Just look at them noble, hawklike features. Spitting image of an Arab sheikh with anaemia.”
“And that carriage!” said Corporal Globe. “Just a pale-faced son of the desert. A bit of brown boot polish over your gob, sir, and you could have just stepped off a camel.”
“If Mrs. Lawrence ever see you sudden, sir, she’d reckon it was her own boy come back,” said Corporal Dooley. “When you get sunburned there’s going to be Bedouin bints from all over Arabia coming after you. No doubt about it, sir, you’re the dead ringer for the job.”
I must confess that I had cast myself in this particular operation as planner rather than executant, bearing in mind that my training and experience would be of more value to the war effort in interpreting the information than in obtaining it. However, now that I looked around my subordinates I could see that it would be difficult to make any of them into convincing Arabs. And since they drew attention to my resemblance to Lawrence of Arabia—I feel this was as much in reference to my qualities of leadership as it was to any mere physical similarity—and I had suggested the
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