return from hell to kill him.'
To the growl of our cursing he left the canteen.
'That character will meet a violent death,' observed The Old Un. 'And nobody will mourn him.'
A week later we were standing with the little legionnaire, who had had part of his nose cut out due to Tiny's kick, looking at a big metal drum being riveted. One end of the drum rested against the wall. Tiny happened to pass by and the legionnaire called cheekily to him:
'You're strong, come and hold on to the rivets, they keep jumping out. We haven't got the strength to hold them.'
Tiny like all bullies was stupid and full of brag. He proudly shot out his chest and jeered as he climbed into the drum:
'Weaklings! I'll show you how to rivet.'
No sooner had he entered the drum than we pushed a cement-loaded tip-wagon across the opening. We put wedges under the wheels to make it immovable. Tiny was caught like a rat in a trap.
Hell was let loose. Ten-fifteen pneumatic hammers and large mallets performed a hellish concert on the steel drum.
The little legionnaire pressed a steam-hose against a rivet hole and let the scalding, whistling steam off. It would have killed anybody except Tiny.
He spent three weeks in hospital, and when he turned up again, bandaged from head to foot, he at once got himself into more wild fights.
One day, Kalb powdered a glass and put it in Tiny's soup. We waited gleefully for his inside to burst, but he only seemed to have more joie de vivre .
A little later Porta saved the little legionnaire's life when he noticed Tiny pouring a dose of pure nicotine into his pint. Without a word Porta knocked the glass out of the legionnaire's hand. The little man had been accepted.
7
It started by chance with something as boring as coffee and sweet cakes - it ended with an air raid and marching orders.
War is war, morals disappear and love is short and unsure.
Fudge if you dare! It is only old women and men who have never known love who cannot understand those who seek, find it, and have to experience it.
Love Scene
High-heeled female shoes hit the wet pavement with firm taps.
In the sleepy light from the blue black-out bulb swinging on a rusty bracket from the wall where I stood hidden I was sure it was she: Ilse, my girl.
I remained in the dark so that she would not see me. I enjoyed seeing and not being seen. She stood, walked up and down, stood again and stared up the street leading to the poplar avenue. She looked at her watch, then tidied her green scarf.
An infantry soldier walked by, slowed down, stopped and asked:
'Come with me, I'll give you compensation.'
She turned down the street away from the love-hungry soldier. He laughed a little and went on his way.
She came back to the light. I started humming:
' Unsere beiden Schatten sahen wir einer aus,
dass wir so lieb uns hatten, dass sah man gleich daraus,
Und alle Leute sollen es sehen, wenn wir bei der
Lanterne stehen ...'
She whirled round, stared into the darkness, and I went slowly forward. She was about to scold when she saw me but burst out into a ringing laugh.
Arm in arm, dead against military regulations, we turned and walked through the ruins. The war and the waiting were forgotten. We were together.
'Where to, Ilse?'
'I don't know, Sven. Where can we get away from soldiers and the smell of beer?'
'Let's go to your house, Ilse. I'd like to see it. We've known each other five weeks and spent them in pubs, grease-stinking coffee bars or in the dirty ruins.'
We walked on a bit before she answered:
'Yes, let's go to my house, but you must be quiet. Nobody must hear you.'
Our transport was a rumbling, shaking tram-car. Sad grey people were our fellow-travellers. We got off in a suburb. I kissed her and stroked her soft cheeks.
She pressed my arm and laughed quietly. We walked slowly on. There were no ruins here; only private houses and terraces where the wealthy lived. It didn't pay to drop bombs here; not enough would be killed.
The air-raid
To the growl of our cursing he left the canteen.
'That character will meet a violent death,' observed The Old Un. 'And nobody will mourn him.'
A week later we were standing with the little legionnaire, who had had part of his nose cut out due to Tiny's kick, looking at a big metal drum being riveted. One end of the drum rested against the wall. Tiny happened to pass by and the legionnaire called cheekily to him:
'You're strong, come and hold on to the rivets, they keep jumping out. We haven't got the strength to hold them.'
Tiny like all bullies was stupid and full of brag. He proudly shot out his chest and jeered as he climbed into the drum:
'Weaklings! I'll show you how to rivet.'
No sooner had he entered the drum than we pushed a cement-loaded tip-wagon across the opening. We put wedges under the wheels to make it immovable. Tiny was caught like a rat in a trap.
Hell was let loose. Ten-fifteen pneumatic hammers and large mallets performed a hellish concert on the steel drum.
The little legionnaire pressed a steam-hose against a rivet hole and let the scalding, whistling steam off. It would have killed anybody except Tiny.
He spent three weeks in hospital, and when he turned up again, bandaged from head to foot, he at once got himself into more wild fights.
One day, Kalb powdered a glass and put it in Tiny's soup. We waited gleefully for his inside to burst, but he only seemed to have more joie de vivre .
A little later Porta saved the little legionnaire's life when he noticed Tiny pouring a dose of pure nicotine into his pint. Without a word Porta knocked the glass out of the legionnaire's hand. The little man had been accepted.
7
It started by chance with something as boring as coffee and sweet cakes - it ended with an air raid and marching orders.
War is war, morals disappear and love is short and unsure.
Fudge if you dare! It is only old women and men who have never known love who cannot understand those who seek, find it, and have to experience it.
Love Scene
High-heeled female shoes hit the wet pavement with firm taps.
In the sleepy light from the blue black-out bulb swinging on a rusty bracket from the wall where I stood hidden I was sure it was she: Ilse, my girl.
I remained in the dark so that she would not see me. I enjoyed seeing and not being seen. She stood, walked up and down, stood again and stared up the street leading to the poplar avenue. She looked at her watch, then tidied her green scarf.
An infantry soldier walked by, slowed down, stopped and asked:
'Come with me, I'll give you compensation.'
She turned down the street away from the love-hungry soldier. He laughed a little and went on his way.
She came back to the light. I started humming:
' Unsere beiden Schatten sahen wir einer aus,
dass wir so lieb uns hatten, dass sah man gleich daraus,
Und alle Leute sollen es sehen, wenn wir bei der
Lanterne stehen ...'
She whirled round, stared into the darkness, and I went slowly forward. She was about to scold when she saw me but burst out into a ringing laugh.
Arm in arm, dead against military regulations, we turned and walked through the ruins. The war and the waiting were forgotten. We were together.
'Where to, Ilse?'
'I don't know, Sven. Where can we get away from soldiers and the smell of beer?'
'Let's go to your house, Ilse. I'd like to see it. We've known each other five weeks and spent them in pubs, grease-stinking coffee bars or in the dirty ruins.'
We walked on a bit before she answered:
'Yes, let's go to my house, but you must be quiet. Nobody must hear you.'
Our transport was a rumbling, shaking tram-car. Sad grey people were our fellow-travellers. We got off in a suburb. I kissed her and stroked her soft cheeks.
She pressed my arm and laughed quietly. We walked slowly on. There were no ruins here; only private houses and terraces where the wealthy lived. It didn't pay to drop bombs here; not enough would be killed.
The air-raid
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