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Authors: Andrew O’Hagan
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convoy moved on and crept slowly into the mountains towards Ghorak – helicopters over the peaks – and before it got dark the vehicles halted on a plateau. ‘Come on you chozzies,’ Dooley said. ‘Grab your shit. We’re stopping.’
‘How long?’ Flannigan asked.
‘This’ll be it for the night. It’s slow going. They need to keep fixing the tracks and looking for bombs in the road.’
The captain turned down his radio. He just sat in the corner of the vehicle and watched the boys pulling stuff out their packs. It was the low-level hum of his life, the constant banter, the laughter, the mock offence, the lingo. ‘Have you seen Flannigan’s watch, sir?’
‘Nope. I don’t care about watches.’
‘It’s cheap rubbish. Take your Casio G-Shock. Classic. Totally awesome. It’s been that way since 1983.’
‘Dooley!’
‘An electro-luminescent panel causes the entire face to glow for easy reading.’ The boys were laughing and making to leave the Vector and Luke began chucking their bags after them.
‘I mean it, Dooley,’ he shouted. ‘Get the fuck out the van or I’ll mess you up.’ Luke slammed the door and smiled to himself and then a mortar burst in the valley.
‘ Kaboom ,’ he said.
SANDHURST
Luke lay down and flicked off his helmet. It was good to feel the static falling away, the ops talk, and Scullion. It was nice tobe free of the jeering and the news from up and down the line. He stretched his legs out and pulled a folder from his backpack, a black folder from Strathclyde that had once held his Honours dissertation. Now it held photos and letters that came to the camp from home. He opened it and took out a flattened bag of wet wipes and a packet of sherbet. (From his grandmother, Anne, posted by the woman next door.) He held up a photograph and used a Maglite from the floor of the Vector to help him see. Anne was young in the picture and she looked like the happiest person alive. He searched her eyes and saw evidence of Harry’s presence, the grandfather he had never met, just a glow in her eye, always there in portraits taken by him.
Dear Luke,
This is a wee note to say hello from your gran and we really hope you’re doing well over there. We see it on the news all the time but you probably see it differently when you’re there. Nothing to report over here except the sun is finally out thank God and life in Saltcoats always takes a turn for the better in the nice weather. Gran says to thank you for sending the right address for parcels and don’t forget she says to take pictures if the light is good. Gran’s been getting a bit forgetful but she’s not bad son and coping well since the winter time. Remember there’s plenty of us in here to help with anything she needs doing. Anyway son that’s us running out of things to say so please take good care. Everybody sends their love to you.
All the best,
Gran and Maureen
He could imagine her face at the window. He wonderedif any of the boys had a grandmother like his, a woman with knowledge and secrets and a gentle habit of helping you up your game. He wasn’t a very typical officer, he knew that and so did everyone else, but it had somehow played to his advantage to be different in the regiment. They knew he was a reader but thought he was made of heroic stuff because of his dad. It had been Anne who took up the slack, inspiration-wise, when his dad died, and he supposed he went to see her as part of working himself out. In those days he was always ready to get lost in other people’s ideas, and Gran was a fountain of individuality if ever there was one. There was endless chat about how life used to be, with details missing. The slow-motion world of hinted-at summers and new lipstick and the Pleasure Beach. She spoke to him about Blackpool as if it was New York or Toronto, where she’d also been, and where she’d also taken photographs that were lost along the way.
He lay back and saw the parade ground at Sandhurst. And then he saw his
‘How long?’ Flannigan asked.
‘This’ll be it for the night. It’s slow going. They need to keep fixing the tracks and looking for bombs in the road.’
The captain turned down his radio. He just sat in the corner of the vehicle and watched the boys pulling stuff out their packs. It was the low-level hum of his life, the constant banter, the laughter, the mock offence, the lingo. ‘Have you seen Flannigan’s watch, sir?’
‘Nope. I don’t care about watches.’
‘It’s cheap rubbish. Take your Casio G-Shock. Classic. Totally awesome. It’s been that way since 1983.’
‘Dooley!’
‘An electro-luminescent panel causes the entire face to glow for easy reading.’ The boys were laughing and making to leave the Vector and Luke began chucking their bags after them.
‘I mean it, Dooley,’ he shouted. ‘Get the fuck out the van or I’ll mess you up.’ Luke slammed the door and smiled to himself and then a mortar burst in the valley.
‘ Kaboom ,’ he said.
SANDHURST
Luke lay down and flicked off his helmet. It was good to feel the static falling away, the ops talk, and Scullion. It was nice tobe free of the jeering and the news from up and down the line. He stretched his legs out and pulled a folder from his backpack, a black folder from Strathclyde that had once held his Honours dissertation. Now it held photos and letters that came to the camp from home. He opened it and took out a flattened bag of wet wipes and a packet of sherbet. (From his grandmother, Anne, posted by the woman next door.) He held up a photograph and used a Maglite from the floor of the Vector to help him see. Anne was young in the picture and she looked like the happiest person alive. He searched her eyes and saw evidence of Harry’s presence, the grandfather he had never met, just a glow in her eye, always there in portraits taken by him.
Dear Luke,
This is a wee note to say hello from your gran and we really hope you’re doing well over there. We see it on the news all the time but you probably see it differently when you’re there. Nothing to report over here except the sun is finally out thank God and life in Saltcoats always takes a turn for the better in the nice weather. Gran says to thank you for sending the right address for parcels and don’t forget she says to take pictures if the light is good. Gran’s been getting a bit forgetful but she’s not bad son and coping well since the winter time. Remember there’s plenty of us in here to help with anything she needs doing. Anyway son that’s us running out of things to say so please take good care. Everybody sends their love to you.
All the best,
Gran and Maureen
He could imagine her face at the window. He wonderedif any of the boys had a grandmother like his, a woman with knowledge and secrets and a gentle habit of helping you up your game. He wasn’t a very typical officer, he knew that and so did everyone else, but it had somehow played to his advantage to be different in the regiment. They knew he was a reader but thought he was made of heroic stuff because of his dad. It had been Anne who took up the slack, inspiration-wise, when his dad died, and he supposed he went to see her as part of working himself out. In those days he was always ready to get lost in other people’s ideas, and Gran was a fountain of individuality if ever there was one. There was endless chat about how life used to be, with details missing. The slow-motion world of hinted-at summers and new lipstick and the Pleasure Beach. She spoke to him about Blackpool as if it was New York or Toronto, where she’d also been, and where she’d also taken photographs that were lost along the way.
He lay back and saw the parade ground at Sandhurst. And then he saw his
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