My Friend Jack: A Story of Adventurous Characters Drawn Together in a Later Half of the Last Century

By John Cooper

Three disparate young men from different countries and backgrounds are fated to meet far from their homes. Trying circumstances draw them together in Australia and then Korea. Their paths mingle in a story that spans half the world in the latter half of the last century. The women in their lives are as different as the backgrounds from which the three men come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jul 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514497197

John Cooper

John Cooper is an author and historian of the Tudor period. He studied at Merton College Oxford for his BA and doctorate, and is now based at the University of York. The author of Propaganda and the Tudor State and The Queen's Agent, John has worked as a historical consultant for the BBC and Starz, and is a popular public lecturer on the history, art and architecture of Tudor England. Most recently, he has led a series of projects investigating the Palace of Westminster, the lost chapel of St Stephen and the House of Commons. John is a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society, joint editor of the journal Parliamentary History and became Director of the Society of Antiquaries of London in 2021.

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Copyright © 2016 by John Cooper.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 06/24/2016

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Contents

Preface

Book 1

Chapter 1    December 1939 - Pretoria, South Africa.

December 1939 - Penrith, New South Wales, Australia

December 1939 - Basingstoke Manor, Hampshire, England

Chapter 2    December 1943 - St. John’s College, Johannesburg, South Africa

December 1943 - Kedumba Grammar - Bullaburra - New South Wales Australia.

December 1943 - Winchester School - Hampshire – England

Chapter 3    December 1946 – Pretoria, South Africa

Kedumba Grammar -Bullaburra - New South Wales Australia

Basingstoke Manor – Hampshire, England

Chapter 4    December 1948 Rhodes University - Grahamstown – South Africa

Chapter 5    December 1948 Mountain Tops School – NSW - Australia

Chapter 6    December 1949 - Fort Hare – South Africa

Chapter 7    January, 1950 - Burwood, New South Wales

Book 2

Chapter 1    July 1950 - Ingle burn - New South Wales

Chapter 2    September – October 1950 - Pusan, South Korea

Chapter 3    September 1950 Pusan - Korea

Chapter 4    Early October 1950 - Around Kimpo

Chapter 5    October 1950 - Kaesong - Sariwon - Pakchong

Chapter 6    October 1950 Seoul

Chapter 7    October 1950 - Pakchong to Chongju

Chapter 8    November 1950 Pyongyang

Chapter 9    December 1950 - Around Uijongbu

Chapter 10    March 1951 Wonju

Chapter 11    13th March 1951 - Chipyong-ni

Chapter 12    March 1951 - Near Kapyong

Chapter 13    22nd April 1951 - Kapyong

Chapter 14    July 1951 Seoul

Chapter 15    Early October 1951 - Maryang San

Chapter 16    November 1951 - Road to Imjim and Imjim village

Chapter 17    November 1951 - Imjim

Chapter 18    November 1951 - Around Imjim

Chapter 19    December 1951 Seoul

Chapter 20    Early 1952 - Chonju – Iwakeni, Japan - Sydney

Book 3

Chapter 1    February 1952 - Sydney

Chapter 2    February 1952 - Burwood, Sydney

Chapter 3    February 1952 - Burwood, Sydney

Chapter 4    August 1953 Seoul

Chapter 5    Early December 1953 – Strathfield, Sydney

Chapter 6    Late December 1953 - Burwood – Sydney

Chapter 7    January 1954 - The Cricketer’s Arms, Sydney

Book 4

Chapter 1    February 1954 – Around Seoul and Imjim, Korea

Chapter 2    March 1954 – Inchon, Korea

Chapter 3    April 1954 - Pacific Ocean

Chapter 4    April 1954 - Hong Kong - Macau

Chapter 5    May 1954 - South China Sea – Sulu Sea – Celebes Sea

Chapter 6    June 1954 - Darwin

Chapter 7    June 1954 - South from Darwin.

Chapter 8    June 1954 - Sydney

Chapter 9    March 1955 - The Cricketers Arm – Sydney

Book 5

Chapter 1    March 1970 - The Cricketers Arms – Sydney

Chapter 2    March 1970 - Sydney University – Bondi Beach

Chapter 3    March 1970 - Cricketers’ Arms - Burwood – Sydney

Chapter 4    April 1970 - Sydney to Darwin

Chapter 5    April 1970 - England

Chapter 6    April 1970 - Basingstoke Manor and Winchester

About the Author

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Preface

I love an adventure story. Growing up in South Africa in the fifties and sixties there was no television. Radio was king and Superman and Adventure Man reigned supreme. Books were an integral part of my life. Adventure started with Enid Blyton’s Adventure series, carried on with the Famous Five and the Secret Seven. In adolescence I came fourth in line for the family’s book purchases. So Alastair McLean, Hammond Innes, Desmond Bagley, Wilbur Smith and their ilk became the staple diet for a youngster experiencing adventure vicariously. Reading has been a joy to me all my life, providing so much entertainment and knowledge. Knowledge insofar as I lacked history in my education and historical novels filled much of that void. Knowledge insofar as books opened up the whole world to me rather than the world of my limited experience.

Recently retired and with more time on my hands, reading time became more abundant. I have found it more and more difficult to find books that suited my predilection for a good adventure story. I found less and less interest in murder, spy, psychopath and end of the world books that seems to be the staple diet put out by the publishers. I have even started to reread many of the much enjoyed books of the past. Then the thought popped into my adventure hungry head – why not write one?

It seemed such a simple thing to produce a book of the type I so enjoyed. It wasn’t of course, but it has provided many hours of enjoyment and kept me out of mischief. I have enjoyed this book. Whether my story is a good yarn or not, is your decision; but if you are reading this then at least the story is good enough to convince the publishers.

Some parts of the book are autobiographical, but all the main action and characters are fictional. The Korean War in Book 2 basically follows actual events, though the characters in Jack’s section are all fictional. I have summarised and slightly changed some of the war events to suit the story line. In researching the war, I gained not only a heightened appreciation of the horror of armed conflict, but also gained a far greater respect for the courage and endurance of the soldiers at the front. The Korean War is often called the forgotten war, as it is sandwiched between WWII and the high profile Viet Nam War. Most of us gained a skimpy knowledge of it through the TV series MASH. I hope you will also learn a little more about this conflict and appreciate the bravery and sacrifice of the combatants.

All those that needed to be thanks, have already received my gratitude and heartfelt thanks. So I acknowledge but will not list their aid. If you are reading this, I have succeeded in convincing the publishers that the world needs another ripping yarn and a historical one to boot. I hate long prefaces – so read on and hopefully enjoy.

John Cooper

PS I would love any feedback I can be contacted at [e-mail]

Book 1

Chapter 1

December 1939 - Pretoria, South Africa.

Karl sat nervously outside the general’s study. As an eleven year old he was big for his age, almost as tall as his father. But that was where the resemblance ended. General Paulus De Villiers was an imposing six foot six and nearing two hundred pounds. The General’s office, in the imposing government administrative buildings in Pretoria, was plush and a place of formal business. It did not matter that Karl was there on family business – this was where the general met with his sons to steer their way along the path he had laid out for them. Marius, Karl’s elder brother had trodden this path two years previously and been steered to the prestigious Kruger Afrikaner High School close to where they lived.

Marius was happy to go there and would not have dreamed to question the general’s plans. Karl however, was quite the mirror reverse of his elder brother. Marius was as wide as he was tall, a bull of a young man, almost a clone of his father. Karl however was the cheese to Marius’s chalk, he was tall for his age approaching six foot but slim. Marius had his father’s black hair and dark complexion, whereas Karl took after his dead mother with a curly crop of blond hair. Karl had always got on well with his brother. He was invariably the instigator of any of the many scrapes and adventures they got up to. So Karl always took the blame as he inherently knew he was the strong one. He also knew that his father was grooming Marius to follow his footsteps into the army and then on to a political career.

As he sat on one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs outside the general’s office, he wondered what was in store for him. He was keen to follow Marius to Kruger High, as they were renowned for their rugby prowess. Rugby was very high on Karl’s list of priorities. Not that he wasn’t able to cope academically, top grades came easily to him. He sat musing, picturing himself in the blue and red banded rugby jersey of Kruger High, weaving and sidestepping through a lacklustre opposition.

Karl was dragged from his reverie by the general’s secretary’s second admonition to go through to his father’s office. It was not a good idea to keep the general waiting. Karl stirred himself and strode through to the inner sanctum, stopping on the carpet in front of his father’s large but immaculately neat oak desk. General Paulus de Villiers was dressed in military uniform and busy signing the last of a batch of letters. When he looked up at his younger son, the expression was one that Karl readily recognised. The stern, no nonsense authoritarian closed face of the martinet rarely left his father’s face. He only hoped that the path the general was about to lay out for him would be that same as his brother’s.

Ah, Karl, good morning, we need to talk. Of course his father spoke in their native Afrikaans, even though he spoke fluent but accented English.

Now, ja. You are at a crossroads in your young life. High school beckons; but which one? Your brother is at Kruger High here in Pretoria and will go on to the army from there. But that may be as far as he will go. He will be able to better himself in the army, and serve his country well. You however are to follow a different path. He leaned forward on the desk, looking intently at his younger son. "I know you better than you think. Unlike Marius, you have a great spirit and a zest for life! You are a very capable young man, and I am expecting you to be an achiever in this wonderful country of ours.

The backbone of this country is the Afrikaner, but we have been held back too long. The English have been in control for too long. They have the political power, the financial power and so far, the numbers in elections. This will not always be so. The Afrikaner nation is on the move. We will be the caretakers of our own land. My generation has paved the way, but it is you and your generation that will be the ones that make it happen. The first step in any confrontation is to know your enemy. That is why I am not sending you to Kruger High.

Karl’s heart was in his mouth, this was completely unexpected. However the general was soon to throw his younger son into a state of complete unease with his next unequivocal statements.

You will be going to high school at St John’s College in Johannesburg. You will attend St. John’s as a boarder. They will give you an excellent education and your English will become as fluent and unaccented as your Afrikaans. You will get to know how the English think and behave. You will be mixing with the sons of the powerful. You will make friends with those likely to be in power. You will learn to speak like they speak and think as the think. This will put you in a far better position to wrestle power from them. For too long we have been under their thumb. You will become an important cog in the machine that will put our Afrikaner nation where it should be, in charge of our own country. This is a long term plan but it is vital to know your enemy, before you can defeat him.

The general sat back in his chair, satisfied he had inspired his son to follow the intended path to great achievement. Karl was still trying to absorb what was in store for him. He was about to be uprooted from his family, his friends, his whole environment. He was going to be stuck in some English boarding school in Johannesburg fifty miles away! This was totally unexpected. Karl’s mind was in a whirl. The silence between the two lengthened. All Karl could manage to say was, Ja, Pa, ek verstaan. Then the general picked up his pen and returned to signing the letters in front of him. Karl did understand what was in store for him as he turned and walked out of the office. However trying to come to terms with the way his life had changed was a different matter.

December 1939 - Penrith, New South Wales, Australia

John James stood nervously outside his father’s study, hopping from foot to foot. He was uncomfortable in his new clothes and his new leather shoes were pinching his feet. He was not used to his new surroundings either. His life as far back as he could remember was filled with glorious sunshine, hoards of smiling black faces and days spent swimming, playing and sunbaking in balmy Fiji. His life so far had been as close to Paradise as any seven year old could get. His usual garb was just a pair of shorts just like all his other smiling Fijian playmates. Even the shorts were abandoned when he and his playmates were swimming and diving in the warm waters of his island home.

He missed his Fijian life. His missionary parents had been posted back to Australia and now John was feeling lonely and discombobulated. John knew that something was up as his two elder siblings, had not joined them in Penrith, just outside Sydney, even though it was school holidays. They were still with their Uncle Ben up in Queensland. This in itself didn’t bother him too much. David and Ruth, both good biblical names, were both much older than him and never took much notice of their younger sibling. What did concern the seven year old John was why he had been summoned to his father’s study. Only serious matters were conducted in the study. He did not have long to wait as the door to his father’s study was soon opened. The stern face of his father beckoned him to enter.

The Reverend David James was always a stern and foreboding figure to John, but today the expression on his face was even more disturbing. It wouldn’t be long before John found out why.

Ah, John. Well now, there have been developments with the Methodist Missionary Society, and my new posting has been decided. We are being sent to the Solomon Islands, which I am sure you are aware is even more remote than Fiji. The reverend gave a half smile at his rather snide remark to a nine year old son, whose only education had been a year at the missionary school in Fiji. John was unfazed by this, as much of his stern father’s communication went way over his head. He just waited patiently for his father to continue.

So in a month or so, your mother and I will be heading north. You, I am pleased to say, have a different path to follow. Your mother and I have been somewhat concerned about you going native, since our last stint in Fiji. We feel it is time you were inculcated with more Western and civilised values. His father paused, staring past John into the middle distance.

After a moment or two, he continued. You are a bright young lad, and will one day make a fine minister I hope; but you will need a good Christian education. So your mother and I have arranged for you to attend Kedumba Grammar School, while we are away in the Solomon Islands. It will be highly beneficial for you to mix with some of your own kind, get a good grounding in God’s word and put that clever little head of yours to good use.

It was starting to dawn on John just what was in store for him. He was being shunted off to an unknown school, to be all on his own and nowhere near any family or friends. His parents were always stern disciplinarians but they were the solid foundation of his short life. Now he was being shunted off the some mountain hideaway, far away from his family. There would be no smiling black faces surrounding him. There would be no daily swimming, fishing and sunbaking with all his friends. This was a turn of events that was a little hard to come to terms with. John’s attention was drawn back to his father who was still addressing him in his preaching voice. He was explaining how this new situation was going to be so beneficial for him.

Well John, we were lucky to get you enrolled as a boarder at such notice. We will have to kit you out with your new school uniform and all the trappings. Your mother is ardently working on the school’s requirements list at this very moment. You will have to accompany her to make sure the new uniforms and other paraphernalia all fit. It will be an exciting time in your young life. I fully expect you to make the most of this wonderful opportunity you are being afforded. His father gave John a nod of dismissal and returned to the clutter of papers on his desk.

John stood there for a moment and then turned on his squeaky new shoes and walked out of his father’s office trying to come to terms with the approaching changes to his young life.

December 1939 - Basingstoke Manor, Hampshire, England

Percival sat in the large wing-backed leather chair in his father’s reading room. His father, Lord Richard Montague, sat behind a large leather topped desk and watched his third son with a benign but yet stern expression.

Percival, his father started in his deep, quiet, authoritarian voice, you are now seven years old, and I think you know what that means. It is the age that all Montagues embark on an education that I am sure will be the precursor to an illustrious life path. For centuries now the Montagues have sent their sons to be educated at Winchester. It is a school that has a tradition of turning the callow youths of social standing into the leaders of tomorrow. You will of course have been expecting this as your two older brothers are presently attending Winchester. They are doing very well, I might add. They will, I’m sure, help you to settle in. Ah, yes - good old Winchester. Lord Richard seemed to be staring into the middle distance as he was transported back to the turn of the century and his days as a scholar at the famous Winchester School.

Although Percival was expecting this moment, he was still a little nonplussed. As to his brothers, George or Edmund, helping him so settle in to life of an elite English style public school, well that was never going to happen. For as long as he could remember, he had been the butt of his brothers’ jokes and pranks. As the youngest of the three boys, he had learnt to stay out of their way. Failing that, he was adept at exercising his febrile young mind, to escape from the depredations of his older siblings. The prospect of having to evade or mitigate the inevitable unpleasantness from his brothers, and probably other senior students, didn’t really phase Percival. He felt a tingle of excitement. Here was an adventure that held more in store than any of the minor excursions into mischief that he habitually pursued. Even at the ripe old age of seven, Percival had realised that he was smarter than his two tormenting older siblings. So Winchester was looming as a grand adventure for Percival. It seemed to him that a wide new world might be opening up.

Percival was brought back to his present surroundings as he realised his father had returned from his reverie and was again addressing his youngest son. Well, yes, Winchester is a great school and has produced many leading figures over the centuries. You will of course be boarding there, as are Edward and George. I am sure you will be assigned to College House, as all Mont agues have been in the past. Tradition, you know. Be sure to check all the honour rolls. You will see many of your ancestors there in gilt letters. I’m sure you won’t miss my name either. I was captain of the First XI as well as the fencing team. Be sure to consult the Dux board, there you will find your father’s name as well as nine other Montagues. His voice trailed off as he was transported back to his halcyon days at Winchester.

Lord Montague brought himself back to reality with an almost imperceptible shake of his head and got back to the business in hand. You will need to be properly kitted out. You will need to see Lady Cordelia about that. That is women’s business you know. There’s not too much time before you’ll be off, so you had better hop to it smartly and get the ball rolling with your mother.

At this dismissal, Percival turned on his heels and slowly walked out. His footsteps hardly made a sound on the plush Persian carpet. His mind was in overdrive about the impending change in his life. Percy had some misgivings about leaving his accustomed comfortable life, but excitement was building up in him. He was moving, on from his cloistered life. He was starting out on the next phase of his life. The new stage in his life brought a tingle of excitement to the third son of Lord Richard Montague of Basingstoke Manor.

Chapter 2

December 1943 - St. John’s College, Johannesburg, South Africa

Karl came off the squash court with his arm around his close friend David Shapiro. His maturing fifteen year old body was dripping with sweat. They had just played a strenuous hour long contest, which had only tipped his way in the last few points. It wasn’t that he was any more skilled than David, he was just fitter.

Better luck next time Dave, you nearly had me.

That was a long game! If only you had a little more beef to carry around the court, I would have had you! This was just about all that David managed to gasp. After a few deep breaths, David managed to say,Come on back to my room, I have a king size bottle of lemonade to share. I could certainly do with a drink. It might just add a skerrick more around your skinny midriff. We can continue our argument about where South Africa is headed. This time I am sure I will get the better of you.

I’ll be there in a tick. I am going to have a quick shower and put on my slippers, my feet are killing me. You would think an elite college like St John’s would at least be able to put a decent floor on their squash court. Instead we have to suffer the rock hard concrete one. Good thing I am so much of a twinkle toes that my floating around the court doesn’t affect me as much. Their friendly banter continued as they headed for their boarding house and the showers.

The two boys had not always been friends. In fact Karl had at first found it really difficult fitting in at St. John’s. He had found it difficult to make friends at his new school. On his arrival at one of Johannesburg’s elite English private schools, he was the outsider. He was one of the very few Afrikaners attending the college. As soon as he opened his mouth he was tagged as different. He spoke with a far stronger and more distinctive South African accent. His strict Calvinistic upbringing and being nurtured in the stringent Dutch Reformed Church had given Karl a pillbox view on life. This too had helped to set him apart from his peers. He was pretty abrasive with his fellow schoolmates and as a result they left him pretty much alone. That is except for David.

David was almost a head shorter than Karl, but carried quite a few more pounds. Being Jewish in a Methodist school had also set David apart from his fellow students. Most of the other boys had left the belligerent Karl pretty much alone. Karl was very prickly and physically far more imposing than any of his peers. David was among the smallest in their age group and chubby to boot, but he was not fooled by Karl’s outward attitude. Rather than avoid Karl or treat him with kid gloves, David pushed the boundaries with Karl. Davis sought Karl out and he used his acute mind to get through to Karl. With clever Socratic logic, David managed to pierce the shield of belligerence that Karl had been using as a coping mechanism. Before the end of their first year, the two disparate figures were seldom seen apart. The other boys who might have been quite savage with peers that were so different, pretty much left them alone. Karl’s imposing size and belligerence, plus David’s rapier like wit and logic, were enough to scare off all but the very brave. The two of them quickly picked up the nickname of ‘David and Goliath’.

David’s upbringing in a wealthy Jewish home had bred a very liberal view on life. This contrasted quite markedly with Karl’s inherited Calvinistic Afrikaner views. Their early discussions would perhaps have been better labelled as clashes. With time, David had used gentle and patient logic to gradually break through Karl’s strictly held but not well thought out views on life in South Africa. Differences between different white groups in South Africa were a topic that was an ongoing discussion. The relationship between the English and Afrikaner groups had always been a divisive one, let alone South Africa’s racial relationships that kept the whites and the blacks apart. There were many views axiomatic to Karl that David pulled into their discussions to examine in a moral and logical sense. Their early exchanges threatened to become quite heated, but David neve became flustered or drawn into raising his voice. Karl soon learnt to play the ball and not the man and started to give the topics real consideration. Karl discovered that, when their views differed, as they did on many topics, it was much better to calmly discuss and debate with real consideration to the facts of the topic. Karl often used only the aspects that backed up his views but David tried always to bring all the facts into the debate. Davis was always quick to point out the difference between facts and opinions, and insisted on weighing up the positives and the negatives in any debate. The discussions often allowed them to come to a compromise and a common way of thinking. Karl also gradually realised that the compromise they agreed on was usually heavily weighted towards David’s way of thinking. The one topic that had not really shifted Karl’s opinion, was South Africa’s apartheid system. Karl had somewhat modified his views on the topic but was still in favour of the laws and attitudes that separated the whites from the blacks in South Africa.

After their shower, they settled to quench their thirst with David’s mother’s homemade lemonade. Karl restarted their discussion about Apartheid. You think Helen Suzman and her lone Liberal vote in parliament is going to make any difference?

David gave him a pained look and almost condescendingly replied, You know that’s not fair, she is not the opposition; the real opposition is the United Party. They are the party that is keeping the Nats in check. David looked at Karl, and when he received no reply, he continued, Well don’t you think that to be completely realistic the genuine opposition should be the African National Council?

But they are the blacks! exclaimed Karl.

Well they are citizens of our mutual state. They are also the majority. Why should they be disenfranchised? And why has the votes of the mixed race citizens been withdrawn. The rest of the world is up in arms about Apartheid.

They don’t really understand our situation fully.

And what about the Indian population?

Well, if they don’t like it here they can always go back to India.

Most of the Indians have been here for generations and are a settled and intergral part of our country.

So their discussion on South African politics continued. South African politics was often the topic of conversation, but their conversations ranged far and wide. There were lengthy interchanges about the fate of Rhodesia’s UDI, religion, communism, why the Blue Bulls were going to win the South African rugby competition. Their conversations ranged far and wide and led to much discussion and started Karl out on reading on a much wider scale than he had ever before. Karl might have learnt maths and English in the classroom, but his real life defining education was being fostered by none other than David Shapiro.

December 1943 - Kedumba Grammar - Bullaburra - New South Wales Australia.

John’s hands were bruised red and stinging. He had been fielding cricket balls that a senior called Julius King had been steadily hitting at the three ‘Sprogs’, as all first year high school boarders were called. There was no escaping the demands of Caesar, as all the sprogs called him behind his back. All sprogs had to follow the directions of the seniors or be ostracised and feel the knobbly whack of a peach tree switch. It was nearly dinner time and the fielding practice on the tennis court outside their boarding house was nearly over. Caesar whacked another ball in John’s direction, and he winced as it slammed into his already redraw hands.

Goodo Jack, we’ll make decent cricketers out of you sorry little Sprogs yet! Caesar called out. John didn’t mind his new name. Everyone called him Jack, even the teachers called him Jack. At least he wasn’t Jacko, as his contemporary John Peterson was labelled. One more stinging drive from Caesar’s cricket bat sent the ball skimming towards the four fielding sprogs. Luckily it didn’t come near Jack. Then they were saved by the evening roll call bell.

Jack was looking forward to dinner, even though he was hot and sweaty from Caesar’s fielding practice. It had been a long day, up at six, dressed and ready for prep at six-thirty, breakfast and then school. The afternoon had been taken up with the under thirteen cricket nets practice. One would have thought there might be some respite after the nets practice. However, the sprogs had to do their forest duty. Unluckily both Jack and Jacko were assigned to Caesar to do his bidding out in the grey gum forests surrounding the school. They had to brew tea and make toast over an open fire, chop and fetch wood and risk life and limb building the tree house that was to be Caesar’s castle. Life as a sprog had its ups and downs.

Jack was thinking that life wasn’t so bad at Bullaburra. He actually loved his lessons, especially Geography, though he would never admit this to his peers. The sport was great and Jack had made every under thirteen A team the school had to offer. He was quite used to the grub and it was plentiful enough to stifle the appetite of his fast growing twelve year old body. Then there were the adventures. Well, one has to have some excitement in life, Jack thought. It was only last night that he and Jacko had slipped out of the boarding house at three in the morning to ghost over to the swimming pool for a swim. The pool was surrounded by a chain link safety fence. It had a securely padlocked gate when not in use. However they were fully aware of easy access to the pool through a hole under the fence. The hole was hidden by some undergrowth and so far had not been discovered by the pool attendant. Once inside, they stripped and quietly slipped into the pool. A gentle breast stroke was on the cards as the masters’ houses were nearby and it would not do to wake any of them up at three in the morning.

Then it was off to the bush for a midnight snack. The marshmallows and toast made over on open fire tasted all the better for the risk they were taking. The bush at night was an entirely different place to the daytime. It held and air of adventure and excitement not encountered in the day. Then it was back to the boarding house, stifling their nervous giggles as they re-entered through the window that they had left unlocked. Jack was becoming more and more adept at manipulating life so that it held a little excitement and didn’t become too boring.

Jacko caught up to Jack as they were traipsing off to the dining hall, and quietly suggested that they join forces with another couple of boys for their next midnight escapade. Jack agreed and his thoughts turned to more important matters.

I do hope we get some bacon with our eggs this morning!Jack proclaimed, to anyone who was listening.

*****        *****        ******

Why did you invite Rusty Roberts of all people, on our adventure? Jack asked.

He saw us sneaking out last time and threatened to blab on us to Caesar, and you know what that means! Jacko replied. I really didn’t have any choice in the matter.

Oh well, I suppose we’ll have to get his poncy mate Stuart to come along as well, Jack conceded.

Much later that night they had to wake their two new escapees before sneaking out. The night was quite chilly so they cut the swim short and headed off into the bush for their midnight feast. Jack took the lead as his torch was the brightest. The other three followed close behind. They soon arrived at their usual camping spot. It was deep enough in the forest to escape detection. The four set about collecting some fallen branches for their fire. Stuart was jittery and complaining about not having enough light to collect wood. My torch is running out of batteries and I can’t see what’s going on. How much wood will we need for our fire?

Stuart suddenly let out a startled squeal of terror. In the dim light of his torch, he had grabbed the tail of a brown snake that he thought was a likely branch for the fire. He dropped it like it was a red hot poker. The yard long reptile was starting to slither off into the darkness, when Jack leapt at it and pinned its head to the ground with a forked branch he had collected for the fire. The snake writhed about furiously but was firmly pinned. Rusty and Stuart had magically melted into the bush, leaving only Jacko staring wide eyed at the trapped snake.

Jack was holding onto the stick for dear life and gritted out, Well you silly bludger, don’t just stand there gawking, bash his bloody head in! This mobilised Jacko and he grabbed one of the thickest bits of dead wood and proceeded to enthusiastically bash the living daylights out of the trapped snake’s head.

Alright already, enough you stupid clot, he’s dead as a doorknob!Jack eventually said, and proved his point by releasing his grip on the stick pinning the snake down. The two boys stared down at the dead reptile with silly grins on their faces. Eventually Jack said, You had better go and find those lily livered twits we invited on our adventure. We have a delicious snake to roast tonight instead of our usual marshmallows. A snake sammo is just what the doctor ordered!

Righto, but cut off enough of the head to make sure that all of its poison glands are left in its head and not on our roasting sticks, said Jacko.

Ah, go teach your grandmother to suck eggs!

December 1943 - Winchester School - Hampshire – England

Percival was glad he had now entered the upper school, even though he was now back to being a small fish in a big pond. He didn’t much mind having to fag for the senior students. The simple chores that he was tasked with weren’t much of a burden. Fagging was traditional at Winchester. When he was a senior, it would be his turn to have his own fag to act as his servant. It was a long standing tradition; it was the way things had always worked at Winchester. At least he didn’t have to fag for his elder brother Edward. Edward had left school and was following the family tradition by joining the army. Edward was now a member of the 4th Royal Tank Regiment, as every oldest Montague had been as far back as the Crimean War. George was still at Winchester but only three years ahead of Percival and disdained to have anything to do with his upstart of a brother.

Percival, though smaller than most of his fellow classmates, was generally popular. His sense of humour and adventurous spirit had kept him ensconced within the elite circle of his age group. In fact he was the major instigator in most of the shenanigans that they got up to. It was Percy, as he was now called, who decided to use some of their spare time to make a catapult to rival the ballista that they had been reading about in Roman history.

He had located a pile of old inner tubes from the tyre shop in town, and cadged half a dozen from the friendly proprietor. He then cajoled his friends into cutting them up into strips and joining the strips into two long strands. These they joined to a pillow slip with some strong twine. Using two of his classmates to hold the other ends of the strands of tyre, Percy placed an orange into the pillow slip. He walked backwards to stretch out the rubber strands. They aimed their gigantic catapult at an adjacent boarding house. Percy let go and they all watched in wonder as the orange, still rising, sailed over the roof fifty yards away. The raucous cheers from the young Winchesterians brought more interested boys out of the boarding house. The next orange was better aimed and smashed into the ivy covered wall of the adjacent boarding house. The third orange suffered the same fate as the first; sailing between the two adjacent boarding houses. Just as their aim was improving, their lookout shouted a Latin warning, Cave! The warning was a little late as the deputy head came bustling around the corner before they could all disappear. There was a frantic desertion of their wonderful new invention and a scattering of boys in all directions. Only Percy remained, as he thought it was his idea and therefore he felt beholden to take the blame.

Oh my, not you again Montague Minor! I might have guessed. Whenever and wherever there is mischief afoot, an assumption that you will be an integral part of it, would be almost axiomatic. It will in fact sure to be an assumption based on the solid grounds of precedence! Percy tried to look abashed but the corners of his mouth were rising perceptibly and uncontrollably.

Oh dear, I see you find this little escapade of yours amusing? It tickles your risibilities does it? Well young man perhaps a full week of detention will wipe that supercilious grin off your face!

Percy just managed to keep a straight face. Percy’s facing up to the deputy head and taking the blame for the home made ballista only enhanced his reputation among the boys. Percy’s week of detention was a fairly small punishment in the light of his past record. The incident only helped to cement his reputation as a jolly good prankster.

Percy’s spirit was in no way dampened by punishment. This was amply displayed shortly after the ‘catapult catastrophe’ as it came to be known. Fagging was an accepted part of life at Winchester but there were boundaries to the extent of the so called duties done. Percy was assigned to a senior called Harold Smyth-James, who was dubbed Horrible Harry by the younger boys. Horrible Harry was one of those people who was simply born mean. It would take a lot to change or modify Horrible Harry. As Harry’s appointed fag, Percy had suffered quite cruelly. Harry was a perfectionist and it was very difficult to attain the standards he set. Horrible Harry punished Percy harshly for even the most minor indiscretion. So Percy decided that is was definitely time for retribution. Since his catapult escapade, Jack had gathered quite a following. So he had no trouble in gathering a group of his peers to assist him with the plan that he had hatched. Many of his recruits had also suffered under Horrible Harry or his ilk and were only too happy to pitch in.

The boarding house laundry staff collected the boys’ linen bags of dirty clothes for washing in a very large wicker chest. A short time after serving his week’s detention, Percy gathered half a dozen of his followers and explained his plan to get a little revenge on Horrible Harry.

Percy old fellow, you have outdone yourself this time! and What a stupendous plan! were some of the comments made when his plan for revenge was laid out. So, very early one morning, Percy and friends expropriated one of the large wicker laundry chests from the laundry. They emptied it, left the pile of bags at the laundry door and took the large chest back to their boarding house. Percy went off to help one of the other fags with his chores. This was not because he was so helpful, but to establish an alibi. The rest of his recruits wrapped scarves around their heads as a disguise, and carried the empty laundry chest off to Horrible Harry’s room and left it outside. Then they rushed into the room where Harry was sleeping, and soon had the unsuspecting bully stripped and bundled stark naked into the wicker laundry chest. The lid of the laundry basket was securely fastened. Harry’s cries of indignation and shouted threats were ignored. Then Percy’s accomplices carried the unfortunate senior down to the school’s main quadrangle and deposited him there, to be discovered later as the boys wandered down to start their morning classes. All the co-conspirators then vanished amidst the giggles stifled by their scarf disguises. Later Harry was discovered by the boys heading off to their first classes. A crowd gathered around the large laundry basket, and all sorts of ribald comments were flying around. Try as some of the boys might, they were unable to open the basket, with Harry clinging onto the lid with all his might. It wasn’t until the janitor arrived and the boys were in class that Harry escaped his temporary prison. There were varying tales circulating as to how the escapade ended. They varied from Harry streaking stark naked all the way back to his rooms, to Harry wrapping himself in the janitor’s apron and sneaking back to the boarding house. As the school would have been in session, there would have been nobody around to observe his streaking, though there were rumours that he encountered various rather surprised female members of staff at the college.

Harry had a very good idea who was behind it all, but Percy had a watertight alibi. The masked attack party was never unmasked. It was one prank that went down in Winchester folklore, and further enhanced Percy’s reputation. Unfortunately it did little to ameliorate Horrible Harry to any great extent.

Chapter 3

December 1946 – Pretoria, South Africa

Once again Karl sat outside his father’s office, but it was a considerably changed Karl. He mused about the different path in his life had taken. He realised that he had changed physically and that he was maturing into a man. He had always been tall but fairly lanky. His two years playing for the St John’s 1sy XV rugby side had always been as a lock in the forward pack. Here his height and athletic ability had helped guide his side to a two stellar years of success. He had also become a very accomplished goal kicker and was renowned for his long range goals that often proved the difference between winning and losing. These long range penalty goals became known as Goliath goals. Sadly for Karl after his final matriculation exams his schooldays were over.

He was also realistic enough to realise that his years at St John’s had substantially changed in his outlook on life. He had mellowed and changed considerably. This was partly due to his fitting in more with his peers, but more so from his liberal minded teachers and the way David had changed him. Karl was no longer a hardline thinker but someone who sought out all the information available, all the different views expressed and carefully weighed up all the facts to then come to a considered conclusion. He mused about the change of situation of the David and Goliath pairing. Far from remaining on the outer the two had eased to the top of the social standings, Goliath for his sporting prowess and David for his acute brain. David had topped every class and lead the debating team to an undefeated year. Karl had tagged along and been almost as successful. Yes, he was definitely sorry to be leaving so many good friends made over the years at St John’s. He was more disappointed though, at the prospect of losing touch with David.

Despite their protestations of staying in touch, they had not seen each other for nigh on two years. Their only connection had been the odd phone call. David has gone straight to Wits University in Jo’burg and was well into his studies to become a lawyer. David’s poor eyesight had allowed him to escape National Service in the South African Army. Karl on the other hand had gone straight from school and done his two years of National service. He had enjoyed the physicality of it and, despite being younger than most, had become an integral part of the army rugby and swimming teams. Somehow the Goliath nickname had followed him. It was even more appropriate now as the lithe youth had grown into a veritable Goliath of a man in the army. He had sailed through basic training and moved onto an officer training course. How much his rapid promotion through the ranks was due to his natural abilities and how much was due to his father being the General, didn’t concern Karl. He was happy in the army. Karl was one of those rare young men that was adaptable and at ease with his life.

As he sat outside his father’s office, he checked his uniform again and gave any brass accoutrements a final polish even though they were shining brilliantly. He wondered what his father had in store for him. He hoped that he might stay in