‘Well, we can’t stare at it all day. Time to tuck in?’
Tubs nodded. ‘Time to tuck in.’
Silence descended as they slowly, delicately, ate their portions.
It was the only time they were quiet, mused Sam as he savoured his slice. Life was tough but it could have been worse. The camp commandant seemed a decent man and was not overly strict. The camp had been basic at the start but had improved over time. There was now a library, a monthly show put on by the prisoners, cards to play with, football and boxingmatches to take part in and regular Red Cross parcels of dried milk, soup rations, cigarettes, chocolate, tinned food and letters from home.
Those letters were precious — the warm words of love and comfort reassured the recipient he had not been forgotten. He thought of Moira and wondered if she realized how much they meant to an imprisoned man. As she settled to sleep at night, did she ever truly grasp how much her Dear John letter had hurt him?
It was almost a year after his capture before he had been able to write and reassure Moira that he was alive and well. But her reply was not the joyous, celebratory response he had expected, nor the one he’d desperately waited for.
Dear Sam,
Thank you for your letter. Your family must be so pleased to hear that you are alive and well, as I am. They have been so worried about you and could not accept that you were dead. This war has devasted so many families so I am glad that they, at least, can have some respite from their agony.
Unlike your family, I believed that the words ‘deeply regret to inform you’ and ‘missing in action’ meant that you were most likely dead. It broke my heart, truly, but then I made a decision to move on with my life. I have met someone. He is a good man, Sam. I think you would like him. I am telling you this as things are no longer the same between us. I am engaged to be married, Sam. I hope you understand.
From your dear friend,
Moira
He didn’t reply at first, concerned that he would spill every agonizing feeling of betrayal onto the page and live to regret it. When he eventually replied, he was polite, understanding, and expressed a wish to meet again once the war was over. Moira’s reply took far too long to arrive, but he was heartened to read that she would not refuse to see him if he ever returned home. However, the rest of the letter was harder to read. ‘Life was so difficult and so lonely on my own,’ she wrote.You lived with your parents, Sam thought. The new man in her life was an injured soldier who was so ‘kind and supportive’ and had ‘fought bravely’. It seemed this fellow had made Sam’s fiancée’s life ‘more bearable’ while he was away. ‘That’s good of him,’ Sam had muttered under his breath as he’d retreated to his bed to read the rest. The wooden frame of the bunk gave him a little solitude. He had felt sick as each word of praise for the man who had taken his place stabbed at his heart. Such letters could demoralize a man, and that was a slippery slope he wanted to avoid while he was a prisoner.
He had not written again, but with plenty of long-drawn-out hours to fill, Moira still lingered in his thoughts over the years. The way she had ended their engagement felt unjust and he could not help wondering if there was more to it. Why had she given up waiting for him so easily when other missing soldiers’ sweethearts had not? He needed to speak to her again, face to face... even if that was only to exchange a few simple pleasantries and a formal goodbye. Their relationship had started in childhood; they’d been teenage sweethearts and had ended up as lovers planning to marry. Damn it! He’d left Cornwall to be with her when her family had moved back to Kent and wanted her to go with them. It deserved a better ending than this. Perhaps Moira would realize what she had thrown away ifhe was standing in front of her. The rumour in the camp was that the tide had turned in the war. The opportunity of seeing her again now seemed a very real possibility. Perhaps there was hope for them after all...
Tubs had long finished his meal and, checking that the guard was looking elsewhere, produced a copy of thePrisoner’s Piefrom under his mattress. This was a newspaper compiled, edited and printed by the prisoners themselves. He covertly passed it to Sam. Sam slid it under his own mattress.
‘I’ll read it later. Much news in it?’
Tubs knew what news he was referring to. A couple of prisoners had built a transistor radio from parts given to them from an obliging but unsuspecting guard. They were now able to listen to the World Service, albeit in secret, and share news from the outside world among the prisoners. It had been a great morale boost and, since D-Day six months earlier, had given them hope. However, such news was passed by word of mouth, not in print where it could be confiscated.
‘Just the usual short stories, crosswords and articles.’ Tubs glanced at a nearby guard. ‘Let’s take a walk,’ he added.
Sam put on his coat and followed him outside into the prisoners’ yard. ‘Are you sure your leg is up to it?’ he asked as he surveyed the thick January snow on the ground.
‘It’s fine. Football was never my sport. I am more of a rugby man.’
Tubs’s knee had swollen up a few weeks ago. It was looking better, but Sam doubted it was fully healed. Playing an injury down was Tubs all over. He slowed his pace to match his friend’s and wondered how Tubs would manage when they next had to march to the station as part of another work party.
They exchanged brotherly smiles, Sam’s filled with concern, Tubs’s a little too wide.
‘When I get out of here I’m going to tell my family a German did it as I was trying to escape. Sounds more heroic than twisting the joint during a mistimed tackle.’
Sam chuckled. ‘I’ll tell them the truth.’
‘Do that and I’ll kill you.’
‘Not if I outrun you first.’
Tubs laughed. ‘Coward.’
‘Liar.’
‘I would prefer to call it embellishing the truth for king and country.’
They were very different people, brought together by their capture, yet they had formed a bond that had got them through some desperately grim times. The camp they had arrived at all those years ago had expanded, reflecting the turmoil the Nazis had inflicted on the world. Now there were Polish, French, Norwegian, Australian, Belgian and Yugoslavian soldiers in the camp, and although most had stayed inside today due to the biting temperatures, a few men were outside walking around the yard too and leaving a trail of deep footprints in their wake.
‘The Russians have taken Warsaw,’ said Tubs.
