It was some time before the nurse came in. She came carrying a basin of hot water and she said,
“Good morning, how are you
today?”
He said, “Good morning, nurse.”
The pain was still great under the bandages, but he did not wish to tell this woman anything. He
looked at her as she busied
herself with getting the washing things ready. He looked at her more carefully now. Her hair was
very fair. She was tall and
big-boned, end her face seemed pleasant. But there was something a little uneasy about her eyes.
They were never still. They
never looked at anything for more than a moment and they moved too quickly from one place to
another in the room. There
was something about her movements also. They were too sharp and nervous to go well with the
casual manner in which she
spoke.
She set down the basin, took off his pajama top and began to wash him.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said. She was washing his arms and his chest.
“I believe there’s someone coming down to see you from the Air Ministry after breakfast,” she
went on. “They want a report or
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12
something. I expect you know all about it. How you got shot down and all that. I won’t let him
stay long, so don’t worry.”
He did not answer. She finished washing him, and gave him a toothbrush and some tooth
powder. He brushed his teeth, rinsed
his mouth and spat the water out into the basin.
Later she brought him his breakfast on a tray, but he did not want to eat. He was still feeling
weak and sick, and he wished only
to lie still and think about what had happened. And there was a sentence running through his
head. It was a sentence which
Johnny, the Intelligence Officer of his squadron, always repeated to the pilots every day before
they went out. He could see
Johnny now, leaning against the wall of the dispersal hut with his pipe in his hand, saying, “And
if they get you, don’t forget, just
your name, rank and number. Nothing else. For God’s sake, say nothing else.”
“There you are,” she said as she put the tray on his lap. “I’ve got you an egg. Can you manage all
right?”
“Yes.”
She stood beside the bed. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. If you want another egg I might be able to get you one.”
“This is all right.”
“Well, just ring the bell if you want any more.” And she went out.
He had just finished eating, when the nurse came in again.
She said, “Wing Commander Roberts is here. I’ve told him that he can only stay for a few
minutes.”
She beckoned with her hand and the Wing Commander came in.
“Sorry to bother you like this,” he said.
He was an ordinary RAF officer, dressed in a uniform which was a little shabby, and he wore
wings and a DFC. He was fairly
tall and thin with plenty of black hair. His teeth, which were irregular and widely spaced, stuck
out a little even when he closed
BEWARE OF THE DOG
13
his mouth. As he spoke he took a printed form and a pencil from his pocket, and he pulled up a
chair and sat down.
“How are you feeling?”
There was no answer.
“Tough luck about your leg. I know how you feel. I hear you put up a fine show before they got
you.”
The man in the bed was lying quite still, watching the man in the chair.
The man in the chair said, “Well, let’s get this stuff over. I’m afraid you’ll have to answer a few
questions so that I can fill in this
combat report. Let me see now, first of all, what was your squadron?”
The man in the bed did not move. He looked straight at the Wing Commander and he said, “My
name is Peter Williamson. My rank is Squadron Leader and my number is nine seven two four
five seven.”