Chapter 30
28th July
They spent the day checking out the scrap yards, going through the books in the guise of the local CID. Clive followed up some enquiries with the council regarding lock-up garages. Phoning in, they gave Reg an estimated return time and learned they'd be sleeping in house for the foreseeable future. The good news was Winston had lent them a portable telly and Ralph had made them his allegedly famous beef curry and rice with more than enough for second helpings. An evening that promised so much; the third-place play-off between Portugal and the Soviet Union with a serious possibility of a ring stinging visit to the toilets the next day.
The game itself wasn't particularly spectacular but the meal was. Tastily spicy, the addition of desiccated coconut, peanuts, finely chopped tomatoes and pineapple slices from an assortment of little white porcelain bowls helped to tone it down nicely.
Not long after kick-off, a Russian defender inexplicably handled the ball in his own penalty area in a situation that offered no real immediate danger. Gally could only guess at his reason for doing so, perhaps the effort of jumping for the header left him light-headed and wondering what to do next, maybe he was a Portuguese sleeper, but in any event, it was twelve minutes gone and Eusébio converted the opportunity to a goal then, in his usual gentlemanly fashion, commiserated with the Russian keeper.
At half time, the score was 1-1, the Russians taking advantage of a state of confusion on the Portuguese line by one of them simply sticking his toe out. The second half's highlight occurred with two minutes to go, a nice 'one two' between heads left Torres free to flash the ball in the back of the Russian net. Portugal's game.
As they watched the dissection of the match by the BBC pundits, Gally complimented Ralph on his cookery skills.
"Wartime service, Gally," he replied. "They made me a cook. I've prepared meals under gunfire, mate. I was cooking breakfast just behind Sword Beach only a couple of hours after they landed."
"Well, that explains it." Gally gave him his impressed face. "I know what that could be like. I've drunk tea under gunfire."
Ralph took the plates over to the sink. "Where was that? Malaya?"
"No, Ralph. It was down the ranges. They sent me to work them target frames and paste up all the holes. Still, those bullets were whizzing only feet above my head. Well, maybe yards."
Ralph put the plug in and ran the tap. "Fuck off, Gally!"
Winston got up and grabbed a tea towel. "Do you like dancing, Gally?"
"I can't say that I do in all honesty, mate. Why?"
"It’s just, me and the wife go to a dance club, like on 'come dancing'. I never thought I'd like it but it's great fun. You should give it a go."
Gallagher stroked his chin as if seriously considering the matter. "It's a nice offer but no, I'll give it a miss. I've never had someone threaten me and thought, 'If only I could foxtrot my way out of this one'. Is there still tea in the pot?"
He helped himself and sat back down. "Did you do national service, Winston?"
The big man threw him a glance as he dried a large pan. "No, I turned up but they said I was too fat and to go away and lose some weight."
"So what did you do?"
"I didn't lose any weight and they eventually stopped bothering me."
Gally wished he'd thought of that one. "Ginge, did you go anywhere interesting when you did national service?"
Sandy had hoped Gally would have got bored or tired by now.
He blushed."No, not unless you count Catterick and before you ask, I was Pay Corps."
Gally tried to stifle a smile and almost succeeded. "Ahh, well, that explains why you're in charge of the expenses then, Ginge. What about you, Clive? What did you do when they called you up?"
"I didn't. I was at University so they deferred me but then I volunteered anyway, signed on for five years and went into the RAF Police, P and SS, counter intelligence. Spent most of that time in Cyprus."
Gallagher was up and fiddling with the little TV aerial in a pointless attempt to improve the signal. "And that's what brought you here, eventually? It's funny, no one ever tried to poach me."
Sandy couldn't resist. "That's because you have to do more than make the tea, Gally."
"Oh, I did a lot more than making tea, Ginge." He gave him a knowing grin.
With the plates, pans and cutlery washed and dried, Ralph and Winston bade them goodnight and Reg went to his office to put his camp bed up. The rest tidied up what was left and carried out their personal admin.
Clive blew up his lilo, Sandy laid down some crumb rubber underlay and Gally simply threw his sleeping bag on the floor by his desk.
"What's that you've got, Ginge?" he enquired.
Sandy looked up. "Oh, it's just some new underlay they had downstairs. The Farralland lads use it so I thought I'd give it a go." He spread his bag out on top.
"Where did you get the lilo, Clive?"
"Woolworths."
"Why didn't you mention it to me?"
"You weren't here when I bought it last year."
"Is Reg coming back?"
"No, he's bedded down in his office with a cup of tea and his book."
Gally looked around the room for something he could use as a pillow. Finding nothing, he rolled his jacket up. "Where's the Old Man then? I thought we were all kipping here."
Sandy chuckled. "Did you really believe he would be? He'll be at his club. It suits us because at least we can relax and, anyway, what he learns there, from his various conversations, is as valuable to us as Reg's intel gatherings. He'll be back in the morning, so don't forget, it's an early start to get showers in and stow everything away."
Gally took out his little Pye radio and plugged in the earpiece. Sandy admired it. "That's a dinky little thing you've got there."
Gallagher smiled and replied, "Have I let something escape from my Y fronts again." The other two laughed then Clive offered, "Can you get much on that?"
"We are talking about the radio now, aren't we, Clive?" Gally responded.
He blushed slightly, "Of course. Why can you never be serious for long?"
"Life's too short, Clive. I can be serious but I think there's something wrong with my face. I had a Skipper in the Met once. I was trying to tell him something serious, something I wasn't happy with and all he could do was fall about laughing his head off. When he'd worn himself out, and I persisted, he coughed he thought I'd been joking."
"Can you get Radio Luxembourg or any of those pirate radio stations?" Sandy threw in from the far corner of the room.
"Yes, I can and I do listen to them now and then but tonight it's going to be 'book at bedtime' 'the shipping forecast' then Radio Moscow."
"What's the attraction for Radio Moscow?" Clive asked.
"I just like to get an alternative view of things. It's good to listen to the American Forces Network news then see what the Russians say. I have to admit though, there is this bird who reads the news when she can wrestle the mike off the others. I quite fancy her, simply on the sound of her voice."
Sandy called over, "She's probably eighteen stone and drives her tank to work."
Gally laughed. "That has occurred to me. Probably why I held back with the marriage proposal."
Clive turned over in his bag. "Turn the lights off, Gally."
He looked up for the nearest switch. "Where's all the light switches gone?"
"By the door, where they've always been," Sandy mumbled from the depths.
Wishing he hadn't thrown his sleeping bag so far from the lights, the word 'bollocks' was briefly in Gally's head before he decided he should buy a torch or maybe sign one out.