Jack Stewart

New Zealand Listener, Volume 9, Issue 228, 5 November 1943, Page 6

Jack Stewart

FTER a day that was as hot as hell a wind came up that had a coolness in it. We put on pullovers and sat in front of the tent smoking and wondering if in the morning there would be parcels from home. We talked. You know the things we talked about, The war, The folks at home. The long, long beers we'd have when we got back.

Football in the park in winter with the wind tearing your ears off. Newspapers. Bottles of pop. Everybody yelling like mad over the men scrumming in the »mud after the ball. The walk home when the trams were too full, with the wind hitting the rain in your face and nearly freezing your nose oft. Mum’s scones and apple pie and cheese. The hot bath and going out to a dance after. The girls. Mary. Betty. Molly. Lou. I liked Molly best, but I never seemed to be able to talk to Molly. Never could tell what she was thinking. He was so struck on Lou. Couldn’t see her like the rest of us coulde bit on the make. Not too much. Just enough to have all a mug like him would give, and serve out in return looks from her eyes, a promise from her lips, a finger for his ring, and, when his back was turned, going out with Fred and John and that double-breasted salesman from the store. He never knew and sat there by the tent. talking about her and looking at her photo as though there was a halo round her head. It was just then the Jerries came across against us in the fading light and there was no more time for talk. No more again, It hit him in the chest. Crashed through her imaged face before it hit his heart. When I had time to look, I found him. There was nothing to say. I tried to write his mother what I thought. % % %