PASSPORT TO HELL

Radio Record, Volume X, Issue 21, 4 December 1936, Page II

PASSPORT TO HELL

BY

ROBIN

HYDE

Southland Echoes to Marching Feet-and Sixteen Year Old | Starkie Starts For The War |

WHAT’S GONE BEFORE Invercargill’s stormy petrel, John Douglas Stark, half-Indian, half-Spanish, went from his brief school career to a job on a New Zealand coastal vessel. It lasted but a short time, however, and he walked off. the ship at Lyttelton and started for home. He got work in the Wyndham Valley, cutting flax, but a fight with the camp boss sent him onto the roads again. !n Christchurch he was arrested and eventually thrown into goal in Invercargill. Here his insubordination brought him all sorts of penalties, but finally he was free again. One night, standing on a_ street corner, a policemen asked him what he was doing. "Looking for a job," muttered © ‘Starkie see NOW READ ON" "Don’t be funny,

slark. ine grip on his | shoulder tightened. *T1l give you a job, my lad-two jobs. You can have a job at a ha’penny a day blocking the swamps, or a job at a dollar a: day fighting for your King. What's it to be?" Something’ in-

side the mind of the boy who could have two jobs disliked the idea of being run by the police. He had served his time in tomb.and mud-hole and irons: _He twisted in the policeman’s grip. ° "[ll give you a job,’ he _ shouted; "pulling yourself. out of this!" Then he took to his*‘heels. The policeman, taken by surprise, floundered on his back in the middle of Briscoe’s window-display, splintered glass framing fat body.and outraged face. In a minute | a. whistle shrieked, feet pelted. The running boy -was out of sight. . That night Starkie slept. in an extremely wet and mouldy "haystack down, in Roach’s ‘Paddock, and found that’ the fascinating tramps who in his childhood had. praised this form of sleeping accommodation were liars like the rest. The hay knotted toughly in his ribs, smelt of mildew, and was full. of tiny red.creeping parasites which bit. For two days he spent his time dodging the public. He bought his food, sixpenn’orth at a_ time, warily over the counters of obscure

shops. Always the eyes of those who Served him seemed hard and watchful. Always he listened for the sound of the whistle. He made a business of slinking through town on an elaborate, useless system of cross-streets, never proceeding straight in any direction. It was all purposeless, blind, and hopeless. He would be picked yet, and he knew it. But apart from the game of hare and hounds, he had nothing to do and nowhere to 20. It was on one of these elaborate games that the hare found himself outside the Drill. Sheds. He had a feeling that They. were on his heels. He edged down to the:.Zealandia Hall, noticed the flutter of the cotton Union Jack, and the straggling little queue of men in,’ civilian clohes, fell in‘ line wih them, He was safe, camouflaged, doing what other men were ‘doing without.:attracting the notice oft he" police. . "He was inside the hall, 106k-

ing across a desk into the eyes of a clean-shaven man who snapped absent-mindedly as he asked a string of. questions, but whose. thin mouth had a good-humoured quirk at the corners, " "Ever, been in gaol?" : He jumped.’ But "No," he" said stolidly. ‘: The eyes ofthe Captain behind the desk stared’ with some amusement at his clothes,- still bearing the. creases of a year in:the prison stores. ( "Nationality? Age?" _" Starkie gave the nationality right, ., but his age.as twenty.. * "Had any trouble at all?" drawled the Captain. Starkie shook his head. ‘Very well, Stark." The Captain bent his head, scribbed for~h moment on a piece of paper. "Chit for». Dr. Bevan, rooms in Speight Street. Hop it, and report here when he’s done with you." Dr. Bevan was easy. Hands that felt the stringy muscles in his lean body, shrewd eyes that stared at him.

He went back with the chit to the Zealandia Hall, passed fit for active service. Captain Grey pored over the chit for a moment, then barked at his recruit. "Ever been in goal, Stark?" "Never, sir’ said. Starkie. The hard face crinkled up in a sudden grin. "Very well, Starkie. You never were in gaol. Well, there’s a contingent leaving in about twenty days’ time-you can join up with that..." Twenty days. and every copper in Invercargill on his. trail, ready to box him up until the War was over and done with. For the moment, utterly disheurtened, he could only stammer thanks and slink back to the streets ‘again. That night he curled up like a dog, and slept in a corner behind the hall. The mere shadow of the arrogant. little cotton flag was some ghostly protec-

tion to him. In the morning he was inside the office again. For three days he waylaid Captain Grey, joining up with the queues whenever he could edge his way among them, camping behind the hall at nivhts. On ° the

fourth day, down to his last. shilling, he buttonholed Captain Grey as that self-possessed officer strude towards his lair, and begged to be allowed a preview of the War. Captain Grey, who knew precisely as much about Starkie’s past and present circumstances as Starkie and the police did themselves, screwed up his mouth, hesitated. "There’s no chance, Stark." Starkie broke down. Precisely what he said he could never afterwards remember, but there was a good deal in it about lamp-posts, cops, the «Dummy, and a broken window-pane with a police official framed in the middle of it. Captain Grey looked neither hurt nor surprised. At the end of Starkie’s tale, he said curtly, "A draft leaves for Trentham tomorrow. If anyone falls out sick, you can take his place. The train leaves at six am." He was gone, and Starkie looked after him as never yet had he (Continued on page 48.)

"PASSPORT TO HELL"

(Continued from inside front cover)

looked after schoolmaster or ghostly consoler, . The first necessity was money. Starkie thought of the people in Invercargill who might at a crisis lend him money; and the list, when he considered it, was uncommonly small. But in the end he pitched on a friend of his father’s-David Kidsop, the blacksmith. He caught the smith in his forge, mellow-tempered from the first of a cider brew, and had two pounds in his pocket and a clap on ‘his shoulder almost before he had begun his story.. Breathless with this success, he crept around the railway station, bundled himself into a train, and paid the guard for his ticket. to the Bluff, where lurked in his memory the wettest litt!s tavern he had ever struck, ; When he got there ho found that war had cast a gloom over a .once companionable pub, and without wasting time came back to the Club Hotel, otherwise Mrs. Wooten’s. Here he found what he wanted-soldiers of the King drinking his Majesty’shealth. Nobody minded telling him about .soldiering life, especially when he pulled a crisp note out of his pocket and paid for a round like a man ui. a brother. By and by Starkie struck what he wanted, a comrade who couldn’t hold his liquor. The comrade’s name was Alec, for which Starkie liked lim none: the better; but he looked after Alec like a father after -hi8’ ‘first-born, presuming that the father: wanted the first-born to die of alcoholic ‘poisoning. Six o'clock closing, that-most devastating custom of the’ New Zealander’s © country, emptied thé’ soldiers out of the bar; but for’ Alec the fun was only: beginning. ,Starkie purchased two‘. bottles of whisky’.and took his-. victim into town to’enjoy the martial pleasures of whisky, women, and song. . Every step was a risk, but necessary; The bottles did their best-but. .Alec;'-though by» now in a condition of alcoholic love for all the world, miraculously kept on his feet. Starkie’ glowered at him, haunted. by a dread vision "of a six : o’clock. train and Alec on.it. i. se It wouldn’t. "do. His arm. around the waist of his erring friend, ‘he steered him gently over the‘ rough-metalled streets to the little house "where dwelt’ an old relative‘of his, Dick Harris. Dick Harris-had a brew of:his own. He didn’t: uticork it for all"the riff-raft in Invercargill, but it wasn’t hard for Starkie-to whisper his plans. "while Alec finished the last amber drops of the whisky. A bald head nodded. "How’'ll ‘you keep on’ your feet. boy?" ; ERE regs SRE "God knows. I haven’t had enough to feed a sparrow the last three days, and it won’t take much to knock me’ out. ‘What can I do?" oe The old man patted his shoulder. "Leave it to your uncle, boy," he chuckled. "Tea laddie, tea .. . horrible womanish stuff-but it'll do for you now. Get in there and keep your cobber cheerful." . At 5.30 in ‘the morning Alec, with the rug drawn over him, "had been sprawling in. sleep for’ three hours. Some. subconscious prompting "half woke ;jhim. He stirred,’ stretched his arms, groaned, "Oh, God! ,..", +’ : Old Harris pounced on him like a. hawk. ; athe ae . "One more drink, my boy-a. toast to all you brave soldiers going. away tomorrow." BN ELE Be! OBER EY Outside the dawn was blue in. the tangled trees. Harris had pinned’ the heavy plush curtains together} "there was no light in. the room. but the" splutter of candles, replaced so_ that their stubs were not too near the

warning leap and flutter of ‘death. Alec blinked, reached out his hand, tipped the glass. "Toas’-Brave boys-goin’ -" His head dropped. His mouth opened wide in a rattling snore. "Yes," said old Harris with satisfaction, "that one was a knock-out drop." His horny hand caught Starkie a tremendous blow on _ the shoulder. "Run, you bloody young cub! Run for it! Half an hour and you’re clear." One moment to wring that knotted old hand and he was out in the icecold air. It wasn’t, thank God! perfectly light. Out of breath, a shadow ‘among a thousands other shadows, he landed on the station, burred thre=zh the crowd to Captain Grey. "Beg to report a man sick, sir. He can't ‘leave today." For a moment Captain Grey stared in silenee at Alec’s papers, Then he laughed, "Give me those tickets." Starkie handed them over. Very carefuily Captain Grey crossed out Alec's fair name. "Now," he ordered, "set on board that train." There wera abvut four hundred men in the draft. ‘Ye Starkie, still breatnless from running, it seemed incredipie that tears should be streaking the sunburnt. faces of so many among them. Women, patient little ghosts. in black, lifted up heavy children in their arms, and the. men piled against the carriage windows, or still crowding the station, --bent down their heads and kissed again and again the curve of a woman’s face, a sleepy child’s face. The big feather-laden hats of the women were tilted back at absurd angles bv the men’s rough embraces; their veils, spotted with big black velvet dots, were torn like cobwebs. A very old man, whose rheumy, eyes didn’t seem*to focus their blank stare on any particular face, went past. tl.> window leaning on a heavy ash-stick, and groaning, ‘Hee, dear! Hee, dear!" Then a ycung woman in grey tweeds, heaithy as a sheep-dog, dashed up to Starkie. fiung her arms around _his neck and crushed her fresh _ lips against his.mouth. He was taken by surprise, but"the whole impulse of his being suddenly and fiercely wanted her, Before he could speak’ or touch her, she thrust into his hand a little hcldall with cards of darning-wool, ‘black and white threads, pins and needles, ran to the next window and repeated the performance. -Craning as far’ from the: carriage ~~ window as he dared, Starkie saw her breasts taut’ and her apple-red cheeks streaming with tears as she lifted. herself to embrace another man. He felt furiously "Jealous and contemptuous. It takes a war to get. some of them like that about the whole world of men. Behind the wood 1 pillars and dingy brown walls of the station, the little he could see of Invercargill was a cup of mist, almost sapphire blue. The minute hand of the station clock jerked itself forward like a cripple on his sticks. A party of men started singing "Tipperary". That somehow flicked a spark of- enthusiasm into the wet faces of the women on _ the station. Some of the twisted mouths laughed, others shouted stupid, pathetic words of farewell. "Take care of yourself’ "Come back soon!" The train’s whistle shrieked, the crowded blur of faces and waving hands was’ jolted a pace backwards. Against the dark blue cup of the morning, men and women set. their lips and unknowingly pledged one another.

CHAPTER FIVE THE KHAKI PLACH The storesman opened his little slit of a mouth and gabbled, without pause for breath: ‘wo shirts-two singlets-two underpants-two socks -two boots-knife-fork-spoon-plate-blankets-sign here-C’rrect?" Starkie, who had lost count somewhere about the underpants and had not the faintest idea whether his: kit was in order or not, nodded speechlessly and signed as he was bid. He was given his tent number-D Lines, Tent Number Wight. "Hop along and you'll -find the rest of Otago there, all hoozey!" grumbled the storesman. Starkie hopped. Finding his way to Number Bight, Db. Lines, meant negotiating a route through a sea of mud, yellowish-brown, like his newly issued Khaki. For three days before the arrival of Otago Fourth, rain had pelted down on the flat spaces of the Trentham Camp, and the _ rabbitwarren trenches were awash. This wasn’t Flanders, however, and you could sleep in a bell-tent. Starkie found his, bobbed under the tent-flap, © and then cast one despairing glance at the outer world. There were already seven men seated in his tent, and they weren't strictly speaking men at all-they were monsters, An enormous voice bellowed at him, "Siddown!" Another enormous voice’ shouted, "Take a hand!" and he observed that the giants. were playing Rummy. One of "hem . had flaming red hair; another’s nose was sunburned and peeling cruelly in a bright red face, The second largest of the giants stuttered horribly and talked more than the rest put together. Their boots,.their bodies, their voices, overflowed the tent, and they all looked too large for their uniforms, Even in gaol, man to man, Starkie had been us substantial as the average warder, and better than most. Here he was the baby, and he wasn’t surprised when a booming voice elected him mess orderly. Sadly he asked for a list of his duties. ‘It means that you go get our tucker, see?" : "And. get in good and early, before the cookhouse is rushed." "And see there’s enough straw in the tent for ‘decent beds." "And when there’s latrine duty, you're it.’ "And you answer the roll call for two if one of us don’t want to play." "And you do what you're told, see?" Starkie saw. He nodded. Then a laugh rumbled from one of the giant’s stomachs, a hand like a leg of mutton smote him ‘horribly between the shoulder-blades. He was introduced’ in turn to the gentleman with the sun--burned nose, Jim McLeod-court title, ‘"Fleshy"; "Ginger" Sheeth, Si.er, whose fifteen stone drew him the pet name "Goliath"; "Stuttering Bob" Butts, Jack Frew, and Matthews, who was a sheep-owner and was to be known as "Farmer Giles’. "You gotta have. a name," Fleshy told him. "Let’s have a look at you. Yes, you can be Coon." After that there was a scrimmage. Starkie, disliking the race of Coons and any personal reference to his own dusky complexion from strangers. When’ the scrimmage was finished, evervbody was happy, particularly: Flesh and Bob Butts, who before reaching Trentham had taken the.pre-. caution of absorbing a good deal of beer, _. : secured their first dinner from the cookhouse, ,an enormous leg of. mutton.. This-Pleshy under(Continued on inside back cover), °

" PASSPORT TO HELL"

took to carve, propping it on a truss of straw on the tent floor. In the excitement of the moment he set his foot on it. Into the mud slid the dinner. "Oh, God!" said Goliath resignedly "Come along down to the canteen." On tea and little pork pies of a restrained size and parched interior they made their first meal in ‘Trentham. Getting to bed in the bell tents wasn’t a picnic, unless you were one of the Lilliputians who could really fit the minute trusses of straw doled out by the camp authorities. In Tent Hight this was quiteout of the question; Starkie, the lightest of the company, turning the scales at twelve stone, While the lights still flared in the canteen, Fleshy McLeod tapped him oh the shoulder, whispering, ‘‘C’mon." Ten Hight’s mess orderly crept out of the canteen at the heels of his lord and master, and the two made their beds up and turned in while the rest were still putting away pies and tea. In an hour their tent-mates returned and there was an argument, the upshot of which was that the whole of Starkie’s bedding was fairly enough distributed among the others. In the next tent they were audibly drawing lots for their bed-straw, but the results didn’t matter, for Starkie creeping on his stomach to the rear of the tent, cut a slit in the canvas and gently dragged out the straw. All was peace in Tent Hight until after reveille, when it was discovered by the outraged inhabitants of Tent Seven that straw had been dropped between the two tents. In the morning there was a court of inquiry, and Captain Dombey decided that the amount of straw in Tent Wight was against reason and the nature-never very lav-ish-of the storeman. ; Starkie looked round to see which of his mates would spill the beans, but the seven giants remained mute as flitches of bacon, their eyes twinkling in large red faces. Tent Wight got three days’ C.B. all round during which none of his mates. chose to re-

proach their mess orderly. After thut Starkie decided that he was going to like the War. Latrine duty was an_ undignitied aspect of canip life, and aifected him more painfully than the incessant barkings of "Left, right, left, mght! .- About tur-r-rn! ... Quick march! -. Double march! ... -lForrrm #ourrs! ... Forrrm two-deep!"’ with which a drill sergeant-whose yell was all on the one hysterical notehaunted their hours in the driil ground. The primitive sanitary accommodation of the camp consisted of rows of . kerosene tins, neatly set, with as much privacy as could be arranged, between the white rows of tents. Latrine duty entailed a slow and painful "nightmare" progress among these tins after dusk. Upon the indignities of this Starkie pondered. As his tent-mutes had prophesied, the lowest and most untouchabie occupations always fell upon him, and’he rather suspected that his colouring had something to do with it. The Maoris had marched off in a Pioneer Corps.of their own, and Starkie was the only black sheep in the battalion. Nevertheless, he had a mind for higher things than latrine duty, and worried a great deal as to the possible dodging of it. By and by he found a solution, and things were much easier for the next two nights in succession. But his record-break-ing performances thereatter did not escape the eye of authority, and he scented the beginning of the end when Sergeant Taine stood affectionately beside a latrine tin for a fuil half hour, pouring in water and staring with a hypnotised yet incredulous expression as the water miraculously drained away. Presently Starkie was summoned to Captain Dombey’s tent. Here, in serried phalanxes, were sixty-five latrine tins, the bottom of each punctured with four holes. Starkie had employed an unusually large nail, and the effect was ruinous. He was unable satisfactorily to explain this, and got six days’ C.B., which was, however, little more uncomfortable than the normal routine of camp duty at Trentham. Exception was also taken to

the words "Rummies’ Retreat", which appeared in enormous letters of nug-get-black upon Tent Eight: for this a turther three days’ C.B. was bestowed upon him, and he learned more about drill than some soldiers are perplexed with in a lifetime. Trainloads of girls came up to the Hutt towns from Wellington every night. In camp the tea bugle sounded at five; the mess went up for tea, meat, and vegetubles; the dishes were washed and returned to the cook-house, and atter that, barring C.B., the bright young night was all your own to play with. The boys used to walk up to the little Upper Hutt towns, where in the big white riverbank houses liquor was to be had; and their clumsy military boots shuffled in the pre-war dances-the old waitz, the schottische, the Maxina, the Valeta, and for the really spry fellow, square dances, the Lancers, and the d’Alberts-always called the Dee Alberts. These were danced with the figures all wrong, and a jolly bloke with a concertina shouting, "Take your partners for the next set! Swing! ..." Swing they did, the little feet of ‘the girls lifting off the floor, their bodies, with a soldier’s arm pussed under each armpit, flying out dangerously, almost horizontal; their breasts panting in the old-fashioned evening gowns of crepe de Chine and China silk; their faces scarlet. When they were through with dancing, there was the riverbund outside. The Huft is only a little river, though its sudden deep pot-holes and odd currents have drowned many a stout swimmer. It creeps, ten yards wide, under siiver birch trees and stiff rvusset-leaved osiers, the kind whose slim, reddish boughts are used in basket-making. Here and there the yellow bank caves in, making niches where, among the spangled wildflowers and tall grass, boy and. girl could curl up, arm around each other’s waist, tousled poppy-head dropping on khaki shoulder. The men in camp should, according to regulations, have been between the ages of eighteen and forty-five. (To be continued Next Week).