Roger Noons
a large mug of tea with three sugars.
When the letter arrived instructing him to carry out his national Service,
Jack Burton was pleased. It enabled him to distance himself from his father.
William Burton, an Undertaker, with neither a sense of humour nor the ability to
leave a bottle of Johnnie Walker in a cupboard, was a bully. He was always
easily recognised at the crematorium; his clothes smelled of moth balls and his
breath of peppermints.
It was during the second week of his basic training that the sergeant
stood behind Jack and screamed into his right ear. ‘Am I urtin you lad?’
‘No Sergeant.’
‘Well I ought to be, I’m standin on your air. Get it cut!’
‘Yes Sergeant.’
As the non-com moved away, he left behind a whiff of peppermint which
left Jack shivering.
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