All the same, I'd like to think my Joan would show up for me, though I wouldn't ever put her to such foolishness. I'd do the same for her, if it was that way round. Which it won't be.
Bleeding hill nearly finished me.
It's a question of duty, that's what it is.
Vic's standing there, looking, and Ray's gone over to chat to Vincey, at the foot of that tower thing. They're gazing up at it like a couple of tourists peering at Nelson's Column. 'Heligoland' it says on it, wherever that is, 'Heligoland. Jutland. Dogger Bank.' But it don't look like they're talking about the tower, it looks like they're talking about something else, strictly between the two of them.
Well I suppose I'm the odd man out here, I'm the odd man out on this whole caper, just along for the ride and the beer, and the hill-climbing. There's Vie there with his lists of dead, as if he don't get enough of that on a daily basis, and them two thick as thieves at the foot of the tower. I never understood how Raysy could get pally with that pillock. I suppose he never had no daughter up the spout by him, though he might've done, if Susie hadn't been whisked off to Australia first.
There's Ray and Jack who go back to the desert, same desert as me, Gunner Tate, except I never knew either of them then. There's Vie and Jack who had pitches opposite for the best part of fifty years, Dodds and Tucker, steaks and stiffs. And there's Jack and Vince, one in a bag and one off his rag.
The only reason I'm here, if you don't count being his regular boozing partner for close on forty years, is because of Sally. Is because Jack took her to the seaside when we couldn't take her ourselves. It was a kindness, one of the few that girl ever got. And now I'm taking Jack.
It's a question of duty. There's a soldier's duty, a sailor's duty. Heligoland. Jutland. But if you ask me, that aint duty so much as orders. Doing your duty in the ordinary course of life is another thing, it's harder. It's like Ray always said that Jack was a fine soldier, Jack should've got a medal, but when it came to being back in Civvy Street, he didn't know nothing better, like most of us, than to stick like glue to what he knew, like there was an order sent down from High Command that he couldn't ever be nothing else but a butcher. That shop was his bleeding billet, it's a fact.
Then he fancies going to the seaside.
They look like two spies on a rendezvous, standing there by that tower. One of 'em's got a bag, look, a suspicious-looking bag.
It's like Sally done wrong, for all I don't blame her, for all her having married that nutter on the rebound from Big Boy. Tommy Tyson, care of Pentonville Prison. She should've stuck with him, it'll be worse when he gets out, she should've kept going to see him. Like Amy sees June.
It's a question of paying your dues.
It's like Ray should patch things up with Susie, like Carol should never've run out on Ray. There shouldn't ever be no running off, deserting. Like Vincey should've knuckled down and done what was wanted of him, because he owed Jack and Amy for nigh on everything, and Jack was that lad's father to all intents and purposes.
And Jack shouldn't ever've given up on his own.
Nor should I.
Joan might show up, but not Sally.
They're moving round behind the tower.
So you could say it was Amy who always done her duty, her duty and a half, year in, year out. Never a squeak in return, for all I've heard. You could say she's doing it now, if she's going to see June. Except she could see June tomorrow or she could've seen her yesterday. You'd think she could spare the one day for Jack.