August 1952.
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Here I am with yet another bunker mate, in the process of digging yet another home. This is a rear slope job somewhere along the Samichon valley line. Same economical size, big enough to sleep and shelter in and keep the incoming mail from doing away with you. Seems we have a clothes line, you can bet it had been raining as no way would we have had the water to wash those clothes in! The patrolling of nights on the Samichon were made unbearable, more by the mosquitoes than the Chinese. There was a WW2 era insect repellant cream issued, which was about as useful as udders on a bull. Laying up quietly on an ambush was tough, the mozzies swarmed all over us and drilled straight through our clothing. Now and then you would hear a frustrated SMACK sound, as someone was driven to despair. An angry."Shut up." Would mumble along the line from all and sundry, fearing Charlie may be nearby and hear it. I must have been on R&R recently, my hat has a puggaree and looks in good shape. |