Tomb of the Lost

Chapter EIGHTTEEN



MARCH 1943



Alf smiled as the bandages on his wounded shoulder were removed for the very last time. He looked down at the wound. The scar tissue was a different colour and texture to the rest of his skin. It had healed perfectly. He rotated his arm in a large circle above his head.

“No pain?” Sanjay asked.

“No pain,” Alf replied “It feels stiff.”

“It will do for a time. This was a serious injury. It could take years to heal.”

“I’m glad to be free of those bandages because my shoulder itches,” Alf said scratching hard. The new skin he rubbed gently with his fingertips. Johnny was watching.

“Looks good Alf.”

Alf nodded and grinned at him. Johnny’s face was healed too. The scars weren’t so bad. They’d left him looking like he’d suffered from bad acne once. He could live with it. His headaches had gone also. He rarely got them now but hadn’t had one for almost a week.

Alf had got to know the Indian too. His name was Vijay and was from the Punjab. He told Alf about how his people were ancient. Thousands of years old when the golden haired Macedonian had arrived in his country. How Alexander the great had been unable to defeat the seven foot tall Rajah Porus sitting astride his mighty elephants.

“How old are your people?” he had asked Alf.

“Not that old. We were once Celts, invaded by the Romans and then almost a thousand years ago by the French. That was the last time that we were invaded. Of course we have….”

Alf stopped himself just in time. He was about to mention how the British had controlled India for the last century and a half but thought it might upset Vijay.

“Can you teach me to fly a plane?”

Now Vijay smiled.

“Yes. In theory I could.”

“Would you?”

They asked the doctor and Captain Schwann the commandant of the now completed P.O.W camp attached to the hospital if they could have some small boxes and some pens. They also borrowed two small brooms. The Germans had agreed, even mocking Alf that if he’d had wings he would surely fly away and never come back. They had watched amused as Vijay had drawn gauges and instruments on the boxes and tied the brushes into position. They used pallet blocks as foot controls. The German guards had stood around and made jokes until Schwann got in amongst them and not annoyed sent them back to their posts. He looked at the mock up then suddenly burst out laughing.

“It will never take off,” he said roaring with laughter as he walked away.

“I must admit,” Vijay said in his heavily accented English “I’m surprised they are not concerned about me teaching you this.”

Alf looked at the cardboard controls. The broom handle joystick. The wooden pedals.

“It does look rather childish.”

“True but the basics are simple in flying. Now if you’re ready we can begin.”



A week later Alf, Johnny, Vijay and many of the others were moved into the temporary tents. They had no electricity or running water. The men cooked for themselves. They weren’t given much. There wasn’t much to go around. Basic living was what Rommel had ordered and that was exactly what they got. They spent their days talking, playing cards and dice, making tea in old petrol cans which gave the tea a disgusting taste. But you really got quite used to it.

Vijay was still on crutches. He had suffered gunshot wounds to both legs and would probably never walk properly again for the rest of his life. He limped around the compound most days. He never gave up hope.

News was difficult to obtain. Every day the German guards would tell the British captives of German achievements to demoralise them. The truth was that the German supply lines were over seventy five per cent successful. Allied shipping in the Mediterranean unable to sink enough of the convoys to make an impression.

“Will we ever get out of here Alf?” Johnny asked.

“Of course we will. The war will end eventually and we are all under Rommel’s protection.”

“Sometimes I feel like just jumping over that barbed wire fence.”

“I’m sure we all feel like that.”

“That corner where the guards can’t see you. Just jump the gate and be gone,” Johnny was saying, more to himself than anyone.

Alf stood directly in front of him. The sun was over Alf’s right shoulder and was dazzling Johnny Larder.

“What corner? What gate? What are you talking about?!

Alf moved to one side. The sun was no longer in Johnny’s face.

“The corner of the guards hut over there by the main gate. I was there for over half an hour the other day. Just standing there minding my own business. The guards were bringing in boxes of supplies and when I moved out a little I realised the guard in the watch tower hadn’t even seen me. He was facing inside the compound and only shouted at me when he turned around.”

Alf was staring at his friend open mouthed.

“He didn’t see me Alf. If I’d known I would have run for it. But look! It’s all flat desert. There is nowhere to run to.”

Alf looked around to make sure that no one had overheard their conversation.

“Show me,” he said in a whisper.

They made their way slowly to the guard hut. Alf curbing his excitement at the news he’d just heard.

“We must keep a distance Johnny,” Alf said putting out a hand to stop Larder as they got near, “We don’t want to arouse the Germans suspicions.”

“What would they do to us if we tried to escape Alf?”

“Hunt us down. Shoot us?”

“Would they hurt those left behind?”

‘Would they?’ Alf asked himself ‘That maniac Wurtz probably would but Schwann? Schwann is a good man.’

“In truth Johnny I don’t know.”

Alf kicked at some loose stones on the ground.

“It’s all speculation anyway Johnny. It is as you said there is nowhere to run to even if you could escape.”

Almost unbelievably the opportunity came two days later.



It was late morning and most of the British captives were inside their tents because of the rain. It had rained hard through most of the night beating down on the canvas covers. Alf was standing in the door flap looking out at the puddles forming on the desert floor. Rain was such a rarity that the P.O.W.’s had gone outside and were standing in it.

The previous afternoon they had stood in it, their faces tilted up towards the heavens. Rain splashing their hair. Hair which for some of them hadn’t been washed in weeks. Many of them had their mouths open. Catching the sweet water or tasting it on their lips. Shirts that quickly became soaked were taken off and thrown down.

Then someone produced a football. It was old and the leather scuffed. Some of the stitching was frayed but it was still very usable. The English soldiers enjoyed a kick about. Then someone suggested a game against the Indians.

It soon became apparent that the Indians knew nothing about football but this didn’t deter them. Alf quickly got four shirts off players to use as goalposts. Next he separated the two sides. English on the left. Indians on the right. Guards in the watch towers looking on.

Next Alf began explaining the game and basic rules. The Indians listened intently, keen to learn. Their game was cricket.

Alf joined his team.

“Take your shirts off,” he said “They’re keeping theirs on. Remember your team are the players wearing the shirts!” Alf shouted across to the captain of the Indian team. He waved back that they understood. Alf’s team were highly optimistic about the outcome of the game.

“Let’s be easy on them.”

His men sniggered quietly. It should be a whitewash.

It was.

Inside ten minutes the Indians were trailing six goals to nil. They wouldn’t give up though. Their enthusiasm was plain to see. The German guards in the towers laughing every time an Indian ended up flat on his face with a mouthful of dirt.

Alf thumped another goal home. His shoulder was aching but he was enjoying the game too much to let it bother him. The Indians weren’t responding and some of them now began to stand and watch the ball, not bothering to try and get it.

Eight nil!

The English were celebrating. The Indians dejected. Burroughs in goal for England called a halt to the game. He hadn’t touched the ball once. Then it was passed back to him and he picked it up.

“Alf it’s a bit one sided.”

“That’s because they’re no good,” Alf replied trying to get the ball from Wilf who quickly hid it behind his back.

“Why don’t we mix the teams up a bit, you know try to make it more even.”

Alf thought about it.

“Oh all right, why not,” ‘it couldn’t hurt’ he decided “But you and I are on the same team,” Alf looked around “Johnny how’s your head?”

“It’s fine Alf I’ll be O.K.”

“If you’re sure. You’re on my team.”

Alf picked the best. Johnny had already scored a hat trick.

Vijay was watching at the sidelines wishing he could play. His legs still too badly injured for him to run. The bones were knitting well though. It was a good sign.

“Vijay,” Alf called “Can you pick a team. We’ll alternate.”

“Yes,” Vijay replied “Gupta, Rasheed, Farooq, you stand over there please. You, you, you, you also,” he said telling off four of the Royal Engineers. When the teams had been picked it did look more even sided.

Now play began.



Captain Schwann was writing at his desk. His hot coffee steaming in a tin cup in front of him. It tasted disgusting but then most things out here did after a while. He was filling out reports to be filed by the doctors, medical reports requiring his signature and so forth.

He ran a finger around the inside of his collar. It was hot in his office. He got up and stretched. The windows didn’t open so he went to the door and opened it.

His sentry half turned to salute him.

“As you were….” he stopped “What’s all that noise?”

“The prisoners are playing football sir.”

“Football! Where?”

“Over there sir,” the guard pointed.

Schwann pulled the door shut.

“Come with me.”

As they approached the football match Schwann reached into his trouser pocket, took out his whistle and blew it. He had to blow it twice more to get the game to stop. Schwann marched up to Alf.

“We were just having a friendly game of football Captain Schwann,” Alf said saluting him. “I’m sorry if you were disturbed.”

“What? Oh not at all. Who is playing?”

“Ourselves and the Indians sir. Originally it was us against the Indians but we were beating them so easily we mixed the teams up.”

Schwann nodded taking it all in, the ball, the shirt goal posts.

“Take a break,” he told Alf “We’ll play you.”

“Pardon sir.”

“We’ll play you. The prisoners versus the guards. England v GERMANY!”

He said the Germany loud. He turned to the guard he’d brought.

“Get some barrels to make goals with.”

Schwann began unbuttoning his shirt. He took it off, undid his braces and let them fall by his hips.

“I had a trial once for Bayern Munich,” he told Alf.

“What happened?”

“The war happened. Get yourselves organised. We’ll start in fifteen minutes. Is that enough time?”

“Of course sir.”

Schwann left the field of play to organise things. Alf quickly got his men into a group.

“We’ve got a crack at the guards here,” he said keeping his voice low.

“What?” said Burroughs.

“Schwann and his guards have challenged us to a game.”

“You haven’t agreed?”

“Of course I have.”

“We don’t stand a chance. Look at them. The Germans are all fit. Most of us have been in the infirmary.”

“Don’t let that put you off. We can beat them. Watch the tackles though. Keep it clean. You can bet that they won’t but we don’t want to upset Schwann. Oh by the way he nearly turned professional once. Any one here play?”

One man came forward.

“Frank Grimes sarge. I had a trial for Manchester United when I was a kid.”

“Did you learn much?”

“Enough to make them uncomfortable,” he said nodding towards Schwann.

Ten minutes later the German Captain was back with his guards. He had changed his jackboots for a pair of old , plain, dusty boots. He still had his braces on. His vest was white and clean. His team were all wearing a motley collection of uniforms. These were men plucked from the guardroom.

Alf and his team mates watched them coming.

“Shit they do look fit Alf.”

The Germans took to the pitch and took up their positions. The barrels arrived and were placed. The English goal was bigger. Alfs team protested. Schwann personally paced it out and though everyone could see that he took larger steps in the England goal he categorically denied it. The goalposts stayed as they were.

“Cheating bastards,” Burroughs commented.

“All right that’s enough in case he hears you. We can beat them. If we win they’ll always know that we are better than them.”

“Alf they have three more players than us.”

Alf counted them. Burroughs was right.

“Even more reason to beat them. Come on Johnny you’re up front with me. Wilf are you all right in goal?”

Burroughs clapped his hands together.

“They won’t get past me.”

Schwann was in the middle of the drawn pitch. The ball at his feet.

“I’ve just decided,” he said “There will be no sending’s off.”

Alf smiled but he knew that this was an excuse for the Germans to play rough.

“If any of your team wishes to drop out now is the time.”

Alf turned to look at them, his team, his comrades. They were ready.

“Just go ahead and blow your whistle.”

“Very well. May the best team win,” Schwann said putting the whistle to his lips while trying not to laugh.

Schwann was holding the ball down with his right foot. He blew his whistle and kicked the ball back to a defender who passed it across the wing. Then they began their attack. They passed the ball easily between them taunting the English players who as yet had failed to make any sort of play. They marked the Germans and did nothing. Schwann dribbled the ball past Johnny Larder and took a shot at goal. Burroughs made a half hearted dive and the ball was in under his body. The Germans applauded but Schwann wasn’t impressed.

“You didn’t try to stop that,” he said to Burroughs as Wilf got to his feet. He pointed a finger at Alf.

“You don’t need to let us win. We’ll beat you easily enough.”

Burroughs got the ball and kicked it back out. Alf placed it at the halfway line. Schwann blew his whistle again.

Alf passed the ball to Larder and ran deep. Johnny chipped it over and Alf brought the ball down with his chest. One of the Germans tried to push Alf over but he side stepped, played a one two with a team mate and struck the ball. The German goalkeeper put his hand out instinctively but the well struck ball thumped past him for the equaliser. The English players patted Alf on the back as he rejoined them. Only Captain Schwann applauded of the Germans.

“Good. Very Good,” he said “Make the most of it. It will be the only one you get.”

“If any of your team wishes to drop out,” Alf goaded the German “Now would be the time.”

Schwann pointed a finger at him.

“Don’t push your luck!”

Alf grinned as the ball was given back to Schwann. This time the German play was nasty. Schwann back passed but Frank Grimes intercepted and dribbled the ball towards the German goalkeeper. Alf on the right wing, Johnny on the left, both calling out “Frank! Frank!” to get Grimes attention. Grimes knew where they were though. He skillfully passed another German midfielder. He looked up momentarily to spot Larder.

The German’s tackle was vicious.

Corporal Kahler took both of Grimes legs out from under him. Grimes came down heavily onto his back. He rolled about in the dust holding his left knee and howling in pain. The English players booed but the Germans laughed.

“Ah come on, “ Appalled, Alf protested to Schwann “Your man didn’t even try for the ball.”

“I didn’t see it that way,” Schwann was amused.

“He could have broken his leg,” Alf pointed at Kahler.

Kahler was grinning but his smile vanished when Schwann spoke to him.

“See if he’s all right.”

Kahler begrudgingly walked over to Grimes and offered his hand to help the Englishman up.

“Are you all right?”

Grimes swatted the outstretched hand away.

“I am trying to apologise.”

English hands helped Grimes up.

“I don’t need or want your help,” Grimes told the German.

At six feet eight inches the massive German Kahler towered over Frank Grimes and the English players around him. The English all looked up at him in fear.

“Are you all right?” Alf called to the injured P.O.W.

Grimes was rubbing his shins from the knock. The pain had eased but they were bruised.

“We are having a free kick for that,” Alf told Schwann.

“Very well, “ the Captain replied. He put his whistle to his lips and blew it because of some pushing and shoving between the English players and Kahler. Alf dropped the ball at his feet and struck it with all his might. It bounced once in front of the German goalkeeper and thumped past him.

2-1.

The English cheered as Alf threw both of his hands into the air to celebrate.

“I wasn’t ready,” The German goalkeeper started. He was going to go for the ball but suddenly rushed out of his goal when the celebrations continued.

“I wasn’t ready.”

He angrily grabbed Alf by the lapels, twisting bunches of Alf’s shirt in his fists. Despite Alf’s recent injury he pulled the German goalkeepers hands free and pushed the man away.

“GET OFF ME!”

Schwann was blowing his whistle again.

“I wasn’t ready,” the goalkeeper protested to his Captain.

“The game had stopped,” Schwann told Alf.

“You blew your whistle which I took as a restart to the game after Grimes was fouled.”

“I blew the whistle because your team were arguing with Corporal Kahler. I blew it to get their attention.”

“I took it as a whistle for the free kick to be taken. I scored. It’s two, one to us.”

The English players began arguing about the rules of football, finally Schwann said.

“Fine have your precious goal. If that’s what it takes to beat a German team then have it.”

Alf grinned.

“We will,” he walked back to his cheering team mates, “That’ll teach the bastards to play fair.”

The German goalkeeper was furious but Schwann put up a hand to shut him up.

“Let them have it.”

The goalkeeper took some persuading but finally, reluctantly, he conceded and walked behind his goalposts to retrieve the ball. Grimes was limping back into position. The goalkeeper kicked the ball back out bad temperedly. Schwann stopped the ball by placing his foot on it. He blew his whistle and kicked off again.