And the band played on

‘My shit smells of sprouts’ announces Lionel, returning from the lavatory.
I rebuke him. ‘Lionel, I don’t mind sharing a khazi with you, but I do not wish to know the details of your excretory endeavours.’
‘Well, stands to reason dunnit’ continued my friend, as if he hadn’t heard me, ‘all the sprouts we’ve eaten in the last few days! I mean, who eats sprouts the rest of the year? Nobody. But when it comes to Christmas we have to have ‘em by the bloody barrow-load.’
‘If you don’t like them, why do you eat them?’ I say, exasperated.
‘Well, that’s what Christmas is about innit? Doing things you don’t normally like doing.’
I give up, and leave him playing the 1949 recording, The Brothers (an LP which has been in my possession for years, and which I gave him as a birthday present, since he professed to be a fan of Stan Getz and Zoot Sims. I know, I am a fool unto myself – still, it is Christmas), to go down to the communal lounge and peruse my copy of War Cry. Major Dunwoody, the senior officer in charge of the hostel, has given everyone has been given a copy of the magazine. By the way, I was listening to the Sally Army band yesterday, playing outside the Conservative Club. I don’t join in the hymns – well, for one thing, I can’t sing - but they do have some rousing tunes. As that bloke who founded them (Booth, I think was his name) said, ‘why should the devil have all the good tunes?’
Anyway, you’ll never guess whom I saw, playing the trombone - no, not Kid Ory, but Sam, the Christian policeman! Remember? The bobby who rescued me from the Mersey mud, all that time ago. I had a few words with him while the lasses were going round with the collecting boxes (don’t those girls look lovely in their uniforms and bonnets – I once considered joining the Salvation Army but on reflection I felt that the music and the uniform were insufficient reason to commit myself to a life of abstinence from alcohol. That of course is one of my problems – not alcohol - lack of commitment ‘He couldn’t commit himself – so they sectioned him.’)
Anyway, to get back to Sam, apparently he is on secondment – to the Met. And plain clothes no less! He wouldn’t tell me what case he was on, but he spends a lot of his time on surveillance in Soho. As a matter of fact he asked me to join him for a cup of coffee in the Blue Magnolia one afternoon.

My knee has gone again. Keeps giving way when I’m coming downstairs. Still, mustn’t grumble. My knees have given me good service – and, I hope, will continue to do so. I was having a shower the other day and I looked down at my legs, and I thanked them for all the support they had given me over the years.

One other thing: I hope I did not offend anyone by using the word ‘homosexual’ instead of the currently favoured ‘gay’ appellation. When I was in the Air Force (before the term ‘gay’ had been invented) I had a couple of friends who were considered… well, different. John was a special friend. He had a great sense of humour and loved the theatre. He was a mine of information on musicals; we say quite a few performances together. It never occurred to me to consider what any of the other airmen might think. I don’t think they thought anything at all – I found the RAF a very tolerant environment.
We kept in touch for a bit after we were demobbed. The last communication I had from him was a letter telling me that he and a friend had started a drag act. He enclosed a photograph. I replied saying they looked stunning – which they did - and wishing them all the best. But I never heard from him again.

I don’t know how long I can stay here ‘I must keep moving like a rolling stone’ – but I don’t want to, really. ‘All I want is a room somewhere/Far away from the cold night air/With one enormous chair…’ yes, Eliza, it would indeed be luverly.