Ahoy for Joy Read Online Free Page B

against the multi-coloured hues of the countryside with rows of well turned out youngsters ready for inspection in their dark uniforms with glinting adornments to their apparel, was a distinct source of pride to the officers who gave their time freely in the guidance of the young.
    As the second oldest in the tent, Michael was de facto second in command. The tent leader was Derek, an affable young man when it suited him, but dim witted and harsh towards those smaller and weaker than himself. He was a year older than Michael, and had left school already having been fortunate enough to secure an apprenticeship with a plumber in the city. Michael’s father had also started out as a plumber’s mate, so they had perhaps something in common, though he had never thought to mention it.
    Derek was ambitious to see that his tent would win the coveted inspection prize this year, but despite Michael’s cooperation, he did have his work cut out for him. There were always one or two boys in the company that no one seemed to really know where they came from.
Little squirrels
, Derek called them. They attended irregularly, were always filthy and stank, not entirely of the body odour of poor personal hygiene, but of a wretched, abject neglect. Uniforms were never cleaned, brass was tarnished and shoes went unpolished. On Mondays one of the officers, who should surely be admired for sheer dedication, would pick them up for parade night activities from their broken homes in unsafe parts of town where parents were often absent or drunk. Sometimes a woman in pyjamas would greet the officer with a cigarette dangling from her mouth, quickly ushering the child out of the door. Other times, some aggressive, burly bloke could tell him to ‘eff off’, causing a brief glint of concern for his personal safety. For these children, abuse of every sort was part of their daily lives and where they lived terror organisations ruled the streets, feeding their finances from the local community and recruiting vulnerable youngsters to fight for their
cause
.
    For these boys, who always appeared younger than their years, looked thinner than the other boys and for whom the simplest of tasks always seemed a struggle, the abuses of BB camp held no fear and the tent leader’s threats had little effect in raising standards. One such boy in Michael’s tent was called Johnny. Michael showed him how to fold his sleeping bag. Folded, then folded again into four, he demonstrated. On top would be placed the towel, again carefully folded, then the bible on top of that. Johnny’s towel was filthy and the bible absent, so Michael sent him to the marquee, to see Miriam, the Captain’s wife to ask if he could
borrow
(Michael had emphasised) a bible for the inspection. In the meantime, he opened his can of
Duraglit
and sat down to polish the boy’s brass belt and haversack button, buffing both quickly to a smart shine. Moments later, the lad arrived back, bible in hand and Michael laid it carefully on top of the towel.
    â€œWe’ll try and get that towel washed for tomorrow, eh?” he sighed, looking at the child’s blank expression. “Here, look, I’ve done your belt. Are those the only shoes you have?” He looked down despairingly at the lad’s dirty trainers. Johnny nodded. “OK, don’t know what we can do about that.” With that Derek entered;
    â€œJesus, you really stink, get out of the friggin’ tent” he shouted kicking the boy hard on the rear end as he scurried for the exit. “Bloody miracle if we win, with him in the team.” Michael went outside with the boy’s worn jacket in his hand, frayed at the edges and a few sizes too small.
    â€œHere, get this on,” he sighed, holding the garment open, revealing the lining ripped and torn inside. In moments, Michael had him dressed with dirty haversack and filthy jacket complete with gleaming brass button and belt buckle.
Not