‘They done it up proper in the blitz,’ he said, ‘the ––ers.’ He hawked, and spat down into the water. ‘Ev’ry night down under the stairs, my ol’ lady was. Fifty-six the ol’ gal is. Never done ’er no good. They want showin’ a lesson, them ––ers.’

‘Think a lot of yer ma, don’t yer Charlie?’ said the sergeant.

‘The only gal in the world for me,’ said Charlie. ‘Your mum’s dead, ain’t she?’

‘Aye,’ said Sergeant Shannon, ‘me dad were killed in t’last war. ’E were Irish. Mum died when I were a kid. I lived wi’ relations till I were sixteen, workin’ in t’mills. Then I left ’ome an’ come down t’ London.’

‘Where’d yer live in London?’

‘Battersea, in lodgin’s. I worked in a fact’ry, in a pickle fact’ry. Lab’rer. It were all right in London, but I were always pretty lonely. It’s not a good place for a stranger. Anyway, I lost me Lancashire accent there.’

‘Well,’ grinned Charlie, ‘you don’ exactly talk like a Cockney now.’

‘You’re a lucky lad,’ said Sergeant Shannon, ‘’avin’ a mother like yours.’

‘Tellin’ me!’ Charlie answered him. ‘It musta’ been a dog’s life for you.’

‘Aye,’ said the sergeant, ‘I were pretty sick of it. This is t’ best life I’ve known, in t’ Army.’

‘Strewth!’ said Charlie Venable. ‘Never mind. I’ll take yer to see the ol’ lady when we get back. She won’ arf go to town. She’ll cook yer a meal you’ll never forget.’

The sergeant laughed. ‘That’s a date.’

‘Talkin’ a meals,’ said Charlie, ‘that was a lousy ––in’ breakfast they gave us. Three biscuits an’ a mug a char. A sparrer couldn’ fight on it, never mind a swaddy.’

‘Never mind,’ said Sergeant Shannon, ‘they’ve got champagne where we’re going,’ and moved away.

‘–– me drunk,’ exclaimed Baldy, who had been listening quietly all the time. ‘Never ’eard ’im talk so much since ’e joined the battalion. ’E ain’t so tough, is ’e?’

‘Shut your jaw,’ said Charlie Venable.

Sailors pulled at cords and the wet scramble nets thumped over the sides.

Mister Paterson pulled himself up on to the bulwarks and looked at his watch again.

‘Off you go, laddie,’ said the bearded naval officer who was in charge.

Paterson disappeared over the side. The men swarmed over after him and down the scramble nets.

The landing craft was wallowing on a wicked swell, riding high and falling away again. As it came up, Mister Paterson and two of the men leaped clear of the net and crashed on to the steel deck. ‘Wait for her to come up,’ Paterson shouted up at the men on the net. Each time the landing craft rose, three or four men dropped clear of the nets, while above more came clambering down like spiders hurrying across a great web.