BARNEY: [looking around, evolving the tale] We landed in here round ’bout a quarter to six—and we was so het up at gettin’ demobbed, we started foolin’ around, pushin’ one another about a bit—

BUBBA: [thrilled] Wrestling—

BARNEY: —and Roo, he slipped and hit his head on somethin’—

NANCY: Who’d believe that?

BARNEY: Have to be somethin’ solid—that’d give it a real hard whack? The verandah post— [moving towards the French windows] —we were out there on the back verandah—

BUBBA: [joining in excitedly] Wrestling like mad—

BARNEY: A bit of fun, foolin’ around—

BUBBA: I could say I saw you. Be a witness—

NANCY: You’re not gettin’ in on this. [To BARNEY] Why can’t you just tell the truth? Say what happened?

BARNEY: And have him up on an assault and battery charge? He damn near killed three sergeants.

His words shock them into silence. OLIVE has by now cleaned up most of the blood on ROO’s head, and BARNEY comes to confront him with instructions.

Listen, mate—we came straight home here from the Depot? Didn’t go near the Melrose—savvy?

There is no response and OLIVE puts aside the bloodied towel in a panic.

OLIVE: I’m going for a doctor.

BARNEY: Not until we rig an alibi—

OLIVE: Can’t you see—he’s hurt.

BARNEY: And he’ll be even more hurt if he ends up with six months in the bloody quod.

Slapping at ROO’s face:

Rise and shine, son—come on—

NANCY: He can’t even hear you.

BARNEY: Hell, he can’t.

Seizing hold of ROO’s slouch hat from where he has tossed it:

You lot stand back.

OLIVE: What are you gunna do?

BARNEY: Stand back now, and give him room.

The women draw away. BARNEY shoves the hat on ROO’s head, takes up a position before him and launches into an NCO drill routine.

Righto, all you ugly lurk men up for discharge—on your feet there. Fall in, fall in—smart’s the word, and quick’s the action.

ROO jerks in response.

Into line there—at the double. Move it, move it—

ROO staggers to his feet, a reflex action. Fumblingly tugging his chinstrap into place, and comes to a swaying attention.

Veteran troops, you call yourselves—I’ll put you through your shirky paces. You, the big mutt with the chin—name and rank and number?

ROO: [an effort] V X—

BARNEY: V X—yes yes, know it’s V X—V X what?

ROO drags himself into a foot-stamping salute, accompanied with an accustomed recital.

ROO: VX one seven seven four six. Private Webber. R. Second Twenty-Fourth Infantry Battalion.

BARNEY: [clear orders] Right. Well, now you got that straight, you get this straight as well. Haven’t been anywhere near the Melrose pub—didn’t go within cooee of it—understand me, Private?