The duties of an adjutant at Christmas are always onerous, but last year, in Alexandria, they were peculiarly so for one adjutant on account of Sappers Griffiths and Carlew. The adjutant’s primary duty on Christmas Day is to steer his colonel safely through the alarming succession of social occasions which custom and Christmas spirit make necessary. He has to keep an eye on the “old man” and exert tactful influence at little parties which start early in the morning, with company commanders, other commanders, with the R.S.M. in his luxurious little room, at the sergeants’ mess, and, of course, in his own mess.
At the same time the adjutant has to make sure that the complicated arrangements, for the Christmas dinner of the men are carried through, get the colonel to the football field to kick off in the inter-company final at 1000 hours, watch over the officers’ mess, and be available for any crisis which is very likely to arise over a family of about seven hundred celebrating soldiers. On top of all this there was, last year, the problem of Griffiths and Carlew.
These two soldiers were residing in the cells under close arrest awaiting trial by court martial. They had been naughty in quite a big way, and their A.F. 122 showed that they had often been very naughty before. So that when they asked the orderly officer a few days before Christmas if they could be allowed to leave their cells and join their seven hundred comrades at dinner on Christmas Day the answer given by the adjutant was a definite negative. He had enough to worry about, and their custody was his responsibility. Sentiment is all very well over Christmas; goodwill towards men is more or less laid down- but not with such as Griffiths and Carlew.
On Christmas morning the adjutant left the colonel in the doubtfully safe company of his second in command, with the points of his speech to the men written on the back of a cigarette packet in his pocket, and went down to the guard-room. It had been arranged that six lance sergeants should relieve the guard between 1200 and 1400 hours so that the guard could dine with the rest of the men, the sergeants dining later at 1600 hours. The handing over was successfully carried out, the sergeants making bright remarks and the guard brighter ones.
“Any prisoners, sir?” asked the self-appointed guard commander. Griffiths and Carlew were opened up and displayed. The adjutant looked at them and went weak. Would they give him their solemn words that if they were allowed up for the dinner they would not get drunk and would return to the cells directly it was over? They would, honest, sir, they would. Would they realise that if there was any monkey business it would be a court martial for the adjutant? They did realise it. So they were liberated.
The long concert-hall was a bedlam of light-hearted soldiers, pledging each other in the abundant beer cheering, perspiring officers who were trying not to stain their jackets with gravy as they bore loaded plates, and booing the R.S.M. in the most hilarious manner as he poured out beer. In a corner Griffiths and Carlew sat together, amid a covey of friends, eating and drinking, probably the happiest pair in that happy little army. They exchanged a confident wink with the adjutant, who brought them a very large jug of beer.
Everyone cheered the colonel so much when he was hoisted on to a box to make his speech that all he could do was to shout “Happy Christmas” and raise a tankard to them all.
The meal, gargantuan as regards food and bedlamic as regards noise, came to its end, and the men went away to get their heads down for a few hours before setting forth in the evening into Alexandria for cinemas and clubs: all but a persevering few, about fifty, who gathered in little knots round beer barrels and sang lustily. Eventually they were ushered out, and only the Egyptian cleaners, well fed and very happy, remained. Then the adjutant thought of Griffiths and Carlew and with the R.S.M. hurried down to the guardroom.
They were both there. Griffiths sat at the table where the guard commander sits and Carlew stood at ease by the main gate, a steel helmet on his head, a rifle with bayonet fixed in his hand. He sprang to attention as the adjutant and the R.S.M. stood, slightly bemused, regarding him. Griffiths, the temporary guard commander, explained. When they returned as promised only one sergeant was on duty, and he had handed over his rifle and gone away, saying something about a darts match in the mess. The guard had not turned up and they had carried on. We were not to worry; they would carry out the guard.
The R.S.M. pulled the corporal off his bed in his barrack-room and asked after the rest of the guard. The corporal was embarrassed; he had just sat down for a minute and . . . He would muster his guard. Ten minutes later the guard hurried in, a little sheepish, but relieved to see that the R.S.M. was not his everyday self; he twinkled. They assumed their duties. Griffiths and Carlew looked slightly pathetic, standing in the guardroom
I’m afraid you’ll have to go back,” said the adjutant. “Very good, sir.” said Griffiths. He took the key from its nail and unlocked the cell door. “Get in, Jock,” he said, handed the key to the adjutant, and went in himself. “It was a fine dinner.” he said. The adjutant locked the door. At 1900 hours a Sudanese waiter came down from the officers’ mess with a tray loaded with two complete Christmas dinners, a new pack of cards, and twenty cigarettes. There were also four bottles of beer. So Griffiths and Carlew had two Christmas dinners. What is more, there was a brace of very good cigars under the napkins which the mess waiter had provided.
David Scott Daniell
The Manchester Guardian; Dec 18 1946