| «I wouldn’t say he is the perfect soldier, m' Lord
|
| But he is a very good soldier
|
| Admittedly, his record isn’t spotless
|
| But there’s nothing that cannot
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| Be accounted for by youthful high spirits
|
| And he is very young, barely twenty
|
| Very fit, bright, proved to be
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| Extremely amenable to training
|
| There o no evidence of psychological disturbance
|
| However, he can give no definite explanation
|
| Or reasons for his actions
|
| So now, with your permission, my Lord
|
| I should like to call the boy to the witness box.»
|
| «I don’t know why I did it, Sir
|
| I think we had some stupid arguement
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| In camp the night before
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| Over a card game: we played cards a lot, Sir
|
| It’s the boredom, you see
|
| Mind you, it’s enough to make anyone ratty
|
| Listening to that shelling
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| And those wogs killing each other
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| Day in, day out; |
| and nothing for us to do
|
| Since we’re there to 'keep the peace'
|
| Bit of a joke that, Sir
|
| If you don’t mind me saying so
|
| We were all well and truly
|
| Stalled off, Sir, shut up all the time…
|
| Anyhow I think Smithie said I’d cheated |
| But I hadn’t, Sir
|
| And he wouldn’t leave off
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| All that night, needling me
|
| And the nerd day, on patrol, Sir
|
| I told him to pack it in
|
| Or I’d let him have it…
|
| I didn’t mean it, but I was upset
|
| Then the other two just laughed
|
| And said I was all mouth
|
| And always had been
|
| It’s funny, Sir, I remember really clear
|
| How hot and dusty it was
|
| And I could hear in my head
|
| Sergeant Becker’s voice, from combat training
|
| Shouting, shouting
|
| «Kill the bastard!, kill
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| You little fucking nancy boy…»
|
| And I just held my finger on the trigger
|
| What happened after that was like a dream…" |