Shalom and Sheiks: 14 - Two Grins Meet
...What a pleasing meeting. Two grins met; two pairs of eyes laughed at each other and two young, firm hands clasped in a steel-strong grip of friendship. He and my folks were delighted to meet at last, and I to welcome, Second Lieutenant Peter Mitchell of the Rifle Brigade to my home...
John Powell tells of a wartime encounter. To read more of John's sparkling autobiography please click on Shalom And Sheiks in the menu on this page.
One Sunday, just before lunch, I enjoyed one of those delighful surprises that life throws in our path from time to time. The telephone rang and I answered,
"Hullo."
"Is that you, Podge? Pan here."
"PAN! Hell, I thought you were in gaol."
"No, no, no, I'm out on parole. Hey! Listen you knucklehead, I've got to catch the 6 pm from Paddington. I'm in Leicester Square. Any chance of us meeting?"
"Too damn right there is. We're just about to have lunch. How about coming home to meet the folks and break bread with us?"
"I'd love to."
"OK, get the Tube on the Northern Line to the Oval; I'll meet you there. It'll take you about fifteen minutes. We'll hold lunch for you."
"Hell, it'll take me longer than that; all these blasted, screaming girls are surrounding me, but I'll try. See you soon."
What a pleasing meeting. Two grins met; two pairs of eyes laughed at each other and two young, firm hands clasped in a steel-strong grip of friendship. He and my folks were delighted to meet at last, and I to welcome, Second Lieutenant Peter Mitchell of the Rifle Brigade to my home. We were all so busy talking that it was time for him to leave before it seemed he had even arrived.
I was seeing him off on the platform at Paddington when the sirens started wailing to the sound of distant anti-aircraft fire.
"You'd better leave, Podge, and go to a shelter."
"Leave? Hell no. Firstly, your train hasn't gone yet; secondly, I don't run from those bastards. Now, if it were Pan's Bomb, it would be another matter — I'd run for the nearest shelter."
Pan laughed. "Gee! That already seems a hell of a long time ago, doesn't it. Look, Podge, don't worry about the delay in your call-up for the RAF; it'll come." Then, with a characteristic grin, he went on, "Besides, Churchill knows I can't win this war unless I have you upstairs directing the RAF operations."
It was time to leave, a last handshake. "Pan, when the fur starts to fly, keep your fat head and your fat backside down."
"I will, don't worry — and you too." He got into the carriage and let down the window to lean out; the train started to move.
"Meet you after the war, Podge, we'll have a bloody great binge. Tell you what: I'll dig up Jessy and we'll cook you some more of those sausages you liked so much."
I grinned my reply as we gave a final wave to each other and Pan went off to war. "Pity the poor, bloody Nazis when Pan cuts loose on them" I mused.
Mother was full of praise for Peter and what a fine boy he was, and when I apologised to Dad for him having to miss his Sunday afternoon golf at Dulwich Golf Club, he replied, "Golf? Gosh! I wouldn't have missed meeting young Peter for quids."
