A `la Jacqueline

Believe me, none of us were in any position to own a pet. We four were known as stragglers. Army squaddies left behind due to a force of circumstance, I suppose you’d call it. We belonged to 23rd Indian Division, in full retreat from the Imperial Japanese army after the fall of Rangoon in Burma.

It had rained solidly for three weeks and we were desperate for any kind of shelter. The bamboo “basha” up ahead looked inviting, and anyway we were beyond caring whether it was occupied or not. Digger Gardener kicked the bamboo door open with his one good foot, (the other was trebled in size due to the scourge of beri-beri.) We three watched him limp inside and waited for the big bang.
Neville Smith, our division medic squatted trousers down a few yards to my right as another wave of agonising pain racked his frail body. He had amoebic dysentery, and pretty soon he would collapse and die.

Blondie Marsden, my other mate, lay full length beside me. His eyes were shut tight, and I knew he too was expecting the shock wave of the explosion as Digger triggered some booby trap inside the house.
It didn’t come. Instead, Digger appeared at the doorway with a damned great grin on his face. “‘Ere, look at this little fellow, he sprang straight up into my arms.”

To be truthful, I thought he’d taken leave of his senses. The monkey he’d found already had its arms around Diggers scrawny neck and was sitting comfortably in his cradled forearms.

“See, look at that. He’s completely tame.” Digger managed to coax the creature to climb up his arm and sit on his shoulder.
To my complete astonishment, the animal seemed to be completely at home with him.
I’d never seen Digger so excited, “What a find mate, I ain’t never had a pet like this before.”
Blondie shook his head, “Well you can’t keep it mate, so you might as well kiss it goodbye now.”
“What do you mean, can’t keep it? Why the hell not? I found the bleeder.”
“Don`t matter, look at you, you’re in no position to keep a friggin’ pet… what’re going to feed it on?”
I watched the smile die on Digger’s face, “I don’t know… bananas?”

Neville staggered back towards us, he hadn’t bothered to button his trousers knowing it would be a matter of seconds before his malady struck again. He looked awful. “Hey that’s a Siamese tree monkey, I’ve seen them in our zoo. They’re really intelligent creatures, and quite valuable too.”
Blondie’s eyebrows raised an inch or so, “Valuable, how much you reckon?”

I intervened. “Who cares what it’s worth? We can’t sell the bloody thing in this hellhole.”
Blondie took a step forward and pulled the creature from Digger’s shoulders. Holding it up close to his face, he baby talked the animal. “So what’s your name little fellow? Huh? What shall we call you? Jacko. How’s that lads? What about Jacko? He looks like a Jacko, don’t he?”
Digger took the animal back. “Leave it alone, you moron,” he snarled. “He ain’t nothing like a Jacko, are you boy? I’m going to call him… err… Jimbo.”
Blondie sneered, “So what’s the ruddy difference? Jacko… Jimbo? You can’t keep it anyway.”
Reaching up I ruffled its coat, quickly checking the creature’s sex. “You blokes must be blind, you better call it Jacqueline!”
There was an awkward silence as Blondie eyed the animal’s rear. Digger was adamant.
“I’m keeping it mate, whatever it is, it’s mine, and I found it, that’s all there is to it.”
“How about Jackie?” I suggested. “It’s as close to Jacqueline as you can get.”
Neville wiped the sweat off his glasses, “There is one thing you ought to know.” he said quietly.
“What?” barked Digger.

I watched the medic’s face contort as a wave of nausea hit, “Most animals raised in the tropics are rabid, it might not be such a good idea to keep it Digger boy.”
“Rabid?” Digger was horrified at the suggestion. “You mean rabies?”
Neville didn’t have time to answer. I did it for him. “If you ask me, this is a domesticated animal, somebody’s pet I reckon, and it’s probably been immunised already.”
“You reckon?”

I nodded a reply, “What’s in the basha, my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”
“Nothing,” spat Digger, “Not even a bleedin’ dog end.”
None of us had eaten a proper meal in more than a month, and the early pangs of hunger that we had experienced were now replaced by a constant gnawing at our gut.

Neville staggered back from the bush and collapsed onto the soft reed matting at our feet. “All I pass is blood now, no faeces, just blood.”
“Shut up Smithy, we don’t want to know about your crap.”
“I’m just telling you, that’s all.”

With the monkey perched on his shoulder, Digger sat down and slowly unwound the mud sodden bandage off his left foot.
I tried not to look. Bloated out of recognition, the foot was ugly blue-black in colour, with toes that clung to it like a row of new potatoes. Thrusting the rotted foot towards Neville, he asked the medic for his opinion.
“What’re think Nev? It ain’t so painful no more, and I can even bear my weight on it.”
I could smell the stench from where I sat. Blondie even kicked the door open. “Pschaw… bloody hell, mate…”
Smithy examined the foot, touching its swollen flesh every now and again with his fingertips. “Dunno Digger, as you say, if you can’t feel any pain, it must be getting better.”

I knew Smithy was lying. The foot would have to be amputated soon in order to save the leg above it.
So Jackie the monkey became a new member of our pathetic group. She was able to perform some remarkable tricks and kept us amused with her endless repertoire. House-trained, she even fed herself, in fact, if we could wrestle the odd banana or banyan fruit from her grasp, we shared the meals she foraged.

One day, Jackie was away for longer than usual. I must admit, I thought she’d got lost. When she did eventually turn up, to our amazement she had brought us a packet of Japanese cigarettes.
Digger roared with laughter, “Where the hell she get ’em from?”
Only after some thought, and knowing we were behind enemy lines, we came to the conclusion that Jacqueline must be stealing from some Japanese camp nearby.

The four of us we pressed on, but our strength was fading fast. We were no longer able to wield the bush knife we carried to cut through the heavy jungle undergrowth, and progress was painfully slow. Blondie took the lead, then me, and Neville and Digger brought up the rear. Always heading north towards the Irrawaddy River, where we thought we would meet up with our division headquarters.
Then I had a bad bout of malaria, so we holed up in a deserted Japanese bunker for a while. During this time we were joined by a Scot from the Seaforth Highlanders. We called him Jock, but I think his name was McMurdoch. I didn’t like the guy and knew he didn’t fit in with us. He took more than a liking to Jackie the monkey too, and Digger had to guard the animal day and night for fear of losing her.
As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I realised that one hell of an argument was taking place over the creature. Naturally I was perturbed, yet knew I was too ill to take part in the row.
As my malaria peaked I became delirious, and during this awful time I remember being rousted from sleep by Blondie. “Jeff,” he was saying.
“Jeff, wake up you old sod and eat this stew.”
I knew that the rich aroma coming from the mess tin he held beneath my nose just wasn’t possible. This could only be a dream!
Blondie sat me up and spooned the first mouthful of that heavenly stew down my throat. The taste was sheer paradise.
I slept until dawn, and woke feeling a lot better. Two more helpings got me to my feet.
Soon we were able to move on and eventually we caught up with our division.
A year later at a rest camp in Kandi, Ceylon, I met up with Digger. He’d lost his leg of course, but was recuperating nicely.
Gripping my arm, he told me the story of that fateful night.

“About Jackie. We drew straws, Jeff,” he said in his funny Yorkshire accent. “But Smithy fixed it so Jock pulled the shortest, ‘cos we lot knew we none of us could do it.”
“Do it?” I asked, mystified. “Do what?”
“Put Jackie to sleep.”

For a moment I was confused. “You mean that stew…”
Digger’s eyes filled with tears, and gripping my forearm he sobbed. “Jock done it with her arms around my neck, he used that hatpin in his beret. She… she… just sighed and went limp, he swore it wouldn’t hurt. Then he skinned and cooked her.”