What a party that was! As you know, I left the Mess bar early and went to the P&P. The booze had also almost run out at the pub when Olga turned up in the company of the thirsty survivors from the camp. She then imparted the most confidential information to me. Up until that evening, she had been sworn to secrecy and had promised Ilsa that she would not breath a word, on her dear mother's grave, about the Das Bustenhalter night club which Ilsa had opened that very evening in Folkstone!
With great enthusiasm, some of us climbed into SNAFU's Bentley and beat it down the lane, heading for this new venue. This sumptuous club which rivalled the HWH Hall gave us a warm welcome as we began our third attempt to drink the cellars dry. Eventually, I became aware of about a dozen members of the 11th Glaswegian Hardcase Volunteers from the nearby Shorncliffe Barracks who had been glaring at us from the far end of the bar and were now edging toward us in a menacing manner. One made a comment about 'those good-for-nothing RAF blokes who had let us down at Dunkirk', and other such tripe as he broke a bottle on the roulette table. At that crucial moment when I expected my fine aqualine classical features to be converted into something out of a Mary Shelley novel, Olga and Ilsa hove into view like the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau as all hell broke loose. By the time we had raised our dukes it was all over and the pride of Glasgow were carted off to the tender care of the staff at the Folkestone General Hospital. Such timely intervention has a price though, and in the not too distant future either Olga or Ilsa, or both, will expect certain favours in repayment for services rendered...
'Find your enemy and shoot him down - everything else is unimportant.'
