Colonel Berry

Chapter Three

The four platoons of new recruits spent the afternoon rotating between having uniforms and kit issued, receiving medical examinations, being photographed for identity papers and attending a lecture on an outline of the course, the discipline, the routine and the regulations.

At eighteen forty-five they assembled in their respective barrack rooms for a presentation on discipline and daily inspections. After demonstrating the proper way to stow and display their kit in the barrack boxes, Wachtmeister Weber said, "This is an important part of your discipline training. The boxes shall remain open when you stand by your cots for morning inspection."

Weber continued with details, then he pointed to the large cupboards at the end of the room. "From this point onward, you will not wear your personal clothes. You will pack them and have them locked away until the end of your training. You'll all be shaved, dressed in uniform, and standing beside your beds at zero seven hours tomorrow."

After Weber had turned and left, David glanced at his watch. Nineteen twenty. Dinner starts in ten minutes. As he began changing clothes, he continued thinking. Similar discipline routine to ours. The main difference is we didn't have uniforms for the first three weeks. The factories were still scrambling to make them. Also fewer per room here. Only twenty-eight. In Val Cartier we were —

David's thoughts were interrupted by his cot neighbour. "How do they expect us to remember the arrangement in the box?"

"Wachtmeister Weber said there's a diagram of it in our course booklet. Hello, I'm David." He extended his hand to shake.

"I'm Lens." He pointed to David's face. "That's a fine beard. Shame to have to remove it."

"The Medical Officer told me I could keep it."

"A skin condition?" Lens shuffled into his tunic.

"It could be considered that." David buttoned his uniform shirt, changed his trousers and put on his boots, then he packed his clothes into the satchel and carried it to the lockers at the end of the room. Back at his cot, he put on his tunic and cap, then motioned toward the door. "Let's head to the mess to see what we have for dinner." He glanced at his wrist to check the time. "It begins in four minutes."

Lens laughed as he pointed to David's watch. "Or six or ten minutes. Or maybe it's already begun. I've never seen an accurate one."

"This one has been certified as a chronometer by both the Bienne School of Horology and the Kew Observatory in Britain, and it's been recognised as the most accurate wristwatch in the world. It's far more precise than most pocket watches and wall clocks,"

"You should be selling them with that spiel." Lens chuckled as he put on his cap and led the way to the door.

David thought as he followed. No need to tell that him I do. Maybe gain some sales resistance information. Outside, as they walked around the quadrangle, he asked Lens, "You sound as though you have experience with timepieces. From where?"

"My uncle has a clock and watch shop in Schaffhausen, and I work there after my classes and on Saturdays." Lens shrugged, then continued, "He leaves the wrist jewellery for the jewellers and concentrates on proper timekeepers." He pulled a watch from his pocket, opened its lid and showed it to David. "This is a chronometer. This is the accurate time."

David nodded and compared it with the time on his. "Yes, within eight or nine seconds of mine."

Lens glanced at David's watch, then he stopped walking to examine it. "Eight seconds. This must be a coincidence as it speeds past, faster or slower." He laughed. "My uncle says the most accurate watches are the ones which are stopped. They're absolutely precise twice per day."

"This watch has been certified with a daily progression of one point three two seconds." David held out his wrist. "Every forty-five days, I set it back one minute. I did that two days ago, on the fifteenth, so your watch is nearly seven seconds slow."

Lens nodded. "Yes, it loses a minute every week or eight days." He looked again at David's watch. "I reset it yesterday."

As they continued walking, Lens asked, "From where did you acquire this watch? It surely must be one-of-a-kind."

"I sell them." David chuckled. "No, that's not true. They sell themselves once I present them. And those sales often generate additional business; people are eager to have convenient accuracy."

"I'll monitor its accuracy the next while. You still need to convince me."

"Tomorrow evening, if your watch is regular, it will have lost another eight seconds, and mine will have gained a second and a third. I'll be four seconds fast, and you'll be sixteen seconds slow."

Lens pocketed his watch. "So, from where does your great interest in precision come?"

"I was studying accounting and business administration before the war interfered, so I suppose the need for accuracy spills over from that."

"Yes, the war has interfered with many things. My mother's parents have a hotel in Rheinfelden with a view of the falls, and with the loss of foreign travellers, their business is now struggling to survive. They've had to close all but a few of the rooms and let go most of the staff."

They joined the end of the dinner line up, and as they shuffled forward, David asked, "You had mentioned working after your classes. What are you studying?"

"Hotel and restaurant management. I'm being groomed to work in my grandparents' hotel." Lens lifted his cap and ruffled his hair. "If it survives these tough times. I don't know why the French and the British continue fighting; it's inevitable the Germans will win. All they're doing by not surrendering is causing more death and suffering."

"No! The Germans must stop their aggression," A man ahead of them said. "They're the ones who started this, and they need to stop it."

David listened to the argument heat up as those around him expressed widely divergent views with increasing emotions. The discussion continued through the food line and to their table as they sat to eat. At a lull in the verbal sparring, David summarised, "So, half of you contend the Germans are wrong to have slaughtered, raped and plundered their way through neutral Belgium to ravage France, and the other half say France and Britain are wrong for having resisted and fought back."

In the silence which followed, he held his hands out with palms up as he teetered them like a weigh scale. "Something seems out of balance here."