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Pull Up A Sandbag
Sandbag Reminiscences of Ken Hart Sandbag
It’s A Funny Old World (2).
One evening at Tonfanau we were taken out of camp to a lonely wooded hill. We were thrown out of the three tonner and told that we were to advance up the hill to a vehicle parked at the top but we were to do this silently as people were waiting to catch us as we advanced. Someone, I know not who, forgot to mention that there was a time limit. After three or four hours of us crawling at snail’s pace up the hill lights started flashing and a horn was sounding but we maintained our steady crawling pace. Over the next long hours people would come crashing down the hill shouting, trying to trick us by telling us to come out, and swearing and cursing something really awful! It took us all night until the break of day before we got anyway near the top of the hill, having spent a freezing, wet, uncomfortable night. At least we had kept quiet and not been caught! Despite the discomfort we had all enjoyed our night playing at being soldiers. In the light we were quickly rounded up, pushed onto the truck and rushed back to camp. Someone must have thought we would all be suffering from frostbite or something because we were take straight to the cookhouse and given a large hot breakfast just to round off the wonderfully exciting night we had had. It’s a funny old world in it!
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