NO DATE THAT TIME 1951.

SMALL KIDS ON AN ARMY CAMP IN 1951 AND POSSIBLE FRIENDSHIP

We stood,
Auntie's dog Dancer and me,
on the black metal balcony
looking at the soldiers
marching on the parade ground
over the way;
sergeants bellowing
at marching feet
and turned heads.

Dancer wined.

I stared.

Elsie walked past
on edge of the parade ground
looking at the soldiers;
her small face unsmiling,
her eyes peering.

Slowly she climbed
the black metal stairs
up to the balcony.

Dancer turned and growled;
I stood watching her climb.

She was Auntie's friend Molly's
5 year old daughter,
a bit older than I was.

She stood on the top step
and stared at us both:
will he bite?
She said.

No he won't bite,
he just growls,
I said.

She walked towards us gingerly,
her eyes glaring at Dancer,
who looked away
and watched
the soldiers again
through the bars of the balcony.

She stood next to me:
Mum said I can play with you
if I want to,
Elsie said,
but not to get into mischief,
her voice was moany.

I never get into mischief,
I said.

Elsie stared at me.

Mum said you climbed
under one of those gates
back there with your dog,
and was climbing a window
looking at soldiers
in a classroom,
Elsie said
matter of factly.

Who told you?
I said.

Mum
said she heard it
from a sergeant, but never
told your auntie
in case you got into trouble,
Elsie said,
her eyes studying me.

O, yes I remember that,
I said;
what shall we play?

She looked at the balcony,
then the dog, then at me.

Why didn't you tell your auntie?
She said.

Don't like worrying people,
I said.

She looked down
at the parade ground:
the soldiers were falling out
and walking off.

What do you want to play?
I said.

Not sure I want to play
with boys who get
into mischief,
she said,
then she walked away
and down the stairs.

I played
with the dog Dancer
instead.