Paul Daniels (11 page)

As I leant over the bubbling water below, I could see a painter’s hammock suspended over the side from one of the davits. I realised that during the evening, I must have gone to the toilet and seen the hammock that gave birth to the idea. Horrified, I imagined how in the pitch darkness I must have climbed down the ropes as the ship cut through the Indian Ocean and stuck a duplicate card on the outside of the Mess window. It had obviously made a big impression on the officers, but it made a bigger one on me when I remembered that I couldn’t swim! The thought that I could so easily have been swept overboard in the blackness stopped me drinking for the next 20 years.

My magical friend laughed uproariously when I told him what had happened and we continued to swap ideas and tricks. He taught me how to do a classic coin roll, in which a coin is manipulated across the back of the hand with the fingers acting like a conveyor belt. Juggling a coin from your thumb to small finger is a very difficult task to achieve, but I was determined to master it before we arrived at port.

As the ship continued on its way to Hong Kong, my magician friend got off at Singapore and I never saw him again. I wonder if he is still doing magic? The coin roll eluded me for most of the way. I just kept dropping the coin. I had to find a way to increase my concentration and I did. I stuck my hand over the side. Two shillings and sixpence, the value of the half crown coin, is a lot of money when you are a soldier on a total of 17 shillings and sixpence a week. As I practised with my hand projecting over the rail, I was amazed at the increase in my concentration. All the way to Hong Kong, I only dropped it twice and, by the time we docked, I had it mastered.

As the boat pulled into the enormous harbour I got my first taste of the colony. This place was beyond anybody’s wildest dreams. The port churned with activity. Hundreds of ships, big and small, were constantly on the move.
San-pans
were tied up in their hundreds, as well as plying their trade to and from Hong Kong island to the mainland. I was told that there were people who had been born on those tiny boats, lived on them and finally died on them without ever setting foot on dry land.

One of Hong Kong’s unique fascinations was the seamless way in which ancient traditions still thrived, even after 150 years of British colonial influence had been woven into 5,000 years of Chinese culture. Adventures to more than 260 remote islands, breathtaking hikes over rolling green hills to stunning white beaches and treks to charming Chinese fishing villages beckoned. Sadly, I had to pinch myself through my uniform to remind me of the fact that I was not on holiday.

The heat was the first thing that struck me as we disembarked. Already, one guy had been flown back home with severe sunburn. He had inadvertently fallen asleep on deck and had suffered 30-degree burns. The poor red-headed lad looked like one huge blister and it was the best warning we could have had against the effects of the sun.

The first advert I saw on dry land was for a shop called the ‘Wan-key’ and wondered if they had known about the frustrations of being on-board ship for a month. I was soon to find out that sex was just about the number-one commodity in this area.

We were marched to a waiting truck, which took us across this most beautiful island, to the fine-looking garrison of Fort Stanley. Hong Kong was the most awesome and colourful place I had ever seen, with its bright lights and garish reds and golds and the girls wearing their
cheongsam
dresses split almost to the waist – I was constantly having to push my eyeballs back in.

We had hardly settled into our new barracks before a crowd of soldiers were around us asking us about Blighty and the weather and any news. As usual, I pulled out a pack of cards and started playing with them on the bed. One of the lads who had travelled over with me asked me to do a trick and others soon gathered around to watch. One very flash cockney lad, I have no idea what he was doing in a Yorkshire Regiment, kept shouting out things like, ‘I know how you do that! I know how you do that!’

I ignored him but he became more and more of a nuisance. Best way with a nuisance, involve him in a trick. I let him shuffle the cards, take one, show it to someone else in case he forgot it, put it back and shuffle them again. He agreed that I couldn’t find his card.

I placed the whole pack face down on the bed. ‘Now I am going to deal the cards on to the bed. As I take them off the top of the deck, I shall place them face up on the blanket. Just watch carefully and when you see your card think of the word “Stop”, but don’t say it out loud, just
think
it.’

I started to deal the cards face up on the bed until I hesitated with a face down card in my hand.

‘The next card I turn over will be your card,’ I announced.

‘I bet you it won’t,’ he grinned.

‘If it’s a bet, then how much?’

‘One hundred dollars?’ he offered.

I didn’t have $100. I didn’t have ten! I could not afford to lose and wondered if I should accept the deal. Fortunately, a crowd of squaddies whom I knew declared their backing for me and they seemed to dislike this guy.

With the offer of being covered by my mates and knowing that I could not fail, I made sure of the bet. I even knew that the lad had already seen his card go past.

‘For one hundred dollars, you are on that the next card I turn
over is yours?’ I asked.

‘Sure thing,’ he smiled.

With that, I put the card in my hand back on top of the deck still face down and took his card from the face-up pile and turned it face down. He never bothered me again.

Life started to roll along in Stanley Fort. I got a job in the office of Headquarter Company directly below my barrack room. This was the first time in my life I put weight on. We had chips with every meal, including breakfast. Those cooks knew what to feed Yorkshiremen. The snacks were also wonderful, made from the softest bread rolls that I have ever tasted, along with the best cups of tea that I have ever had. The
cha-wallah
served them on the balconies of the barracks. His cheese and tomato ‘banjos’ (the name for the bread rolls) were fabulous. The tea was kept in an urn that had the tea, the sugar and the milk all mixed up inside and constantly heated at the base. I don’t know why it never tasted stewed. There were quite a few
cha-wallahs
all working for an Indian.

Apparently, back in England this Indian man had arrived at Richmond barracks one day and asked to see the officer in charge. In that wonderfully fruity, sing-song voice he explained how he was used to organising the
cha-wallahs
and
jadu-wallahs
, providing the food and laundry services for the Army, and could he please have the concession for Hong Kong.

‘But we are not going to Hong Kong,’ replied the officer, who had just had his regiment fitted with the gleaming white ‘topes’ uniform of the Bahamas.

‘I believe you are, Sir,’ smiled the astute businessman.

‘I can assure you, my man, that we are not departing for Hong Kong. I’m sorry.’

‘Well then, Sir, may I ask for the concession just in case you do go to Stanley Fort in Hong Kong?’

‘Of course, if you insist, you bloody fool.’ The officer, having
already received his orders to sail to Bermuda within a couple of weeks, happily agreed to sign the Indian’s document, probably just to get rid of him.

As the Indian entrepreneur walked out through the barrack gates, a motorbike dispatch rider passed him carrying an urgent, top-secret message for the Commanding Officer. The orders contained the command that the regiment would now be going to Hong Kong. ‘Stop that Indian!’ screamed the officer.

The little man was hauled back before the commander and asked to explain himself. How had he got access to top-secret information that even the Commanding Officer knew nothing about?

‘It’s easy, Sir,’ came the gentle reply. ‘May I show you?’

The Indian walked behind the desk and directed their attention at the huge world map that was displayed along the wall. He pointed out all the previous tours of the British Army and said where each regiment and corps had been over the last ten years. Summarising a complex set of patterns he finished by saying, ‘so, by simple deduction, Sir, it’s obvious that the only place you are going to would be Hong Kong.’ He won his concession and made complete nonsense out of top-secret information.

I don’t think that I will be breaking the Official Secrets Act if I tell you a little about how the Army is organised. I’ve always admired the army clerical system and with the inside information gained from my stint in Chichester, had a useful general knowledge of the workings of the military. The Army is run by Queen’s Regulations known as ‘QRs’ which contains the ruling orders for the services. This single book covers every peacetime and wartime eventuality and is altered practically every day by the War Office to become a ‘living’ set of rules. As part of my clerical exam, I had to find the correct answers to a series of questions within the allotted time, using the latest set of QRs. It’s a wonderful system, because although I was very
familiar with its rules, they could easily have been changed in some way without my knowledge. It is never wise to assume you know and I realised how important it was to keep up to date with the latest directive. We always checked the book and the skill was in being able to find the correct law quickly and easily. The officers of the British Army never stop training and even a colonel is still prepared to learn new skills.

News of my magical ability had been picked up once again, this time by the locals. How they found out I have no idea; perhaps it was word of mouth from one of the officers from the ship. I was soon taking bookings to appear at people’s homes up on the ‘peak’, on my days or evenings off. This was where the rich businessmen of Hong Kong lived and the English, Chinese and American residents were extremely fond of their parties. It was the first chance in a long time to be able to entertain out of uniform and in my shirt and slacks. All my clothes had been locally hand-made and cost less than six shillings. Everything in Hong Kong was so cheap and even more so when you bartered. Why are the English so loath to barter?

On one particular evening I had spent the whole night amusing the guests of an extremely wealthy Chinese gentleman, when he asked me to show a special friend some tricks. Sitting at a huge dining table was Sir Robert Black, the Governor of Hong Kong. I baffled and bemused them with a whole series of my best effects. The host was extremely grateful and gave me a generous tip for my efforts. What a nice man.

About a week later, we had an important parade at which the whole regiment was on show. The Governor of the colony was to inspect the troops. We practised like mad to get the drill right. The order was always to remain still and silent unless referred to, at which time the only answer should be ‘sir!’ And it had to be yelled ‘SAAAH!’ Even if you were responding to a
question, the answer could only be ‘SAAAH!’ At the same time, you had to present arms by a series of moves that positions the rifle vertically in front of your body.

The sun shone brightly that day as 600 men, including myself, stood to attention on the parade ground, eyes firmly front.

Sir Robert Black, the man I had entertained, led the inspection, hands behind his back, very much in the manner of the Royal Family whom he represented. Two paces behind him was the Commanding Officer, walking in what is known as the ‘slow’ march where the foot hovers a few inches above the ground. He has his sword held vertically and glinting in the sunshine. Two paces behind him was the Second-in-Command, sword held in the same way. Then there was the Adjutant and following him the Regimental Sergeant Major, a most immaculate man with dark grey hair cut very short and steely blue eyes that could cut through you at a glance. He carried a swagger stick under his arm. He was also totally unbiased. He hated everyone.

To read RSM Calvert’s citation was incredible. Apparently during World War II, he had walked into no-man’s land and dragged his injured men out of the line of fire. He carried on even when shot himself. I had already decided that if I went into battle, I wanted him beside me.

He had the loudest shout of anyone I knew. Watching him control his men on the parade ground was fascinating. Having let 600 men march off the ground in files of three and move up the hill, I could see him tense himself up before screaming: ‘BATTALION! ABOUT TURN!’ The sheer noise was incredible and 600 men would simultaneously change direction. As NCOs – by now I was a Lance Corporal – we had all been trained to shout commands by standing 6ft apart in a row with another line of men standing 80 yards away also 6ft
apart. Your job was to make your opposite number understand and carry out the rifle commands, amongst a row of other soldiers all doing the same with their own comrades. This practice fortifies the voice and its ability to project and it helped me no end later on in clubs when the microphone went off.

Suddenly, Sir Robert Black stopped in his tracks, looked behind him and walked back to me. There is nothing in Queen’s Regulations about how officers should walk backwards. Each of the officers behind him fell into each other like skittles, began shuffling about, and the whole parade was in disarray.

My heart was banging and my mind was panicking as, with disruption all around him, Sir Robert Black looked me straight in the face, smiled and said, ‘Hello, Ted!’

‘SAAAH!’

‘I didn’t know you were in the Army.’

‘SAAAH!’

‘How extraordinary. You must come up to tea sometime.’

‘SAAAH!’

He turned and walked away followed by the CO, the 2IC and the Adjutant, all glaring at me with the utmost incredulity. As the RSM walked past, from the corner of his mouth came, ‘my office.’

Immediately after dismissal, I handed my rifle to the soldier next to me and ran to the RSM’s office. As I stood to attention, he slowly looked me up and down, got up from behind his desk and very slowly walked around me three times before saying gently in my ear, ‘Hello, Ted,’ and I knew I was going to die. When this is over, I thought, I was going to find every way possible of avoiding parades.