1940, Friday 27 December;
Sepoy Bachittar Singh, of the 1/8 Punjab Regt, was nervous, he hadn’t slept last night with worry of what today would bring. The marching and parading didn’t worry him, and he enjoyed working with the weapons, the rifle and bayonet, the light machine gun, the grenade. The physical effort had been tough at the beginning, but he was hardened to it now, proud of how fit he was, how strong. And the new lands he had seen since leaving the village, less than a year ago, the new experiences, such things to tell when he was older, had help shaped him into a man now, no longer the boy.
But this really worried him. His Havildar was convinced he’d be fine, his company commander positively assuring him, and even Sahib Bates seemed to expect it. He felt dread he would let them down, he would fall flat on his face, the fool, simpleton of the battalion. “Sepoy Singh, Bachittar”, the calling of his name broke his thoughts, they were ready for him. He stood straight, gathered his thoughts and marched into the room.
The first day passed slowly, almost agonisingly, but he gradually began to feel better, more confident. He slept well that night, although he still awoke early, and again had a worrying couple of hours, but once called into the room again, the second day flew by.
Late afternoon, he walked out of the room, stood there with the paper in his hand, and looked at it again. The words smiled up at him, Indian Army, Certificate of Education – English, second class. He’d done it, done so well that the examining officer had just told him to apply for the First-Class Examination, the next one being run in three months’ time and with a bit more work, he could pass that too. The officer had even told him what the exam was, writing an essay on a subject he would know a lot about over two hours, an hour of written answers to questions on a set passage, reading and a following discussion on a narrative, and finally a discussion on a topic, again on something he’d know about.
He was on top of the world. He could hope for a promotion to Naik now, the battalion was short of NCO’s. He could even earn a little money by providing some tutoring himself to the British ECO’s that continually arrived in dribbles, who were desperate to learn Urdu, the Lingua Franca of the Indian Army. They were given a mere 3 months to pass the elementary Urdu qualification, the learning of which was incrementally financially beneficial to them, as they progressed with learning the language and just as importantly the customs, traditions and faith of the men they would command. And if they didn’t pass the elementary, they went on report. Yes, thought Bachittar, volunteering for this man’s army was undoubtedly the best thing he’d ever done.