Garreg wen Revisited & other stories
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An Army Man Stan changed his name to Gregg a few months before enlisting for the army. 'Why did you do that, Stan?' 'Gregg—please. Because it goes better with my image.' There are Stans in the army, as we well know. I knew a Stan who went into the Royal Engineers, and a damn good job he did there greasing equipment before it was "shipped" abroad for duty in theatre. In a totally illogical way, I find it easier to associate Stan with a grease gun than I could Gregg. And so what had Gregg in mind as an image? Don't ask him, instead delve imaginatively into his thinking. "Gregg, where do you want to be in the army? What rank—what trade?" Gregg wanted to rise in the ranks and have command over men. A captain of the infantry would do for a start. Gregg was eighteen when he enlisted, and within two years he was in a part of the world with colleagues obeying orders. 'You just get on and do it, Gregg. Ask no questions . . .' 'But initiative, man! One has to show initiative where the ground is changing under your feet all the time.' 'Sure, but the guys in charge know best.' 'Like hell they do.' 'Two important aspects of your training, Gregg. First, rid yourself of sentiment. Second, kill with pinpoint accuracy.' 'Will do—have done.' Ever heard of saturation? Try saturation fire—saturation bombing. It's like pouring Harpic over the draining board—kills the bastards outright. The day Gregg met his maker was just like any other day. The sun had risen and nobody gave a second thought to it. Another day. The score would alter—corpses on both sides. There was a sort of dignity in it, notching up your own personal count of dead bastards. You could do that in the infantry—some of the time at least. Phil, who went down with Gregg on that fatal day, had remarked the previous evening. 'These bloody machines have the last laugh, you know.' 'What are you on about, Phil?' 'You'll see, they'll bring in air support—air support they call it! Takes all that precious initiative of yours away from us, Gregg. Bang, crash and it's all over.' 'That's the way it's done.' 'Don't I bloody well know it. I reckon our trade is getting blown to bits.' 'Shut up, man, you'll have us all on the rack at this rate. You're seeing black—it'll pass, you'll see.' But Phil persisted. 'Have you ever entertained second thoughts?' 'Who's she?' (A collective guffaw went up.) All this filtered through Gregg's mind as they set out on the following day's mission. 'Here they come!' The jets swooped low with a scream and a roar that "lit" the rugged terrain all around. In the din none of the company was aware of the bolt that was about to strike from the rear. It was over in a trice—all of Gregg's ambitions met on the explosive instant. Twenty-one years from fertilization to extinction—a short journey from the wet and softness of the womb to this unutterable carnage meted out from the air and displayed on a floor of parched, igneous rock. The report into the disaster was filed under "Incident of friendly fire".
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About the Book
Foreword Many of the stories appearing in this collection were published privately in 1996 under the title Non Tractus. A further five volumes of short stories followed which were likewise distributed through private subscription. With the present volume (for general sale) some additional material has been added and so I have decided to call the book Garreg wen Revisited. Readers familiar with the Carneddau in North Wales may have identified, until quite recently, the ruin bearing the name Garreg wen, not far from the dam at Llyn Cowlyd. (I am reliably informed that the building has been demolished since it was supposed to present a safety hazard!) I lived on and off from 1965 to 1974 at Hafod y rhiw close by Llyn Eigiau in the adjacent valley. John Vetterlein Rousay Orkney October 2009
About the Author
John Vetterlein was born in 1935. He spent the years of the Second World War at Redbridge, on the eastern approaches to London, and considers himself fortunate to have survived the V1 (flying bomb) and V2 (rocket) attacks. His father served throughout that war in the Royal Air Force. Having studied physics and mathematics, Vetterlein went on to work in civilian hospitals as a conscientious objector to military National Service. Before continuing his studies in chemistry and pharmacology, he worked as an astronomer and lecturer. In 1971, following a short spell as a secondary school teacher in London, Vetterlein moved to Wales in order to concentrate on writing and music. He worked in the Music Department, University College of Wales, Aberystwyth from 1983 until its closure in 1990. John Vetterlein is a true polymath. He is a prolific writer: his fiction output alone includes sixteen novels, six books of short stories, long stories, plays for radio and twenty poetry collections. An active musician, John Vetterlein is a member of the Haydn Society of Great Britain, the Rachmaninoff Society and the Ralph Vaughan Williams Society. His association with Orkney goes back to 1970. He has lived on Rousay full-time since 1990 from where he pursues his interests in astronomy, hill walking, music, photography and writing.