James S. Browning (nonfiction)

James Smith Browning was a British Flight Sergeant / Radio Specialist during World War II.

Smith kept a diary during the war. His son later shared the diary with the WW2 People's War series on the BBC.

See War Diaries.

Diary entries

One entry appears in the War Diaries series:

• War Diaries (April 24)

Excepts

Last word

Browning's last entry in his diary reads:

Thank God this war must end some time and pray God that it will be soon. That we may return to a world in which there is some sanity and in which people are fairly rational.

Middle East

The population as in all Arab countries is sharply divided into two classes, the rich and the poor. The rich strive desperately to hold and increase their riches meanwhile stamping further into the mud the poor who seem to be too indolent to do anything for themselves beyond keeping themselves from actually starving. At least half of a town's population follows the begging profession in some form or another with the ever-present cry of 'backsheesh'.

In the country villages, ideas seem to be much more communistic and the people much more independent within their own circles. They live in tight little walled villages of mud lovels and they pool their goats and sheep into one flock looked after by the same goatherds who somehow or other find enough vegetation to keep their flocks alive, though they may move them many miles from one grazing point to another. For an acre or so around, their water point they crudely plough the land and grow a few vegetables for their own use. The surplus goats with an ass or two they may have reared, are taken to town every so often and sold, the men trusted with the selling bring back commodities required in the village especially tea for the Arab is a great and inveterate chai drinker. The tea leaves he puts in a little strainer and holding it over a little glass already at least a quarter full of sugar, he pours the boiling water through it. Second in popularity to tea is Turkish coffee, which they make by boiling a little water in a small metal jug which has a long handle for holding it over the flame. When the water boils enormous quantities of coffee grinds and sugar are added and the whole kept boiling for a few minutes. When it is served in tiny cups there are only a couple of sips above the sediment which half fills the cup. Even with plenty of sugar it is slightly bitter and I am sure that a few cups of this coffee would leave one in quite a drugged condition.

Ode to Beer

SOME BEERY THOUGHTS FROM THE DESERT
1942

What a country! What a heat!
What a place for sweaty feet.
What a land of filth and dirt,
With not a blasted sign of 'skirt'.
Not a thing to light the road
Or make a chap forget his load
Save the cup that brings good cheer,
I mean a good old glass of beer
To quench our thirst and wash us free
Of sand where sand ought not to be.

North and South; East and West,
Surely men think beer is best,
Beer from Canada and Australia,
Egyptian beer sent from Ismalia,.
Beer drunk by the American,
Beer we've had from Nova Scotia,
And even beer from dear Auld Scotia,
To make us gay and want to sing,
With laughter make the welkins ring.

Scotsmen drink till they feel frisky,
The they talk of old Scotch whisky,
Think of times they had a double
Think of times it brought them trouble.
Think of days when they'll can laugh
And order up another half
Followed by a pint of beer,
- Drinks then will not be so dear -
And tell of times o'er glasses breaming,
When whisky lived but in their dreaming.

Irishmen, when beer gets weaving,
Think of Guiness, stomach cleaving,
Think of colleens hard to woo,
Think or eating Irish stew.
Think of songs by Thomas moore
Telling of the Irish lure.
Think of the enchanting isle,
Thoughts that inward make them smile
And long for days when war is o'er
And they at home will be once more.

English, when the brain is hot,
Mild and bitter give the 'spot'.
Think of brimming pewter mugs,
Even think of 'two-pint' jugs.
Think then of the times they've had
Times to make the heart glow glads.
Times that they will live once more,
When they're back on Blighty's shore,
And gather in the local Inn
With songs to sing and yarns to spin.

What a drink to make us merry,
We be times forget the Gerry,
Banish thought of cruel strife,
Wander back to civvy strife,
Back to homes we'd ne'er have quit,
Had not war demanded it.
Each man asks that God may bless
Whom he loves above the rest,
His wife, his sweetheart, mum and dad,
Perhaps himself, the selfish lad.

Each man thinks of folks he knew,
Present comrades tried and true,
Thinks of happy days gone past,
Thinks of time that's slipping fast,
Thinks of lasses he has kissed,
(Thinks of chances he has missed)
Thinks of how he'll tell the tale,
When next he's jugging up on ale,
Of thoughts that came with blessed cheer,
While in the desert drinking beer.

REPLY from William Ritchie Browning

Dear son
Your airmail letter just received,
On reading which a sigh I heaved.
I hope you realise, dear youth,
The follies of abnormal drouth.
Just take a tip from me my lad,
And save the drinks up for your dad!

• People's War @ BBC

Source

• https://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/user/49/u1233849.shtml WW2 People's War] @ BBC