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would cope, especially Phyllis.
    Reaching into his top pocket for a notebook and pencil, Andy began to write out his personal details. That put an end to Tam’s musings, especially when Andy passed the book to Eddie who then added his information. All too soon they had all written in the book except for Tam, who made no attempt to do so but simply stared long and hard at the meagre pages. No one spoke, but Andy went over and sat down beside him. “You illiterate, Tam?” he asked quietly.
    Tam jumped up and shouted, “No, I’m no! My mither and faither mightnae hae been churched but they were married – in the registry office – ye ken, the one in Fire Brigade Street in Leith.”
    Shaking his head, Andy stood up. “I know you’re no a bastard. What I was wondering was if you could read and write.”
    A deep flush crept up Tam’s neck and face before he nodded his head in abject embarrassment. “So I cannae read or write. So what? I’m the best shipwright – that’s a carpenter ye ken – that Henry Robb’s ever had.”
    “Okay. I’m sorry. But listen. I might have only been there a year but I’m the best English teacher David Kilpatrick’s ever had. So, as we’re going to be marooned here with precious little to do, how about I teach you to read and write, while you teach me how to hammer a nail in straight?”
    Tam let a few minutes pass while he pondered on how he could explain to Andy, who was so brainy, that from five to seven years old he’d had one infectious disease after another and so missed the first two years of his schooling. And when he did get to school, he was put into the juniors where the teachers considered him an idiot because he could neither read nor write. This assumption resulted in him being labelled a lost cause and he was largely left to his own devices. Tam now reluctantly acknowledged that his teachers’ inability to help him adequately might have been due more to the fact that there were fifty other bairns in his class than to the staff not bothering! Finally, he gave Andy a slow nod to confirm that he wished to be taught.
    “Good,” said Andy, relieving Tam of the notebook. “But in the meantime I’ll fill in your details.”
    “Naw,” was Tam’s emphatic reply as he stretched out his neck, “I’ll fill them oot mysel’ once you’ve got me writing.”
    Andy nodded, but Fred, who had just come into the bunk-house, warned, “That’s fine, son. But the folks back hame will be told you’re missing … presumed … is that fair?”
    “Maybe no. But isn’t that all the more reason for Andy to get a move on wi’ his teaching me?”

    By the end of two months, with the help of the only book available to the prisoners – Andy’s precious Holy Bible – and a dusty floor that acted both as blackboard and exercise book for writing on with a sharpened stick, Tam, whom Andy judged to be well above average intelligence, was reading and writing well enough for him to put pen to paper and now his details were on their way to the Red Cross.
    The lack of writing material, however, was not the only concern for the group. Their rations appeared to grow less and less by the day and the men were becoming increasingly despondent. Fred did his best to keep their spirits up with exercise, quizzes, football and choir practices but as time passed it became ever harder. Andy, being the academic of the group, realised that if they stayed on this starvation diet they might all suffer serious consequences. He therefore suggested to Fred that he speak to the prison commandant and request a better diet – or at least more of the poor one!
    Fred sensed that the commandant had been expecting him because he immediately insisted that more food would be made available if the men were willing to work in the factories situated just outside the camp. This proposal, as had already been explained to the commandant, was totally unacceptable to Fred. No way could he ask his men, nor would they