What Happened To.....?

Zulu Company was the name given to Training Company 1/WELCH in Cyprus during the EOKA troubles of 1957-58. It was a tight-knit force with a permanent establishment of no more than ten men: me, my second-in-command, a company sergeant major, colour sergeant, storeman, clerk, three corporals and my black batman - Offside, who when asked by the sentry on the main gate one night if he was 'ZULU', replied: "No, Afro/Welsh - I come from Tiger Bay, Cardiff."
Our job was to receive recruits straight from basic training in Maindy Barracks, Cardiff and turn them into trained soldiers. We were still in the days of national service which for many was the greatest violation of personal liberty ever practised. Others found it the most rewarding experience of their lives. The problem with the system was a never ending influx and exodus of soldiers - hence the need for Zulu Company.
I was chatting with an old friend recently about those days in Cyprus so many years ago when he said: "Do you remember Kinell-Jones?" I did a mental check of all the young officers but that young man with a posh name did not register. He then told me a story which reawakened memories long since put on hold.

During the third week of a four week course we ran for one of the drafts from Wales, I decided the time was right to give them some practical experience of searching a Greek Cypriot village at night. The company sergeant major assembled the draft under a convenient carob tree and I began to outline my plans for the operation.
"Tonight, men, we are going to search the village of Flamoudi (a small habitation of a few hundred souls about five miles west of battalion headquarters)." A young soldier sitting in the front row let out an expletive: "F....ng hell!" I looked at him disapprovingly, but as he had shown great interest in everything he had been taught during the first half of the course, I put his outburst down to enthusiasm. "We’ll leave here at 20.00hrs in musketry order, fully camouflaged. You will carry your rifles with one up the spout and safety catch on." "F....ng hell!" was the response from the eager young lad in the front row and another disapproving look from me. "I want you to remember all you have been taught about silent movement and how to recognise shapes in the dark - there may well be EOKA terrorists about." "F....ng hell," said the young man who had only two words to say when his adrenaline flowed. There were more identical expletives throughout the briefing, but I let him carry on when he felt the urge.

A few days later, Offside told me that Kinell-Jones had nearly shot the locally employed Greek Cypriot officers' mess cook when we stormed a taverna in Flamoudi. It took me a second or two before I realised that 'Kinell'-Jones, as he had become known, was the keen young soldier in the front row at my briefing. If you are still bewildered, put the letters F U C in front of the K in the first part of his name.
What I had not told the draft was that Flamoudi was just about the safest Greek Cypriot village on the island. Practically all the locally employed civilians in our camp lived there and it was understandable that the officers' mess cook should throw his arms around my neck and tell the barman to give me a beer when we stormed in. Nikos wanted to 'make a night of it' and introduce me to all his friends, but I remained aloof and told the company sergeant major to get the recruits out as fast as he could. Not all the inhabitants of Flamoudi were as pro-British as the regulars in the taverna and word must have got out that security forces were in the village. There was not a soul about when we emerged from the hostelry.
I led the way on a tour of the village using shadows and convenient objects to make ourselves invisible. Whenever a dog barked, we stopped, changed route - if possible, and moved on when it was provident to do so. We had proceeded in this fashion for a few hundred yards when I saw a wooden gate in a stone wall surrounding a house. Before me lay a garden with bushes on all sides and at the far end was a house with a patio upon which sat an old lady engaged in, what looked like, embroidery. This was just the sort of opportunity I had been looking for, so I signaled the men to close up and whispered to them what I was about to do.
"You see that old lady over there? Well, she doesn't know we are here. I'm going to creep through those bushes making use of available cover. I aim to get to the patio without her hearing or seeing a thing."

I climbed over the wall and slowly made my way towards the old lady. I looked back a few times and could just see the others who had managed to find places from which to observe. The old lady was quite unaware of what was going on until I suddenly revealed myself on the patio a few feet away from her.
"Kali nikta," (Good evening) I said cheerfully to put her at her ease. This did not have the desired effect and she screamed louder than an air-raid siren. I tried to calm her by putting my hand on her shoulder, but she screamed all the more.
I had not noticed a 12 or 13 year old girl asleep on a mattress in a corner of the patio, but the youngster's reaction was swift. She picked up a sweeping broom made of twigs bound to a pole and brought it down on my head like a ton of bricks. Despite the commotion made by the two females on the patio, I heard another cry from the bottom of the garden: "F....ng hell!!"