The battalion cook was a Marine Architect. He would have been very valuable building the ships that were badly needed in Britain, but the food he served up was awful. The men were remarkably kind to the new boy with the upper class accent. One of them offered to take me to the Saturday night army brothel parade. I managed to explain instead that I had to go back to see my two kid sisters at home.
Widows are much better.
I was with a young widow who asked me to escort her the long journey overnight to Lahore. It was a two berth first-class compartment, and it seemed a perfect opportunity to try out my father's advice. We cuddled a bit, but then she announced it was her period and sent me back to my bunk. As the train chugged across the Gobi desert I watched her sleeping, and wondered why I was so clumsy with women. I saw my father three times when I went on leave.