Monday 8th March 1943
A grey sort of day, although sunny.
The nigger sergeant has come back. The volatile Ghandi, once known as the genial waste, seems to be i/c the blacks just now, by virtue of being the fittest – temporarily.
The bottom end of this tent looks like the interior of Uncle Tom's Cabin.
That nigger sergeant gives me the shivers. No one else here gives me that same uncanny feeling. The other two Bechuana blacks are all right and I'd feel quite lost without Ghandi the Basuto. But that sergeant... He's so ghastly that he makes the very rank of “sergeant” repulsive.
The nigger sergeant has come back. The volatile Ghandi, once known as the genial waste, seems to be i/c the blacks just now, by virtue of being the fittest – temporarily.
The bottom end of this tent looks like the interior of Uncle Tom's Cabin.
That nigger sergeant gives me the shivers. No one else here gives me that same uncanny feeling. The other two Bechuana blacks are all right and I'd feel quite lost without Ghandi the Basuto. But that sergeant... He's so ghastly that he makes the very rank of “sergeant” repulsive.
posted by Paul Wilson at 5:50 pm
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