An unexpected scene greeted me when I drove onto Camp 7. Military police were stationed at the gates checking every vehicle entering camp. At first I thought there was another bomb scare, but then I saw soldiers and military policemen surrounding my van. What on earth is going on, I asked myself. After parking up I walked across to see what the problem was and could hardly believe my eyes when I saw my lovely bright yellow van covered with graffiti. Sonia, my boss, came bustling over to me.
“Oh dear me, what a mess,” she said wringing her hands. “No driving for you today; you can help in the restaurant instead. I can’t believe someone did this to your van especially being as its parked military property, the nerve of it. Have you upset anyone Sheila? Who would do this?”
The abuse was painted in on my van in thick black strokes and was directed at the British Army and British people in general. “Dirty English Pigs” and “Army Bastards,” were the least offensive epithets. Many of the phrases were written in German and beyond my comprehension. But the swastikas were the last straw. I turned away, not wanting to look anymore.
“Whoever did this must be really pissed off about something. I hope their anger isn’t directed at me,” I said, as I looked back at abomination. The insults stunned me.
Sonia put her arm around my shoulders and said, “Don’t worry, love. You won’t have to look at this much longer. The REME lads are going to repaint it. It may take a couple of days, but it will soon be as good as new. Do you have any idea at all who could have done this?”
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