A SPECTATOR'S NOTEBOOK
ASOLDIER who understands the sea and sailors is on paper the right man for Malta, and General Bob Laycock is in practice the right man for any job requiring determination, common sense and a firm grasp of human values. Known to the Press, but not I think to anybody else, as ' Lucky ' Laycock, he has, like most people, been lucky at times. One of these times was the aftermath of his exceptionally bold but unsuccessful raid on Ronimel's head- quarters in the Desert. Laycock and another survivor of the action—Sergeant Terry, of the Royal Artillery—found them- selves alone in the broken Djebel country far behind the German lines. There was no question of their returning, as they had come, by setbmarine, and it was a considerable feat of endurance to keep going, as they did, for 41 days before they made contact with our forces. Fortunately Sergeant Terry (now a policeman in Nottingham, where the General sees him from time to time) had been a butcher in happier days, and this made it a good deal easier to deal with the goats on which they almost exclusively lived. Laycock had one book with him—The Wind in the Willows—which he used to read aloud to Terry. Wanting to rcfresh my memory of this episode, I rang the Governor-designate up and asked him, among other things, if Kenneth Grahame had been much of a solace. ' I don't think Terry liked the book at all,' he said, ' and in the end it nearly drove both of us mad. You've probably forgotten, but the animals keep on having the most delicious meals.'
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