If Evelyn Waugh's 'Sword of Honour' trilogy is the officer's story of the Second World War, then perhaps Alexander Baron's 'There's No Home' is the NCO's. It was originally published in 1949, the second of the author's three Second World War novels (the others are 'From the City, From the Plough' and 'The Human Kind' - which was made into a highly-regarded movie, `The Victors'). It treats of "the dream time between battles" spent by a company of British infantry in the Sicilian town of Catania in the summer of 1943, during the Second World War.
There is a hint of Captain Corelli's Mandolin about it - the sun is hot, the food scarce but appetising, there is a similar sensuality - but it is closer to home, more familiar. It describes relations between the soldiers and the (mostly) women of the street in which they find themselves billeted. In particular it tells the story of Sergeant Craddock, not long married to a woman he hardly knows, and his relationship with Graziella, a passionate wife of an Italian soldier gone missing while fighting in North Africa. Craddock is a deeply sympathetic character, considerate of his men but never soft, intelligent (he has learned Italian while fighting in Sicily) and tender but never untruthful to his lover.
If ever there was a story to justify adultery this is it. There is in the tale of Craddock and Graziella the innocence of true, brief love, and while the inevitable end is sad, its sweetness depends upon that sadness. It is a kumquat of an affair. Graziella first resists the Sergeant's advances before giving herself wholly. Craddock resents the intrusion of his wife's humdrum letters into the "sealed, timeless life" he is leading in Sicily, but with the resentment comes a "sense of guilt". But it is only a sense, because `home' has been killed "on the parched white plains where so many men had died. The heat had killed it; the stink had killed it; the noise had killed it." It is as though the entire world exists within this one street in which most of the action takes place. (Later on, another soldier, about to be court-martialled, says: "The battalion, well, I mean, it's like your home, isn't it?"). Baron describes a world out of time, in which the immoralities of war far outshadow the infidelities of love.
Baron was born Joseph Bernstein, and grew up in the Jewish East End of London. He was an organiser of the so-called `Labour League of Youth', a communist front organisation, with which he finally fell out, appalled at what he regarded as unnecessary deception, not to mention the Soviet-Nazi pact. His book is free of ideological drag, while always sympathetic to the lot of the common soldiers and the lonely women. He was a much better writer than he was a communist. While the Captain of the unit is monstrous in his treatment of a very young local woman, he is also good to those in his command. He is irked by the OFFICERS ONLY signs that get put up outside restaurants by new arrivals preaching `discipline' with no experience of war ("provosts, staff officers, middle-aged martinets of every kind"). Baron's characters are recognisably, complexly, human, never ciphers.
While Waugh's war is full of moral dilemma and metaphysics, Baron's is practical: soldiers fight and women wail. His characters seem more the victims of fate than of system. Their end is inevitable, sad and true, but there is the lingering knowledge that love has been made in the midst of making war.