In World War1 my father Hans was a sergeant of artillery – horse – drawn artillery. He had quite a large gun crew. I count 15 on the photo in my book “No fixed Abode” (above).

Years later he told me that of his entire gun crew he thought he was the only one who resolutely refused to enter a brothel. These Belgian brothels were inspected periodically by German army doctors – but – probably – far too infrequently. Many of his crew picked up STDs – sexually transmitted diseases. They were then sent to the town of Namur where the army had established an STD clinic.

This gave rise to a ditty of their own composition – a coupling of languages that echoed the coupling of soldiers and whores.

Apparatur – kaput.

Reparatur – Namur.

He sang the ditty to me on our evening walks in Northern Rhodesia/Zambia.

We often passed other walkers on those evenings. I wonder what they made of it.

Apparatur – kaput.

Reparatur – Namur.

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