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(03/03/26)
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Junglepixiebelize - Recollections of a Gringa Pioneer
Nancy R Koerner - Copyright@2026 - All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
"Bottle Green Mercedes"
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(One day, Stanton would surprise us by laying an egg. With this new gender-reveal, he was re-christened, “Polly-Esther.” But I digress…)
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Derek was short and diminutive in stature. He was bald, all the way back to the crown of his head, despite being only in his early thirties. He always was a bit peculiar--very chatty, with quirky, mincing mannerisms. Other times, I just thought maybe he just drank too much, but then again, eighty-five-percent of the British Army drank too much. However, one thing was clear: Derek was thoroughly smitten with Belize, and he loved animals. he must have had some kind of official dispensation from his superior officers, because they allowed him to keep a parrot, a pet goat, and a boa constrictor on the base.
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Many people in Belize have pet parrots. The birds are charming, clever, and LOUD. Scientists say that, as the owner of a captive parrot, their human family becomes their “flock.” Instead of mimicking chirps and natural parrot birdsong, they repeat whatever sounds or language they are exposed to. Besides screaming “yakka, yakka, yakka” in their avian tongue, they can recreate any sound imaginable, human or otherwise: the wailing of a siren, a baby’s cry, a whinnying horse, a bugle, the sound of passionate love-making, and swearing. Lots of swearing.
Surprisingly, it was the parrot, rather than the goat or snake, which eventually became problematic at Airport Camp, finally leading Derek to offer “Stanton” to us for adoption. (That’s right. Stanton. Yikes. British much?) We accepted, and the bird was soon welcomed into our family. His cage was wired-up in the nearby may-plum tree—just far enough away from the house to suppress his volume, and the occasional “fuck you, mate,” and his other colorful expletives, all perfectly spoken in the Queen’s English.
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I would see Derek in the Officer’s Mess on almost every visit to Airport Camp. Once, I even once had the privilege of meeting his pet goat and his boa constrictor. The goat had personality—as all goats do. The snake was…well, a snake.
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But, as the months passed, it became apparent that something was "off" with the lieutenant. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but his behavior seemed a bit incoherent, and I wasn’t the only one to notice. He would say things that just didn’t make sense. I’d started to wonder if, perhaps, he was trying to liberate himself from service to Her Majesty. Maybe he wanted to just be a civvy, retire to Belize permanently, and raise animals.
In Joseph Heller’s novel, Catch-22, the main character is an American captain in the US Army Air Force. In the story, he feigns madness to avoid dangerous combat missions, but his desire to sidestep death only proves his sanity.
Similarly, in the popular TV series, M.A.S.H., Corporal Max Klinger dresses in women’s clothes, trying to qualify for a Section 8 to get out of the Korean War. But, the very fact that he wants to escape the war and go back to Toledo only shows how very sane he is. |
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One of my favorite acquaintances was Flight Lieutenant Tim O’Dwyer-Russell, a top-notch RAF Harrier pilot, who always sought me out during my visits. When I asked him about Lt. Derek, he said, “Don’t really know what happened to the chap, but he’s not here. Rumour has it that seems he might have been gobbing-off to the Colonel.”
An Army Lieutenant overheard the conversation and broke-in. “No. From what I heard, it seems he had some kind of breakdown.”
The Captain behind him stepped forward, with an air of authority. “Well, I don’t want to be indelicate to a lady,” he said, nodding at me. “But I was there when it happened.” He hesitated. No one spoke. He took a breath, and dived in.
“Derek had cut off the head and testicles of his pet goat,” the Captain continued, his face reddening a bit. “Chopped up his snake into sections around it, like a ring sandwich, and then served it to the Brigadier on a silver platter. Poor bugger went ‘P8 in the block’, and they sent him back to U.K.—off to psych-ward at Netley.”
And Lt. Derek was heard of no more.
An Army Lieutenant overheard the conversation and broke-in. “No. From what I heard, it seems he had some kind of breakdown.”
The Captain behind him stepped forward, with an air of authority. “Well, I don’t want to be indelicate to a lady,” he said, nodding at me. “But I was there when it happened.” He hesitated. No one spoke. He took a breath, and dived in.
“Derek had cut off the head and testicles of his pet goat,” the Captain continued, his face reddening a bit. “Chopped up his snake into sections around it, like a ring sandwich, and then served it to the Brigadier on a silver platter. Poor bugger went ‘P8 in the block’, and they sent him back to U.K.—off to psych-ward at Netley.”
And Lt. Derek was heard of no more.
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NEXT: CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX >>>
"Bottle Green Mercedes" |