Disclaimer: all characters property of David Croft, Jimmy Perry and the BBC.
Gloria can't keep his hands to himself. Needy, he is. It isn't that Solly minds when he's grabbed, or even where, it's just that his usual rule's that it's done by a nice curvy palone. In the middle of a transit camp of soldiers with the Doolally tap, though, he hasn't got many options.
When the Sergeant-Major rosters the Concert Party in for guard duty, Gloria spends the night gripping Solly's arm so hard, he finds bruises later on.
"Anything could come out of those trees, Solly! There might be tigers... or a lot of Japanese!"
"Do me a favour. We're miles away from enemy lines."
"Well, what are we supposed to do if we see any? Or hostile Indians?"
"Detain them and call for help."
"Can't we just call for help?" Gloria squeezes his eyes shut. "Solly," he says, after a minute.
"What?"
"Don't go. I feel safe with you."
"If I go anywhere tonight, I'll get jankers."
"No. I mean, don't - ever."
Maharashtra can get taters at night; nobody expects that when they first come out. But with Gloria against him, fingers twisted in his sleeve, Solly's warm.
He can probably break the rules, here and there.