大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War Site by Louise Adamou, 大象传媒 Guide at the 大象传媒 Open Centre Hull on behalf of Brian hodgins and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the sites terms and conditions.

鈥淭ake more exercise,鈥� the doctor had said on his last visit. 鈥淢ore exercise is what you need,鈥� remembered the old man as he took a late night walk down the lane. He had been doing this for a week now, but didn鈥檛 know if it was doing him any good at all. 鈥淏y heck, its cold tonight,鈥� he thought, as the frozen snow crunched under foot. Steadying himself with his walking stick, he reached the farm gate. 鈥淚鈥檒l take a little breather here,鈥� he said to himself quietly. 鈥淛ust catch my breath a bit.鈥� He leant on the farm gate and looked around. His every laboured breath misting in the cold night air.

He looked at the hoar frost, coating the grass in the field, on the leafless trees on the hedgerow and on the roof of the centuries old church. The whole scene bathed in an electric blue light from the full moon above. He raised his eyes to the heavens. Every star in the universe, twinkling like diamonds, on the black velvet backcloth of outer space. As he gazed at the wintery scene around him, another scene just like this came to mind. One of over sixty years before, of a young boy in the middle of a city. The city beset by war. A young boy whose sole concentration was focused on making 鈥榯hat slide鈥� just a little bit longer鈥�

A little earlier that evening, he and his mates had made 鈥榯he slide鈥� by running and sliding across the frozen surface on the street. But as the night pulled in, his mates had all been called in 鈥榡ust in case鈥� their mothers said. 鈥淵eah just in case there鈥檚 another sneak raid,鈥� said the boy to himself as he gazed at the full moon ahead that lit up the world around him. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 a right bombers moon is that,鈥� he thought remembering what his Dad had said. 鈥淭he Jerry could see everything by a full moon, that鈥檚 why they bombed by moonlight.鈥� The boy gazed about him, the world was totally silent, not even the bark of a dog. They had all been put 鈥榙own鈥�, 鈥渋n case of a gas attack,鈥� the man on the wireless had said. Anyway, the boy thought with school boy logic, 鈥渄ogs don鈥檛 have gas masks like us, do they?.鈥� He thought wistfully of his four legged pal Toby, his constant companion who had never left his side. 鈥淥ur Toby wasn鈥檛 put down though. He had gone to live on a farm,鈥� his father had said鈥� so that was alright then. 鈥淚 might see him again when the war is over, then he can come back home to live with us again.鈥�

The boy pulled the old pair of sock off his hands, and tried to wring them out. They were wet through with him falling down on the slide. He pulled them back over his frozen fingers. He looked down at his handywork. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e okay,鈥� he said to himself, 鈥渁nyway, only posh kids wear gloves,鈥� was his conclusion.

After another couple of 鈥榬uns鈥� on the slide and he felt weary. He leant against the unlit lamp post in the street, from which hung a rope he and his mates had tied a week earlier so that they could take turns swinging around. A lamp post which doubles as a set of wickets in summer when they play cricket.

He wrapped his left arm around the lamp post and hung on to the rope with his right hand. Such was the silence of the night, his attention was drawn to the soft purring of an engine high overhead. It was the sound that every school boy knew. It was the sound of the best engine in the world. The engine that powered the best fighter in the world, the Spitfire. It was the sound of a Rolls Royce Merlin. Totally different to the brrmmp, brrmmp, brrmmp of the Jerry bombers. He gazed at the sky to see if it blanked out the stars on its journey across the heavens. He couldn鈥檛 of course, but he thought that he did. 鈥淚 bet that鈥檚 an SGT/Pilot,鈥� he said to himself. Joey Jacobs鈥� eldest brother Frank, is an SGT/Pilot. Joey Jacobs said 鈥渁ll Spitfire pilots were SGT/Pilots,鈥� so it must be true, he thought.

As the sound of the Merlin faded into the starry night, a cold chill ran through his slight frame. He released his hold on the lamppost and stepped back a little and threw the rope into the middle of the street. On its return it began to wrap itself like a snake around the post. With a smile of triumph on his face, he turned for home and the warm fire that awaited him.
鈥淏oots on the hearth, socks on th鈥� hob to dry off for school in morning. Not too near the fire,鈥� his Mam warned.
The old man blinked and gave a little start as two tears slowly trickled down his leathery old cheeks. 鈥淚t鈥檚 the cold night air,鈥� he said to himself as he quickly brushed them away. Slowly he made his way home, leaning a little more on his walking stick. 鈥淚ts not wise to stay out too long,鈥� he said to himself as he turned into his gate, but yet he was still thinking of that young boy and his slide in the middle of the street. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 think I could do it now said the old man to himself. Mind you, I wouldn鈥檛 mind a swing around that lamppost again he said to himself with a chuckle.
Another thing he remembered , Joey Jacobs鈥� brother never came home again, did he?
鈥淭ook of one day over The Channel and never came back,鈥� they said. Joey said he was missing in action. 鈥淎ye,鈥� thought the old man as he closed the door to shut out the winter鈥檚 night鈥︹�� It certainly was 鈥� Another Time, Another Place!

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Brian鈥檚 recollections are wholly based on real events. Brian has written them as an outsider looking in to make his memories more accessible for the reader鈥� but he was indeed the little boy and is now the old man (as he puts it) looking back.

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