‘Lest We Forget’

The trouble with Harry he was Fred.

And the trouble with Fred  he was Harry – Harry Bellows.

So we’ll never know if it was Harry or Fred who scarpered to the Irish Republic from Bournemouth while the rest of the decent world lost limbs and loved-ones in that terrible war.

Much later Fred – he was definitely now Fred - got a job ‘phone hacking’ for the sort of paper his mother would never have in her house.

After it was over, she told her friend, Min: “I had great hopes for our Harry. But his trouble – always my trouble –was that he never, ever made his mind up about anything.

“He was good at sidling off; he was a great ditherer. That does not make good soldiering.”

Or good working. Other hacks on  the former Winton  Daily World  felt the same. 

“Fred couldn’t decide whether he was one of us – or too good for us,” said the ex-news editor.

Then when the paper folded, so did Fred. His mother found him three days later, lying lifeless on his sofa wearing a lopsided grin.

“So the stroke decided for him at last”, said Min.

“That’s right,” said Fred’s Mum, who still called him Harry in her heart.

“Now I’ll never know what he got up to, skulking about in Ireland all those years. His Dad faded away from the shame of it.”

Then Harry’s mum, always a very steady woman, said: “This will be the second funeral I’ve had to arrange alone. This time though, I don’t know what  to put on the stone.”

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Natalie Wood

(Copyright: Natalie Irene Wood, February 23 2012).

‘Jack and the Glory’

Grandma Dora bussed from Whitley Bay to Brum for the winter holiday with bags of old comics, chocolate pennies and tons of other funny love.

She also made loads of comments which the grown-ups didn’t like.

She’d say: “No-one buys Ford Zephyrs now. Your Aunty Flo heard it.”

“It’s all done by kindness.”

“Quite right, Humphrey!”

“Ooh, you are a daft kipper.”

“Eat your crusts. They’ll make your hair curly and your teeth pearly.”

“The last one upstairs is a silly sausage.”

So when Mum knew Dad was about to arrive home from work, she’d send Grandma upstairs with us on bath-time duties.

Grandma was really nice. She’d help us out of our clothes and get us to throw our socks in the air. “If they’re dirty, they’ll stick to the ceiling,” she’d warn. We were cross that it never happened.

Then she’d pop Jim and me in the bath, soap and rinse us, help us to get out and wrap us in big, thick towels before we had time to get cold.

But there is one bath time I can’t forget. As Gran got us warm and cosy, she whispered:

“I’ll tell you a story of Jack and the Glory. But you must promise not to speak in the middle. Do you promise?”

Jim and I gazed at her and nodded.

“Of course, Gran,” I said. “We promise.”

“Oh, dear,” she replied as Dad walked through the front door. “You’ve spoken. I can’t tell you now.”

Jim was still too young to understand much so he won’t remember. But I’m sure that just as I moaned “Aw, Gran, that’s not fair,” I heard fuzzy grumbling from downstairs.

Then came Mum’s voice: ”Ssh, Len. Have a heart. She’s only just come - and we’ve not got to Christmas Day.”

 

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Natalie Wood

(Copyright – Natalie Irene Wood, February 23 2012).