Stephen Oliver is a prolific writer of short stories most of which occupy the Science Fiction and Fantasy genres.
Shuttlers is his first full length novel. I was privileged to read it prior to publication and enjoyed it thoroughly. Stephen is the consummate story teller the book is imaginative, original and not to be missed.
After reading the manuscript as it was then, I gave him my order for the first paperback print copy. If you can’t wait for the print edition the ebook is available now on Kindle,
Trouble is brewing across the Multiverse, and Justin Wilson, a young inter-reality smuggler, is in the thick of it. Alternate versions of the Earth are being raided, plundered and even accidentally destroyed, by Shuttlers, beings like Justin who can slip between realities with ease.
The story begins when Justin is arrested for smuggling forbidden books from his world into another by Pol Atkinson. Pol is a patrolman of the Sidewise Directorate, the organisation set up to prevent further damage to all these defenceless worlds. Justin eventually decides to work together with Pol to avert a conspiracy from gaining control of all of Earth’s alternate realities everywhere.
Forget about reaching for the stars, which may be impossible, and explore the infinite variations of our own world, where anything can and will happen!
We have posted these two pieces before but they are timely just now, the first was written by Val Fish and is about the poem For the Fallen by Laurence Binyon. The second piece is a poem written by another of our brilliant Whittlesey Wordsmiths TessaThomson.
For the Fallen by Laurence Binyon
Inspiration for ‘For The Fallen’
Laurence Binyon composed his best known poem while sitting on the cliff-top looking out to sea from the dramatic scenery of the north Cornish coastline. A plaque marks the location at Pentire Point, north of Polzeath. However, there is also a small plaque on the East Cliff north of Portreath, further south on the same north Cornwall coast, which also claims to be the place where the poem was written.
The poem was written in mid September 1914, a few weeks after the outbreak of the First World War. During these weeks the British Expeditionary Force had suffered casualties following its first encounter with the Imperial German Army at the Battle of Mons on 23 August, its rearguard action during the retreat from Mons in late August and the Battle of Le Cateau on 26 August, and its participation with the French Army in holding up the Imperial German Army at the First Battle of the Marne between 5 and 9 September 1914.
Laurence said in 1939 that the four lines of the fourth stanza came to him first. These words of the fourth stanza have become especially familiar and famous, having been adopted by the Royal British Legion as an Exhortation for ceremonies of Remembrance to commemorate fallen Servicemen and women.
Laurence Binyon was too old to enlist in the military forces, but he went to work for the Red Cross as a medical orderly in 1916. He lost several close friends and his brother-in-law in the war.
For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Laurence Binyon 1869 – 1943
I was privileged to perform on the stage at The Broadway Peterborough in 2014, in the ‘Sing for Life’ ladies’ choir, to raise funds for a new wing at Sue Ryder’s Thorpe Hall Hospice.
On the 100th Anniversary of the beginning of the First World War, we sang an adaptation of ‘For The Fallen’ by Rowland Lee.
In the final few bars, we were as stunned as the audience as poppies came falling from above onto the stage. It was a moment I’ll always treasure.
Lest we Forget
Written by Tessa Thomson
With the annual remembrance commemorations drawing near, Tessa has marked this time of reflection with a poem expressing not only her thoughts but those of most of us.
LEST WE FORGET – NOVEMBER 11TH
We travel in our hordes to see that place
Wherein our loved ones fell without a trace.
Marked and blanketed by stones in white
Covering that great plain, that great site.
Farm hand boys and factory workers
Friends from villages, schools or clubs.
Joined together, left their homeland
To lie in fields, decayed amongst the scrub.
Their voices call out still across that plain
Feet are still heard thundering, inches gained.
Hearts were in their mouths, panting fast
As struggling, reached their enemies at last.
The bodies lay before them in the mud
Mingled with the dirt, the crimson blood.
No time to mourn a brother or a friend
Just pass them by, praying for the end.
Guns that deafened now are stilled
Armies of boys and men were killed.
Some now just memories to their kin
Some carried pain through life like sin
They gave us freedom, free to speak
They made us strong not kept us weak
We live in peace and fear no man
They gave their lives so we just can
We can only have spring after winter the sun can only rise after it has gone down.
If you’re after something different from the ‘run of the mill’ crime thriller , this is the book for you. Set around Cambridge and the Fens, we are introduced to D.C.I. Cyril Lane, affectionately known as Arnold, a likable quirky character , who surprised me nearing the end by showing a lovely sensitive side. A mixture of science, history and time travel, an interesting and entertaining read. I do hope this isn’t the last we hear of Arnold, this is crying out for a sequel.
If you live in Whittlesey this book is available at Parker’s Newsagents.
Out in the fens we pay little heed to the passing of the seasons and for us older residents we have some difficulty even with the passing of the days. Knowing where we are in the week is a task often fraught with difficulty, a calendar is a useful tool.
Early in the new year before Father Christmas had settled down for a good sleep. Whittlesey Wordsmiths resumed work on two Christmas collections.
Jingle Bells and Tinsel Tales for younger readers or listeners and Windy Christmas for the grown-ups.
The books are authored by the talented bunch of writers known as Whittlesey Wordsmiths.
The children’s book is illustrated by Jane Pobgee, both books were edited by our resident wizardess Cathy Cade.
The covers are a joint effort with contributions from Stephen Oliver, Cathy Cade, Val Chapman, Jane Pobgee, Wendy Fletcher and Philip Cumberland
The covers are complete and these excellent books should be rolling off the presses within the next few weeks.
Whittlesey Wordsmiths are having a very productive year, two individual members, Tessa Thomson and Valerie Fish have published their own books. Tessa’s book is of poetry and Valerie’s a collection of limericks. Stephen Oliver has had a number of his short stories accepted for publication, nine at the last count. The Wordsmiths are in the process of completing their two Christmas collections carefully gathered together by Cathy Cade. Cathy is not only an ace editor and proof reader but also a prolific writer too, having published three of her own books. She has had great competition success with her short stories and poetry.Whittlesey Wordsmiths have also benefitted from the artistic talent of Jane Pobgee, not only for illustrations in our upcoming collection of children’s Christmas stories but also in Valerie’s and Tessa’s books.
These are a few of Jane’s drawings.
Jane’s drawings have a beautiful simplicity and capture the essence of the poem, limerick or story they accompany perfectly.
Here is just one, from the upcoming children’s Christmas stories.
This is chapter five, the concluding chapter in the second outstanding Round Robin story from Whittlesey Wordsmiths. Its authors are Gwen Bunting, Val Chapman, Wendy Fletcher and Jane Pobgee. Enjoy.
As much as she longed to show the letter to Stan’s Ma, she resisted. It would complicate matters. Who was she going to speak to regarding this accusation?
Life continued at the office. No one suspected anything different in the relationship between Ada and Mr. Giles. It was natural to keep it quiet until they had got to know each other better.
During the second week after Ada was given Stan’s letter she received a letter from the Ministry of Defence. Could this be confirmation that Stan had really died? She opened it cautiously, not wanting to learn that Stan’s body had been identified. It read:
‘Dear Mrs. Coleman,
‘I understand that you have recently acquired a letter from your husband, Lance/cpl 2500673 Stanley Coleman. We would like to interview you and ascertain that this letter is genuine.
‘Come to the Dry Cleaners on Drake Street, bringing with you a coat you would like dry cleaned, and ask to see the manager.
‘It is vital you come to the shop on Saturday 18th at twelve-thirty. Please keep this information to yourself.
‘Col. A. G. Marshland.’
Ada sat down suddenly, shocked by what she was reading. She made herself tea and re-read the Ministry letter. She must go for the appointment, but why a Dry Cleaners shop?
She felt very weary and went to bed early, which did not bring sleep. She kept going over in her mind all the intrigue from the Colonel’s letter.
Finally rising from her bed after such a fractious night, Ada once again read both letters. It was hard to believe that after two years she would have what should have been Stan’s last letter. She was sure it was from Stan, as he made a remark in his letter that only Ada would understand. It was a little secret code they had derived. She readied herself for work and left the precious letters safely at home.
She arrived quite early. Not many of the typing pool staff were there; only Phyllis.
‘My word, Ada, you look rough. Bad night?’
“Ye…yes.” She stuttered. “I think I have a cold coming.”
“Here, gal, have a Beechams. That will make you feel better.” She handed Phyllis a packet of powder.
“Thanks, Phyll; kind of you. Will take it into the canteen for a glass of water,” replied Ada, discreetly dropping the powder in her handbag.
Back at her seat in the typing pool she started to look into her folder that contained her day’s work. Suddenly Mr. Giles called her into his office. Picking up her shorthand book and pencil she headed to his office.
‘Ada, how are you getting on since you received the letter from Stan? You seem very quiet.’
‘I am fine, Mr. Giles, thank you. Just a cold starting, I fear. Have taken something for it. Will try not to pass the germs on,’ she ended.
She was not going to enlighten anyone about her forthcoming meeting.
‘Well, if you are sure you are all right… I feel guilty for giving you the letter but felt now I had found you it was most important that the letter reached you,’ Arthur concluded.
“Is that all you require at the moment Mr. Giles?” Ada enquired.
“Yes, thank you Mrs. Coleman.” With that he turned to answer the ringing telephone.
Ada left the office a little uncertain as to whether Arthur Giles had read Stan’s letter before he had found Ada. After all, to have something in your possession for two years might make you wonder what was in it, considering his involvement with the other side.
Saturday came, and Ada found an appropriate coat for dry cleaning. It was a luxury she rarely afforded herself, but that was her instruction. Walking into the shop, the bell over the door clanged to announce a customer. A lady appeared from the back room.
‘Good afternoon, may I help you?’
‘I have an appointment with your manager. I am Mrs. Coleman.’
‘Is that coat for dry cleaning?’ enquired the lady.
‘Oh, yes. Yes, it is.”
‘I will take it. Would you like to walk through and I will show you the manager’s office,’ the woman lifted the counter flap.
Ada followed as instructed. It all seemed so natural: the woman leading the way and knocking on a door. A deep voice called, ‘Come in.’
Ada proceeded to enter to be confronted by a tall gentleman, older than she had expected.
‘Good afternoon Mrs. Coleman. I am Colonel Marshland. I wrote to you.’
‘Ye-yes.’ Ada’s nervousness took over again.
‘Please sit down, Mrs. Coleman and I will explain why I wanted to see you.’
The Colonel explained further.
Yes, Stan was alive but at present Ada would not be allowed to see him. Stan’s work had just one more phase to go through then his duty to King and Country would be done for good.
Ada was overwhelmed by the knowledge that her Stan was alive and one day very soon they would meet up. She really must concentrate on what the Colonel was asking her to do. A knock on the door heralded the lady with a tray of tea and biscuits. The interlude was welcome as Ada’s head was whirling.
Again, she was told not to repeat this conversation to anyone. Stan’s life depended on his ‘missing in action’ cover.
She tried to explain to the Colonel about Stan’s mother. He was sympathetic but insisted that she told no one. He would be in touch with her by letter when it was safe.
Ada thanked him and promised she would keep everything to herself. It would be hard for her, though, not telling Stan’s ma the good news.
Ada made a point of visiting Stan’s ma at the weekends; these were lonely times for widows. Leaving the Dry Cleaners shop with a receipt for her coat, she made her way to see her, but there was a crowd of neighbours outside the terraced house.
‘What’s happened, is Ma alright?’ Ada asked. A neighbour Ada recognised appeared from inside the house, beckoning her in. There on the floor lay dear Ma Coleman clutching Stan’s photograph. The glass had been broken as Ma fell, suffering a heart attack and dying instantly.
Ada was heartbroken; Ma had been a mother figure to her since her own parents died in a direct hit on her home while Ada was in an Air Raid Shelter. The air raid had begun as she came home from work. Now she did not have to worry about not sharing her news. Ma was dead.
The funeral went ahead, and Ada once again had the job of house clearing. At least this time it was not bomb damaged like her own parents’ home. Ada kept a few little items that she knew Stan may want to keep. The rest was left for the new tenants. Many people had lost everything in the raids.
Four weeks later, Ada was typing with the rest of the girls, when several policemen burst into the office asking where they could find Mr. Giles. Shocked and alarmed, they pointed to the office where Mr. Giles had jumped up in surprise. The moment had come; he had been found.
‘Are you Arthur Giles of Bonifield Road?’ asked the senior officer. ‘We are arresting you in accordance with the official Secrets Act.’
Arthur started to protest, but the officers handcuffed him and he was bundled out of the office. He cast a pleading glance to Ada for help. She ignored it and turned away.
Some weeks later Ada and Stan were reunited in a quiet Yorkshire hotel. This was to be the beginning of a new life for them both, getting to know each other again. Seven years had elapsed since they were married. It would be difficult at times, but they hoped they would succeed. They did not return to their little home but were rehoused in another district where they were unknown.
In view of the work Stan had undertaken, it was suggested that they may wish to resettle far away in New Zealand with new identities so that their previous lives were untraceable. They both agreed it would be a great start for their forthcoming family.
This is chapter four in the second outstanding Round Robin story from Whittlesey Wordsmiths. Its authors are Gwen Bunting, Val Chapman, Wendy Fletcher and Jane Pobgee. Enjoy.
The pub was not far from the office. As they walked, the conversation became easier. Arthur asked how long Ada had worked for Ledbetters and she told him she had worked in munitions during the war but went back to the print trade afterwards.
They were shown to a quiet table, and he asked her to call him Arthur outside office hours. She agreed, as long as he would call her Ada. Arthur told her how much Stan spoke of his wife Ada, and he felt he knew her already.
He convinced Ada to have an aperitif. She, being unused to drinking, was feeling rather sophisticated though a little out of her depth as the two friends, for they were comfortable enough with each other to consider themselves friends as well as colleagues, waited for their drinks to arrive.
After toasting lost friends and Stan, they took their time looking at the limited menu, neither one knowing how to proceed. Arthur chose a steak and kidney pudding, while Ada decided on a slice of corned beef and potato pie. The next few minutes were spent talking about their respective families, and how they coped, or not, after the war.
Eventually, and perhaps because of the sherry, Ada decided to take the bull by the horns.
“Mr Giles, Arthur. Why did you ask me here tonight? You did say it had something to do with my Stan?”
Arthur Giles loosened the top button of his shirt and coughed. He didn’t know why he felt so awkward about this. It should be a simple matter to tell a man’s widow that he knew how much she had meant to him and that her husband had left her a letter saying just that. He hoped she would gain comfort from his words and subsequently the letter he was about to hand to her. He also hoped that in some way she may find some comfort with him, in due course.
He drew a deep breath and looked at Ada, quickly glancing away again, as though embarrassed. She had beautiful green eyes and he didn’t want to get distracted from the matter in hand. Taking the unopened letter from his jacket pocket he placed it on the table in front of Ada and explained as best as he could how it had been in his possession.
Ada was so shaken by Arthur’s news that he had to take her home and forgo the trifle he had eyed up for dessert. Still, he would have it next time. He was sure there would be a next time.
Arthur had brought her home and made her a cup of hot sweet tea. He had left now and Ada sat alone at the table with the letter still in her hand. She let her tea go cold, she hadn’t wanted it anyway.
She read, and reread Stan’s letter, poring over each word.
It was clear that Stan had loved her with all his heart, as much as she had, still did, love him.
There was however something else Stan had written, which Ada found most upsetting. She could hardly believe it, but her Stan would never lie to her so it must be true.
Stan had asked Ada not to reveal any of the information in the letter to anyone. Something Ada knew she would struggle with, as her first instinct was to run to Stan’s ma’s house to share the letter. For the umpteenth time, she read her darling Stan’s letter.
In it, Stan told her that the man who had given her the letter, Arthur Giles was a spy. According to the letter, Stan was stationed with Arthur to get close to him and discover how and what he was telling the enemy. Stan in turn was to relay this information to his commanding officer. It became clear that Arthur Giles was becoming suspicious and so Stan and the officer in charge came up with a plan. They were to fake Stan’s death, and Stan would continue to work behind the scenes to stop Arthur.
In his letter, Stan explained to Ada that the Ministry’s plan was for him to go ‘undercover’ to trap Arthur, who they suspected was a ‘sleeper spy’, someone who blended into society until they were called into action, perhaps many years later. He would find a way to get back to Ada, but he hoped that she would understand, know that he loved her and that of course ‘missing in action’ meant that his body hadn’t been found.
How could it, when he was still alive?
Trying to understand, Ada began to wonder, if Arthur had anything to do with the death of the officer in charge all those years ago? Did he get suspicious?
Her mind in turmoil, Ada went to bed, but rest would not come.
This is chapter three in the second outstanding Round Robin story from Whittlesey Wordsmiths. Its authors are, Gwen Bunting, Val Chapman, Wendy Fletcher and Jane Pobgee. Enjoy.
‘Sit down Mrs. Coleman; I have a question to ask? Would you kindly come out to dinner with me one evening after work, I have something serious to discuss with you about your late husband Stan.’
Arthur managed to get the sentence out in one breath. Ada went all hot and she felt her cheeks burning.
‘Why on earth would you want to see me out of work, Mr. Giles?’
‘Because, Mrs. Coleman I knew your husband, Stan. We were in the same unit; I have a letter for you.’
Shock struck Ada; tears started flowing and she searched for her handkerchief. Pushing the chair back as she desperately tried to make her escape to the ladies toilet, caused a screeching sound from her chair. The girls in the typing pool turned and stared through the glass partition as they watched Ada come dashing through the door.
Mr. Giles followed to the door and asked Miss Blanchard to go and see that Mrs. Coleman was all right.
Mr. Giles returned to his office to calm himself down. A knock on the door announced Marion Morgan with another cup of tea for him, awaiting his response before she enter entered.
She asked if there was anything else he required?
‘No. No, thank you, Miss Morgan; the tea will do fine.”
Breathing deeply he decided a trip to the Gents would be the place to calm himself. Eyes stared from above the typewriters as the girls in the office continued their assignments.
It had never occurred to Arthur Giles that this lady, Ada Coleman could be the wife of his friend Stan Coleman. They had served together in Bomb Disposal during the war and had been lucky to escape with only a scratch, until that day when the bomb they were attempting to defuse exploded. The blast knocked Arthur Giles yards away and he was told Stan had been killed.
They had exchanged letters to send to their next of kin if they were killed,. Usually the Officer in-charge would accept them, but he had been killed in action. There was no one else to take on the responsibility of collecting such letters. Arthur Giles had tried in vain to find the address of Stan’s next of kin, but with no luck. He had kept the letter safely for two years and hoped that one day he may be able to forward it to her.
After demobilisation, he had moved to Bolton, finding work at Ledbetters Printers. He had been a proof-reader before he was called up for the War Service.
After his trip to the Gents he continued to work until six o’clock. The typing pool finished at five-thirty so he had the office to himself for half an hour. Hearing a tap on the door, he looked up to find Ada Coleman staring at him through the glass. He beckoned her to enter; she seemed flustered and anxious, but that was to be expected after the way he had, less than tactfully, invited her out for a meal.
Arthur stood as she entered. ‘Mrs. Coleman, I am so pleased to see you. I am sorry I was so tactless in my announcement of my association with your late husband. Please forgive me. The cleaners will soon be in the offices and I would like to take this opportunity to finish what I messed up before. Please would you join me for dinner at a venue of your choice where you will be comfortable?’
‘Yes, I would like that Mr. Giles. I’m sorry I was so silly, but it was such a shock. We have not had any information about Stan’s death from the War Ministry, just, “missing in action”. They did not even give us a country or area. Your news was music to my ears: someone knowing my Stan.’
‘Where would you like to eat Mrs. Coleman?’ Arthur asked.
‘How about the Black Bear on Middleton Street?’ Ada suggested. ‘They have a varied menu even in rationing’.
They left the office together, getting stares from the cleaners coming into work.
This is the second chapter of the writing group’s excellent Round Robin Story, Ghosts of the Railway written by Gwen Bunting, Val Chapman, Wendy Fletcher and Jane Pobgee. We hope you continue to enjoy it.
Ma had been sobbing quietly but now she let out such a wail of despair, her only child gone. Ada and Ma fell into each other’s arms and cried and cried.
Later when they had managed to quieten their sobs, Ada put the kettle on and began to tell Ma how she thought she had seen Stan at the station. It was so real to her, she couldn’t quite believe the news the telegram had brought. She was clinging to the hope that it was a mistake, she knew that could happen. After all Jenny Masterton had a telegram but later it was found to be a mistake. Her husband came home, injured but alive. It must be a mistake. Ada couldn’t bear it to be true.
As the days passed Ada went on with her life, going to work and coming home like an automaton. Time passed without her realising; she was just going through the motions of life. Living but not living, struggling every day with her loss. Stan’s Ma was struggling too. Ada tried to help her, but it was just too hard. Seeing her sorrow made everything real, and Ada wasn’t ready to accept that.
What made it even harder was seeing so many men come home to their wives. She was glad for them of course, but seeing their happiness made her pain so much worse. That is how it should have been for them; it wasn’t fair. They were just starting out on their lives together. She would regularly phone the number she was given at the war office to check if they had heard anything more. She needed details before she would believe Stan was gone.
Her sister May had come to stay with her for a while but, if anything, it annoyed Ada to have her there. She was sympathetic but impatient for Ada to accept what had happened. It was no good, and eventually she asked May to go back home. She tried to be tactful but May was obviously put out. She flounced out of the house without a backward glance. Although she was sorry to hurt May’s feelings, Ada didn’t have the energy to deal with it right now. It took all her energy just getting through the day.
As the days, weeks and months passed, Ada began to accept that Stan would not be coming home. She had no choice but to accept it. Slowly she began to rebuild her life. She still went around to Stan’s Ma’s house on a Thursday night to make sure she was okay. They would chat about when Stan had been a boy; Ma loved to tell her stories and she loved to hear them. For a short while they could both forget that the future was empty and enjoy the past, talking of the boy and man they both had loved.
She would occasionally go to the cinema with her sister, but most evenings she stayed home. Her only outings were to work or queueing at the shops to get her rations. The girls at work in the typing pool were kind and always asked her to join them on their girls’ nights out. After a while they stopped asking as she always said no. Her boss Mr Butterworth had said she could have time off, but she felt worse just sitting alone at home. At least when she was working her mind was busy and she didn’t have time to brood.
Almost two years had passed when Mr Butterworth retired and the company brought in a man from one of their other offices to run things: a Mr. Giles. The girls who were still single were ‘all of a flutter’. Mr. Giles was tall, dark and handsome; Lesley, the office gossip, had already found out that he was single. He was very polite and neat and tidy in appearance. Quite a change from old Mr. Butterworth who always looked a little dishevelled and had something spilled on his tie.
Mr. Giles was quietly spoken and had a slightly sad faraway look about him. The girls decided he must be a bit of a dreamer as he would often be seen in his office staring into space during the lunch hour. He soon had an impact on the office. Changes were made; most were useful and helpful to the staff. That didn’t stop some of the girls complaining though, with comments that Mr. Butterworth didn’t do that, or wouldn’t like that. Mr. Giles didn’t seem to notice and just got on with the job at hand.
Ada began to take on more responsibility in the typing pool. Mr. Giles would often ask her to hand out the day’s assignments to the other girls. Ada thought it was because he felt safer with her, she didn’t flutter her eyelashes at him and was not as made up as the younger girls were. The girls didn’t seem to mind, which quite surprised her, but then they didn’t want the extra responsibility of chasing up work which hadn’t been finished. When push came to shove, she was always willing to help if one of them needed to finish early – to collect a child or some other emergency. She never needed to rush home for family or to prepare for a date. She was grateful for the extra money; it was not a lot but it helped enormously.
Ada still took her turn on the tea-making rota for the afternoon break. She also shopped for the tea, milk, sugar and biscuits. She had just taken Mr. Giles his tea with two biscuits when he asked her to sit down a moment. Intrigued, she did so. He closed the office door and returned to his desk. He seemed very distracted and not his usual calm self.
‘Is everything alright Mr. Giles?’ she asked.
He took a deep breath and said, ‘No Mrs. Coleman, it is not.
This is the second of the writing group’s excellent Round Robin Stories, this one has been written by Gwen Bunting, Val Chapman, Wendy Fletcher and Jane Pobgee. Enjoy.
Ada made her way quickly along the platform. The late afternoon sky had turned dark as she travelled here on the bus, fine drizzle had made her hair wet on the short walk from the bus stop to the station.
That wouldn’t have been a problem, she thought to herself, if it wasn’t for its propensity to become a mass of frizz when even slightly damp. Why today? She asked herself in frustration. Today of all days.
She had taken hours to get ready for her journey this afternoon: carefully pulling on the fine nylons so as not to ladder them as she straightened the seams, then choosing a skirt that revealed a flash of knee when she sat down. She had added a sheer blouse that offered a hint of a tantalising outline of the uplifting bra underneath. The top button was left undone, almost revealing some cleavage.
Her shoes were sturdy and she had sighed as she pulled them on in her bedroom. They were not fashionable and definitely not sexy. Coupons were still limited. How can a girl look alluring in these?
She had considered asking her elder sister, May, if she could borrow her smart black pair but decided against it. She could just imagine May’s voice.
‘Ma, our Ada wants to get dolled up to go to the station.’
And her mother’s response.
‘Hey, our Ada, don’t you go up there looking like some old tart. That young man of yours will be pleased to see you just as you are.’
So there was not a chance of borrowing lip gloss or even a bit of blusher but, almost in defiance, she drowned herself in scent from the bottle on her dressing table as she did a final twirl and assessed her appearance; back, front, sides in the three bevelled mirrors.
Deep in her heart, she knew they were right. Her Stan would just be pleased to see her waiting with all the other women. They had waited so long for this day.
The neighbours had crowded into their little parlour, listening for the announcement on the wireless. Finally came the words they had all waited to hear. The war was over. The men were coming home.
Then there was the bustle of preparation. The women donned pinafores and rolled up their cardigan sleeves. Spiders who had hidden in corners didn’t stand a chance as every cobweb fell before the feather duster. Whitewash and brushes were pulled out. Till late in the evenings, the sounds of carpet beaters could be heard across the yards.
The whole street seemed to come alive again, as if everybody had been holding their breath and now blew fresh air over the terraces. Front doorsteps took on a new sheen of cardinal red. Grates were declared blacker than Newgate’s knocker. Even the drooping plants seemed to revive. All the talk over the low garden walls was of reunions and parties. Cakes were baked and the children played out late, taking advantage of the good humour that enveloped their mothers.
Ada had watched with a wistful smile. When the war had started, she and Stan had only been married for two months. In fact, they had brought the wedding forward so they could have a honeymoon – that wonderful weekend at Bognor – and move into the little house that had just become vacant in the street where they had grown up and both their families still lived.
As she listened to the children squealing below her window, she folded her arms over her flat belly. When Stan had first been called up she had thought she might be in the family way but six weeks after he left she suffered terrible cramps and then the heavy bleeding of a late period.
She still clung to the thought of a late period, not able to face the possibility that perhaps there was a baby but she had somehow not looked after it properly so it had slipped away. Now the sadness was tinged with hope. Stan was coming home and maybe there would be a baby. She hugged the thought to herself as she got ready to go to the station.
With a quick ‘yoo-hoo, I’m off now’, at Ma’s back door, careful not to let the scent waft into the scullery, she had left the street along with the gaggle of women all heading the same direction. Now they jostled for a first glimpse as the train pulled into the station in a burst of hissing steam.
‘Bill, Jack, Ralph,’ she heard the shrill calls of the women close to her as they spotted their husbands, brothers, sons, and surged forward. Then she saw him and joined the rush, mouthing, ‘Stan, oh Stan, over here.’
There was just a moment when she thought he wouldn’t see her in the crowd but then his eyes met hers. He was tall and could see over the crowd although she was still tiny even in those sturdy shoes. Her heart expanded with love as she took in his handsome face, neatly cut hair and straight back, despite the heavy kit bag that all the men carried, slung over one shoulder.
Now she was pushing forward and he was almost within reach.
Then two taller women stepped in front of her and just for a moment she lost sight of him. Weaving around them she stretched to her full five feet, craning her neck to catch sight of him. Men were still pouring from the train. Women still thronged around the open carriage doors. Couples were hugging all the way to the escalator.
‘Oh, Stan,’ she tutted. ‘Couldn’t you have just walked in a straight line?’ but she knew it was difficult with the crowd jostling from all sides. Nothing to do but wait until he came into view again.
The porters were sweeping the platform before she admitted to herself that Stan wasn’t going to reappear from the WC or behind the paper stall. He had obviously not looked properly for her, typical man, scanning the platform and deciding that she must have given up hopes of reaching him in the crowd and gone home again.
Now she felt lonely as she caught the bus back. Gone were the women from the street, gone were the clamouring children, gone were the men with their heavy kit bags. She knew Stan wouldn’t be at their house. Who went to war with the back door key in their pocket?
So she headed straight to Stan’s ma’s house and burst in the door without even waiting for her tap to be heard, unable to contain her excitement a single moment longer.
Stan’s ma sat hunched over the kitchen table and the crumpled telegram lay on the chenille cloth right next to the fruit bowl.
Ada stopped dead in her stride, she couldn’t breathe. She finally stepped forward and picked up the telegram. Everything around her seemed to stop, slowly the words began to make sense as they swam before her sight. Stan was dead. She sank into the chair next to Stan’s Ma.