Here are the previous episodes:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
“Good grief, Beaky, where did you find this one?”
A large man in officer’s uniform had appeared next to Tony.
“Oh, hello, Skipper. This is Josie. Josie, this is my skipper.”
A large man in officer’s uniform had appeared next to Tony.
“Oh, hello, Skipper. This is Josie. Josie, this is my skipper.”
“Hello Josie,” said the skipper, shaking hands, “Call me
Christopher. What on earth are you doing
with Beaky here?”
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with white, even teeth, a
blue chin and the self-confidence of a successful ladies’ man. Half of Josie found him repulsive. The other half…
“We’re very good friends, Tony and I. I’m here to see him off,” said the repulsed
half.
“Tony’s good friends with everyone.” He turned to Tony. “And I’m sure he won’t mind if his good
friend Christopher dances with his good friend Josie.”
Tony clearly did mind.
“No, of course not.”
As Hunt led her to the floor the band changed songs, leafing
through music sheets as the clarinet began a familiar, slow introduction. She looked helplessly around Hunt’s shoulder
and smiled at Tony who shrugged and smiled back. He mouthed the words to the song:
“J’Attendrai”.
The dance closed at seven o’clock and somehow Josie found
herself agreeing to a lift home in Christopher’s car. She seized a moment to speak apologetically
to Tony.
“I’m sorry to run off like this, Tony, but it’d take me ages
on the tram. Thank you, I’ve had a
lovely day. I’ve really enjoyed spending
it with you.”
“No, of course, that’s absolutely fine. Good of the skipper to offer. Listen, do you think I could have your
address? I was hoping you’d let me write
to you.”
“Yes, I’d like that. Have
you got a pencil and paper?”
She wrote her name and address inside the cover of the
notebook he produced from his breast pocket.
She looked up, the pencil poised.
“How do you spell the Italian for that song?”
He spelt it for her and she wrote “Tornerai” in a heart
under the address. “There, now you know
you’ll return. And the lads in the mess
will be jealous because you’ve got a girl back home.”
“Have I?” He held out
his hand to shake hers. “That’s
wonderful. Goodbye Josie, thank you for
making it a special day.”
“Goodbye. I hope I’ll
see you again.” She hurriedly kissed his
cheek, turned and climbed into the officer’s car.
There was no letter on Monday or Tuesday, but Josie felt
nothing but slight disappointment; after all, even if he’d written as soon as
he arrived, it was unlikely to arrive sooner.
And he was just a briefly-known, chance acquaintance anyway. But by Friday she admitted to herself that
she was scanning the doormat each morning with more expectancy. But there was no letter.
It arrived on Saturday.
She saw the RAF crest on the flap and paused, uncertain who the writer
might be; guilty that there should be doubt.
Dear Miss Sharples,
It is with the most profound regret that I must inform you of the
loss of Flight Sergeant Anthony Fielding.
I must ask you to excuse my ignorance of your relationship to
Anthony. However, your name and address
were found in his personal effects and so I felt it my duty to inform you of his
death.
Flight Sergeant Fielding was killed in action on the Monday
following his arrival here at the base. He
was a brave and popular young man who will be sadly missed.
With my deepest condolences,
Yours
truly,
Alexr.
E. Calthorpe, Sqdn Ldr
3 comments:
Oh this is so sad, although I suspected the ending. Was it a true story? You do have a gift for writing and I always enjoy what you produce.
It's broadly based on a flight engineer my mother met in a Milk Bar in Erdington. The ending is predictable, I know, but it is actually true.
And thank you, I does me best!
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