Jim felt at the stitches in his forehead. He hadn’t slept for three days straight. It had been a crazy few days in Belgium with the lads. Now he just wanted to get them all home.

But he stalled their stolen butcher’s van just at the wrong time. Framed within the yellow hash marks, they had attracted the attention of a uniformed figure who gestured for them to pull off the road.

Jim ignored him, fired up the engine and sped off towards a quiet area near the sand dunes. He knew to leave nothing behind. Within minutes, they were on foot and their transport was a blazing wreck.

They walked quickly to the docks, sweating from the heat and the stress. It was organised chaos at the quayside. They joined the long queue as it shuffled forward towards the waiting boats.

“I hope you’ve pre-booked, Jim”, came a voice from behind, “I only travel First-Class!” Then they were all joining in, to ease the tension.

“When’s the bar open?”
“Tell them to be careful with my golf clubs!”
“I do hope we’re home in time for tea!”
“You should have organised this better, Jim!”

After three hours, they gratefully climbed aboard the ferry and were looking to grab a few hours sleep. In time, the harbour and coastline slowly disappeared from view.

Suddenly, the ship pulled hard to starboard, knocking many off their feet.

“Stuka!” The bomb was a near miss, sending a plume of seawater over Jim and his comrades. A few raised their rifles and fired in defiance at the retreating dive-bomber.

They had survived this time. But there were over seventy miles of English Channel between Dunkirk and Dover. And in May 1940, this was the most dangerous stretch of water in the world. Sleep would have to wait.

‘Lest we forget’.

 

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, 13th November 2016.  For more details click the logo.

To view other stories written for this challenge, please click here.

 

(You can read how Abby’s story began here)

Hi! I’m Abby Downturn – a Lady from New England, living in a cottage in Old England. I used to have trust issues, but I’m feeling way better now!

I love the Olde English country palaces. Many’s the time I’ve had my nose pressed to the windows at Old Chuffing Hall. Until the injunction. Which was just a misunderstanding really.

Anyway, I managed to grab a few words with Lord Knows, the proprietor. And he only went and offered me a job in the Hall’s coffee shop! Said he appreciated my after hours service at the Red Lion Public House. I told him I’m not that kind of girl, and he laughed. I guessed it was the first time he’d done that in a while. He even lifted the injunction!

Anyway, during my lunch breaks, Knowsey, as I called him, started showing me around the Hall. I expected to be blown away, and I was. But it all looked tired, rundown and a little lonely. Since his wife passed, Knowsey has been hurting a lot, and this house has the scars to prove it.

So that’s why I became Housekeeper. To help get the place looking brighter. Eventually, he got the broken statue repaired. And Knowsey had a spring in his step, once more.

Then a lot of things happened, in a short space of time.

Knowsey’s money ran out – a huge tax bill threatened to bankrupt him.
The Hall was put up for sale. Old Chuffing Hall!
He asked me to marry him.
I said ‘I do’ and I did. Just a small, private function, with a reception at the Red Lion – 10% discount for former staff.
We rented a little cottage on the estate, while the house was being sold.

Then my trust fund was recovered!

So I bought the place. The ‘Whole Monty’, as they say. Once the Hall is renovated, we’ll be moving in. All a far cry from when I first moved over here and lived in an old caravan.

But sometimes a Lady Knows.

 

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, 6th November 2016.  For more details click the logo.

To view other stories written for this challenge, please click here.