Photo: © Al Forbes 

Three generations of Jimmy’s family gathered around the empty park bench. His daughter Sue, Grandson Simon, and for the first time, Simon’s young son Josh.

Sue took a cloth from her bag and polished the brass commemorative plaque on the bench, until it shone. She then brushed down the whole bench. When she was satisfied that everything looked right, she placed a small poppy wreath next to the plaque. Nothing too flash, he wouldn’t have wanted that.

For many years, this had been Jimmy’s favourite spot. Sitting alone next to the big tree, where he was able to relax and unwind. Sometimes it was to help him remember, other times to help him forget. He thought of that tree as an old friend, and told it secrets that he couldn’t share with anyone else.

As they stood by the bench, Josh wriggled free from his dad’s grip and ran over to the tree. He stretched his arms wide, doing his best to give the trunk a big hug. Sue and Simon gave each other a look, and then joined in. Well, why not?

After a short time, Josh broke his hold on the tree and pointed directly upwards.  The wind was gusting through the branches, and for a brief moment, the falling autumn leaves looked like masses of tiny parachutes slowly falling to earth.

Josh looked towards the bench, and just for a second, saw a kindly old man sitting in his favourite spot.

 

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, November 8th 2015.  For more details click the logo.

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

Photo: © Al Forbes 2015

Poor old Stewie. He’s the guy that won the lottery but lost his ticket. And when he tried prospecting for gold, it didn’t pan out.

Now he’s gone through fifteen platinum-tipped drill bits to dig a decent-sized hole in the bottom of his garden. Fifteen!

Stewie’s attempts to pass it off as a sink hole went down the gurgler. His attempted viral marketing campaign quickly caught a cold.

In desperation, he tried to drum up interest with the press, but it seemed he was beaten. After a few weeks, a bored photographer from his local paper wandered over. He wanted to take a picture of Stewie looking miserable at the side of the hole. But what awful luck! The snapper was called away by an urgent cat-up-a-tree photo op.

Just as it couldn’t get any worse, Stewie’s garden became covered in a thick gooey liquid spurting out from the hole. But he wasn’t daft. He knew what he had to do! Stewie’s Acme well-cap did the trick and blocked the hole, before the neighbours had time to complain.

At last, he thought, I’ve made it! Okay, there was a hefty environmental health bill for the clean-up, but surely he was now in the big league as a major oil-producer.

For the two days it lasted…

 

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, November 1st 2015.  For more details click the logo.

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

 

Photo: © Al Forbes 2015

(At the Little Chuffing village Police Station)

“Look, Pc Pleb, I’m not impressed. I want my antique bicycle found, and I want it now! I left it in the porch of my mansion overnight, and now it’s gone. I thought this was the sort of place where you could leave your doors unlocked. I own half of this village, it’s about time I got some respect here!”

“That’s strange, Lord Blatherpot, people around here tend to stick together and look after their own. You haven’t put up their rents again, have you, sir?”

“How dare you be so impertinent! I may have put up their rents, but it’s no business of yours!”

“I’m so sorry, your Lordship. You take the weight off for a minute, and I’ll bring you a nice cup of Yorkshire Tea and some Custard Creams. You realise that I’m the only Copper around here because of all the cut-backs? But I’ll make this crime a priority, sir.”

Ten minutes later, after a quick local phone call, wily old Police Constable Johnny Plebworth returned with tea, biscuits and sympathy.

“Now then, your Lordship, come and sit by the fire. Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

They were still there, half an hour later, when the phone rang. Johnny shuffled into the back and answered it. He stifled a smile before he returned to update his Lordship.

“I have some good news and bad news. Your bike has been found on top of the porch at the Red Lion. You’ll need a ladder to retrieve it. I can’t go because of my poorly back. Unfortunately, it appears that some pranksters have put all your furniture out on the village green. You may want to check it’s all there, sir. And you really should lock your door! Anyway, that’s my shift done, I’m off to play darts in the Red Lion, if you fancy a game later?”

 

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, October 24th 2015.  For more details click the logo.

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

Photo: © Al Forbes 2012

Hi, I’m a Chocolate Labrador called Bournville. But everybody calls me Bob.

I’ve been the mascot for 642 Squadron since I was a pup – seems such a long time ago now. I always gave the boys a friendly send-off before their flights, and a warm, fuzzy welcome when they returned.

We were like one big family – yes, with the occasional fights, and a few tears shed. But its the laughter and the good times that we all remember. I was so proud when they made a statue of me, to show how much they cared.

It all looks a bit sad and overgrown now. Time marches on, and with another round of Defence cuts, the Airfield was closed.

The runways have gone, ploughed back to farmers’ fields. But we have a reunion, once a year by my statue and reminisce about the good times, and the not so good times.

We can all now see ourselves and the airfield as it was in its prime. In those dark days when the boys and their bombers took the fight to the enemy over occupied Europe.

This year there is a special celebration. Our numbers have been steadily growing, and finally, I was able to welcome the last of my boys home. No longer separated, we’re a complete family once more.

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, October 18th 2015.  For more details click the logo.

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

 

Night had already fallen when we left the safety of our camp to strike out for High Peak. No doubt, our superiors were sleeping soundly in their beds. Our Special Forces unit had been split in two. I was to lead Alpha Team up the East Ridge, and Big Dave would lead Bravo on the Western route.

We travelled light, but had surprise on our side. Our night vision kit would show us the way. Several times through that long night, I thought I heard muffled sounds across the mountain, but I couldn’t afford to slow down. And we had agreed to keep strict radio silence.

The cool night air didn’t prevent the sweat from trickling down my back. Several times, I slipped and fell. But I was soon climbing ever upward. Pain and fatigue were stalking me, but I kept one step ahead.

As I neared the final ridge, I allowed myself a brief respite to check through my kit. My watch counted the seconds down to Zero hour. Now was the time to strike.

As I mounted the ridge, I peered through the gloom looking for signs of movement. But the enemy camp was gone. They had fled, with nothing left behind. Or was there? I saw Dave’s backpack leaning against a rock, but there was no sign of him. What had happened? Shouting his name over and over, I searched until I was exhausted.

It was now that tiredness and fear overtook me. I felt too young, at twelve years old, to be on this type of mission. Reluctantly, I took out my mobile phone and rang Mum and Dad in their tent far below. What would they say?

This story is inspired by the photo supplied by Al Forbes of Sunday Photo Fiction, October 11th 2015.  For more details click the logo.

 

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