Henry loves his job vocation

Last of all, his postman’s sack

His routine is the same each day

Then, checking no one is around,

His heart pounds when he grips the tag

Yes, Henry leaves himself behind

Enjoy his quirky postman’s knock

But does a seaside mystery

COPYRIGHT John Latham 2019

While making his regular delivery

Of letters and parcels around Grey-on-Sea.

The sunshine was blazing as he walked around

The shadows were long as he covered the ground

And though he was normally nervous and shy

That day he stood tall, with his head held up high

Henry was cleaning his crocodile teeth

In the jaw on the top and the jaw underneath

But his mood became sad and full of dejection

As a mirror returned a surprising reflection

His smile disappeared as he soon realised

That all of his teeth seemed to be undersized

Up to this point, he was blissfully happy

Not now – he was angry and really snappy!

He could not raise even the faintest of smiles

That makes for a dangerous old crocodile.

He slithered to visit the new local vet

And joined in the queue with the rest of the pets

 Eyeball to eyeball, he stared at a cat

Reclining inside on the waiting room mat

Henry decided to give it a stroke

But this cat rejected his crocodile joke

She let out a hiss and a horrible squeal

And opened her mouth to prepare for a meal

But when Henry yawned to reveal his prowess

The cat disappeared in two seconds - or lessgraph

Now all of the owners were cautious and wary

A grumpy old crocodile really is scary

The vet quickly ushered old Henry inside

He said “Let me look at your teeth - open wide!”

“I say” said the vet “all these teeth are quite small

I would not describe them as real teeth at all

So if you are cleaning them three times a day

Don’t brush them hard, you might brush them away

But, never mind that, as a rumour has it

You are really the postman, Henry Bassett”

“Nonsense!” said Henry “you should be ashamed

Please call me Colin, my crocodile name”

The vet simply laughed. “You’re a funny reptile

A postman called Colin the cool crocodile

Take one of these tablets five days in a row

By then all your teeth should be starting to grow!”

When Henry appeared at the surgery door

The waiting room queue had increased even more

He shook the vet’s hand as he turned to go out

And just to avoid any lingering doubt

En route to the exit, he went on all fours

Swishing his tail before gnashing his jaws

He showed all the owners still sitting in shock

His very own version of “Crocodile Rock”

The noise soon attracted the nurses and vets

Who joined in the fun with the various pets

Their owners were singing and it was not long

Before all the animals danced to his song

The end of the tune saw a round of applause

Men clapping their hands, dogs clapping their paws

Then Henry slipped back to the telephone box

To change to his real self instead of a croc

When Henry got home, it was just after four

His wife was there waiting outside their front door

She said “Turn around - we are off in a sec

To the dentists - today is your six-monthly check!”

COPYRIGHT John Latham 2019

Two chocolate fingers

Met for the first time

Crazy for each other’s charms

“Take off your wrapper”

One said to the other,

“And just let me melt in your arms”

As their passion grew stronger,

Their temperature rose

Until nothing could break them apart

The problem was two

Had now turned into one,

In a total eclipse of the heart

When everything cooled,

Their bond was complete,

Inseparable now and forever

Which just goes to show

That love at first sight

Can sometimes mean sticking together!

COPYRIGHT John Latham 2019

“I have also written a number of short stories, one of which appears on this website. Sometimes, capturing the essence of a situation in this shorter form can be helpful to a writer, not least because it shuts down the nagging feeling that every idea can be converted into a full novel. The act of closing the “book” after 2000 words, instead of after 75,000 more is sometimes a blessed relief.

A single glimpse of the photograph rekindled a thousand emotions. The memories were of a distant time, but came back as fresh as if they had been played out just an hour before. The old image was printed in faded black and white but the vivid colours in his mind’s eye transformed his recollections into a real-time newsreel. Frame by frame, the talking pictures came into focus.

The young woman cradled the boy in her arms, gazing into his wide eyes. Her own expression was filled with the unique pride of a new and doting parent. In the background, the garden was in full bloom. At that moment, it had fallen into a tranquil slumber. The gentle lilt of birds chattering and warbling in the summer breeze provided an original soundtrack to a very English country idyll. For him, her captivating smile completed the perfect portrait as the clunk of the shutter captured it for posterity.

“That’s a beautiful shot, you two” said the photographer.

“Now, it’s my turn for a change. Here, have a go with the camera. Take one of us together.”

He placed the hefty brown Kodak box onto the stone wall next to her. Nervously, he transferred their first-born into his hands. The child gripped firmly onto his little finger as he offered it towards the miniature pink palm of the baby’s hand. The new photographer clicked the shutter once more.

At that moment, an unbreakable bond was cemented. A surge of electricity tingled across his back and neck before the charge rushed through his whole being. He was excited and nervous about the future in equal measure. Within seconds, a stark reality had gate-crashed his party in paradise. An uneasy trepidation filled his thoughts once more. In the weeks and months ahead, life would inevitably become more precarious and precious in equal measure.

His wife returned to his side and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. Her words were reassuring and comforting.

“Don’t worry about us - we’ll be here when you get back” she whispered.

She kissed him again. With that, he rose to his feet, taking extra care with his precious cargo. Their slow meander around the garden included their first proper one to one conversation. After all, talking man to man was what fathers and sons did. This time, there was to be more billing and cooing alongside the deep and meaningful.

Despite the language barrier, he was sure that he had translated this new “baby speak” word for word. Although it was only six weeks since his son had taken his first breath, he reasoned that it was never too early for a father to bed in some foundations to build from. Hopes and dreams mixed with promises and schemes floated on the breeze. Soon, the baby closed his eyes.

His father contented himself with the thought that his son had understood the messages and needed some thinking time to digest them fully. He dismissed the logical conclusion that the child had fallen asleep, comforted solely by the security of his cradling. No … his words HAD been understood.

The camera lay unused on the wall as he opened the door to leave. There seemed little more to say.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can” emerged with characteristic tenderness.

He looked down once more at the child, now safely back in his mother’s arms. He lowered his voice to a barely audible murmur.

“Be a good boy for Mum, now won’t you, son.”

He moved his gaze towards his wife once more.

“I will look after myself, I promise”

His final words were for his baby boy

“Can you see the little birds? Look!”

Those were the only other lines he could remember being spoken before the final snapshot - a man gently extricating himself from a last goodbye. A check of his pocket watch showed that there was no more time to linger. Framed by their front porch, the closing scene was captured in his memory with the

lingering release of his wife’s hand at its heart. A kiss onto his own fingers was transferred to the boy’s head and then he was gone.

Suddenly, the newsreel ran out and it was over.

The memories were never far away from the surface but he only replayed the full story on special days. That day was one such day. Leslie Oxley wore his best suit for the occasion. HIs visitor was hugely impressed at the result.

“She would definitely still think you were Hollywood potential, papa. Who was her favourite heart throb again?”

A spontaneous grin of satisfaction spread across Leslie’s features, snapping him out of his bubble of nostalgia. Revealing Joseph Cotton as the man in question appeared to mean little to the young man. With more than a degree of reverence, he quietly placed the photograph face down onto the table before rummaging through the old shoe box for more memories… more “paraphernalia”, as he affectionately called it.

His eyes seemed to moisten as they focussed again on the past. Carefully unfolding the small piece of newsprint, he read it to himself slowly and without emotion. The brown ageing of the cutting had not faded the type. It was though badly creased and vulnerable to irreparable damage. He opened the palms of both hands to carefully cradle it once more.

He handed the piece of paper to his great-grandson who in turn retrieved the content with an unexpected trepidation. He already knew the bare facts of the story. Even so, the act of receiving the news from a central character in the original plot packed a powerful punch.

The headline was short and stark, the text was matter-of-fact.

LATEST BLITZ VICTIMS NAMED.

Following identification yesterday, the deaths have been announced of Mrs J Oxley, aged 27 years, of Rectory Cottage, Ford Street and Master M Oxley, aged 7 months, also of Rectory Cottage, Ford Street. Both were killed when an incendiary broke through the roof of the property last Thursday, 14th November. All of their relatives have been informed.

The teenager raised his head and breathed a heavy sigh. Replacing the item into Leslie’s hand, their faces showed equal recognition for the other’s pain.

Leslie manoeuvred his wheelchair towards the open window. Looking out into the daylight, the November gods had been kind. In the distance, the sea was flat calm. Returning to the mirror in the sitting room, he adjusted the knot on his tie and realigned the row of medals fixed beneath his lapel. He spoke with a fierce pride and sense of responsibility for the occasion.

“Always like to look my best, bud. Can we get going now?”

Their passage down to the village green from Rectory Cottage was serene. The crisp frostiness of the morning had deterred other locals from venturing outside. Pausing at the stone memorial, L/Cpl 71642 Oxley L scanned the inscriptions. As it always did, his gaze searched for the names of Netherton J and Palmer A. It soon locked onto its targets.

He gestured for his young companion to look towards the monument.

“Still no names on there that begin with the letter “O”, bud!”

A wry smile belied his true emotions. Guilt and embarrassment were an unjustified weight on a proud man’s shoulders. He had carried them stoically over the many decades since they had first shown their face. A perfectly executed salute towards the invisible recipients signalled his departure from the scene.

Together, the Oxleys moved in silence through the village and down towards the shoreline.

The beach was deserted and beautiful. At the end of the lane, a short jetty jutted out into the sea. Still largely unruffled, it gently lapped against the breakwater. The pair arrived at the end of the walkway.

“Just pop the brakes on, soldier“.

The escort obliged and reached down beneath the chair to retrieve the flowers. Like him, they were sheltered from the cold in their protective wrapping. As delicately as if they too were new born, he handed them to the elder statesman. Their red petals vivid in the watery sunlight, the old soldier

placed the two roses lovingly onto his lap. Turning to look along the sand, he surveyed what was, in his world, was the very best of nature. He had visited other beaches in his life, had crawled on them, had run in fear along them and had lain injured on them. This though was where he had found true personal contentment and stillness of heart.

First one and then the other, he took the flowers and set them on their voyage. Their inbuilt parachutes produced a landing on the surface as textbook as his own had been so many times before. Uninjured and ready for their journey, they began to float away.

As the pair looked on, the flowers came together as if to join forces before setting off toward the horizon on the retreating tide. Leslie dabbed at his eye to wipe away a tear. His escort did the same. Moments later, they too began their return journey to the warmth of a fireside.

As they finished their lunch, the old shoe box still sat on the table.

“There’s something else you should see,” said the old man, removing the lid once more. Reaching inside, he grasped his intended target and replaced the top.

“Take this and look after it, will you, bud,” he said, with more emphasis than usual.

A small brass key nestled in the young man’s hand. Leslie closed the boy’s fingers around it.

“I want you to take this to the bank in town when I am gone but not before. The contents of the box that it opens are yours”

A curiosity to know more details of the request subsided. A simple “Of course I will “was followed by a mutual squeezing of hands. Another unbreakable bond had been made, this time 70 years on.

It was almost three years later to the day that the statue was unveiled. Cast in bronze, the marching figure of a soldier stood proudly in the centre of the village. Set on a small plot of its own, it nestled neatly into its new home next to the stone memorial. The publicity for the ceremony had brought local people out in force, along with dignitaries from far and wide. The formalities

began with a short speech. A young man stood tall and spoke in a clear, confident tone.

“It gives me great pleasure and satisfaction to welcome you all here today to celebrate the life and courage of Leslie Oxley. As his great-grandson, I am proud to unveil this wonderful tribute and to represent not just our family but all of those who made the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom.

The inscription ‘For Valour’ is short and rarely awarded. It was written on the cross which provided the funds for this permanent symbol of recognition and thanks to Leslie. The fact that he kept this achievement private until his passing was typical of his modesty and selflessness. His own long life was lived alongside so many of his family and friends but without those who he believed were more deserving than he was. The burden of guilt that he carried weighed heavily upon him but his deeds will never be forgotten. His legacy will live on.”

Light bulbs flashed and a photograph of the soldier with his youngest family member was finally taken on home soil.

Soon, the applause had died away and the handshakes were over. John Oxley moved unseen down to the jetty at the end of the lane. His walk to the water’s edge was military in its precision of stride. Coming slowly to a halt, he stood to attention. Looking out to sea, he cast three red roses into the surf. He too had entered into a lifetime commitment. It was in his blood now.

Once again, the beach was deserted and peaceful .Glancing across to his right, he thought he saw someone who looked like Joseph Cotton with his leading lady. As they walked hand in hand carrying their little boy, they paused briefly before disappearing into the gathering mist.

For now, they were gone but it seemed to the spectator that they had all found their true home again …

… together.

COPYRIGHT John Latham 2019