Monday 20 October 2014

My Dad’s Take Over story 1 - GREAT BALLS OF FIRE


For the time  while I am away on my holidays I have given the keys of my blog to my dad - Peter Davies. I hope he takes good care of it. I know he will. This is the first story  in my dad’s takeover week.

I walked up the steps of the City Hall at two minutes to nine with a broad grin on my face. The City Treasurer and Controller had kept my job open for me and ex-5014395 Corporal Davies P.J. was reporting for duty – Sir. (Oops!)
Doing one’s National Service in the 1950’s was a dangerous business, of course, what with Archbishop Makarios and Colonel Grivas’s EOKA getting up to their tricks in Cyprus, Anthony Eden’s little spat with Nasser over the Suez Canal, Russian tanks rumbling into Budapest – need I go on?
But the conquering hero had come through unscathed. Jim, the Hall Porter didn’t exactly salute me but a wink was as good as a nod. W.C. ‘Stinker’ Andrews, the Chief Internal Auditor, who’d been such a swine to me two years ago was showing me my new job as if I was his long lost son.
The news of my return swept through the Rates Hall and Cost Accounts like wildfire and people kept popping their heads around my office door just to have a look at me.  Up the Canteen with the lads I was the centre of attention – even the Deputy Treasurer took a detour to slap me on the back – he almost got my name right, too!
Naturally I was the bees-knees with the Hollerith girls as they pointed across to me and waved excitedly. In fact the normally hoity-toity Trish blew me a kiss, an act of wanton debauchery among women in 1958! And to think I’d spent 18 months trying to get a date with her before I left to fight for Queen and Country.
Apart from one tricky moment when I had to modestly scotch a rumour that I had sustained a near-mortal wound while fighting in the Malaysian Jungle, I revelled in this adulation – who wouldn’t?
But there was more to come. As Marvin Rainwater might have put it at the time, Joan was A Whole Lotta Woman. I am not ashamed to admit that as I languished night after night on my pit in some godforsaken dive, Joan had featured frequently in my When I Get Back To Civvy Street Fantasy. And now the heavenly apparition was here in my office in the – how can I put it – flesh!
She had slipped in, closed the door firmly behind her and was now leaning seductively against it.
She slowly beckoned me towards her and with her lovely, lilting Rhondda Valley accent she said ‘I thought I’d give you a welcome that I reserve especially for brave young airmen called Peter who are back from the war...’
Ten minutes later and after adjusting her dress before leaving, so to speak, Joan took my hand gently and looked deeply into my eyes. She whispered
‘What were those 2 years really like, my love?’
I thought long and hard before replying.
‘Well’ I said, ‘Cardington, near Bedford, was an absolute hell-hole – but Sutton Coldfield was brilliant!!’ 
 Peter Davies (c) 2014

1 comment:

  1. It's a man world... this story has sparked off the associations with Hemingway and his times. And it's so intense and concentrated. I like it:-)

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