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
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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