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Fiction Short Story

by Helen Courtney-Lewis

Harry Come Home

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen … is that sixteen roses?  It looks so smudged where Smudge pees. Let's try it again from the top. I love this wallpaper, but wish Smudge would do 'is business in the tray. Smells a bit, too.

'alf an hour to go before the milkman's 'ere. 'e's punctual like a clock that feller, nice too. Always got a cheery word. I look forward to 'is comin'.  Shall I 'ave cocoa or tea? Tea I s'pose, less fag. Good idea them tea bags? 'arry don't like bags though, nothing like a good cuppa with real tealeaves," 'e says.

Get me pension today, don't I? An extra two pounds don't go far though; got to buy a new light bulb and some bog paper. Wish I could afford a new mattress. That old thing upstairs ain't half lumpy. 'arry don't like a lumpy bed.

When he gets back, I'll ask the Social if they'll let us 'ave a new one.

'ere Smudge, come and drink yer milk, there's a lovely feller, that's it, lap it up.

The Social  keeps saying they're going to put me in a home, but I tell 'em I can't leave, not until 'arry gets 'ome. Won't be long now. War 'll soon be over and done.

"Yoo-hoo Madge, what's it to be today? The usual? Half a pint with a little pot of cream? A little bit of what you fancy does you good."

"I'll have a pint. 'arry will be coming home today, so you can leave two pints from now on; likes his milky drink before bed does 'arry.

" 'arry — your 'usband you mean? 'im what was lost in the war?" "Watcher mean lost? No, 'e and is mate Alf from the chop shop 'ave gawn off to 'ave a bash at 'itler."

"Going back a bit ain't you, luv? Still, let's keep cheerful, no 'arm in 'oping. I read in the paper where a bloke come 'ome from Malaysia where 'e'd been 'iding in the jungle for fifty years."

“Ta ta Madge, see yer to-morrow."

Talks daft that feller … I don't seem to remember, well, exactly when they left, but I seen 'em walking down the road arm in arm, bright as a new penny in their new uniforms - Sappers they call them. They was singin' "Run Rabbit Run" and " 'itler, 'e's Only Got One Ball."

'arry and Alf waved when they got to the corner, near the chip shop. Give me the V sign they did and 'arry blew me a great big kiss. 'E's a great lad is 'arry; romantic too.

Luvly weddin' we 'ad. 'arry's Mum saved 'er food coopongs to bake us a cake and a smashing spread of chicken and chips.  She got those from Alf's shop though, didn't want to stink the 'ouse she said. 'arry's dad give a good speech and said 'e 'oped all our troubles would be little ones. Real old card is 'arry's Dad.

We was twenty people all crammed into this lounge. Gawd knows 'ow we managed it. These two ups and two downs ain't exactly the Ritz. Wonder when the Council is goin' to build us an inside bog, like wot they're always sayin' they're goin' to do.

'aven't seen Mum and Dad fer a while; wonder wot they're up to nowadays. Dad'll be in 'is allotment diggin' for victory sure enough. Wish 'e'd bring me some sprouts and taters for 'arry's comin 'ome party. Come to think of it, I ain’t seen them barridge b'loons lately, was all over the place they was.  Don't seem to see 'em today. Wonder where they've gawn.

Better do a bit of cleanin' now. 'arry likes me to keep the place nice. 'ope he don’t see the patch on the wall paper. Never mind, e'll put up some fresh when 'e gets 'ere.

Come on Smudge don't get under me feet when I'm busy. 'Ere girl, I got some fish for yer today. Nice girl she is wot the social sent me to do my shopping. I'm a bit trembly on me feet, don't know why. Must be that TB they said I 'ad. Rationing is ever so strict though. They give me a bit of extra butter, bacon, milk and I get two eggs a week on account of me lungs being bad. Shouldn't 'ave joined the ATS when 'arry went I suppose. But if I 'adn't they'd 'ave called me up anyway. We all 'ad to go if we were older than 18, and 'adn't got kids.  "Arry didn't like the idea, ever so protective is 'arry — a bit jealous too, if the truth's known.

Any way, I'm 'ome now after they told me I couldn't still sit on an ack ack gun firing at them Jerrys no more. Don't miss the noise and the cold neither.

It was a bit of fun though, took our minds off what our blokes were up to and all.

We had to meet on Victoria station and go to the training camp in Guildford. Never seen so many girls all together.  We all looked a bit scared.  Saw a girl I went to Council school with, an’ all.

We was in great big huts with forty beds. We got two blankets, a pillow and not like the blokes we got sheets. They was ever so thick and scratched. In the morning we 'ad to fold the blankets, sheets and pillow in wot we called a 'bisket' and pile them on the end of  the mattress.

Some of the girls 'ad their 'air hidden under a cotton turban. I thought they was cooks, but no, they'd had bug inspection and  'ad 'ead lice. Ugh.

'ow I go on — must get this place spick and span for 'arry. Wonder if 'e'll be 'ungry when 'e gets 'ere or if the Army 'as given 'im a last meal. I'm told they get a bit more to eat than we do. Well I suppose they need it if they're going to wallop that 'itler bloke.

Think I'll just 'ave a little rest now, don't want to look like a washed out dishrag.

There—that's better—nice and comfortable.

Let's see … ' ow many roses are there going down on the wall paper; let's count again. Me eyes seem to be a bit tired today.

What a lovely photo of me and 'arry on our wedding day this is. 'e's ever so 'andsome my 'arry. I ain’t too bad neither. ''ope he still thinks I'm 'is girl. Never know what these fellers get up to when they're away from 'ome. Never mind that now. I'll just have a little read of 'is last letter. That's 'ow I know 'e'll be 'ome today.

Don’t seem to see too well today. The social gave me some specs last time she was 'ere.

"You're a bit young to wear specs," she said. I don't know why she laughed when she said it. Corse I know that, but I suppose it's the T.B wots done funny things to me. Got a bit of a pain in me knees, too.

Where's me specs gawn? 'Ere Smudge you're ruddy well sittin’ on them. Get awf. Blooming cat.

Almost know 'is letter by 'eart.

Dear Madge,

Hope this letter finds you as it leaves me at present. Well, I mean.

Army life ain’t quite what it is at home with you.  I really miss you gal every day and can't wait to be home wiv you soon.  I keep remembering the first day we met. It was in Alf's chip shop and you was there buying a bit of cod and chips for your dad's tea.

You winked at me and smiled with that smile of yours that's so full of fun.

I thought my hart wood stop, but you winked at 'Alf, too. I thought you fancied him more than me.

We all went to the Palais de Dance down Streatham way. I kept on cutting in when they had an “excuse me.” I remember we danced to "I've Got You Under My Skin." That's when I new you was the girl for me. I think 'Alf thought the same thing. 'E fancied you something rotten too.

Everything's ever so 'ush 'ush here, and we can’t rite nothing about what's going on, but whispers say there's going to be the invasion soon.

Don't worry about me. You know, I'm like a bad penny—always turn up. Least that's what your dad says.

Keep your pecker up old girl, I'll be 'ome before you know it and singin’ down the street to let you know me and Alf are 'ome.

Yor ever luvving husband,

Harry xxxxxxxx


Can you  'ear 'im Smudge? I can 'ear them singing; it's getting louder and louder now. 'ere 'e comes, 'andsome as ever, a real warrior. Smudge - the last rose on the paper ain't smudged no more.

Extract from the Parish magazine dated February 2nd 2002

Sadly we report the death of faithful parishioner Madge Dalton  aged 85 of 17, Watcombe Rd. Croydon.

She was the widow of Sapper Harry George Dalton aged 27, who was felled within a few minutes of landing at Normandy.

The milkman, who forced open the door when he received no response to his ring, said he found her in an armchair. She seemed to be asleep. He said she was smiling and had a photo and a letter on her lap.


About the Author
Helen Courtney-Lewis lives in the Balearic Islands, Spain and has just celebrated her 80th birthday. She is multi-cultured and widely travelled, speaks five languages and is an artist, writer, photographer and actress; her first appearance on the London stage was at the age of five. As a writer, Helen has worked for many years as a journalist and columnist, specializing mainly in comedy. At the present she’s working on an anthology of her humorous tales, many of them inspired by personal experience. "I'd better self-publish them if I'm to get there in time," she quips. "I have never tackled a book, except on cookery. I prefer the short and sweet and, in any case, I can't sit still long enough."