Trauma

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<<audio ":playing" stop>>\ <img src="img/carnival.jpeg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> I'm Rod, a 24-year-old tailor’s assistant, measuring men for ready-to-wear suits and sending them to be altered. Sneaking a good one out for Friday night dances. I impressed Nancy, the town carnival queen. Two bob in my pocket, couldn't even buy her a drink. <img src="img/wedding.jpeg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> We got married a year ago. She told me last week that I'm going to be a father. I can't go on being the snappily dressed, two bob in my pocket, Jack the lad with a wife and kid. <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale +=5>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $Morale -=5>>\ <</if>>\ I haven't told her yet, but they've found out about my Friday night suits. <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale -=10>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $Morale -=20>>\ <</if>>\ [[That's OK, I don't like my job->Burtons]]

<img src="img/callup.png" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;">Rod's papers came on a Tuesday. <<audio ":playing" stop>>\ \ Brown envelope on the mat like a death notice. I didn't cry. <i>What good would that do?</i> "Well," I said, "at least you didn't volunteer." He looked at me with those soft eyes. I knew then he'd thought about it. "You bloody fool... You absolute bloody fool." I made his tea. Spam fritters. Neither of us ate much. <i> I'll manage. What else is there?</i> He opened the letter and read it silently. He looked up "Got to go for a medical. No problem for me, all that football at weekends." We sat in silence. <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale -=10>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $Morale -=15>>\ <</if>>\ <<set $cushy to either(true, false)>>\ <<set $callup to true>>\ [[Go for Medical->Medical]]

<<audio ":playing" stop>>\ <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1940</div> <div class="fc-day">19</div> <div class="fc-month">JUL</div> </div> Nancy's hands were white-knuckled on the back of the chair. The wireless crackling in the corner. Tea going cold between us. 'Nan, it's the chance of a lifetime. No more shop work. A proper job, a trade for after the war. We'll have our own house. Build a new life!'\ 'But Rod, the baby! And whatever happened to never volunteer?' ' Nan, I've got it all worked out. I'll have basic training to do; how to march, salute the officers and stuff.' <p>'It's the stuff that worries me, you silly bugger! Guns, bombs and bayonets. Rod people die in wars!'</p>\ <p>'That's exactly why I'm enlisting. I can choose to learn a trade. An electrician. safe behind the lines, mending radios.</p>\ <p>'Rod, when have any of your schemes ever worked? We're having a baby, Rod, you can't leave us!'</p>\ <p>' Nan! Don't start that! I'll still be in Blighty when baby is born. They'll give me leave to come and see you both.'</p>\ <<set $Enlist to true>>\ <div class="note-box">\ Norway had fallen in June. <br>France, a fortnight later.<br> Dunkirk was still on everyone's lips. </div>\ <<set $cushy to false>>\ <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale += 5>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $Morale -= 5>>\ <</if>>\ [[I walked into that recruiting office in Chepstow.->Chepstow]]

<div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1940</div> <div class="fc-day">17</div> <div class="fc-month">AUG</div> </div> <img src="img/Earlydad.jpeg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;">Christ! I wish I was in Burtons. My suit got handed in when I arrived and I'm in a rough serge battledress that must have been meant for someone else. I've got to memorise my number '7639491' \ '7639491, Butler... Sergeant' Endless square bashing, what's that for? Strip a rifle blindfold and that horrible bayonet practice. I threw up after even though it was astraw filled dummy. Hope I never have to do that.\ PT in all weathers, long distance runs.The scratch of army blankets. Boot polish and Blanco. Forty men breathing in the dark. \ <<audio ":playing" stop>>\ <<audio "march" volume 0.3 play>>\ Are they building us up or breaking us down?\ <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale -= 10>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $Morale -=15>>\ <</if>>\ <div class="letter-box">\ \My darling Nan, I've finished my basic training. I can square bash and salute with the best of them! I can see my face in my boots. \ We start the technical training next. An electrician. A trade for our future with baby.\ Are you keeping well? Not long to the big day. I'll ask for leave, I'll get a 48-hour pass. Our future will be so bright once this bloody war is over.\ I do miss and love you so. Your devoted and loving husband always, Rod XXXX </div>\ <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1941</div> <div class="fc-day">26</div> <div class="fc-month">APR</div> </div> 'Sarge, I need a 48-hour pass. I've got a baby daughter.' 'There ain't no needing in the army. Not a hope in fuckin hell. All leave is cancelled. There's something on.' <<if $Morale < 65>>\ [[Well, I ain't havin that I'm off->AWOL]] <<else>> [[I'm doin all right I'll explain to Nan->Apologise]] <</if>>

<h1 style="text-align: center; font-size: 28pt;">Bless 'Em All</h1>\ <p>This is the story of one family during World War II. It looks at what might have been.</p>\ Rod, the father, might have enlisted or been called up. He might pass or fail a medical. He might land a cushy number or end up in the worst theatre of the war — something that will make a lasting impact on the family. Like Rod, you will make some choices — but some will be decided by the chaos of war.\ \ <p style="text-align: center;">\ \ <<set _choices = [ { text: "[[Meet Rod->Rod]]", who: "rod" }, { text: "[[Meet Nan->Nan]]", who: "nan" } ]>>\ \ <<run _choices.shuffle()>>\ \ <<if _choices[0].who is "nan">>\ <<set $Optimist = true>>\ <<set $Pessimist = false>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $Optimist = false>>\ <<set $Pessimist = true>>\ <</if>>\ \ <<for _choice range _choices>>\ <<print _choice.text>>  \ <</for>>\ </p> <p style="text-align: center;"><strong>***** Content Warning *****</strong></p> Contains references to PTSD.\ Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder suffered by a parent has an effect on the children in the family. Depending on their position in the family, they develop different ways of coping.\ <p style="text-align:center;"><strong>Appendix</strong></p> [[To read how PTSD affects children in the family, click here->Coping]]\ [[Credits and References->Credits]]

<div style="font-size:12pt;"> Children growing up with a PTSD-affected parent develop adaptive roles as survival strategies within an unpredictable family environment. <b>The Escaper/Avoider (Lost Child)</b>\ <blockquote>\ • Withdraws physically or emotionally from family tension and conflict • Spends excessive time away from home, in their room, or absorbed in solitary activities • Develops coping mechanisms through dissociation, fantasy, or later substance use • Often the 'invisible' or 'quiet' child who avoids causing additional problems • May be described as a 'dreamer' who makes themselves small to survive </blockquote>\ <i>The Lost Child attempts to escape the family situation by making themselves invisible, staying out of the way of problems and spending significant time alone (Zagefka et al., 2021). This role allows the family to maintain the illusion that 'everything is fine' because at least one child appears untroubled. However, these children often struggle with low self-esteem, difficulty forming relationships, and challenges with decision-making in adulthood (Gillis, 2023).</i> <b>The Confronter/Fighter (Scapegoat)</b><blockquote>\ • Directly challenges the traumatised parent's behaviour and family dysfunction • Becomes defiant, angry, or oppositional in response to family dynamics • Often labelled as the 'problem child' or 'troublemaker' • Actually expressing the family's unspoken distress and dysfunction • May develop their own anger management issues or act out through delinquent behaviour </blockquote><i>\ The Scapegoat is paradoxically often the most emotionally honest member of the family, verbalising or acting out the problems the family attempts to deny (Priebe, 2021). As Real notes, 'The scapegoat child is the one that wants to bring to the surface all of the pathology and the truth that's being denied and suppressed' (cited in Behnke, 2024). They are frequently blamed for family problems and may develop deep shame and self-destructive patterns, though they are often the only one speaking the truth about family dysfunction.</i> <b>The Mediator/Peacekeeper</b> <blockquote>\ • Attempts to manage family tensions and smooth over conflicts • Highly attuned to emotional atmospheres, developing hypervigilance • Becomes the emotional caretaker for parents and siblings • Sacrifices their own needs to maintain family stability • Works constantly to avoid conflict and keep peace, often at personal expense </blockquote>\ <i>The Peacemaker does the emotional labour of the family, working to maintain harmony and resolve conflicts whilst neglecting their own needs (Embark Behavioral Health, 2025). They remain constantly alert to deal with family issues, which often leads to emotional exhaustion that continues into adulthood.</i> <b>The Hero/Achiever (Golden Child)</b><blockquote>\ • Attempts to 'fix' the family through accomplishment and making parents proud • Becomes super-competent at everything, often parenting their own parents • Maintains the family image by proving 'we can't be that bad if our child is so successful' • Suffers from perfectionism, stress-related illness, and compulsive overworking</blockquote><i> The Hero child is placed in what Real describes as a 'slave god position'—seemingly empowered but actually burdened with inappropriate adult responsibilities (Behnke, 2024). They are competent, strong, and logical, yet struggle with vulnerability and allowing others to care for them.</i> <b>The Caretaker/Enabler</b> <blockquote>\ • Takes on practical responsibilities far beyond their years • Parents siblings or even the traumatised parent themselves • Makes excuses for dysfunctional parent behaviour • Keeps the household running smoothly despite not being their responsibility</blockquote>\ <b>The Mascot/Clown</b><blockquote>\ • Uses humour to defuse tension and distract from family pain • Provides comic relief during tense situations • Deflects from deeper issues through entertainment and levity</blockquote> </div> [[StoryMenu]]

<<set $Awol to true>> <<audio ":playing" stop>>\ <<audio "train" volume 0.1 play>>\ I'm stuck in the Midlands and Nancy's in labour. I can't get leave. <img src="img/loco.jpg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;">So I go anyway. I sold my boots to a bloke in the pub near the station. Ten shillings. Enough for the train to Swindon and back. I'll sort it out when I return, say they were stolen. A baby girl! Felicity. I held her for an hour and watched Nancy sleep. Then back on the train in plimsolls like a bloody idiot. They're waiting for me at the gate. Fourteen days in the glasshouse. Scrubbing floors with a toothbrush. Marching at double-time with a pack full of bricks. Men screaming in your face from five in the morning. They break you down so you never step out of line again. Would I do it again? An hour with my lovely Nancy and our daughter. She weighed nothing. Smelled of milk and talcum. Nancy's hair damp against the pillow. Would I do it again? <<if $optimist>> <<set $Morale -= 10>> Yeh, I'd do it all over again like a shot. <<else>> <<set $Morale -= 15>> Not sure, I'm feeling pretty miserable. <</if>> [[Embark]]

<<audio ":playing" stop>>\ <div class="letter-box"> Dearest Nan, How can I ever apologise? They wouldn't give me leave. There's some sort of flap on, something big is happening. We aren't told what, but there's a funny atmosphere. Hope you and our little Felicity are doing well. My plan hasn't got off to the best start, has it? But it will all come right! We'll have a shop and maybe a little van. Jaunts to the seaside. All my love to you both. Your ever-loving Rod. XXXX </div> [[Embark]]

<<audio ":playing" stop>> <<audio "docks" volume 0.3 play>> I've been issued with tropical kit, our only clue to where we might be going. My money's on Africa and I've never been further than Weston. Fight the EyeTies. Should be easy. <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale += 10>>\ <<else>> <<set $Morale -=10>> <</if>>\ \ <<link "I got a 48 hour pass to visit my lovely Nancy and our darling little Fliss.">><<replace "#liverpool">> <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1941</div> <div class="fc-day">27</div> <div class="fc-month">JAN</div> </div> Liverpool, smoke and salt in the air. The Mersey stink of oil and fish. Gulls screaming. There's two troopships tied up. I can just make out their names through the roughly daubed paint. "Orontes" and "Windsor Castle" <img src="img/orontes.jpg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> <<if $optimist && random(1,100) <= 25>> We're boarding Windsor Castle. She's the one the officers use. <<else>> Just my luck. Bloody worn out Orontes. <<set $Morale -= 10>> <</if>> Two thousand pairs of boots on the gangway, a sound like drums. <center>***</center>\ They told us we were going the long way to avoid the U-boats. We were all scared. Packed like sardines, hammocks swinging, blokes throwing up. You keep imagining the torpedo speeding towards you, trapped and drowning in a sinking ship. So we slept on deck when it got warm, just in case. <<set $embark to true>>\ <b>\ [[It grinds you down but we're on our way to God knows where... ->Africa]] </b>\ <</replace>><</link>> <span id="liverpool"></span>

<div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1941</div> <div class="fc-day">27</div> <div class="fc-month">FEB</div> </div> Made it! Durban. Glad to see dry land. A month to the day we've been at sea. A month of phantom U-boats! <<if $optimist>> <<set $Morale += 15>> <<else>> <<set $Morale -=10>> <</if>> <<link "Where to next?">><<replace "#egypt">> <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1941</div> <div class="fc-day">15</div> <div class="fc-month">MAR</div> </div> Egypt, Christ, what a shock! The days are so hot and the nights cold. Bloody sand and flies everywhere. The light, it's so bright it hurts yer eyes. Diesel, dust, open drains and shit. Donkeys and camels working the streets, and underneath everything, a dry ancient smell, like old stone baking. We aren't facing Italians; Rommel was waiting for us. Tobruk is under siege. Life is just one fuck up after another. I'm not an electrician, <<link "I'm shifting shells.">><<replace "#shelltext">> Those 25-pounders shook your teeth loose. Sand in everything — eyes, ears, the breech of your rifle. Cordite smell that never left your nostrils. Now I can't hear properly, it's like being underwater. <<audio ":playing" stop>>\ <<audio "guns" volume 0.3 play>>\ <<audio "25" volume 0.3 play>>\ \ <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale -= 20>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $Morale -= 25>>\ <</if>>\ \ <<if $Morale > 60>>\ Keep on keeping on! One foot in front of the other. [[I'll get through this.->Africa2]]\ <<else>>\ [["I should have stayed at home."->Africa2]]\ <</if>>\ <</replace>><</link>> <span id="shelltext"></span> <</replace>><</link>> <span id="egypt"></span>

<img src="img/earlymum.jpeg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> <<audio ":playing" stop>>\ <<set $Return to true>> I'm Nan, that's short for Nancy. I left school at 14 and started work the day after my 14th birthday. <img src="img/carnival.jpeg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;">When I was 18, I was the town Carnival Queen. I met Rod when I was 21. <img src="img/mumdad.jpeg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> He was dashing, handsome, and always wore smart suits. He had a bit of a temper, nothing out of the ordinary. He worked in Burtons. 'Tailor's Assistant,' he said. He was a bloody salesman. <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1939</div> <div class="fc-day">26</div> <div class="fc-month">DEC</div> </div> <img src="img/wedding.jpeg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;">We got married on Boxing Day, 1939. [[But this is Rod's story->Rod]] [[Perhaps you would like to know more about me?->Nanbackstory]]

I know what he's like when he gets up. If his footsteps are heavy and slow, I stay in bed and wait for him to go to work. If he's light and quick, then I get up. Wake the boys and tell 'em 'It's all right today' They'll go out together. They're never in. <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1952</div> <div class="fc-day">7</div> <div class="fc-month">AUG</div> </div> Blimey, I passed the 11+. Grammar School, Headlands. Dad was pleased and then got grumpy. He's worried about the money for school uniforms, I think. Mum said she will go out to work. Do a night shift, get some extra. Dad gor even grumpier when she said that. <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1956</div> <div class="fc-day">7</div> <div class="fc-month">SEP</div> </div> Got five O levels and a job in an office. <center>***</center> Going well. I'm doing the wages now. Me and Ange go dancing every Saturday. Met a nice bloke, gentle like, quite spoken, treats me with respect. He's a bit older than me. Handsome! [[Keith]] I [[Stu]] [[Read again->StoryMenu]]

<<set $InheritedTrauma to Math.floor((100 - $Morale) / 2)>>\ <<set $KeithAnxiety += $InheritedTrauma>>\ \ \ <<if $KeithAnxiety > 30>>\ Dad's footsteps sounded like thunder. I knew what that meant.. <<else>>\ Dad came home late again. Mum said he was tired. <</if>>\ <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1951</div> <div class="fc-day">3</div> <div class="fc-month">SEP</div> </div> I started school. Only up the road. I held Mum's hand, I was a bit scared but Dad said 'Be a brave soldier,' so I tried. My teacher's Miss Instone, glad it wasn't old "Ugly Chugly". Fliss told me about her. There would have been trouble if it was her! When I was seven, I found two lads from the next street kicking at a cat. I just waded in, didn't think, fists flying,. I got a bloody nose and a black eye. But I showed em. <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1957</div> <div class="fc-day">21</div> <div class="fc-month">Jul</div> </div> I taught Stu the most important skill: how to leave the house silently before anyone realised. <<if visited() lte 1>>\ <span id="fadeMemory">We spent hours train spotting, conkers, marbles, dens in the woods. A team, gone from breakfast until tea, inseparable and invisible.</span>\ <<script>> setTimeout(function() { var el = document.getElementById('fadeMemory'); if (el) { el.style.transition = 'opacity 3s ease'; el.style.opacity = '0'; } }, 4000); <</script>>\ <</if>>\ 'Where's the Boys?' 'They'll be back when they're hungry.' <center>***</center> I'm in trouble again. I was playin pirates and I buried his medals. Treasure but no x marked the spot. I couldn't remember where I buried them. Got my legs slapped again. Left, right, left, right all the way up the stairs. <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1957</div> <div class="fc-day">4</div> <div class="fc-month">SEP</div> </div> Grammar School and I tried to keep in the background. I felt different, didn't think I should be in the top form learning Latin. I palled up with Paddy. His dad was the same. We shared secrets and sweets. <center>*** 1962 ***</center> 'Stop shouting at her.' I stood in the doorway, fists clenched and fearless. 'You can't just ...' Fliss grabbed my arm, tried to pull me away, but I shook free. 'Someone has to say it,' tears of anger and frustration on my cheeks. Later, Mum called him difficult, stubborn, 'just like your father.' That hurt, 'I'm not like him...I won't be like him.' I stuffed clothes into a duffle bag. 'I'll stay at Paddy's flat.' [[Then I left home->keithnext]] [[Fliss]] I [[Stu]]

I was good at football. Proper good. Dad showed me body swerves, drop a shoulder and go the other way I think I was the only one who could make Dad smile. OurKeith taught him everything: which streets were safe, don't go down Linden Avenue, the best trees for climbing, where to find tadpoles, train spotting,how to make a whole day disappear. We'd leave after breakfast, slipping out the door, return for tea with grass stains and scraped knees. 'Where've you been? 'Out, we'd say together. 'Out where?' 'Playin.' Out was anywhere but here. Out was freedom. But that was long ago. [Fliss]] I [[Keith]] [[StuNext]]

<<audio ":playing" stop>> <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1941</div> <div class="fc-day">15</div> <div class="fc-month">MAY</div> </div> Ceylon ain't bad, if you don't count the heat. Kit washed by the dhobi wallah and char with the lads. The NAAFI's got warm beer and old films.\ Sundays, we go sightseeing. Saw the Temple of the Tooth in Kandy — Buddha's actual tooth, they reckon. Bigger than any tooth I've ever seen. The Botanic Gardens. Snake charmers. Bints selling fruit I couldn't name.\ Not bad for a boy from Swindon. <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale -= 5>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $Morale -=10>>\ <</if>> But you can't relax. Not after April. Everyone is waiting for the Japs to come back and finish what they started. Guard duty. Patrols. Staring at empty sea.\ \ The pukka gen was we'd be shipping out soon. Burma, they said. The lads who'd been there came back with the thousand-yard stare. Wouldn't talk about it.\ Jaldi, jaldi. Hurry up and wait. Then Wingate came looking for volunteers.<i>[['7639491...Butler...Sergeant'->Chindits]]</i> <img src="img/wingate.jpg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> <i>[[Fuck that for a game of soldiers. I'll serve me time out here.|Burmaanyway][$Chindit = false]]</i>

<<set $Chindit to true>>\ <img src="img/wingate.jpg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> Odd sort of bloke. Wingate. Orde Wingate. Funny name, not many Ordes in Pinehurst! The way he spoke. Not like the usual 'Brass'. He'd been there, shared it with his men. Lead the first camapign and could do it again' We all felt the same way. He could move mountains. I wanted to be part of it. <b>'One nine week mission then home.'</b>\ <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale += 5>>\ That's for me!\ <<else>>\ <<set $Morale -= 5>>\ Never volunteer, but home in nine weeks. It's been a long time\ <</if>>\ <div class="intrusive-thought">when have any of your schemes ever worked?</div>\ [[Training in Jhansi->India]]

<<set $Chindit to false>> <<set $Malaria to false>> <<set $Enlist to false>> <<set $Awol to false>> <<set $Return to false>> <<set $Morale = 100>> <<set $cushy to false>> <<set $fail to false>> <<set $callup to false>> <<set $dadasked to false>> <<set $moodclick to false>> <<set $optimist to either(true, false)>> <<set $pessimist to !$optimist>> <<set $InheritedTrauma = 0>> <<set $KeithAnxiety =0>> <<cacheaudio "pub" "https://cardiffwriters.org/twines/audio/pub.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "docks" "https://cardiffwriters.org/twines/audio/docks.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "jungle" "https://cardiffwriters.org/twines/audio/jungle.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "march" "https://cardiffwriters.org/twines/audio/marching.mp3">><<cacheaudio "guns" "https://cardiffwriters.org/twines/audio/ragged gunfire.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "25" "https://cardiffwriters.org/twines/audio/ragged gunfire.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "kitchen" "https://cardiffwriters.org/twines/audio/kitchen.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "queue" "https://cardiffwriters.org/twines/audio/queue.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "train" "https://cardiffwriters.org/twines/audio/train.mp3">>

<<audio ":playing" stop>>\ <<audio "kitchen" volume 0.3 play>>\ <div class="memory-box">\ <<include Naninclude>>\ </div>\ \ <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1945</div> <div class="fc-day">7</div> <div class="fc-month">AUG</div> </div> <img src="img/paper.png" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> "Heard something on the wireless about Japan. A bomb. A terrible bomb. A city destroyed. They say it'll end it. Please God let it end it." <<set $Morale -=10>>\ \ <center>***</center>\ <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1945</div> <div class="fc-day">7</div> <div class="fc-month">SEP</div> </div> <<if $Morale < 50>>\ He was so difficult, like a wild animal. Brown and skinny. Scared our Fliss. His mum was the only one who could calm him down.He came back from the war different, and I never knew which version would walk through the door I was scared of him. <<else>> He was different. Not the peace time Rod. Quite. Sat staring into the distance. Didn't want to go out. Said he could always be recalled and cried. <</if>> [[Move to Beech Avenue->Beech]]

Bloody Hell..... Three months learning to kill and die slowly. 30-mile marches with eighty pounds on our backs. The fuckin heat, unbelievable. Salt tablets! Through rivers of shit, through green hell that wants to eat you. Snakes, mosquitoes, leeches, scorpions. Strip your rifle blindfolded. Kill silently. Live on handfuls of rice. '7639491,Butler...Sergeant' <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale -=15>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $Morale -=25>>\ <</if>>\ Wingate's lads. Special. Elite. \ <img src="img/air2.jpeg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;">\ \ But we're ready now, aren't we? <<if $Morale > 75>> I'm ready. Nine weeks and home! <<else>> Are we fuck. Too late now... <</if>> Ready to walk 260 miles into Burma and fight Japs hidden in jungle so thick it will kill you just for breathing. \ Then Wingate's plane went down. March 24th. Smashed into the Manipur hills in a storm. Just like that, our man was gone.\ \ Now the Yanks are running the show. General Stilwell. 'Vinegar Joe' they call him. Hates the British. Fair enough, I hate fuckin Yanks! \ Nine weeks and home? Forget it. We're Stilwell's now. And he's got other plans. <div class="intrusive-thought">when have any of your schemes ever worked?</div> \ <b>What the fuck have I done?</b>\ \ [[The march from Ledo ->Burma]]

<<audio ":playing" stop>> <<audio "jungle" volume 0.3 play>> Rivers brown as tea, warm as blood. Current pulling, leeches clinging. Ledo to Indaw. Six hundred miles through jungle that wants you dead. <div class="fc-tile"> <span class="fc-day">5</span> <span class="fc-month">FEB</span> </div>\ We start marching. Eighty pounds on your back. Thirty miles a day through green hell. Snakes. Leeches. Malaria waiting in every mosquito. Your feet rot. Your guts turn to water. You shit yourself and keep walking. <<set $Malaria to true>>\ My poor old mule, Annie, toting ammunition and my radio, fell down a ravine. She was braying a storm. Had to go and shut her up. Jim died today. Beri-beri. Left with a rusty rifle and one bullet. <div class="fc-tile">\ <span class="fc-day">5</span>\ <span class="fc-month">MAR</span>\ </div>\ We reach the Chindwin. Air drop inflatable boats. Can't find em in the jungle. What a gigantic fuck up! <div class="fc-tile">\ <span class="fc-day">20</span>\ <span class="fc-month">MAR</span>\ </div>Aberdeen. Our stronghold. Sounds grand, doesn't it? It's a clearing with an airstrip. Dakotas bring supplies, take out the ones screaming with jungle sores and fever. <center>***</center> We're not raiding anymore. We're dug in. Aberdeen, Broadway, White City, Blackpool. Fancy names for places you die slowly. Three battalions sent to hit Indaw. Disrupt the railway. Harass the Japs. Wingate's vision. Deep penetration. High risk. Relentless pressure. What they don't tell you: half of us won't make it back. And the half that does? We'll wish we hadn't.\ \ <div class="intrusive-thought">when have any of your schemes ever worked?</div>\ <img src="img/chindits.jpg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;">\ <<if $optimist>> <<set $Morale -= 30>> <<else>> <<set $Morale -= 50>> <</if>> [[Going slowly Doolally->Repat]]

<<audio ":playing" stop>>\ Well, that's a turn up for the book! Dodgy ticker! And me playing all that football, it never showed. I got fired from Burtons; the Friday suit thing did for me. Then I was just walking down Regent Street when this old bat, all moles, sagging socks and sneers stops me. 'My sons are lying dead in France and you are walking around. You should be in the Forces.' 'I've got a dodgy ticker, Mrs.' 'I've heard that before,' and she shuffled off. Proper upset me, it did. I sat in the pub nursing a pint. They'd drawn the blackout curtains and some poor old sod was trying to play the piana. Tommy Walsh slid along the bench, wearing that greasy raincoat of his. 'Got something that might suit you, Rod, now you ain't got the knockoff suit business. Dodgy work- petrol coupons - easy money.' We were doing well and branched out into the big time, nylons, fags, booze. Nan doesn't know where the money comes from. She can stay that way. Got good cover, I'm an ARP warden. What a larf! <<set $fail to true>> [[Nan's story->Nanfail]]

<<set $cushy to true>><<audio ":playing" stop>> Had to go for aptitude testing. I asked for the air force, but they say 10 army to 1 air force. I could be a fitter or rigger, get a trade then. Otherwise, it's the infantry - cannon fodder. <i>'Wish I had enlisted now.'</i> My grammar school education lands me in the pay corps! Have to do basic training and six months in the stores at the Ordinance Corps. But it's a cushy number for me! Can't believe my luck! Posted to somewhere in Hampshire, tallying wages and allowances. Made corporal—two stripes for neat handwriting and a head for figures. Warm billet, regular meals, NAAFI tea. Weekend passes to see Nancy and little Fliss. The war feels so distant—just ledgers and pay packets and an occasional air raid warning. I could have been shipped out to die in deserts but I'm counting pounds, shillings and pence. Do I feel guilty? Do I fuck. [[Nan's story->Nancushy]]

<<audio ":playing" stop>> <div class="memory-box"> <<include Naninclude>> </div> He gets home regular. Always got a present, nylons, chocolate, sometimes flowers. Reckon he gets them flowers from the cemetery. <center>***</center> VE Day. Street parties. Flags and dancing. Rod'met a bloke, they're starting a business. "Butler and Baker, Accountants". We're going to have a car! <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1946</div> <div class="fc-day">27</div> <div class="fc-month">MAR</div> </div> Our Keefy's born. Such a clever baby. Apple of his father's eye. [[Flissfacushy]] [[Keithcushy]]

I ain't got a Dad. But a lot of kids at school ain't either. Henry's got a dad, but he's only got one leg. Millie's dad was a pilot, and his face is all funny now. We ain't got much money. Mum goes out a lot at night times and I'm on my own. Scary when there's an air raid. <center>***</center>\ Got a job in Woollies. On the perfume counter. I calls it perfume now, not scent. Go dancing at the Locarno on Saturdays. Still lots of Yanks here. Met a nice one. 'I'm up the duff! And lover boy's buggered off. What now?' <center>***</center>\ Mum's disappeared again. No note, just an empty wardrobe and the washing up still in the sink. The faint smell of her scent. I've been nicked again. Shoplifting. Well I got to, only way to make ends meet. The kid's gone into care and I reckon it's prison for me this time. <center>***</center>\ I have to go out at night now. <<timed 3s>> [[Read again->StoryMenu]] <</timed>>

<div class="memory-box"> <<include Naninclude>> </div> He was in a state when he came back from the medical. You'lld think he was going to peg out the next day. I sent him down the pub with his Dad. That'll sort him out. I'm ashamed to say it but I'm relieved. He ain't lucky. He would have coped it in no time. At least Fliss has got her Dad. Money was tight at first but Rod must've found something cos it got better. He was always a bit of a Flash Harry with his suits. He never did tell me where the money came from. <center>***</center> Don't know how we're going to manage now. A doodlebug. They're scary, the way the buzzing drone just stops and you start counting. Him running into that building, must've thought there was people inside. They said that there were jerry cans of petrol and they blew up. Bloody black market wallahs. Spivs in flash suits. What will become of us? [[Flissfail]]

[[Read again->StoryMenu]]

<img src="img/callup2.png" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> <<audio ":playing" stop>>\ <<audio "queue" volume 0.3 play>>\ <<set $pass to random(1,100) <= 90>>\ <<set $cushy to random(1,100) <= 10>>\ <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1940</div> <div class="fc-day">12</div> <div class="fc-month">AUG</div> </div> The room smelled of carbolic soap and stale sweat. Rows of wooden chairs lined the walls. Men sitting in their pants and vest, clutching their bundle of clothes. We all stared at the wall, no one joked or spoke, an occasional cough. <<if not $pass>> <center>***</center> A corporal with a clipboard, 'Butler? ... Butler? ...Ah, right you are. <<link "Come with me.">><<replace "#content">> A Lieutenant and I called him 'Doctor.' Listens to yer chest, 'Breathe in...breathe out.' Eyes and teeth, like checking a horse. 'Turn your head and cough.' 'I've got some bad news. There's a problem with your heart. Not quite doing what it ought.' 'I'm OK, Doc. Play football. Keep fit. That can't be right.' 'I'm afraid there is no mistake.' 'Is it serious Doc? Am I gonna conk out?' 'You have probably got years. The Army can't take chances. You're E. Unfit for military service.' <i>It's fuckin white feathers and filthy looks from now on.</i> <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale -= 30>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $Morale -= 40>>\ <</if>>\ [[You failed the medical->Fail]] <</replace>><</link>> <<elseif $cushy>> Got me posting. What a stroke of luck. Grammar school education paid off at last. Pay Corps - Home based! <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale += 30>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $Morale += 10>>\ <</if>>\ [[You've landed a cushy number->Cushy]] <<else>> A corporal with a clipboard, 'Butler? ... Butler? ...Ah, right you are. <<link "Come with me.">><<replace "#content">> An RAMC. Lieutenant and I called him, 'Sir.' Listens to yer chest, 'Breathe in...breathe out.' Eyes and teeth, like a tinker checking a horse. 'Turn your head and cough. Next.' <center>***</center> 'You'll be pleased to know you are A1. Fit for duty. We need you to swear an oath.' I've never been one for bibles, oaths and all that religious mumbo jumbo, but perhaps I had better think about it. A bit of insurance, like. <<if $optimist>>\ <<set $Morale -= 5>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $Morale -= 10>>\ <</if>>\ [[And that was that. I had to report for training->Train]] <</replace>><</link>> <</if>> <span id="content"></span>

<img src="img/mum.png" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> <blockquote style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 1; color: #333; margin-left: 20px; padding-left: 15px; border-left: 3px solid #999;"> I'm Nan, that's short for Nancy.<br> I left school at 14 and started work the day after my 14th birthday.<br> When I was 18, I was the town Carnival Queen.<br> I met Rod when I was 21.<br> He was dashing, handsome always wore smart suits.<br> He had a bit of a temper, nothing out of the ordinary.<br> He worked in Burtons. 'Tailor's Assistant,' he said.<br> He was a bloody salesman.<br> We got married on Boxing Day, 1939. </blockquote>

<<audio ":playing" stop>>\ <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1944</div> <div class="fc-day">26</div> <div class="fc-month">MAY</div> </div> Flown out in a Dakota to Deolali. Deolali...Doolally. Now I know why they call it that. \ Tents and beds and fuck all else. Nothing to do. Nothing. Drives you fuckin mad. Endless days waiting for a ship. Six weeks thinking. <div class="fc-tile">\ <span class="fc-day">3</span>\ <span class="fc-month">JUNE</span>\ </div>\ Train to Bombay. Four hours watching India slide past the window. Bullock carts. Women in saris carrying water on their heads. Kids running alongside the train, begging. Skinny cows wandering across the tracks. Those Temples with painted gods. Then paddy fields. Fellas knee-deep in muck. How do they live like this? None of my bloody business anymore. The hills flatten out. More people. More noise. Shacks up against the track. The stink of open drains. Then the docks. The sea. The ship. <div class="fc-tile">\ <span class="fc-day">25</span>\ <span class="fc-month">JUNE</span>\ </div>\ \ Back in dear old Blighty. Grey. Cold. Small. Everything packed tight except the bombsites. Queues for everything. Ration books. We won? What was it all for? [[Not sure when I'll get to see Nan->Nan later]]

Credits and references References Wingate and Chindit images, Imperial War Museum Behnke, C. (2024) 'Exploring family roles and their impact on relationships: Hero, scapegoat, and lost child', Claudia Behnke Psychotherapy, 4 May. Available at: https://www.claudiabehnkepsychotherapy.co.uk/post/exploring-family-roles-and-their-impact-on-relationships-hero-scapegoat-and-lost-child (Accessed: 11 February 2026). Embark Behavioral Health (2025) 'Dysfunctional family roles: Identifying and addressing them', Embark Behavioral Health. Available at: https://www.embarkbh.com/treatment/therapies/family-therapy/dysfunctional-family-roles/ (Accessed: 11 February 2026). Gillis, K. (2023) '8 common dysfunctional family roles', Psychology Today, 23 March. Available at: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/invisible-bruises/202303/8-common-dysfunctional-family-roles (Accessed: 11 February 2026). Priebe, H. (2021) 'An introduction to dysfunctional family roles', Medium, 1 November. Available at: https://heidi-c-priebe.medium.com/an-introduction-to-dysfunctional-family-roles-d2b79380c2ac (Accessed: 11 February 2026). Zagefka, H., Jones, J., Caglar, A., Girish, R. and Matos, C. (2021) 'Family roles, family dysfunction, and depressive symptoms', The Family Journal, 29(1), pp. 1–8. doi: 10.1177/1066480720973418. Note: The Behnke (2024) source cites Terry Real from a podcast appearance on Peter Attia's The Drive (2023), so if you want to cite Real directly you could add: Real, T. (2023) Interview with Peter Attia, The Drive [Podcast]. Available at: https://podclips.com/ct/GbF7ur (Accessed: 11 February 2026). [[StoryMenu]]

I had to come back, tail between my legs. Stoney broke and hungry. We just carried on as if it hadn't happened, kept out of each other's way. <<if $KeithAnxiety > 30>> The silence between us had weight. You could feel it in every room. <<else>> It was easier that way. Some things don't need saying. <</if>> He found me a job, articled clerk to an old firm of old accountants. They paid me peanuts. My mate failed his maths O level and they gave him a rise. Nothing for me... you'll earn more later. But I wanted it now like my mates in the Town Hall. So I resigned and they interviewed me with my Dad. He didn't say much and I just listened and said no. No. No. 'No one has ever broken articles.' 'Yeh, well wake up this is the 1960s.' And I earned three times as much for a fraction of the brainpower. Cushy number. I ran the Stationery store...they sent the pretty office juniors for the stationery. Down in the basement. No one around. Heaven! But there was more to life than fleeting romances. I was going to college. DMA Diploma in Municipal Administration. Economic History fired me up and I became the youth representative in our Trade Union. <<$KeithAnxiety +=10>> And that caused trouble. Dad was a true blue Tory and I was a blood red Socialist. 'Dad, you say you were lions led by donkeys but then sing the rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate. It doesn't add up. It's a paradox.' He half rose from his chair, 'I'll give you fuckin paradox' Mum barked, 'Rod!' and he sank back down. [[And then I went on that NALGO training weekend->Nalgo]]

<img src="img/dadkath.jpg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> My Dad was my best mate. He was different, did what he thought was right. Our Kath got to the Grammar school two years before me. Girls didn't go to the Grammar then but Dad insisted Kath should go. They would find a way. Then I got there too and there was no money. I had to wear Dad's cast off trousers. Got picked on but I was good with me fists and that soon stopped. I was a bit wayward and Dad would warn me. I was bright but lazy. It all came easy to me so I played the fool. Couldn't get a job when I left. 1932 - The Great Depression we would call it later. I got a job in a shop. <center>***</center> 'Hello Dad, fancy a pint?' \ 'Elsie, I'm going over the Wheatsheaf for a pint with Rod.' \ 'Make sure it is only one. Your dinner's in an hour.' \ <<link "Come on then, boy, let's go">><<replace "#content">>\ \ <center>***</center>\ \ <<audio ":playing" stop>>\ <<audio "pub" volume 0.1 play>>\ 'Well, what is it son? Don't normally see you on a Monday.' \ 'Dad, you was in the first lot and I was wondering, what with Nance expecting, whether to wait for call up or go and enlist. I could get a trade for after. Get away from bloody Burtons.' \ 'Being in Burtons is yer own fault. You muckin about in school. You are clever, Rod. If you wait you'll be stuck in the trenches like I was. Showered with shit and shells.' \ 'Won't it be different now, Dad?' \ 'War doesn't change for the common man. Grinds you down till you ain't human anymore while the toffs plot and plan way behind the front line.' \ 'So enlist then Dad?' \ 'Might as well. Have a better chance of making it than if you wait.' \ 'But, you've always said Never volunteer.' \ 'You got to look out for number one, son. Drink up.' \ <<set $dadasked to true>>\ \ Have another? [[Why not?|Rod][$optimist = true; $Morale += 10]] [[Better get back|Rod][$pessimist = true; $Morale -= 10]]. <</replace>><</link>> <span id="content"></span>

My father worked in the GWR factory. Out in the open all weathers and him with a dodgy chest. He was a lovely man, so gentle and kind. I think I was his favourite. I went into Wills when I was fourteen. Stripping tobacco from the stalks, Me hands were so sore. I've kept up with me singing. Won a few medals now<img src="img/concert.jpg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;">

You stride into the spotlight, thorn-proof tweed jacket, corduroy trousers, collarless shirt, arm raised in brotherly clenched fist salute. You share my father’s looks, lean, aquiline. Your hair is cropped short but brushed forward to hide a scar. The last-minute nerves we shared backstage gone now as you are about to make History come alive. Not of Empire and royalty as dictated in the rooms of the school that we shared but the real, radical history of the poor, the oppressed, the enslaved. We are like binary planets, orbiting each other through perigee and apogee, sometimes side by side. The perigee of our youth when the family saw us as a single entity, “The Boys” and Dad called you Keith-Stu and me Stu-Keith. When bundled in our box room bunk bed we whispered secrets and stories, bonding beyond kinship. Side by side through scrapes and japes, Days of roaming, of fields, of brooks, of trees, of hills, of jokes, stories; warming by the fire as we read “Children’s Encyclopaedia” but paramount was the joy of sitting in the sun together, beside railway tracks. Me fascinated by the systems of numbers and you by the poetry and history of the names. 60 years on we still play games. I text “4073” and get the reply “Caerphilly Castle”. The apogee of middle years, careers, and families but still we orbit. Messages from a distance often crossing in the ether. I listen as you use the cadence, rhythm and emphasis of your distinctive voice to captivate the audience. How many will we make cry tonight? You call them the “babies”, but they are a tribute to your skill. I await my cue, ready to deliver the power of the words you have carefully crafted. I feel the passion you have created and you compliment me at the end by saying “You were really George, tonight.” <center> Golden Valley days We walked lanes of hope and expectation From Stone to Steam age And from a Frocester fence we saw as far As the Gilbert and Ellis islands Learnt the language of Jubes and Patriots To count in Black Fives Retelling myths of coal hurling battles But the best days .... Book and pencil in pocket Fare clutched in hand for Stonehouse to Gloucester Learning from Ian Allan’s ABC As easy as 1423 To see Copper crowned Kings and their Castles Counties of Halls Manors and Granges </center> [[Read again->StoryMenu]]

COVID communication, Without communicating COVID. Tentatively triggered. A telegraph pole Becomes a time machine Starting a celebration of Swindon. Remembering Railway time, Dreamtime and Shops Reaching out brings memories from others. All reaching into their own past. Grief, aspirations, anger, angst and joy. Memories of childhood. Holiday haunts. Happy for some. Bring tears to others As my mate remembers wartime evacuation. The GWR hooter resonated with others At morning and dinner time Hammering home how hard life was For Swindon’s Hammerman Poet A ring of ripples runs Across the World Wide Web. Of memories awoken, Of experiences shared. Small ripples in: Swindon, Stroud, Bath, Bristol, Cardiff and Cheltenham But a ripple had touched a distant shore Who was the visitor From Hopewell Junction, New York? Turned to schooldays. Grasping for ghosts in the gloom Of long ago. Remembering other hits. Cat Stevens asked “Do you remember the old schoolyard?” Answered by Frank Iffield. "I remember you.” I make an incomplete roll call And Ripples become waves. Thailand, Australia, China And always Hopewell Junction NY. They break too in Aberdare and Amesbury, Banbury and Beacon. Camberwell, Chippenham Coalville, Cricklade and Croydon. Leeds, Newcross and Newtown. Paignton, Peckham and Preston. Rotherham, Shepherds Bush, Southend Wellington, Whitchurch and Wisbech.

<<audio ":playing" stop>> <<audio "jungle" volume 0.3 play>> <i>What a shithole.</i> Still, better fixing radios in the heat and damp than those poor buggers Wingate sent into the jungle. Spud went with them. Volunteered. Daft bastard. The noise gets you first. Every rustle, every crack — tiger or Jap, same result either way. So you sit there, sweating, jumping at shadows, trying to solder a connection with hands that won't stop shaking. Got the malaria now. Shakes and sweats, sweats and shakes. Doc says rest. Rest where? This is Burma. There's no rest in Burma. Spud's out there somewhere. Poor sod forgot 'Never volunteer'.Hope to God he's still breathing. <i>What a shithole.</i> [[Can't wait to get home ->Repat]]

<div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1941</div> <div class="fc-day">5</div> <div class="fc-month">APR</div> </div> <<audio ":playing" stop>> The Japs launched an air raid on Ceylon. Christ, not another Pearl Harbour. We're on the move. Poor old Tobruk gonna get it again. The lads were all saying we're going to Blighty. "Only if we're going the long way round," I said. [[We had turned towards the Land of the Rising Sun.->Sri Lanka]]

<div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1940</div> <div class="fc-day">22</div> <div class="fc-month">JUL</div> </div>The sergeant barely looked up. "Name?" "Rodney Charles Albert Butler." "Age?" "Twenty-four." "Trade?" "I'm a tailor's assitant but I want to train as an electrician."." He wrote something down. "I've put Shop Assistant." Didn't ask why I'd come. <<if $optimist>> I told myself it wouldn't last six months. <<else>> God knows when this'll be over. <</if>> [[Then I got called for a medical->Medical]]

<i>The war is 10 months old, and I'll receive my call-up papers soon. If I enlist, I can be trained as an electrician. If I wait, I'll end up cannon fodder.</i> <<if $Morale >= 80>>\ <i>I feel like I've still got time.\</i> <<else>>\ <i>I'm feeling like things are running away from me.</i>\ <</if>>\ 'Mr. Butler, can you serve this customer?' 'Hello Rod, how are you? Long time no see.' 'Not too bad, Chalky. How about you? 'Got me papers. Called up.' 'I'm wondering if I should go up to Chepstow. Might be able to choose where I end up.' 'Well good luck with that, Rod. I'm looking for me last suit.' [[I could stay safe selling suits and wait to be called up->Callup]] or [[Should I enlist now for Ordnance Corps and get a trade?->Enlist]] <<if $dadasked is false>> [[Perhaps I should ask Dad? He was in the first one...->Rodbackstory]] <</if>>

<img src="img/44sitting.jpeg" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;">\ Then we got one of them new pre-fabs. All returning from the war, all in the same boat. <<if $Morale >50>> Made it a bit easier. He did jobs around the house. Making it ours. <<else>> He didn't get on with the neighbours. Restless, irritable, only laughed when he was in the pub. <</if>> He got a job as an electrician. Gives me the housekeeping, and the rest is his beer money. Money doesn't stretch far. Always running out before payday. <<if $Morale <50>> He's so moody. Shouts in his sleep. <<else>> He's good with our Fliss. Only time I see the old Rod. <</if>> [[A new baby->Keithborn]]

<div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1946</div> <div class="fc-day">27</div> <div class="fc-month">MAR</div> </div> Our Keefy was born. Nine months after Rod got back. I know what he's thinking. I'm not like Gladys Wilkins! He was such an ugly baby, even I had a job to love him. Rod won't have anything to do with him. Calls him "the little half-yank" Wednesday's child is full of woe. <div class="fc-tile fc-ymd"> <div class="fc-year">1947</div> <div class="fc-day">15</div> <div class="fc-month">MAR</div> </div> It's still snowing, and our Keith has got a terrible cold. We haven't the money to keep the fires burning, and it gets bloody cold. Poor sod, under blankets and coats. Waiting for the doctor to come. Hope he can get here through the snow. He rides that bike everywhere. Dr Lichtenstein called. Keith's got pneumonia, and we've got to get him to the Isolation Hospital. I'll ask the Weeks's if they will drive us there. Only car on the street. Airs and graces, too good for the likes of us. They gave him that new drug, penicillin, and he bounced back within a couple of days. Marvellous, it's a miracle drug. <img src="img/banana.png" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> He saw us coming and went wild. No bananas! I managed to get bananas last week, on his ration book, but there as rare as hen's teeth. [[Keith's brother->Stuborn]]

<center>*** 1951 ***</center> <div class="fc-tile"> <span class="fc-day">22</span> <span class="fc-month">AUG</span> </div>\ Or lovely little Stuart is born. Stuart Charles after his grandfather. He is a bonny baby. Rod adores him, calls him "Our Dinky Doo." They're calling men up for Korea now. Rod says he's done his bit. I keep watching the letterbox. <div class="fc-tile"> <span class="fc-day">3</span> <span class="fc-month">Sept</span> </div>\ Keith started school. Only up the road. He went nice as pie, holding my hand. His teacher's Miss Instone, thank God it wasn't "Ugly Chugly". There would have been trouble if it was her! He can be a bit difficult. <img src="img/medals.png" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;">\ A small cardboard box arrived in the post today. Rod opened it when he came home. It was his medals. He cried. He didn't want his tea. Went out the back garden, just smoking and staring. 12 years after war broke out. <center>*** 1952 ***</center> The King's died. Seems wrong after all he did during the war. Good job it was him, not his brother. We'd all be speaking German. Elizabeth will be Queen, she's only 25. <img src="img/tv.png" style="float: left; width: 150px; margin-right: 15px;"> Next door have got a Television! TV and a car. Who do they think they are? Rod says he can build one. He's nicking parts from work. Better not get caught, especially now he's foreman. Rod's a bit better, but I worry. I can tell what's what now and head trouble off most of the time. He goes drinking with his Dad on Fridays. He's terrible Saturday mornings. He loves our Stu, but he's always down on our Keith. Our Fliss has got to the Grammar School. Headlands, the new one. Passed her 11+. Rod's worried about the money. He says she has to go, it'll be good for a girl. [[Fliss]] I [[Keith]] I [[Stu]]

The first evening in the bar I noticed her across the room, surrounded by boys, I had caught her eye, we held eye contact just a beat too long before she gave me a half smile and turned away. Does a half smile mean more than a full one? She was beyond beautiful. She had alabaster white skin and raven black hair, a Vidal Sassoon style, accentuating a slender neck, a fringe falling across one eye. I struggled for adjectives, elegant, graceful, slender and a bit seductive in a feminine way. Was that gamine or svelte? The first lecture was a review of the essay they had submitted. “We have chosen one that isn’t the best as it has some classic faults that keep it out of the top.” “Keith? Keith Butler?”. I raised my hand and lowered my spirits. They hoped I would understand that it was constructive criticism. I understood criticism only too well. She caught my eye. They read it aloud in a dispassionate way, not at all the way it had sounded in my head. Here was a sentence without a verb. I thought I had left the strict rules of grammar behind, all that clause analysis, continually dissecting. I wanted that phrase to be brief, ambiguous, to make people think. Here was an overuse of alliteration; some lazy writing with not enough examples, a badly chosen metaphor. They broke for coffee. I sat alone, miserable, misunderstood. 'May I sit with you?' It was Audrey Hepburn. 'I thought that criticism was very unfair. I knew what you were trying to do, and writers should push boundaries.' Christ, does she think I am a writer? I hadn’t thought I was capable of pushing boundaries. She turned. Ice blue eyes, long dark lashes. No verb. She said, “My name is Polly, it means “Star of the Sea”. I’m a Welsh librarian. Adopted. Engaged but think I’m making a mistake and you are Keith.' I was transfixed. I hesitated, 'Well, Keith might mean handsome, but I think it just means my mum had an enjoyable Scottish holiday. I’m in the Town Clerks department, electoral registration. Miserably engaged which might lead to unhappy marriage. And you are Polly...Polly Garter?' She laughed 'Dylan Thomas! Polly Garter, naughty Polly loves babies and loving. People go quiet when she goes past, wears a garter and no stockings'. She reached out and touched my hand. I thought that she might love loving. I wasn’t sure but I thought that I had just fallen in love. [[Read again->StoryMenu]]