Just in Time

by

B R Walker

As the train pulled away from the small alpine station it started to build up speed leaving the platform covered in a white smog which slowly disappeared revealing the stature of a high ranking German SS officer. Standartenfuhrer Colonel Friedrich Hans Mueller stood silent eying up the scene before him, with all the traits of a typical Aryan German the prime example of Hitler’s Third Reich. The small number of battle weary soldiers on the platform came to attention on seeing this figure, turning to a lower ranking officer he asked in an authoritarian tone, “Your name?” “Captain Herman Schwartz sir.” “Where is the prisoner?” Schwartz immediately came to attention saluting with an Heil Hitler. Pointing to the stationmasters office, “In there sir”.

Mueller entered the room, there, sat on a chair with his hands and legs tied was the British prisoner Captain Roberts, taking off one leather glove Mueller walked over to Roberts and slapped him across the face twice, which twisted Roberts face in a contortion of pain and surprise.

“Where is the key, I require that key”.

Roberts battered face and bruised body from previous beatings and interrogations he’s endured while in captivity stared back in silence at this Aryan pit bull terrier! Mueller beckoned to the solider behind a desk, “Turn over the timer”….Now!

“Captain Roberts, tell me where that key is or you’ll be shot, do you really want to die for such a small thing as a key?”

Roberts sat there staring as the sand began to trickle through the small egg timer thinking to himself, “Where the hell are they”.

Slapping one thigh with a leather glove, something this Colonel Mueller seemed to relish for some reason, he seemed deep in thought pacing back and forth across the tiny room, stifling through lack of ventilation. Going over to Roberts again, Shout out this time, “Where is the key, tell me you can live”.

Through the office window Captain Roberts could see the station clock ticking away it was nearly 12 noon, glancing across to the table, his time was also running out, but could he out manoeuvre it. He could only hope and wait.

The German approached yet again this time he seemed worried over something and Roberts sensed it. “Captain Roberts do you really want to die”? Silence.

“You English are so stubborn, King and country eh, tell me and you’ll live, think about your wife and children back in England, don’t you want to see them again.”

He was thinking about Kate and the children would he see them again well he hoped he would.

Roberts didn’t speak. The Colonel took out his Luger checking it was loaded staring at the Captain menacingly.

Glancing across at the timer again then at the station clock, time was just about up for him he was thinking, he sat there waiting for the end he knew he would be shot, but he also knew he could never have reveled the whereabouts of that key.

Taking what he thought was probably his last look through that damn window at the clock and onto the world outside just before the big hand hit twelve making it twelve noon.

Roberts closed his eyes and waited to be shot.

A rapid sound of gunfire echoed through the small room and along the station platform where the German soldiers had been standing waiting the outcome of the interrogations.

Captain Roberts opened his eyes, he was alive and the Germans in the room were all dead including the SS officer who lay at his feet gun in his hand blood pouring from his body.

Standing in the doorway was a typical looking French fellow wearing a beret a broad grin on his face holding a smoking machine gun with white smoke still filtering from the muzzle. “Viva La France, Viva La France, Viva La France”.

“You left it a little late didn’t you shouted Roberts to him”.

“Monsieur we are the French resistance come to rescue you and get you back to England, we are told you are a very important man my name is Marcel and these are my men”. He walked over and untied the Captain from the chair.

“Monsieur you are a very lucky fellow eh”.

“Well you could say that Marcel.” as Roberts wiped the sweat from his forehead.

The French man produced a bottle of wine from inside his coat pocket and handed it over to the Captain. “Here you drink the death of these Germans eh”. He took a large gulp, not the best wine he’d tasted but it felt good in the circumstances.

Now where the hell did I hide that key!

He smiled with relieve, and thanked God he was still alive.

The Suffolk Writer and Poet

A Children’s Fantasy

Trip To The Moon

Once upon a time not so long ago in a bedroom three little children were playing with cardboard boxes they were trying to make them into different play things. There was Jane aged nine the eldest, then Jim who had just gone five, and last there was baby Joey who had just turned one year old.

Jane said, “Why don’t we make a rocket and pretend to take off into space.” “Yes yes.” Shouted Jim excitedly jumping up and down on the bed as if it was a trampoline. Baby Joey joined in with Jim’s excitement by clapping his hands several times and gurgling in response.

So they set about making a big rocket out of the cardboard boxes their mum had been collecting reading for when they moved into their new house in two weeks time. Jane cut out some round windows at the front and sides of the two big boxes, and Jim crayoned on some letters at the back of the make shift rocket. All baby Joey wanted to do was blast off into space NOW!

“That looks good Jim,” Jane said, standing back admiring their work, Jim nodded in agreement. “I have an idea,” said Jane, “let’s go ask mum for some tin foil then we can wrap ourselves in it for space suits.” “Great idea.” shouted Jim. And with that they all dashed downstairs, Jane carrying Joey and found their mum in the kitchen. ” Now what are you three up to, mischief I suppose. “Oh nothing like that.” replied Jim we’re about to blast off into space but need some tin foil please for our space suits, Please Mum! Little Joey nodded and made a rocket noise. “Yes mum can we have some tinfoil please begged Jane we promise we won’t make any noise.” “Go on back upstairs and I’ll find some for you and bring it up for you. At this they all dashed back into up the stairs and into the launching area where the rocket was ready to take off.

“We’d better take my water pistol just in case we come across aliens and my laser sword too.” Jim shouted. They were making sure the dials were in order and the rocket was in the direction of the window for blast off. Five minutes later mum appeared with their tinfoil and three plastic bowls for helmets, “I thought these might come in useful,” she said, laying them on the bed. “Now you three take care and be back down to earth and in this bedroom by five o clock do you hear?” As the door closed behind her there was an almighty, “Yes MUM,” from the two of them and a sort of gurgling noise from the baby.

Ten minutes later:

All three astronauts were in the rocket. “Control to lunar rocket are you ready for take off,” “Yes we’re ready, then countdown…FIVE..FOUR..THREE..TWO…ONE…BLAST OFF!—–Then thee was a rumbling sound and all the rocket began shaking and vibrating. There mum downstairs in the kitchen felt the whole house vibrating but put it down to one of those supersonic jets flying low overhead again as they sometimes did. Someone wants to report them she said out loud.

“What’s happening said Jane.” Jim was loving every minute of it. Baby Joey didn’t really know what was going on but was joining in on the frolics. “Oh,” said Jane, as she looked out of the side window I think we’re in space. Suddenly they all started floating around. “Where shall we go and explore.” shouted Jim. “The Moon answered Jane, Joey shouted Moooon.” With that they both agreed and smacked their hands along with baby Joey who insisted joining in. Jane pressed the big Red button on the dashboard and they headed towards the moon. The rocket started vibrating and shaking again and before a blink of an eye they were landing on the moon.

Who’s going to be the first out on the surface, well I’m the eldest said Jane so I will. It’s ok she shouted to the other two we can walk around. With that assurance Jim and Joey with Jane’s help were on the surface of the moon. “Let’s go for a look around.” Jim said. “Isn’t the moon made out of cheese.” shouted Jane through her plastic helmet.” “I don’t know let’s taste it and find out shall we.” Jim replies. aargh sweaty socks that’s what it tastes of and the smell is awful too.

The rocket started vibrating and shaking again and before a blink of an eye, they were on the moon. ‘Let’s go for a look around.’ said Jim. ‘Isn’t the moon made out of cheese.’ shouted Jane through her plastic helmet. ‘I dunno, let’s taste it and see.’ Jim said. aargh sweaty sock cheese that’s awful. Baby Joey tasted a piece and spat it out, trouble was it landed in Jim’s face, Joey started crying.

‘I think he’s getting tired maybe it’s time to start heading home.’ said Jane.

Jim agreed, ‘Yes let’s head for home.’ Pressing the big red button that said home the rocket started rumbling and before they knew it they were back home in their bedroom. Just at that moment their mum walked into the room ‘Where have you three been?’

“To the Moon.” Jim and Jane said together laughing, while baby Joey pointed to the window and said mooon. ‘Your imaginations get the better of you three at times.’ she said. Well, teas in five minutes and be down here then, and don’t forget to wash your hands. She closed the door behind her laughing, to the moon and back, what will kids come up with next? When mum had left the room Jim pulled out from one of his pockets a big piece of smelly cheese and just sat there laughing with Jane on the bed.

Little Joey had fallen to sleep dreaming of his next trip into space.

Conclusion:

When their mother was doing the washing a few days later she discovered in another pocket belonging to Jane a piece of smelly cheese and it was horrible.

She put it on the sink top and thought, “No they couldn’t have gone there in boxes could they.

Could They?

The End.

The Stormy Night Gang

• 

  Poet and writer living in Lowestoft Suffolk UK.

Oliver yawned stretching his aching torso after sleeping most of the day, suddenly he caught the smell of some culinary delights drifting from the kitchen area, he was ready for food after his long lazy day. Slowly he made his way into the kitchen he didn’t like to dash in there like some mad starving demented feline, besides his human was getting on a bit and that would have caused her some fright. No, Oliver just walked in there quite nonchalant ah beef that’s my favourite. His bowl with his name on was put down in front of him, “Here you are Oliver come and get your tea.” he didn’t need a second calling he was there tucking in to the beef stew and in less than five minutes his bowl was empty and licked clean. This is a great life he thought, sleep most of the day then real food what else can anybody ask for eh. Having eaten and now feeling more refreshed and livelier he made his way into the living room, jumping up onto the window sill and peering out into the darkness his first thought was it doesn’t it doesn’t look good out there tonight could be a storm brewing, that’s not going to keep me in tonight.

Oliver strolled back into the kitchen where his human was still doing chores and brushed up against her legs, this always worked when he wanted something and he normally got it. ” What a good boy for eating all that, I suppose now you want to go out don’t you Oliver? His owner walked towards the front door and Oliver with over-joyous spring in his legs ran between her legs beating her to the door and sitting and waiting to be let out into the big wide world as if for the first time.

TO BE CONTINUED

Hungry Soul

If I could die
a million deaths
would this be enough
to satisfy me?

If I knelt and plunged
that knive deep
Into my lonley heart
would I cry out in joy?

But if death defies me
I say if –
Would I be more happy
No, no, then I shall have to…

Die a million deaths
without suffering
any cause or case…
to satisfy my hungary soul.

Written 14 April 2020

By B R Walker

Caught in the Barrier

I have done it again

forced red tears to stream

down my withered face

as if rubies were gathering

to make a circle a gem stone

ringing out before my eyes everywhere.

Streaming with anxiety but perplexing nothing.

My body wears a smile of accomplishment against

some standing stone to pray against with my

semi – precious red tears crumbling descent

into the river of memories of no return, I’m

crying out silently against white walls

watching myself disappear through the floodgates.

I’ve reached the barrier and have been caught

Within the nets of reality of life

Is this new life or old life, who can say?

Written by B R Walker

Copywriter UK 2nd February 2021

Virus No1

When night closes in

this is when the screams appear

from every hidden corner and cranny

you can hear them crying out in agony…

An innate song for Salvation, but

none will come to these poor souls.

For all help has subsided and been abandondoned

beside the fallen who have befell this plague. 

The dead and the dying lay by the roadside

waiting to meet their maker or whoever they

believe will deliver them from this wicked world.

This Virus is festering as they lay on the ground

attacking and plundering the world of everything and

anything that was beautiful in it, soon there will

be nothing left only a deserted landscape where once

   Thrived Mankind.

Written by B R Walker

Copywriter UK

31 January 2021

A Need

Pass me a needle

let me inject

Nobody loves me

I’m just a reject

I want to get high

So I can break free

This world that I live in

Gives nothing to me –

So, pass me that needle

Let me inject

So I can get high

As they call me a reject

Maybe they I’ll see God

In all his divine grace

So pass the damn needle

And let me inject

Written by B R Walker

Copywriter UK

3^rd  February 2021

Dance

I want to dance

a dance with my shadows

want to sing a song of love

let our fingers enfold together

embracing each other like a glove

let our shadows do a tango

across the floor just you and I

where the music sets the tune of love

while our hearts they reach the sky.

Written by B R Walker

Copywriter UK

6^th May 2020

Boulevard of Broken Dreams

I’m walking the boulevard of broken dreams

Where promises are only taken away tokens

These windswept streets are my home now

Along with dark corners I call my only friends,

And neon lights just enemies.

This boulevard of broken dreams

Is a token of my life now…

As yellow cabs flash on by me

With their quarries unaware of –

           Trouble or Strife.

This accidental mannequin’s face of mine

Is shrouded in a balance of life or death!

Weighing heavy will decide my fate, while

Walking the boulevard of broken dreams.

Written by B R Walker

Copywriter UK 28^th

January 2021

Headline News

Today is just another day

think I’ll paint the windows

with the newspapers

I haven’t read yet

this way I’ll hide out that world –

Yes that terrible world out there

I have to keep away from me

“Don’t let in the sun,” he says to me 

 Darkness is the master…

He sends his demons to torment me

I try to sleep but its hell, God has gone

this hell is fire with screams of torture

laughter that is not laughter,

this place is a place where you die over

and over again the most horrendous of deaths

I wake up in a cold sweat, is it a dream?

The world is still blocked out by newspapers

So, I think I’ll read the Headline News.

Written by B R Walker

Copywriter UK

2nd February 2021