Storyteller - Colin & Anne Brookfield (ebook and pdf reader .txt) 📗

outraged.

“That young boy,” he said, “put his friend first. He went over the top and into the killing fields to find his dog. If it hadn’t been for that act of courage, Towser would have died and so would I, because we all met at the same spot, and young Willie got us both to shelter. It was because of this selfless act that both Towser and I survived.”

It followed later, that all the finer details and events concerning Towser and Captain Michael Thornsby, were to be revealed in his book. He also vowed to do what he could for information from any surviving front line German records, or witnesses on Towser’s behalf – or ‘Theo’ as the Germans knew him.

Surprisingly, due to the wide interest the story had generated, it eventually transpired that Towser had been found injured by a Belgian farmer and brought back to health. Negotiations followed with the farmer and the British military, which had referred to the dog in terms of ‘Military Property’. However, public pressure managed to overcome that hurdle.

There was great family celebration on Viscount Thornsby’s estate in Shropshire at the arrival of Towser to his new home, where Willie’s Parents had also been invited. They were told to visit anytime they wished, because Towser must now be as much part of their family as his.

Freddy survived the war with only memories to haunt him, and had been devastated by Willie’s death. He was in constant touch with Willie’s parents and led the public outcry concerning his friend.

There was great outrage over what the public were now calling, ‘murder most foul’, concerning the executed hero ‘Young Willie’, as he was now affectionately referred to. It was on everybody’s lips, and the military hierarchy had now been put seriously at bay by demands for the boy’s name to be cleared, and the Military Medal applied to him.

The shame and public isolation imposed upon Willie’s parents by social ignorance, had also melted away, and the warmth from people that now knew of their son’s heroism, helped in a small way to regain some purpose in their lives.

Farewell Dear Lola *

There was an amusing incident witnessed by Millie, a neighbour of a dear old soul called Miss Buckit, who was a very large lady but housebound, owing to her arthritis. Apparently her poor old parrot Lola, had finally lost the last of her feathers, and a friend had arrived to perform the euthanasia for her.

Lola was already on her perch in the circular cage, so a large wad of cotton wool soaked in chloroform was placed inside with her. The outer cage cover was then draped over.

Several seconds went by and there was a ‘THWUMP’ as Lola dropped off her perch.

A full three minutes had elapsed before the cover was removed. Prayers were then said and Millie reckoned she nearly fell off her chair at what happened next. To everyone’s surprise Lola suddenly opened one eye and in a loud voice exclaimed: ‘A. . .LLO!’ Well that was it – Lola was going to be saved after that for evermore.

Unfortunately Lola’s ‘evermore’ turned out to be much shorter than everyone had hoped, due to that tragic accident of being sat on by Miss Buckit.

The funeral was conducted in her rear garden by Millie and her small grandson. The poor old lady could not attend and had to watch the service from her window, with the promise of a suitable prayer over Lola’s grave.

Lola was soon suitably interred, with a little cross at the head of the grave. Millie and the boy positioned themselves, so that their eulogising lips could be seen from the window as prayers were said, but what followed was the bit that really amused her.

 

Millie asked her grandson if he knew any prayers.

“Yes,” said the boy, “I know ONE.” So they put their hands together in prayer as he began. “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.”

Millie was absolutely torturing herself trying not to burst out laughing by this dinnertime prayer.

They finished together with an ‘AMEN’, and Miss Buckit, with eyes half closed, nodded approvingly from the window.

 

 

 

A Book of Many Colours

When Tom Gillard finished breakfast, his wife Rachel passed him the morning paper.

“What a load of rubbish,” he mumbled. “Some actress that I’ve never heard of is expecting her first child. That’s the front page headline news – I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Not at the breakfast table please darling,” ordered Rachel humorously. “Besides, although you are a reporter, it’s only for the Winton Gazette which is just a local rag. Occasionally, it also submits some trivial headlines.”

“I sit corrected,” he replied smiling. He turned a page, and continued reading until something caught his eye that couldn’t possibly make sense.

“Penny for your thoughts,” said Rachel, having noticed the frown on her husband’s face.

“I’m going bloody mad!” he exclaimed. “Six weeks ago, I discovered a child’s stick-figure sketch amongst my morning mail, and thinking it might have been done by the boss’s five year old son, I just pinned it on the message board and thought no more about it.”

“Sounds intriguing, is there some sort of mystery here?” she enquired.

“The mystery, or should I say lunacy, is that the child’s sketch shows two stick figures coloured pink, a romantic colour. Beneath one figure is the scrawled name, ‘William Henman’ and beneath the other figure, the name of ‘Janet Williams’. The article in the paper in front of me, celebrates the whirlwind marriage of the actress Janet Williams to a William Henman, whom she had met for the first time only one week ago, whilst on location for her latest film.”

“That’s creepy,” replied Rachel. “How could anybody, never mind a child, be privy to something that was going to happen so far in the future? I should keep quiet about it or people will think you made it up. Nevertheless, I’ll cut the article out and file it with the sketch if you bring it home tonight.”

Several uneventful weeks followed, and then the child’s second scrawled sketch turned up in Tom’s office letters.

Again, there were two stick figures with names beneath them; one was written in black ink with the name, ‘Robert Thompson’. The other figure was red with the name ‘Miriam Wilkins’.

It was 28 daily papers later (as Rachel liked to put it) when the paper arrived with an article connecting with the latest sketch. It read:

Robert Thompson charged with the murder of his girlfriend Miriam Wilkins

“I’m horror-struck!” Rachel almost squealed. “We knew in advance, and could have saved the girl. How can a child know these things, and how does a sketch on a loose piece of paper find its way onto YOUR desk amongst the mail. I do hope and pray this will now be an end to it all.”

Tom didn’t tell his wife about the next sketch he received, or the following one. He would have kept it that way had it not been for something that Rachel told him she had read from the morning paper.

“It was about a poor little five year old boy called Timothy, who was locked in a warehouse and on the verge of death when they found him,” she said. “He has since lain unconscious in hospital for nearly six months. Apparently, the discovery of the child’s whereabouts came by the most extraordinary means. His father Michael Ford, had discovered a piece of paper amongst his morning letters which had a scrawled child-like sketch on it.”

“A sketch Rachel?”

“Yes. It showed a small, pink stick-figure lying down and a large figure in black ink. It also had a sort of building with ‘SPIKS’ written above. This got into the local paper and someone phoned Mr Ford, telling him that they knew the building, but the word above, was actually ‘SPIKES’. The paper said, that as the police were now desperate for any sort of a lead, an unofficial search was made, of what turned out to be an abandoned warehouse and were astounded to find the boy there – as the sketch had shown.

“This is becoming extremely bizarre,” replied Tom.

“It does indeed, but unfortunately a cloud of suspicion now hangs over the parents. The probable scenario through the eyes of the police, is that one of the parents committed the crime, then felt sorry for what they’d done and concocted the story and sketch, to resolve the dilemma.”

Rachel stopped at that point, as her husband placed a piece of paper on the table which revealed a childish sketch, matching the one in the paper exactly.

“I received this three weeks ago and I thought it best to keep it to myself,” he said.

“Oh God! It’s probably as well you did Tom, and even now, if anything is said we could also be considered complicit in the crime.”

Later that evening after obtaining the address, Rachel and Tom paid a visit to Mr. & Mrs. Ford. A sense of bewilderment prevailed as Tom and Rachel introduced themselves and their reasons for being there. Understandably, the atmosphere was rather tense, particularly when Tom placed his duplicate of Mr. Ford’s sketch on the table; it was received with a gasp of disbelief from the Fords. Tom asked for their patience and then related his experiences concerning all the sketches so far shown to his wife.

Then Tom withdrew a piece of paper much like the others from his pocket, and placed it on the table with the other one.

“How many more have you got and never told me about?” interjected Rachel. “This one must be taken to the police immediately, as we should have done in the first place.”

We had already been primed on what to expect at the police station, and soon found out it had not been exaggerated.

“You say you have some possible evidence concerning the Timothy Ford boy?” said the desk sergeant. “Well first of all I want to see proof of your identity, and then evidence of your whereabouts during the period when the child was abducted.”

Tom glared at the officer and ranted back. “Get a grip man! We need someone with local knowledge to find the place on this sketch in front of you; we need to check it out.”

As the clamour continued, a nearby door opened and a police inspector stepped out. He opened his mouth to speak but Tom got in first,