Tattoo Me a Smile

Kirsten was an ex army gal. She had served in Afghanistan and Iraq, seeing combat on several occasions often close up. Little did Kirsten know she would soon meet another soldier with consequences just as fatal as battle. Discharged from the British Army after a shoulder wound, she had time to spare. What to do now? An answer was provided in the form of a random meeting on a Manchester street.

Mark had tattoos; he had many all over his body of different designs. Reading the new edition of Skin Deep tat magazine, he didn’t see Kirsten. He walked into her. Kirsten was busy texting a friend on her new mobile. She looked up at the last minute. Too late! Wham! Both Mark and Kirsten walked into each other. Her mobile phone arced up and away, slow motion style, into space to land on the pavement where it smashed to pieces – the screen popped off, battery jumped out, and covers shot away, ruined! His tattoo magazine fluttered down in a rush of pages to land face down on the broken phone. Kirsten bounced off the object - Mark - that she collided with, almost landing on her shapely backside. She gasped in shock and swore loudly in rage, embarrassment and fright. My phone! she thought!                                         

“You cretin! Look what you did to my phone. Why don’t you look where you’re going? You stupid man!”  The guy, who could have been a lamppost or bus stop for all she knew, just stood there in bewilderment. His magazine fluttered in the breeze, multi coloured images were a collage of pretty confusion, just like the girl before him.                                                                                                                                                                               

“Butterflies”, was the only comment he gasped. Her beauty bewitched him. A spell!

“What? Are you on drugs? Look what you did to my phone! It's ruined!” retorted the angry girl, bending down to pick up her phone, at the same time the guy tried to pick up his mag. Bop! Both heads collided in painful unison, unplanned comedy of the situation. Mark actually went down, fell to the floor almost drunk. Kirsten bounced back moaning in pain, made another go and finally grabbed her phone or bits of it. Clumsily she put it back together then turned it on, nothing, it was dead. Smashed. Mr Wonderful here had ruined it. She only got it two days ago.                                                                       

“Just great! It won’t work and it's all cracked. You owe me a new phone...” her words ended, the man was flat out cold on the ground. Oh my, he must be hurt! thought Kirsten, I’ve got to phone an ambulance to take him to hospital. Trying to dial 999 and the emergency services, Kirsten wondered why she couldn’t get through. He'd bust her phone! She swore again. He could be dying, she had to do something. What? Panic raised her pulse, her heart raced, this is very real, her mind shouted. Bending down to shake the man's arm, she got no response. Normally she would have had a blond moment in a crisis. For some reason, she was thinking clearly.                                                                                        

“Hey, come on wake up, I’m not mad at you, honest, it's just a stupid phone,” Kirsten said in a panicky voice. She saw his chest wasn’t moving. Fuck! Not breathing. I got to do something but what? Kneeling next to him she punched his chest hard. Nothing. Moving to the side she pressed over his heart. Was he dead? What if she had killed him? She didn’t want to be charged for murder! Come on, get a grip Kirsten. The kiss of life! Quickly tying her hair back she attempted to revive him by taking a breath and breathing into his mouth. Nothing! No, her mind screamed, I won’t let him die. Breathing again into his mouth, she pressed his chest and breathed again. It worked! He started breathing, taking in a huge in breath and opened his eyes staring wildly. Capturing the pretty lady before him he smiled weakly. She returned it.

He struggled with his new situation, what the hell? Who’s this here? What's happened to me, have I been mugged? Oh, I don’t feel well, I feel all funny, Mark thought.                                                                                                           

“You had an accident, we walked into one another. You stopped breathing,” Kirsten hesitantly told Mark.                                                                                                                                                                                       

He attempted to sit up and felt very dizzy, lying down again. Just then distant sirens cut through the air. Looking around she saw a small crowd had gathered, watching but keeping a wary distance. Somebody must have called 999. Kirsten suddenly wanted to know this man’s name, “What's your name? I'm Kirsten.”

 As the ambulance pulled into view Kirsten remembered the taste of Mark's lips. Hurriedly she kissed him looking into his eyes, something then captured her heart. This man was a thief! A very special individual spotted only once per lifetime, encountered only one on one in every ten lifetimes.                                                                                                                                                                            

“I'm Mark,” he replied, before he fainted. She caught his head and gently put it on the hard ground. He looked at peace with his eyes closed, on the pavement.                                                                                                                                       

Paramedics rushed over to the incident scene carrying life saving equipment. One young male medic stopped by Kirsten to ask her what happened; she told him as his colleagues did their duties. Kirsten went over how she was doing a text on her phone, when BAM! She walked into Mark. Then clashed heads, how he somehow passed out but Kirsten was okay, giving him the kiss of life and saving his life? The medical staff made rapid progress, a stretcher appeared out of nowhere and slowly Mark was lifted onto the stretcher. Kirsten was quickly checked over. She knew she was fine, that the medic might say you don’t need to be checked out at hospital. She had to act fast; suddenly she sighed and fell to the floor.

Concerned, the medic conversed with his colleague who returned from the ambulance where Mark was. A decision was made; Kirsten was to be checked out. Her heart leapt! She would be with Mark! In the back of the vehicle Kirsten was led to a seat opposite Mark. He saw Kirsten looking at him with big wide puppy dog eyes. He tried to smile behind the oxygen mask that covered his handsome face. Through winding streets the ambulance drove to the city hospital, sirens and lights going. Soon arriving, both patients were taken separately to different departments to be checked and monitored.

Medical staff rushed about in orderly panic doing their jobs: preserving life. Kirsten had a small bump on the head and no other injuries. Checks carried out gave no indication of injuries and she was given painkiller and a cold compress for the bruise that slowly formed. Medical staff checked her files for drug allergies or past ailments; there were none. She was in very good health.

With Mark it was a different story, he was in pain that was gradually got worse. Doctors and nurses checked him over from head to toe. When he bumped heads with Kirsten his impact was worse than hers, he had concussion where his brain had bounced around in his skull bruising it and causing swelling. This shock stopped his breathing. Had it not been for Kirsten initiating the kiss of life, Mark would now be dead in the morgue with a tag on his toe. Unfortunately this may have only been delayed. In Accident and Emergency Mark drifted in and out of consciousness and one time stopped breathing, nurses resuscitated him. He was deteriorating rapidly, a shot of adrenaline and a drip helped but concussion was a potential killer. Ex-rays showed a blood clot slowly forming on the bruise in his brain that if not immediately operated on would kill him. Medical staff liaised with surgeons and anaesthetists while they struggled to stabilise Mark’s condition, before he could be operated on.

Kirsten sat in the waiting room drinking coffee after she was given the all clear. She waited for a taxi to take her home to her flat so she could lie down and recover from this crazy ordeal. Before she went she asked the duty nurse behind the desk if she could see Mark, she explained what happened and that she was partly responsible for Mark being here in the first place. The nurse listened and nodded with stern eyes. If it was anyone else she would have refused but because it was Kirsten who showed such concern for her new friend, she waived the rule and Okayed it. She made a phone call and tapped away at a computer updating Kirsten’s records. Kirsten was waiting for directions to the ward where Mark was being checked out when she heard the nurse speak to the person on the phone who mentioned Mark was being moved from the ward to theatre! Kirsten knew what that meant! He was badly injured and needed an immediate operation or he would die. Kirsten struggled to keep a straight face and control her emotions while she listened in on the nurse who confirmed what ward he was on. Looking around Kirsten saw directions above her on the wall showing the way to the ward that was mentioned. She waited impatiently for the duty nurse to end her call, her decision was final. Would she see Mark?

The nurse spoke, “I’m afraid you can’t see your friend, his condition has deteriorated and he has been taken for surgery to be operated on, he’s allowed no visitors. I’m so very sorry.”                                                                                                                                                                                            

Kirsten didn’t even reply, she ran flat out through the double swing doors, knocking a nurse over and into the wall who was carrying a tray of medications. These flew everywhere, the tray and drugs clattered to the floor as the nurse shrieked in alarm and shouted, “Stop! Stop! No running this is a hospital. You’re not allowed down there. Stop!”                                                                              

It was no use, for tears streamed down Kirsten’s cheeks smudging her rose blusher, her eyes were red and her heart ached in pain, her mind thundered with the thoughts that her new love was going to die there and then and she was utterly powerless to do anything. That this was a fight she was going to lose, she was Kirsten and she never lost a fight in her life!  Never! I can’t lose my Mark, for I have already fallen in love with him. I have to be with him, I have to tell Mark I love him!

Footsteps echoed down the clinically clean corridor after the distraught girl who reached the doors to the operating theatre, where Mark was at this moment being prepped for his operation. She didn’t stop. She shoved the doors open and bolted through to reach Mark, interrupting the calm controlled but serious environment. Medical staff looked up in alarm at their new unannounced visitor who was closely followed by two flustered nurses. Kirsten grabbed Mark’s hand, feeling how clammy and limp his fingers and hand were. Almost weeping Kirsten shouted, “Mark, Mark, Mark, Mark,” over and over again ending with, “please don’t die, I love you! It’s my fault you’re here like this, I’m so very sorry! I love you Mark!”                                                                                                                                                                   

So very slowly Mark responded to Kirsten’s emotional pleading by opening his eyes, he struggled to focus on Kirsten. She saw him try to smile under the oxygen mask. A nurse tried to lead her out of the theatre; Kirsten struggled and broke free pushing a doctor out of the way. Bending over Mark she pulled the mask away and kissed him on his pale lips. Medical staff finally pulled the sobbing girl away as Mark said, “Kirsten I love you, I’ll see you again, soon my dear...”                                                                                                        

Electronic monitors showing Mark’s five vital signs suddenly flatlined to zero, beeping and lighting up like a Christmas tree. The nurses let go of Kirsten, they rushed to help revive Mark who stopped breathing again, dying a third and final time. Kirsten stood feeling very alone and silently cried as she watched the staff battle to save the critically injured man but it was too late. She was a witness to an event she never wanted to see, involving a man she had only met once but who had stolen her heart by the most tragic of circumstances. Death itself stole Mark, stealing his precious young life and condemning a young girl called Kirsten to a life time of torment. Each try to revive Mark failed. Kirsten fainted and fell to the floor. One of the nurses saw this and rushed to help while her colleagues lost their fight to save an innocent soul. They called Mark’s death at 19.42 hours on May 1^st 2012.                                                                                   

***

Many years later, a single girl called Kirsten had a tattoo done at a studio in Manchester, where the tattooist remembered a young soldier called Mark who was about to fly out to Iraq on his third tour of duty. Before he went, Mark had a tattoo design called “Man’s Ruin” on his upper left arm. In the tattoo design it featured a drinking glass with a bottle of whiskey, a pair of dice with a hand of cards, a cigarette with a Zippo lighter and most poignant of all, a beautiful young woman who looked just like Kirsten. How spooky was that last bit? The tattooist showed Kirsten a photo of Mark and of his new tattoo; he was a trained killer in the British Army yet looked so young and innocent.

When the young lady started to cry, the tattooist silently took the snaps out of the album and gave them as a gift to the distraught woman. He quietly he said, “So you’re the one. I read about what happened in the paper; it must be nine years ago. You’ve been to Iraq as well, it must have been tough. Mark used to talk about it now and again, when he was back on leave after his tours there. His first was the hardest, he told me. I’m so very sorry about it all, about your loss. Mark was a good bloke. I know he would have loved you like no other. Come into the studio; let me do your tattoo. Mark will always be with you, on that I’m sure. He’d want you to be happy.”                                                                                                                                          

Kirsten didn’t reply for some time, she just nodded. Fighting back her tears, she announced, “It was ten years ago today I lost Mark. One full decade ago today. In that time, I’ve never loved another man and never even been on a date. Something very strange happened that day to Mark and me. I can’t talk about it to anyone else, only you. You were his friend. I know you’ll understand. I miss him so much and will always love him, unconditionally. My life is a shrine to him. This tattoo is for Mark.”

“I understand, believe me Kirsten, I do. Your tattoo will be the best I’ve ever done and you don’t need to pay, there’s no way I can take a penny off you. Not after what has happened to you.” The tattooist, who was a strong man, was almost crying. He felt the same way at the girl did. It’s always the good ones who are taken.

A young soldier who served his country, dodging terrorist’s bullets and roadside bombs was indirectly killed by a beautiful girl. If only fate and life were different, how happy Mark and Kirsten would have been. Kirsten never thought she would have a tattoo done and avoided tattoo studios like the plague but she was fated to have one tattoo, only one and it said, “For My Mark, I’ll Always Love you”.

Wartime Bliss?

Lisa and Norman met in the war. There story is a unique one and very much their own, one story amongst millions in a world at war. This is what happened to them and how they met.

In a time of war, Norman had done his basic training as an infantryman in the Manchester regiment. This unit was the closest to his small town of Ashton. He joined up and did his bit when his eighteenth birthday came by; still a boy not knowing how to shave or what a woman was. He was young, keen and very inexperienced. A green soldier, who wanted to learn and serve his country, like his mates had done. He was only a kid.

Rifle drill was Norman’s favourite topic, how to load and fire an old Lee Enfield rifle. Handling and stripping the weapon soon became second nature to the young man. He got the knack like his older brother had with many a loose woman, he knew the score and became competent. With women, Norman was the opposite of his brother, being shy, inexperienced and woefully useless. Norman’s brother served in the Royal Navy.

Walking down the parade ground on a quiet Tuesday morning, Norman grumbled to himself. I can handle my rifle with no trouble, strip and assemble it as fast as anyone in my squad, even at night. I can fire accurately at a target five hundred yards away. I’m a good soldier, surely better than any German is. So why do I feel bad? Why am I so bloody depressed? Is it that nice young girl I saw in town the other month when I was in the pub with my buddies? I know she was looking at them and not me. Why would she ever want to look at me? I mean... I’m nothing am I? Just a bloody soldier.

Suddenly it started to rain, this darkened his mood. He spat and swore, glaring down at the black tarmac parade ground. “Bloody rain. Why do I have to do guard duty on a Tuesday morning when my mates are learning about the Bren gun? It’s just me and my rifle out in this bloody rain!”

Norman carried on marching, pacing up and down doing his stint guarding the base. Orders were orders and his turn in the Bren gun class was the following week. He was an intelligent lad and knew he’d get the hang of the powerful weapon. His impatience made him curse the rain, his boss and having to wait for the Bren gun class. Then he thought about the girl again and he cursed again. He aimed green phlegm and sent it flying. Bloody rain, bloody guard duty, bloody girl won’t want to date me. Bloody everything!

Up and down he marched, rifle on his shoulder. The rain increased in ferocity.

***

Lisa was doing her nurses training. She wanted to serve her country. Military roles available to her were very limited because she was a woman. It was either serving tea or scones at the NAAFI (Navy, Army, Air Force Institute) to men in uniform, working in a grimy dangerous munitions factory or becoming a nurse. She chose the last option and joined on her seventeenth birthday.

With her schooling behind her, Lisa knew what she wanted to do. She was a quick learner but struggled with the varied role of being a nurse, though confident in her responsibility. In time she hoped to be qualified and able to make fast life and death decisions. Time would tell. One small distraction troubled her.

I wonder who that quiet shy lad was I saw when we were in the pub. He seemed to notice me and I think he likes me. He looks so dishy! Lisa thought, her eyes becoming misty. She allowed herself to swoon for a while.

The bossy Matron brought the girl back to reality. Classes on how to give wounded soldiers a bed bath were in ten minutes and Matron was demanding everyone be clued up and alert.

Blast it! I’ve got to get ready for this. I hope I see that nice lad again when we’re in town again! I’ll ask him out. I don’t care who sees me, I don’t!

***

Guard duty over, Norman relaxed in his barrack block with his mates. As usual, the topic was bints and who had slept with the most women. Norman kept out of this talk and as usual, this gave the more seasoned worldly-wise men a chance to take the mickey and put him down. It wasn’t his fault he was a virgin!

“Hey Norman, is it true that you’re a virgin?”

“Do you want to shag my mother Norman? She likes younger men!”

“Do you know how to do it?”

“Have you even kissed a girl?”

They taunted him mercilessly but he ignored them though he wanted to cry. Not being a fighter or even tough, Norman sat there in silence reading a dog eared Bren gun manual. He didn’t want to use his close quarter hand to hand fighting training, not against his mates even when they took the piss out of him. Give me a Bren gun and I’ll show them, he angrily thought. He took their petty jokes.

“You won’t find out about birds in that book Norman. Here’s a rude magazine for you,” shouted one of the lads, throwing a tatty stained mag of dubious subject matter.

Norman never even glanced up at the lad or over to the rude magazine which was open on the floor. A curvy brunette smiled from the page, her assets were on show and it was obvious she wasn’t shy.

Seeing that their taunts weren’t fazing Norman, the other soldiers left him be. He read the manual on the Bren gun but his thoughts were elsewhere, on a certain girl.

***

The next day, Matron relaxed her strict attitude and confirmed that the next leave was on the coming Friday, when the girls could have a night on the town. The nurses smiled and clapped with happiness.

I can’t wait! I really hope I see that soldier then, he’s so cute! Lisa thought, smiling to herself.

She knew she would have to wear something nice and smart to get his attention. But what? Hmm, decisions, decisions. I only have one nice frock and it’s my old nineteen twenties one that belonged to my mum. Dare I wear it? Yes I will!

Lisa got on with her training with extra vigour, knowing she would be having a night out when the Friday night leave came round. She buzzed with anticipation and vibrancy. In her bones, she just knew her soldier boy would be out. Something told her, a feeling deep inside that she couldn’t describe. Thinking of her soldier brought pimples out on her arms; such was the effect he had upon Lisa.

In her mind, she daydreamed of him. Together, with her nameless brave handsome warrior, she was safe in his arms while they danced to some old fashioned music from the 30s, in the pub where she first saw him. She was wearing her mum’s old yet superbly stylish dress; he was in his army uniform making him look smart and brave. He was a soldier serving his country, what a noble act! Goodness me, what is happening to me? she thought, becoming flustered.

Matron noticed the strange look upon Lisa’s face and kept an eye upon the young girl. She was very experienced and knew the signs of new love and how it came upon vulnerable, impressionable young women. Lisa hadn’t cocked up her nursing duties yet but there was time. Yes, I’ll keep an eye on this one. I could cancel her leave and put her on house keeping duties but that would be a bit premature right now. No, I’ll watch her and see how she progresses, we don’t need any distractions. There’s a war on!

***

“Right lads, you’ll be glad to hear that we have a night off from our duties this Friday. I expect you all to get pissed and chase women. You’ve got some intense training coming up next week and you’ll need all the concentration you can for it. So now, I order you to enjoy this coming Friday and get any urges, desires and drinking out of your system. The week after will be your hardest yet, as soldiers in His Majesty’s Army. Do I make myself clear?” lectured the Sergeant, to his young soldiers.

Every eye was fixed upon the tall, slim, tough Sergeant. As one voice, fifty soldiers roared together, “Yes Sergeant, we will get pissed and have fun!”

“Good, good,” he replied. “I personally will hand out your leave passes at fifteen hundred hours exactly. Remember what I said, have fun. You’ve a busy week ahead of you.”

“Yes Sergeant,” the voice roared, full of pride and admiration, for their Sergeant, their army in which they served and foremost, in their country. They were the last hope to stop Hitler and his Nazi’s in their tracks.

***

In the pub called The Witchwood, in central Ashton, the members of the Manchester Regiment met for a drink or ten. They were following orders, to have fun and drink. All of the young soldiers knew to do this, that the week ahead would be tough and no laughing matter. Not like real combat but a step below. Like many thousands of other young men thrown together in a war they didn’t want, they lived for now and looked after one another. They were family.

Drinks flowed forth and Norman closely watched everyone in the pub and those who entered by the main door. He wanted to see his nurse but she wasn’t there, just yet.

“Hey, Norman. Here’s a pint of stout,” commented Rico, offering Norman a glass of warm beer.

Looking up from where he sat, Norman took the pint and thanked the big soldier.

“Cheer up man, she’ll be here. In the meantime get drunk,” consoled the other man, smiling. Rico was the toughest and biggest man in the squad, a talented boxer and excellent shot. He played the tough guy card to the max but really, he cared for his other pals. The free beer was an example.

“How an earth do you know?” stuttered Norman. He wondered how the hell Rico knew he was waiting for the girl.

“Come on man, we’ve trained together for nine months. I know you better than your mother knows you,” chuckled Rico, rolling his eyes.

“That’s true, I guess you do. She means a lot to me, you know?” Norman replied, finishing his original beer and starting the second.

“That’s good she means a lot to you. When you see her, don’t blow it and good luck.”

“Thanks Rico, I’ll try not to. I’m new to this, you know with girls.”

“Kid, you’ll be fine. Smile and charm her. Listen, I’m off to the brothel with some of the guys. Don’t end up like us, if you get the girl, keep hold of her. For good. I’ve seen how you look at her, before. She’s a catch. See you later.” Rico joined four of the other soldiers and they downed their drinks and left the pub.

“I won’t blow it, oh no,” Norman replied, to himself. It was scant reassurance. I can’t do this! I’ve never even kissed a girl. Maybe I should go to the brothel with Rico. What would he say though? He seemed to mean what he said to me, I don’t want to meet his bad side.

Five minutes later, the door of the pub suddenly opened and six girls entered. They were all nurses and one in particular locked eyes upon Norman. Whispering something to her colleagues, she walked over to join him. He was sat on his own.

“May I join you?” asked the young lady.

Norman was like a goldfish, mouth open in shock and surprise. When the woman asked again, he dumbly nodded.

***

Earlier in the day, Lisa got ready in her private quarters that she shared with five trainee nurses. She wore her mother’s old stylish dress and lightly did her make up. A touch of blusher and red lipstick added five years to her youthful looks.

“Wow! You look terrific sis,” complimented one of the other girls.

“Are you hoping to see your soldier tonight?” asked another.

“Thanks Stacy and yes Angie, I’m hoping to see him. You think he’ll like me?” replied Lisa.

“Oh yes,” said the other two, together.

Looking at herself in her small make up mirror, Lisa smiled. This is the best I can possibly do. At least I’ve done my best. Time to wait for the other girls to be ready so we can go out.

It took the other trainee nurses half an hour to be ready. Leaving their quarters, they left the hospital grounds and signed out at the security gate. They had six hours in which to enjoy themselves before they had to return for the midnight curfew.

***

Lisa sat down on the vacant chair at Norman’s table. She smiled and looked the young soldier up and down, catching his gaze for a little too long. He looked away momentarily. He must be a bit shy! I’ll have to be careful with this one then, Lisa thought.

“Hi there, I’m Lisa,” Lisa said, introducing herself. She held out her right hand demurely.

“Hi,” replied Norman, a little unsure of what to say. He took Lisa’s hand and shook it politely. He noticed it smelt of some kind of perfume, maybe lavender.

“Are you here on your own?” asked the girl, smiling.

“Er... no, I mean yes. Well, that’s to say I was here with my buddies but they’ve gone to the broth... to another pub,” stuttered Norman, going bright red. Oh shit! Why did I nearly say brothel?

“Right. Did you say brothel? Or pub? How come you’ve not gone with them?” answered Lisa, now it was her turn to struggle with a sentence.

“Shit. Yes, they’ve gone to the brothel up the road, a few of them go regularly. I’d rather stay in the pub. I like it here, it’s nice and quiet,” he said, almost whispering. He didn’t catch Lisa’s eye.

“Okay then...” she commented. She knew this wasn’t going well. “Fuck it!” she blurted out.

“What?” Norman gasped, shocked that a lady knew such strong language.

“I meant this,” replied Lisa. She suddenly leant over and took Norman’s neck in one hand and brought his head to hers, over the table. Her kiss was long and passionate, she felt him resist but soon overpowered him.

When their embrace was over, Norman looked dumbstruck. It was his first time ever kissing a girl or woman, as in this case. Finally, he really took notice of who was sat opposite him at the small table. A beautiful young lady, in a stunning green dress and with the looks of a princess; she was simply unbelievable.

“Wow! That was amazing,” Norman said. Now he was sure of himself.

“Good. I’m glad you enjoyed it, it saves me from having to uncomfortably explain how much I like you and how long I’ve waited to do that,” Lisa laughed, taking hold of the man’s hands.

“What’s your name? I’m Lisa, I’m a nurse. Well a trainee one. My friends are over there, by the bar,” she indicated with her head.

Norman looked over and saw several girls chatting to some men, at least two of the men were from his unit. They hadn’t gone to the brothel with Rico; obviously they didn’t want to pay for sex. Norman didn’t talk to them though, he kept himself to himself.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Norman. I’m a soldier and I’m doing my basic training. We’re almost done with that and soon we’ll get posted to a battle zone.”

“Oh right, I thought you were a pilot or something. A soldier. My, that’s a dangerous job. I hope you’ll be okay,” gasped Lisa, quite shocked. The reality of the war struck home, again to her.

“Yes, I know. Some of the guys go drinking in their uniform, myself I prefer a shirt and trousers. It takes my mind off the war,” he replied. “It is dangerous. We lost two men while training. God knows what combat will be like.”

“Goodness me. You mean killed? While training?” Lisa gasped again.

“Yes, both killed outright. It was awful. Still, if I get wounded in battle, you will fix me up, won’t you Lisa?” Norman said, trying to joke about the seriousness of war.

“Yes, I’d look after you. I pray you’ll never be wounded, not ever,” Lisa, whispered. Unable to help herself, she took Norman’s face in her hands and kissed him again. She became a little emotional.

He felt her warm tears on his cheek. And he melted again into her kiss, his young mind and body so very unsure of how to respond to the beautiful woman before him. I don’t understand what is happening, his mind screamed.

When their second embrace was over, something had happened within the two young people. One a soldier and the other a nurse, both with totally opposite jobs, one trained to kill, the other to heal. Was this the reason they had become so close, so quickly? Was it the bloody awful war?

Lisa was still crying, unable to stop herself. Her make up ran and her eyes were read and puffy. She didn’t care who saw her.

“This awful bloody war,” she sobbed. She looked up into Norman’s eyes and saw many confusing emotions. It was obvious to her, he felt like she did but at the other end of the scale. She was trained to fix wounds; he was trained to inflict them. Her friends looked over briefly from the bar but didn’t interfere.

“Don’t cry,” Norman said. He moved his stool right next to Lisa’s, put his arm around her and held her close. Her body shook while her crying continued. This had never happened to him before.

“Shhh, it’s okay. Nothing will happen to me, I promise,” he said, trying to sound like a man. He was almost in tears himself. He knew why they both felt like this; it was this awful war started by Hitler. That crazy bastard! Why couldn’t we live in peace?

For thirty minutes he held her, while she wept for something that touched her very soul and that had the possibility to utterly destroy them both. The war brought them together in this small pub in a northern town and the war would soon separate them. Norman would be posted to the front line, she would finish her training and then join the war, maybe not near him but in some hospital or field medical unit to treat wounded and dying servicemen.

***

When Lisa had composed herself, she left the pub with Norman. He bought a bottle of whiskey from under the counter, this was illegal and on the black market. He led her to the small park in the centre of town. It was quiet and no one was about.

As they drank, she told him about herself, of how she had wanted to serve her country and help win the war. Now she realised this was a folly, a silly naive idea which would put her at danger on the front line if she served in a military hospital there. Lisa mentioned her youth and how happy her childhood had been.

“It must have been a nice time you had, growing up,” Norman replied, looking down at Lisa who rested safe in his arms.

“Oh yes, it was idyllic Norman. Living on my parents’ small farm,” she commented, thinking back. “Yes, it was wonderful.”

He took a swig of neat whiskey and offered Lisa some. She took the bottle and drank deeply. They were both heavily affected by the last hour, a line had been crossed. Were they no longer children?

They kissed again. Long, slow and passionately.

Suddenly it happened. The Air Raid siren started to roar to life, like a wailing monster emerging from the deep black ocean to do evil and kill. Hungry for the blood of the innocent. The sound rose and rose, echoing over the dark streets. Distant voices were heard as people rushed to the shelters.

“Oh shit!” swore Norman. “A fucking raid. I hate those bastards.”

“I know I hate the raids too. And I’m not too fond of Germans either. Listen, let’s stay here and drink the whiskey,” Lisa whispered. She kissed him on the lips repeatedly.

“But it’s dangerous and if we get caught by the Air Raid warden, there will be hell to pay,” he stammered, knowing full well what could happen. He’d experienced three raids before and it wasn’t pretty. People died.

“I want to be here with you. I know it’s dangerous, we’ll be okay. I promise. And we’re in the middle of the park. The Warden will be walking the streets, looking for people not in the shelter. He won’t go to the park,” she said.

“Okay, you win. We’ll stay here. Have some more drink,” he urged, giving in to the beauty by his side. She took the bottle again.

“Thanks Norman. For the drink and staying with me in the park.”

For a few minutes they drank and listened to the siren. Then another sound was heard, something ominous and otherworldly. It was distant Nazi bombers high up in the sky! Were they the target? They themselves, the small town of Ashton or an even bigger prize – the city of Manchester?

“This does mean a lot to me, you being with me too,” he whispered. “Save me from the evil Nazi’s,” he added.

“I will always love you Norman and always save you, which I promise. Now tell me all about you,” Lisa said.

The roar aero engines got louder and some anti aircraft guns started firing, an awful noise. More awful, was the whistle of bombs and sound of explosions, quite far off. To the east, two search lights sprang forth, groping for the unseen German planes. Behind the trees and buildings, an orange glow could be seen. The raid was under way and the town burning.

The couple was equally scared and fascinated. The war was them and they were the war; the air raid was part of them also. Norman was a soldier, trained to kill Nazi soldiers who were part of the German war machine, just like the bombers that bombed without mercy. One huge merciless war machine.

“I grew up in a town up the road and have lived in the Manchester area all of my life. I’ve been in Ashton a couple of years. I’m eighteen and a half. I joined the army on my birthday. I wonder if I made the right choice but I couldn’t work inside a war factory twelve hours at a go, no way. I like the outdoors and walking in the countryside. In the army, we’re outside a lot when we do training and manoeuvres. That’s okay but I don’t want to go to war or kill anyone. It’s too late now though, I’ll have to do this. I hope it’s over soon,” he said, loudly over the bomb explosions and barking guns. The siren had stopped its eerie wail. Enemy aircraft were now overhead.

“It’s good you like the outdoors. I like it too, from my time on the farm. I never wanted to be a farmer, my dad expected me to though, being a farmer’s daughter. I’d rather be a nurse than a farmer. I don’t like the war either. I’m not sure if I’d like to work in a factory or mill. They seem dark forbidding places and the Nazi’s bomb them,” Lisa replied. “And it’s good you don’t want to kill anyone.”

“I think you’d make a good farmer, even if you’re a girl. That’s better than being in the war as a nurse, seeing badly hurt soldiers. You should have stuck to being a farmer, its safer Lisa.”

“I don’t know Norman. Anyhow, I made my choice. Like you, I’m in the war, whether I like it or not. We have to see it through to the end. Shit! Listen to that! A bomb is coming!”

“Oh my God!” Norman screamed, listening to the scream of a large bomb that seemed to have their name on it. It grew louder and louder. He threw himself upon Lisa, shielding her with his body. He felt her wriggle and squirm but held her tightly.

The bomb whistled down at great speed and dug into the soft earth of the bowling green and detonated behind their bench. They explosion was thirty yards away from them. By a quirk of fate, the bomb hit the grass and went off four yards underground. The ground shook like an earthquake, earth, grass and shrapnel whooshed upwards and fell in great thuds all around. If the bomb had hit the paved footpath, Lisa and Norman would have been blown to bits, ceasing to exist.

A large clod of earth fell on Norman’s back. The air was knocked out of him. He held onto Lisa for dear life. Finally the debris stopped falling.

Lisa was very still. Was she hit? Norman panicked, letting go of her. She didn’t move.

“Lisa! Lisa, are you okay? Lisa, answer me. My dear, are you alive?” he shouted, his hearing ruptured by the blast.

After long seconds, she moved. Hair covered her face, Norman brushed it aside. Mud covered her cheeks, giving her a vivid scary appearance. Finally she spoke, “I’m okay. My hearing is busted. Are you fine?”

“Yes, I’m okay, other than my hearing. It was the blast. Come on, we have to go to your hospital. They’ll check us out. Come on Lisa,” Norman urged, standing up. 

“Yes, you’re right. It was a foolish idea staying in the park. I can’t hear you very well. I feel very faint,” she replied, trying to stand. She nearly fell back onto the earth covered bench.

Norman caught her. He struggled to pick Lisa up and carry her. It was four hundred yards to the hospital. It was a dark night but burning buildings illuminated their way. The whiskey bottle was shattered, luckily they had drank the contents. Drunkenly he staggered through rubble filled streets to Lisa’s hospital.

“Lisa, I know you can’t hear me but I want to ask you something. I want you to marry me and be my wife. In a few weeks I’m off on a secret mission. I could be killed. I love you and want you to marry me,” Norman whispered, incoherently.

His drunken vision blurred, he almost stumbled and couldn’t hear anything. Flames reached for them from a burning gas main. He had to walk round rubble and huge smoking bomb craters. A stick of bombs went off, a mile away. The blast wave sent debris rattling down, a hundred yards from the injured couple. It was like being in Hell.

Did Lisa her answer his question? Was she alive? Her lovely green dress was in tatters. What would become of them both? War held the answers.

What Could Have Been

What's the difference of loving a gal compared to being in love? He knew the answer, oh yes he did. He had been only ever in love with one woman. He had loved a certain gal for almost eight years now. Eight long tough lonely years she was inside him, all that time. She was like him in so many ways, how could he not be in love with her forever? Would it to be wise to share her name with you, he thought, for its all so very true. No, I'll change it in respect of her privacy. Also there were other gals before and since, who meant nothing. He used them to pass the time. They deserved anonymity. They all did. This story is on going and won’t end till the certain gal says yes or he takes his last mortal breath. Darkness and suicide is out there, on his horizon.

Memories from that time cascaded through his mind like dark wicked forbidden dreams in the black labyrinth of the night; almost unreal but it was real once, long ago. The event was like a glitch, did it really happen at all? Now little real remained, but in his head. It must have been because nothing doesn’t leave after affects like this, for eight years always there hiding deep within his being.

Did she ever think of him in that time afterwards? Was she still single when he was in London last summer, when the gal he moved to be with left him? A dangerous what if, how far apart was they in miles then? He wanted to know, to get the answers but one bigger answer was in his head. Was there a second chance? If being together were governed by love and emotions alone, the couple would be together for a thousand years but in a world ruled by rigid natural laws that was impossible. Where to start this marauding story? The beginning, for sake of sanity and common sense, it all started when the lad in question joined an old online pen pal site, now gone. He wanted new friends, pen pals, bands to listen to and romance. A young lady replied to one of his ads by announcing, “You'll do!” Who started it? Her with her reply or him with his ad? They were both to blame.

We'll call him Fred; he joined the pen pal site in about 2003/4. On it he chatted to many people, it was the gal who ensnared him that did it. With her simple words, “You'll do,” setting the trap that held Fred till now, March 2012. She was called Betty and she was 28, a Sagittarius with all the traits of that fiery sign. This clashed with his Leo sign, dooming their fast online love affair. Betty and the event took Fred from his most exhilarating highs to his lowest darkest times. By one single letter sent from America, two or three long distance calls and a couple of dozen emails, the scene was set. How was that possible? Each letter and word in his or her communication was an emotional sentence that would last a lifetime. He wanted to gauge the affect of each word, was it worth one month’s heady high and then eight years torment? He had to get his head around it. Or madness beckoned.

***

Back to the early days. Betty was something. Long dark brown hair worn long and free like her spirit, she had pretty oval brown eyes and a pointed face giving the impression that she was an elf but an oh so pretty one. Was it her free spirit, her lovely esoteric looks or her warm heart that stole his heart? Forever, for she was the biggest thief he had ever come across, he couldn’t say met because that had never happened when she left him.

He noticed her photo on her pen pal profile. She was looking at an early type of webcam so the pic wasn’t too clear but good enough to see her. She was looking at the pc screen, not the camera so it was like she was looking a little away, was that a good or bad sign in the days and weeks to follow? Not fully focused, distracted.

Betty had the most delightful charisma she gave off from the first email on the pen pal site. She replied to my ad asking for what? A pen pal, friend or girlfriend? Which I can’t remember. I am Fred and I clicked with Betty, it was those honest brown eyes that led direct to her soul that grabbed my attention. I wanted this gal, this woman, for the rest of my life. We sent messages via the pen pal site and then by email to our own accounts. She was something dreamily esoteric like purple pixie dust; I was the dark being from the gothic universe being drawn towards her.

Each time I logged on to the pen pal site I looked at Betty's mystical eyes and imp/elf like pretty face and started to fall in love, unlike ever before. I read her music tastes, a mix of Goth, indie and alternative. Bands like Warsaw/Joy Division, Siousxie, Dead Can Dance and Franz Ferdinand.

When it came to music Fred was a bit of a Goth, he loved it passionately. Bands like The Gathering and Lacuna Coil from Europe, Tristania and Sirenia from Scandinavia. This showed how cultured he was. He also loved 80s Goth, some metal, girl singers, alternative music and good pop. So musically Fred and Betty were boy meets gal, an ideal match.

Betty explained she was a teacher who wrote poetry in her spare time. She sent some to Fred and gave him the links to what she had online. He read her work with delight, she wrote like he did from the heart. Betty said she wore her heart on her sleeve, her poems covered romance gone wrong, nature and other delicate matters. Fred told Betty he was a poet and had been published many times over the years. He emailed her some of his work that was quite dark compared to hers. Would she like it? He waited impatiently for her answer. When it came he was surprised, she loved his poems, saying he was better than her!

Fred got to know Betty in the passing days; she breathed new life into his stale existence on the dole with no day job. His loneliness hung over him like the memories of old gals he had dated and past friends now no more, gone. The past always snapping at one’s heals, his new American sweetheart said, I know just how you feel. Lost, alone, unwanted and unloved, in utter despair.

Would that all end? Betty explained how she currently lived in the land of gators and swamps and that she'd soon be moving over to England. She said she'd been living here before in Manchester and London.

I asked if she was with a guy during that time and she said, yeah. I knew he'd been with Betty for a while. A woman like that wasn’t alone for long. She had been a naughty gal over staying her visa. I think it was by eighteen months. She got a bollocking when returning to the States because a relative was ill.

On her return to England Betty would be with me, either in my crap northern town or in a city from where my father was from, Durham. I'd be happy anywhere with Betty. We even talked on the phone of me going working in America doing a fast one, no visa, doing warehouse or driving work if I wanted a change and easy cash. If not, I’d just chill with Betty and enjoy my break from England. I explained that I’m a writer, a published poet and love doing that, I want to make a career of it. She even said we can get a place together; I can stay at home writing and put my first book together while she works doing her teaching job. I was thrilled! Imagine all my dreams about to come true, a surreal feeling of me, Fred, reaching my full potential in life. I'd never done that before and no one had ever believed in me like Betty did, not even Tina my ex wife who had been a pagan white witch.

Fred was something special. He was a published poet of several dozen times in the 'small press', the poetry scene in mags, anthologies and 'zines. A remarkable achievement for a self taught poet on the dole being long term unemployed, living in a mouldy council flat in a big rundown riot town north of Manchester. Everyone knew how run down that town was, no jobs, no potential, definitely not for an aspiring author. Betty must be mad getting involved with a loser like Fred who had no job, no car, didn’t own his own house, bought all of his clothes in charity shops to make up his gothic look, whose only positive contribution to the world was his writing.

Betty loved Fred's writing. She read his poems quietly in class while her students did their work. Maybe she even read some of Fred's more tame positive work out, he can’t remember. When she left him his mind collapsed.

Fred was at a training centre while on the dole doing job searches. Here he wasn’t really learning anything but how to do a CV and looking for work when there wasn’t any. He regularly emailed his new love on the pen pal site and by normal email. When asked what he was doing one day, Fred told the truth to the member of staff - I’m sending my future wife an email.

Well don’t, he was told.

Did I really say that, my future wife? Fred promised himself that when he left Tina he would never marry again. After five years he changed his mind, just like that. His first wife was something but Betty was ten times better. He'd landed on top of the mountain with this one and got the gal who would show him a new and better life.

They had another phone talk at his mum’s, even talking of getting married at first to build a good foundation, a sensible move he agreed. Or was it because she wanted a visa and UK citizenship, he thought in March 2012?

On the phone they talked of making love. Betty and Fred spoke of intimate things, she said of how she liked it slow when in a sensual move or enjoying a quick fuck. Just mere words shared between two people, a bridge had been crossed and trust established. But really it was the beginning of the end, Fred mentioned in several emails and a letter he couldn’t wait to make love to his new gal. She thought he only wanted her for this, how wrong Betty was. Fred should have kept his erotic thoughts to himself, what a way to learn. As he read the only ever letter from her he started to cry. It was such a happy letter, before this tragic time.

Dreams of a new life with a nice beautiful gothic lady just collapsed. Betty started ignoring Fred's emails; he picked this up quickly but didn’t know what was up. He didn’t know it was him saying he wanted to make love to Betty and get to know her erotically, was the problem. When she did reply, she said she wasn’t mad or had fallen out with me. Fred relaxed momentarily but unease washed over him like dirty dish water. She replied, “I got a bad feeling about you, you just want me for my body. You treat me like a vagina and all your messages are crudely nasty sexual ones.”

How wrong Betty was about Fred, he meant his messages to be sensual and erotic. Not nasty and crude. To him they were. It was a big difference of opinion that doomed their relationship before it started or had met or got married or lived together or had kids or grew old together or...

The fact again: how wrong Betty was. She advertised for someone else on the pen pal site, “American girl coming to England seeks her soul mate Manchester, London, anywhere...” Silly bloody red neck gal had her soulmate and lost him. Gone, over, lost forever, consigned to the dustbin.

Fred wept like a child, for he'd been forsaken by his one true love. His mind was a ruin damaged beyond reason and understanding. He never had felt such emotional pain as he cried uncontrollably. He found he had a knife in his left hand, a brass handled lock knife. This was the tragic moment Fred started to self-harm aged 33. He cut deep into his right leg till it bled red, carving his leg with his religious symbol a pagan pentagram, as if his religion his ex wife had left him would save him. Did he also carve her name onto his leg? Betty. He can’t remember but the pentagram is still visible 8 years on. Through streaming tears that blurred his vision Fred lied on his bed, knife in hand cutting his perfect leg to bits. A line had been crossed forever after Betty broke his heart.

Yet he still loved her, always would. They were soulmates brought together by what? Fred should never have said those sexual things and Betty should have never have broken his heart, wounding his soul. Did it not hurt her to do this? Of course it must have. In his lucid moments, Fred wrote heartbreaking poetry that he never showed anyone for years, only publishing it in his fourth book after much soul searching. He'll never let his mother read that book because those poems are too sad. She must never know what a gal did to her son or how close to the edge her son felt. People who read those poems told Fred that he described the road to hell very well. He was an eye witness.

Yea, he replies, it's the truth. I left out how I nearly went and stabbed two lads who disrespected me. Yea, Fred could have murdered two lads who pissed him off. He won’t go into detail but it was a very close thing. His hand almost opened his front door, the lock knife was in his pocket and he would have been with the lads in 2 minutes by running up the hill. But something mercifully stopped Fred from doing the evil act, he turned and went to his room and wept. He used the knife on himself cutting a pentagram on his right leg, releasing all manner of pain. Many times over the confusing days he did it, he was so lost and alone and hurt. His friend Sara called round, she saw how upset he was and the cuts on his leg. She thought, What the hell? It was like you needed me there then at that moment. What would Fred have done if Sara wasn’t there? Suicide? A pretty young Goth gal called Betty did all this. Fred never forgot her, always loved her.

Then in mid 2010 Fred saw Betty's lovely face online again. Old feelings of lost love rose to the surface from deep within. He still felt for her, loved her. In love? What to do? She had a different last name now so she must be married. A guy had his Betty, was where Fred should be. Why? Why was it like this? He wanted to tell her that he still loved her after all these years, that he wanted a 2nd chance with her. He wouldn’t ask her himself because of the fuss, after much soul searching he asked a trusted friend to help for she understood his predicament. Miracles can happen after all.

But his friend let him down and he acted himself, sending Betty a message and friend add. She accepted and replied back, asking how he was. Fine he replied, at least she still cared. He mustn’t confuse sympathy with love. Then it became too much for Fred when she ignored his messages and he deleted her, another overreaction by him. Why did this happen?

His old mate is still the Yank gal’s mate; Fred blocked them both on the online site. He sent Betty three emails to her separate accounts saying how he wanted a second chance, how they had lived just thirty miles apart down the A-12 road in Essex, she near Southend and him in a few nearby towns over his time there. He moved down south and was there for three years, living a lie with another girl.

Betty and Fred’s lives ran on parallel paths, never crossing. So close yet so far. She never replied but must have read his words and known his views, did she care? He found out she left England in March and he missed her; she was in the States with her new English husband. What would have happened if he had been with his girlfriend who he had a child with and they all met in Southend? It would have been kaos. Some sleeping dogs are best left alone.