Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt this week is
Larry liked to be alone, not with the others. No show, no bloody bugle. The sun caught his spectacles and he was instantly transported back 70 odd years to that room, somewhere near Mannheim, Jock slowly dying in his arms as the sun filled the windows, defying the chaos outside. A tear slipped down his cheek, momentarily blinding him.
Larry jumped; something hit his chest and fell into his lap. A lad, maybe 8 or 9 gawped at Larry in horror while somewhere behind him a woman’s voice remonstrated with the youngster.
‘For heaven’s sake, Roly, can’t you stand still for a moment.’
Larry looked at the ball, nestling in his blanket. Roly. That was Jock’s real name. How odd.
‘I’m so sorry sir.’ The woman sounded mortified. ‘I told him it was 2 minutes but he can’t keep still.’
Larry looked at the boy, a mix of fear and apprehension in his expression. He held out the ball and smiled.
The woman continued. ‘I told him to be respectful. I suppose he’s too young to know what your generation did, the sacrifices you made.’
Larry nodded. He offered a gnarled hand which the woman took after a moment. ‘Thing is, love, that’s why we fought, ain’t it? To let kiddies like your lad muck about rather than worrying about stuff. Go on son. Show us what you can do.’
Roly didn’t need any more encouragement. He flicked the ball high in the air and volleyed it across the grass. His mother looked at Larry, a bemused expression on her face before she followed her son.
Larry turned his chair around and headed to where the crowds still mingled by the green. Jock enjoyed a kick about too, he thought.
TanGental 
Lovely Geoff, not a dry eye in the house. Beautifully written.
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A tender one, Geoff
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I saw an old guy watching the service last year, sat to one side in his chair. This brought that back.
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Very touching! We sometimes tend to forget just to treat vets normally, don’t we, like the little boy with the ball and his mum. This year, I was waiting for a train and across the aisle of ranked metal seats of people sitting staring at the Departures board was a Chelsea Pensioner about the age my father would’ve been. When I stood up to get my train I went to shake his hand reverentially. “Is this your daughter?”, I said, smiling at the pretty and youngish lady next to him. “Oh no”‘ he said. “This is my lady friend!”
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Lovely. I can imagine your face.
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😄
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So poignant and written with such humanity.
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You are very generous Louise. Thank you
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Beautiful, Geoff…and yes, that was why they fought.
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A tearjerker, Geoff but a wonderful story. ❤ ❤
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Lovely. ❤
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Now I’m the one needing a tissue. Pass that box over please, Geoff.
This was a beautiful read. One for the next book.
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I think a collection of flash might be the way to go.
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