MACDONALDS TONIGHT

By Bob French

They sat close together on their settee with a thick blanket over their knees, facing the small unlit fireplace, and laughed at the hundreds of photographs they had kept in a large box of the friends they had worked with over the past 39 years.

Daphanie, in her day, had been a beautiful woman, whilst Louis, had been a tough weather-beaten young man who had made his living as a Corsican bandit.

They first came to know each other when Louis arrived in England as an eight-year-old immigrant and on his first day at school was picked on because he was different.  Daphanie stood up for him and soon they were inseparable.  When they graduated to secondary school, their roles reverse and Louis protected her from the conceited boys who thought that she was fair game.

Daphanie went on to university, then medical college to be a doctor, whilst Louis, after a few years doing odd jobs, returned to his home country and took up the profession of his father and his father before him; as a bandit.

Twenty years had passed; Daphanie, had become bored with the NHS and decided to go and work for Medecins Sans Frontiers and had thoroughly enjoyed it.  She had worked in South Sudan, the Congo, and now, on her last tour before retiring, she found herself in the war-torn country of Yemen.

Louis had worked with his father, before becoming bored with running from the Gendarme, and crossed over to the Island of Elba where a United Nations team was helping the people after an earthquake.  Because of his enthusiasm and dedication to helping those in need, they asked him to join them.  He too, travelled the war-torn countries of Africa and the Middle East until his unit was assigned to Yemen.

It was on a hot sticky afternoon when the village of Albuqa, suddenly came under attack from bandits from the north. Louis and the men from his section quickly started to defend the village. 

He watched in horror as a young boy dashed from the secondary school across the open ground.  Bullets hit him and spun him around like a rag doll.  Without thinking Louis dropped his weapon and sprinted out into the open, picked up the wounded boy, and raced back to cover. Within half an hour the government helicopters had arrived and were forcing the bandits back over the border.  Louis knew that there was a hospital in the village of Aleshash and on a good day it would take just under two hours to reach, but he knew that the old rations truck would take at least three.

He arrived just as it was getting dark and the medical staff quickly took care of the boy.  He asked where he could get a drink of water and was directed to the hospital rest area.  As Louis eased himself into one of the battered leather chairs, the door opened and a woman entered and started to remove her surgical gown.  As she took off her mask she glanced at Louis, then gave a scream of delight.

““Louis! Louis where have you been? What are you doing here?”

Within seconds, they were holding each other closely, not wishing to release each other.  It was then they realised how much feeling they had for each other.

Daphanie eased back from Louis and stared into his dark brown eyes. “God I have missed you.”  Then she kissed him. 

Just then a security guard entered the room.

“Are you the man who brought the young lad in?”

“Yes Sir.  He was wounded by bandits from the north who raided our station.”

The security.  “Your first +

aider said that you ran out into the middle of a fire-fight, picked up the boy and took him to cover. Is this right?”

Louis turned to Daphanie. “Will he be alright?”

“Yes Louis, thanks to you I was able to take out the bullets and patch him up.  We’ll need to keep him in for a week or more, but I don’t see why he can’t lead a normal life after that.  But tell me all about yourself?  Where have you been?”

Louis gently held her hand and guided her to the bench and began to explain how he had joined the United Nations Team and where he had been.  When he’d finished Daphanie hugged him.

Louis telephoned his base and explained that the old rations truck had broken down and would take at least three days to fix.  His boss was happy for Louis to stay but wanted his first aider back soonest.

The following day four battered army jeeps rolled into the compound.  Before the guards could ask who they were, six bodyguards stepped out of the vehicles and cordoned off the area.  Then a tall, distinguished-looking Yemini jumped down from a jeep and walked towards the hospital entrance.

A security guard intercepted him and demanded to know who he was and what did he want?

The man spoke reasonable English. “I wish to speak with the Doctor who saved the life of the boy from the school at Albuqa.”  Just then Daphanie stepped out from the tent and, knowing how the Yemini communicated, spoke softly to the man.

“Salam Malecom. Can I help you?”

The tall man stared at Daphanie.  I wish to speak to the Doctor who save my son.”

“That would be me.”

His expression instantly changed; his voice became harsh. “You are a woman.  Why is there no man doctor to treat my son?”

Daphanie smiled. “I’m sorry, but throughout the civilized world, a doctor is a doctor no mater their sex.  I can assure you that I have taken great care of your son.”

I also want to see the man who saved my son from those baboons from the north and brought him to your hospital.”

Louis had seen the cavalcade arrive and slowly started to make his way towards the main hospital tent.  As he approached, he saw Daphanie speaking to the tall man, then suddenly point towards him. Suddenly two heavily armed men grabbed his arms and propelled him towards their leader.

The tall man stared at Louis, then nodded.  “I am told that you risked your life to save my son?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Why?  He is not of your race.”

“My job is to help and care for people, regardless.  Your son was wounded and needed help.”  Louis just shrugged his shoulders as though to say ‘what did you expect me to do?’

Daphanie quietly interrupted.  “Could I have your name please?”

The tall man became cautious.  “Why do you need my name?”

“So that I can give your son his name.  At present, he is known to us as John Doe, number 25.”

The man smiled, then nodded.  “It is Sheik Mahammad, Abdul Aziz Al-Marabak.”

Louis instantly recognized the name and bowed his head.

“We are pleased to be of service, Sheik Marabak.”

Sheik Marabak started to move towards the entrance. “Now, please show me my son.”

“No!”

Sheik Marabak stopped, spun around, and stared at Daphanie, with anger in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, but you can not see your son dressed like that.”  She nodded to his dirty and dusty clothing and greasy ammunition belt hung across his chest. “Louis, please escort the Sheik to the changing room and have him change into gowns before he sees his son.”

Sheik Marabak instantly understood what she was demanding, then barked instructions for his men to wait outside. 

The Sheik spent half an hour with his son before he reappeared dressed in his desert clothing.

“Doctor. I wish to show my thanks and appreciation for saving my son’s life.”

Daphanie could see the gratitude in his eyes and spoke gently to him. “I’m sorry but we are not permitted to accept gifts from those we assist. Those are the rules.”

The Sheik looked at her for a while then spoke. “When do you and this man leave my country?”

Daphanie was suddenly confused by the question.  “Leave?”

“Yes, I am sure you both do not intend to stay in my country for the rest of your days?”

“Louis nodded.  Sorry, my Sheik.  We will end our tour and retire to England together in five months’ time.” Daphanie smiled at Louis’s decision to come and live with her in England.

The Sheik spoke quickly to one of his officers, who provided a small card and pen.  He wrote something on the back of the card and handed it to Louis.  “When you both finally settle down and you are in need of help, call this number.

They returned to England and bought a little cottage in Manningtree and survived on their meagre pensions.  They didn’t have a TV and spent many happy hours in the evenings going through the large box of photographs of the people they had served with and the memories associated with them.

“Daphanie suddenly picked up the card Sheik Marabak had given them. Eight months ago.  She looked at Louis.  “Do you remember what he said. “if we needed help.”

The following morning Daphanie called the Yemeni embassy and was put through to the Charge de Affair, who politely invited them up to London.

They no sooner entered the embassy door when the Charge de Affair greeted them and ushered them into the Ambassador.

“Doctor Daphanie and Mr. Louis, how pleased I am to see you.  I have been instructed by Sheik Mahammad, Abdul Aziz Al-Marabak, the President of Yemen, to firstly award you both the Most Sacred Order of the Golden Mountain and secondly to offer you any assistance we can.

They stood in a trance as the Ambassador draped the brightly coloured ribbon, with the large gold star around their necks.  “Now, I think it is time for a cup of tea?”

Once seated, the Ambassador spoke. “Now you are probably wondering what we mean by ‘help in any way.”

Daphanie nodded. “Yes, we are not really sure what you mean.”

My government would like to pay, no reward you both for saving the President’s son, who by the way got into Oxford, thanks to.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.”

“Now to business.  We will pay into your account the sum of 150 each month until you pass away.”

Louis, who had remained silent so far, quietly spoke to Daphanie.  “A hundred and fifty pounds would help us a lot.  We could even get a TV.”

The Ambassador smiled; “No, No you misunderstand me.  One thousand five hundred pounds each month.”

They both sat there stunned.  Daphanie spoke first. “Sir, that is rather a lot of money.”

“For saving the life of one’s eldest son in my county is priceless Doctor.  If you need more, then you must call me and I shall arrange things.  These are the instructions of my President.

On the train home, Louis asked Daphanie what she was thinking.    She didn’t answer him straight away then, smiled, “let’s have a MacDonalds tonight.”

Copyright Bob French

Two Poems from Rosemary

 Nuts

by Rosemary Clarke

Nuts are good for you so I am told.

They're sweet and they're crunchy and never grow old.

We've put them in cakes or have eaten them raw

They come out at Christmas, and then we want more.

We don't eat enough of them, of that it is true

.
I can't see why when nuts are so good for you?

PS and raisins.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

 

THE STRANGER

by Rosemary Clarke

Spiders webs with spiders all over the place

Tangling my hair, covering my face

The room is darkened and covered in gore

I didn't know, now I won't live here no more.

Go out in the sunlight, live once again

No matter the trouble, no matter the pain.

Just keep forging onward that's all I can see

Then finally I'll find the one that's called 'ME'.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

 

 THE COUP DE GRACE 

by Richard Banks           

Mr Dunlop shut the front door and turned around the open sign so that it showed closed. As usual, there was paperwork to be done, receipts to be counted, but today was Thursday, and Thursdays were different. He let down the Venetian blind that covered the glass panel in the door and in the second or two it took him to close the slats peered nervously into the darkness outside.

      In the pharmacy behind the counter, Janice was unpacking the day’s delivery of pharmaceuticals. She had almost finished. In a few minutes, she would retreat to the bathroom and exchange the white overalls she was wearing for the outer garments she arrived in. Mr Dunlop emptied the cash register and placed both banknotes and coins in the safe. He would count them tomorrow. Next door the sound of footsteps was followed by the closing of the bathroom door and the splash of water signaling that Janice had discarded her overalls and blouse and was about to wash her arms and face. If it had not been Thursday he might have followed her there, for he often did and they would…, but it was Thursday and, although Janice did not know what Mr Dunlop knew, they both knew that Thursday’s were different. The bathroom door opened and Janice re-entered the pharmacy wearing the suede jacket that Mr Dunlop had recently brought her.

      “Are we still on for tomorrow?” she asked. For a moment she feared that he would say no, that he had no choice but to spend the evening at home with Irene. To her relief, he nodded, and although his parting kiss had not its usual warmth she sensed that nothing had changed between them. He let her out through the front door, waited several minutes, and then switched the light off and on three times to signal he was alone. 

      On the other side of the street, the glow of a cigarette in the unlit doorway of a vacant shop revealed the presence of someone otherwise unseen. The road was empty now, time for him to make his move, to be in and out with no one the wiser. He crossed the road and pushed at the door which he knew would be unlocked. As usual, Mr Dunlop was sitting behind the counter, grim faced, unwelcoming.            

      The young man closed the door behind him, his face contorting into an affectionless smile. “Hello uncle, how are you today?” 

      Mr Dunlop regarded him with wary distaste. Once he felt pity for him, now he had none. He left that to others, to those who saw only the dirt and neglect of a homeless vagrant. But he saw more, saw deeper, knew the corruption within. 

      Having received no response to his question the young man tried again. “Aunty Irene well, I hope.” 

      Mr Dunlop felt anger. What did the boy care for Irene, or anyone else for that matter? He nodded, not in response to the question asked, but at a box he had placed on the otherwise empty counter.

      The young man approached the box as though drawn by a magnet. “Have you got the ones I wanted?”

      “Yes. It’s all there, one hundred tablets.” He sensed that the young man was about to say that one hundred was not enough, that he needed more, instead he snatched-up the box and after a brief examination of its contents thrust it into the hip pocket of his overcoat. The young man considered whether to leave, or if something further needed to be said about Janice. His uncle would not have forgotten his threats, but sometimes it was necessary to reinforce a message, to remind him who was in charge. 

      His mind travelled back to the event that put him in charge. He had gone to his uncle’s shop, just before closing time, hoping to lift a few pills but no one was on the counter. Sensing an opportunity he pushed open the pharmacy door and peered inside. Again, there was no one to be seen. He entered, scouring the shelves for a familiar name or label, moving in crab like strides towards the restroom where Uncle Harold cooked lunch and read the ’paper. As he neared the half open door, a movement in his peripheral vision coincided with the sound of heavy breathing that grew in volume until it became an urgent gulping-in of air. For a moment he thought his uncle had been taken ill, then he saw them together on the sofa, saw Janice’s horror struck expression as she stared back at him, and the rise and fall of his uncle’s plump bottom. As she screamed he fled in panic, fearing the consequences for himself, but when, the following day, nothing had been said or done he realised that the person in trouble was not himself but Uncle Harold. An opportunity had come his way. At first, there was no need for threats. He had only to mention Janice and his uncle would be reduced to a nervous quiver. 

      “Don’t worry uncle, your secret’s safe with me,” he would say, and then, in an apparent non-sequitur, express his disappointment that he had insufficient money to go to the cinema. At first, his uncle paid him with money from the till, five pounds, then ten pounds but when ten pounds became twenty they agreed to use the currency of prescription drugs.     

      Mr Dunlop stared stony faced at his nephew. He couldn’t wait to see the back of him, but the young man showed no sign of leaving. “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “It’s no good asking for more. There isn’t any. Since that new place opened I’m barely breaking even.” For a moment his dark thoughts about his nephew were eclipsed by his animosity for DayNite Pharmacy. His nephew smiled another affectionless smile and, after ‘assuring’ Mr Dunlop that he would be back the following week, left the shop.     

     Mr Dunlop locked the front door and turned out the lights. Irene would be cooking dinner; he needed to get home before it spoiled. He anticipated the questions she would ask, “how’s business? is it up on last week? isn’t there anything we can do to stop losing trade?” 

      As the owner of the business founded by her father, she had every right to ask such questions and, as her manager, his job was to find solutions. How fortunate then that at last he had found one. A solution that also solved his other problem.    

      For now, there was nothing to be done, just wait until his nephew ingested one of the pills he had added to the bottle of anti-depressants that bore the DayNite label. His death would be a painful one - no more than he deserved. The repercussions to the pharmacy that apparently supplied the pills would also be painful. Even if they weren’t closed down who would do business with them after that. It was, as his old history teacher was fond of saying, the coup de grace.

The End

Copyright Richard Banks

 

   

 

 

Uncle Charlie’s Mobile home

 Uncle Charlie’s Mobile home

By Len Morgan

I recall it all even though, it happened more than 30 years ago. I asked Sheila, my sister, if she remembered our trips.  She said not, so I really had to double-think, maybe I was dreaming?

In the dreams, Uncle Charlie would take me and Sheila out in his Camper Van. I remember he called her Betty. She was, bright yellow with Peace, flowers, and mystic signs painted all over her.  We would travel out into the Essex countryside then he’d ask where we would like to go…

I remember it was Sheila’s turn to choose… “Let’s go to Scotland,” she said.

“How would you suggest we travel Kevin?” he’d ask me.

“Let’s go by steam train, the Flying Scotsman,” I said.  And Betty would whiz & spin like a Catherine wheel, when she stopped we were in a train carriage attached to the Flying Scotsman.  You must understand, this was not our first adventure with Charlie & Betty, so we were not phased by the transformation. And so this adventure began. We watched the countryside flashing by and when we opened the windows we could smell the steam and hear the familiar rhythmic sounds from the engine.  In next to no time we were in Glasgow, then on to Stirling, & finally Edinburgh.  When we left the station, our faithful Betty was waiting kerbside to take us where we wanted to go next.  Princes Street first to get a present for Mum, then to a nice restaurant for a meal. 

“Where next?” Charlie asked.

“the Zoo…” said Sheila.

“Oh yes please,” said I.

“Well your in luck kids, I just happen to have three tickets for the chimpanzees' tea party,”

What a day that was, and we were still home in time for tea.

.-...-. 

At another time we visited Dickensian London, and Betty became a street cab.  We actually saw Charlie's namesake Mr Dickens and his home at 48 Doughty Street.  We waved to him, he smiled and waved back at us. 

 Another visit took us farther afield, to the USA, New York and the Wild West!  Betty became a stagecoach New York was smelly and overcrowded so we went on to Buffalo where we met Mark Twain, he spoke with a strange accent, nothing like Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn. 

at various times in my memories, Betty became a submarine, a hot air balloon, a helicopter, an airplane, and a spaceship.

.-...-. 

Sadly, as we got older Uncle Charlie's visits became less frequent.  It’s been 16 years now since his last visit.  We were all so busy with school, university, and work.  Guess we just forgot about him and his distinctive companion ~ Betty.  But, how could we ever forget those wonderful adventures?  Sheila says it was all in my mind, but looking around I can see the many souvenirs we brought back for Mum…

Today I received an official letter from Uncle Charlie’s solicitors.  Informing me that he had sadly passed away peacefully, at a Nursing home in Saffron Walden.  The letter explained that he'd left various bequests to friends and family.  He sent me two dozen gold coins, in plastic wallets, that he'd collected on his travels. I was asked to look out for a special delivery tomorrow 08/04/2023. 

I smiled when I saw a car transporter unloading a bright yellow Betty, embellished with flowers and magic symbols, it seemed untouched by the passage of time!  I smiled sadly remembering Charlie; wondering ‘where I would go’ as the transporter driver handed me the keys to Betty.  

I have no children but, I think I might take Sheila’s twins David & Katie for a drive; just for old time's sake…

Copyright Len Morgan