Spitfire Pilot
Flying Through
Ashes
Registered:
12-2005
Location:
On my way to hell.
Posts:
969
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The next little bit for your reading pleasure :D :D :D
OK....Here is the next little bit that I've just written........nothing like all the other copies but what the hell......enjoy!!!!
Mark.
The farmer carefully helped me to my feet. “Are you alright?” he asked, sounding very concerned. “Yes Sir”, I replied, “I hit my head and my left arm in the crash but I think I’m OK”.
“Well”, he said, “let’s get you into the house and check you over. My daughter is a nurse with the Army and she’s home on leave this week, so you’re in luck aren’t you?”
“Apparently so”, I said, perhaps rather rudely. The farmer just laughed and helped me to walk back to the farmhouse to get some medical attention and a nice warm cup of tea.
As we entered the farmhouse, the farmer’s wife stood in the kitchen looking very pale. She had just boiled the kettle on the stove to make some tea and offered me a cup, as well as a rather delicious piece of homemade cake.
She smiled as I wasted no time in eating it. “Would you like another piece?” she asked kindly. “No thank you”, I replied, “I wouldn’t want to appear greedy although it was quite splendid”.
We sat there talking for a while until the farmers daughter returned from the local village where she had picked up some bread and some vegetables for their dinner. “Oh my”, she said as she saw me sat at the table, “I didn’t realise that we had company”.
“Oh Rose”, said the farmer’s wife, “this is Flight Lieutenant Bufton. He crashed landed in one of our potato fields and has hurt his head. You wouldn’t be a dear and take a look at it would you?”
“Yes, of course”, said Rose, carefully placing the shopping bags down on the table. “I’ll just go and get my bag and I’ll take a look at you Sir”. She smiled at me and her eyes seemed to sparkle. I have to say that she was a very attractive young woman.
She was very slim and had bright blonde hair and wore bright red lipstick. Her hands were soft and her touch almost undetectable as she carefully patched me up ready to fight another day.
“There we go, Sir”, she said calmly, “that should keep you in one piece for a while”. She smiled again. There was something about that smile that was almost magical. I could sit and look at her smile all day. It was like entering a trance. Time stood still and the world seemed to no longer exist.
She gave me a ride to the local train station that afternoon to catch the 3:20 train back to the airfield. “Good luck Sir”, she said, as the train pulled into the station, “make sure you write to me and let me know how you are getting on, won’t you”.
“I will”, I said, “but only if you will do the same”. “Of course”, she relied, softly. I turned and boarded the train. She smiled and waved as the train pulled out of the station. “Thank you for your help” I shouted, waving back as the train steamed out of the station. As I sat down in my seat I knew that everything would be alright. There really would be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover.
Post Edited By Spitfire Pilot, Jan/8/2007, 4:29 pm
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"The trouble with artists such as myself is that all too many can see the world for the beautiful place that it should be but we cannot see ourselves for who we truly are".
- Mark A Bufton, 17 March 2009
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Jan/3/2007, 4:20 pm
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compared to your writing. I look foward to learning more about writing from this site. I can only hope that someday I can write as well as you.
