by David Nicholls | Apr 15, 2009 | Stories
December. Aden 1965. An aggressively hot and dusty place surrounded by harsh grey mountains and arid tracts of sandy desert. A place too, where the hatred of the local populace for us British servicemen was a palpable force daily translated into acts of murder and...
by John Knight | Apr 15, 2009 | Stories
The wind was cold as it blew across the bleak airfield, and the rain drizzled from a darkening sky. We stood under the bombers wing in a forlorn group, eight youngsters out of merry quips. The false laughter of bravado had died away as we suddenly found that we needed...
by E C Seaman | Apr 15, 2009 | Stories
Private Phillips hears the storms that others cannot hear. He hears the fall of raindrops, the wind whipping though the trees and the deep, distant boom and thump of thunder in far-off, unseen hills. His eyes cast ever skyward, he has become the regimental expert on...
by Michelle Wyllie | Apr 14, 2009 | Stories
The stone lion stood proudly outside the Cowdray Hall. The dates engraved behind it were still engrained on my brain. EElizabethabeth stood beside me, her arm hooked into mine. Some of my comrades lay a wreath of red poppies. Her lovely figure was hidden by a loose...
by Tuna Coetzee | Apr 14, 2009 | Stories
June 16th, 1976. I remember that day. It was on that day that I felt that teasing rush that made my fists clench. It was on that day that I felt hatred -it was tender, but scarily satisfying to feel that forbidden emotion. And I can feel it once more… …at a dangerous...
by Uta Coutts | Apr 12, 2009 | Stories
His voice: that’s what I remember most about Dad. It wasn’t in any way extraordinary, at least not as far as I can judge, but I think one cannot help but be partial about the voices of the people one loves most because it is so much a part of their being, their...