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...
by Bev Morrant | Apr 12, 2009 | Stories
Her daddy meant the world to her. He was the strength, the pillar, the support that held her world together, but daddy was gone. He was in Northern Ireland supporting the troops that were trying to keep the peace. She didn’t understand the politics of it all, she just...
by Ashley Roden | Apr 10, 2009 | Stories
Major Jim Blackburn leant back in the canvas chair. His elbow rested on a wooden bench made of local Afghan plywood so dry it was almost desiccated. He looked at the cards in his hand. The three and four of clubs, the eight of spades, nine of diamonds and the jack of...
