Welcome to the world of
                       Michael G Kimber

The Nightwriter

The Newspaper Seller

Part One.
Archie Briggs was tired. It was early afternoon and three hours of trudging London’s tourist spots had wearied him, as did the prospect of another five hours before he was due to catch his coach.
            His kit bag weighed heavily at his side either carried or dragged. Alternatively, when balanced on his shoulder it seemed just as heavy, and it made his arm ache. Over his other arm was draped his heavy greatcoat, and between them they presented something of a problem for Archie. Not least in their heavy and cumbersome nature, but the fact that he was skint. The last game of cards on the troopship had not worked out well. He had hoped to scoop the jackpot which earlier success had promised. Three kings ought to have done the trick and on the strength of that he had put everything into the pot, but mysteriously another player - a stranger - had produced three aces. He had left the game with his pockets empty and a certain gnawing feeling that he had been the victim of a scam. Any hopes of a meal or a drink, or even a place to offload his gear for the day had gone with those three cards.
              At any other time he would have muttered and cursed at his situation, but at least this time there was something different; something to cheer him on. It was November the Eleventh nineteen forty five; the war was over, and he, like so many other soldiers was going home.
            “You on your own son?”
            Archie heard the voice but did not stop, thinking that the enquiry was meant for other ears.
            “Hey soldier!” This time Archie stopped and turned.
            “Yes, you young man - are you on your own?”
            “What if I am?” Archie said defensively, fearing that he may be the intended victim of another scam or hoax. Or even that he was being solicited for some sleazy entertainment.
            “Want a free ticket for the show?”
            Only then did Archie realise that he was outside the Palladium Theatre, but what surprised him most of all was that he was being spoken to by a newspaper seller. An old and scruffy newspaper seller at that.
            “Sorry mate; I haven’t a bean in my pocket, so you’ll not get anything out of me.”
            “I said a free ticket - no catch I promise. The matinée has just started.”
            “Why would you give me a free ticket?” Archie was far from won over but the chance of somewhere to park his weary body, and with a bit of entertainment thrown in was a tempting proposition. He moved a little closer.  “What’s it about then?” he asked.
            “Just take the ticket and you’ll find out.” The newspaperman said.
            “No catch; honest?”
            “No catch; honest.”
            Thinking he had nothing to lose, and that, if the worst came to the worst he could look after himself, he held out his hand and took the ticket. The newspaper man gave him the briefest of smiles, before he turned, accosting another passer by with an ear shattering plea to buy a newspaper.
            Long before he reached the entrance to the theatre itself he could hear the sounds. The music and laughter, and already he could feel the atmosphere. As he moved from the relative brightness of the corridors to the darkness of the auditorium he felt at ease. There were few empty seats, and surely nothing could happen in such a place, especially before all these people. He stood at the back, waiting for the acrobat to do his last trick before he tumbled off the stage to great applause.
            Checking the ticket he made his way until he found the correct seat, which was on the front row of the balcony, next but one to the central isle. ‘This must be about the best seat in the place’ Archie thought as a tall, middle aged man, well dressed - if slightly old fashioned - stood up to let him pass. He smiled at the young soldier and suggested to him that he leave his kit bag and coat in the isle next to his seat. “It will not be in anyone’s way,” he said quietly “and it will be far too heavy for me to run away with.” Another smile, and his gesture to take his seat convinced Archie that all was well. As he did so he glanced at the lady on his left, concerned less he should encroach on her space. She smiled and very slightly inclined her head. Archie sat down, and during the next act - a baritone singing the popular songs of the day, especially those which had become associated with the war - nothing further happened.
            As the singer completed his act and as the level of applause subsided, so the lights came up for the interval. For just the briefest of moments there was silence but then the man leaned toward Archie and offered his hand. “My name is Richard Spencer, and may I introduce my wife Rosemary?” indicating the lady to Archie’s left, at which point he was rewarded with another smile, and once again a slight inclination of her head.
            After Archie had responded with his name he continued. “You must be somewhat puzzled by this,” he said, “but it is rather simple really. You see our son was due to come home on leave today, and was to have joined us here in the theatre, but unfortunately he cannot make it.”
            “And it seems such a shame to waste the ticket,” Mrs Spencer interjected as though she suspected that her husband might not tell the story correctly, “so we asked the newspaper man to look out for any young soldier on his own.”
            “And we got you.” Mr Spencer cut in again. “And before it is too late would you like some refreshment.”
            Archie was embarrassed. “I cannot I’m afraid. I’m flat broke and I wouldn’t be able to get you a drink in return.”
            “Oh do not worry about that. Rowland - our son - is just the same; he never had any money in his pocket, so do not worry on that score.” He stood up, clearly expecting Archie to follow. “If you will excuse her my wife will not join us.”
            He made to leave and Archie felt bound to follow. “Of course.” he said, smiling at the lady who had remained seated. “It’s very kind of you.”
            The interval was soon over, as indeed was the show, during which the only conversation had been an occasional comment relating to the performers. Soon the auditorium was emptying but Archie’s hosts made no effort to join the throng, and Archie felt that he too must remain seated until they made the first move. ‘Perhaps there is something else.’ he conjectured, wondering what, if any, further surprises may be waiting.
There was. “There is a little restaurant nearby where we have arranged a meal. Please join us Archie.”
 Mrs Spencer’s insistence could not be resisted, and as Archie’s empty stomach thwarted any attempt he might otherwise have made to decline, he was soon enjoying his first meal since disembarking in the early hours of the day.  
         It was Mr Spencer who eventually though unhurriedly brought the afternoon towards a close. “Thank you for joining us Archie. I hope you have enjoyed our company as we have enjoyed yours.”
“Not at all, it should be me thanking you. You have been very generous. It’s my good fortune that your son couldn’t make it. I hope you will see him soon.”
 Archie was then surprised by what seemed like an awkward silence, broken eventually by Mrs Spencer. “I’m afraid we have deceived you a little Archie – I hope you don’t mind me calling you Archie?” but before waiting for the young man’s acquiescence she continued. “You see, our son was due to come home but I’m afraid has been killed in action; on the last day of the war.” There was a strange almost wistful look on her face, “So you are like a substitute son; do you mind terribly?”
            Archie was stunned; could hardly believe what he had heard, and had no idea how he should respond. It seemed inconceivable that these people, surely in mourning, should have been watching a variety show as though nothing had happened. No matter that they had shown him great hospitality, he felt very uncomfortable, and, trying his best not to offend, as soon as he could he thanked them for their kindness, commiserated with them in their grief, and wished them farewell.
            Once outside the theatre Archie made strides towards the coach station where he had resolved to wait out the rest of the time. He had expected to see the newspaper seller again but of him there was no sign, even though there were lots of people milling around. People on their way home from work; others no doubt looking forward to an evenings entertainment, while others still, were simply wandering the streets, enjoying the freedom that the end of five years of war had brought.

    
Part Two.
    For Archie Briggs this would be a first, a fact that gave him little comfort. He was forty three years old, settled with a comfy home and no wish to be a globe trotter. Yet here he was in some European city the name of which he could hardly pronounce, with a load of people he did not know, and who, in all likelihood, he would never meet again.
             It was not his choice. He was a technician first and foremost, a good one too, and had risen to a senior position in his company. But at the last minute the sales director had been taken ill, and Archie’s boss had asked him to deputise.
            “I’m not a salesman!” Archie had protested.
            “I know, but you know our products better than anyone in the firm. Just talk with the same enthusiasm there as you do here and you’ll be fine.”
            So there it was. Archie found himself on a cold November day, in a cold somewhat run down conference hall in S-Hertogenbosch, representing his company as best he could, but without the natural flare that good salespeople seem to be born with.
             It was mid afternoon when one of his visitors brought him out of his factual but rather dull presentation. He looked up from his notes hoping to find a face that would ring the same bell as had his voice. Though it didn’t quite ring the bell, there was nevertheless a gentle pull on the string, for standing before him was a man whose appearance was more than vaguely familiar. A man some twenty years his senior, with a rather formal authoritative manner.
            They spoke for some time on matters of mutual interest, that is to say ‘packaging’ and display, all the while Archie was listening for some clue as to his visitors identity. At least he hoped to find where their paths had crossed. Eventually the puzzle was solved when the older man made reference to the similarity of a certain machine he had been involved with when he had been in the army.
            Archie’s not inconsiderable brain immediately swung into action. He remembered his years in the Army, and despite the obvious age difference it was entirely possible that the answer might be found there.
            “When was that?” he asked.
            “I was in all through the war years, though I was referring to about nineteen forty.”
            “Me too.” Archie replied, glad to have found a possible solution. “It seems that we are two of the lucky ones to come through it.”
            There followed a discussion of the possible places where fate might have thrown them together. Abruptly Archie snapped his fingers.
“Got it.” he said. “Sergeant Wilson. No - that’s not right.” And then, after a brief pause he exclaimed, “Sergeant Willis.”
            “Well I’m blessed,” Mr Willis exclaimed, “that’s quite a trick.” He held out his hand. “Jack Willis to be precise. But I’m afraid that my memory doesn’t match up to yours.”
            It was a statement which clearly implied the question.
            Archie obliged. “Archie Briggs.”
            Formal introductions over they quickly filled in the details of where and when; both happy to have renewed an acquaintance.  So many of their comrades who had not made it through had been denied that simple pleasure, and these two men were quick to take advantage of their good fortune.
             Later that evening they met again in one of the hotel lounges, where they were each to learn of the others secret, only to discover that it was a secret they both shared.
    
Part Three.
    Archie Briggs and Jack Willis, didn’t, on the face of it, have very much in common. Though that had served in the same army unit and had become known to each other, they were not friends. Jack was a Sergeant instructor, while Archie, not long out of his training, had been assigned as a technician at the same camp. Both were involved with new recruits, Jack directly, and Archie in a role supportive of all the instructors. As such they were aware of each other, and indeed had established an agreeable working relationship, but were never friends. Not only was there the difference of rank, but the twenty years difference in their ages inevitably propelled them into divergent social circles. Also Jack had a wife and family at home, while Archie was still uncommitted.
            All that had been more than two decades earlier, and now those distinctions no longer mattered. Both were representing their companies; both had major responsibilities, both were well qualified and respected, and both now had family obligations. So they met at the end of a long hard day as equals, happy in each other’s company, and happy to be spared the drudgery of another night watching foreign television. Catching up on their respective movements since their time together had been entertaining, and long before the evening was over they had achieved something which in earlier times they had failed to do. They became friends.
            Lots of memories were revived and anecdotes shared. Jack spoke of his impending retirement, while Archie confided his belief that promotion to directorship was all but confirmed.  Inevitably the subject of the war itself emerged. There was a certain reluctance to dig deep into that part of their past, especially by Jack, but it transpired that they had both found themselves on active duties across the water, happy that they had been able to do their duty, but grateful that they had been spared.
            “Tough times to be sure.” observed Archie, his thoughts seemingly far away.
            “Certainly were. We all lost good friends.”
            Archie sat up. Something stirred within him. “Did you?”
            “Quite a few people I knew, or knew of, but there was one, one in particular. . .” He stopped for a moment, picking up his glass of beer. Archie sat back a little. Jack had clearly reached a painful memory and he had no wish to add to his new friend’s obvious distress.
            “Sorry,” Jack said after he had recovered his composure. “He was the best friend I ever had. Any closer and we would have been lovers.” He smiled. “That for me was the hardest part of the war. Losing Rolly. We were like brothers. No, we were more like twins.”
            “I never had a friend like that.” Archie said quietly. “I envy you.”
            “I met his parents you know; at the end the war. I’d been sent home earlier with a bullet in my leg so I got in touch with them and we arranged to meet in London.”  He gave Archie a curious look. “It was agreed that we met at the Palladium.”
 “The Palladium?” Archie repeated, his attention shifting to a new level.
“Seems like it was a regular family habit; started as a treat for Rolly when he was young.”
Once again Jack stopped, attempting to keep his composure during another painful memory, while Archie pondered the coincidence of their meeting place. When Jack continued he was somewhat subdued. “As I said we met as planned.” At this point Jack looked up, with a curious expression on his face “We very nearly didn’t; I’ll tell you about that in a minute; but then they told me; the worst news I could imagine. They told me . . . they told me that Rolly was dead. I couldn’t believe it. Blown up on the very last day of the war.”
            “What a tragedy. I’m surprised they still went on with the meeting. It must have been very hard for them.” Archie’s surprise was evident.
            “They knew about me you see; their son’s best friend; wanted to meet me they said. Perhaps they thought that there wouldn’t be another opportunity. They would have been right too. A few days later I learned that they both died in a suicide pact. Apparently their grief was so great that they just couldn’t live without their son.”
            “It’s a very sad story. You must have been glad to meet them?”
            “That’s the funny thing about it. As I said we met in the Palladium theatre but we very nearly didn’t. Something had happened to my leg wound and I needed some extra treatment so I was very late. When I didn’t turn up I guess they thought I wasn’t coming so they asked a newspaper seller to give my ticket to any soldier who was on his own. It was just luck that the first soldier to arrive was me. I didn’t expect to see them, but there they were, so I met them after all.”
             Archie was still in a high state of alert. He sensed rather than knew that something very odd was happening. He remembered his own encounter so well, and now, a man who until only the day before was virtually a stranger, was telling him the same story.  “What was your friend’s name?” he asked, hardly daring to hear, but somehow knowing what the reply would be.
             “Spencer - Rolly Spencer.”
            “Would that be Rowland Spencer?”
            “Yes; why do you ask?”
            Archie ignored that question. “And his parents? Were they Richard and Rosemary?”
            “That’s right.” Now it was Jack’s turn to be startled. “How on earth can you know that?”
            “Because I’ve met them too.”
            Archie quickly recounted the story of his meeting, and when he had finished Jack stared at him with a look of disbelief.
            “I cannot believe what I am hearing.” he started. “What you say cannot be true for Richard and Rosemary had been dead a quarter of a century by nineteen forty five.
            Now it was Archie’s turn to stare in disbelief. “I don’t understand. I was sitting between them, talking with them; eating with them. First you said that you met them at the end of the war, and now you say that they had been dead over twenty five years by then.”   
            “I’m sorry,” Jack started, “I didn’t intend to deceive you, but it didn’t happen just like I said. There is something else; something I haven’t told you. It’s something I rarely talk about, for it brings back such painful memories. You see, I was in the first war too; enlisted in nineteen sixteen.  I was only sixteen at the time but they didn’t seem to notice; at least they didn’t try to stop me. It was then that I met Rolly, during the first war. He was eighteen and took me under his wing. We were friends from the start and spent the rest of the war together until I was shot. So you see; Rowland Spencer died at the end of the first war, not the second.”
             The two men stared at each other for many long minutes, until finally Jack spoke again; softly, quietly. “And so did his parents.”
“So how did I come to meet them in nineteen forty five?” Archie asked; “and why. Why me?”
           “Who knows; they were good people,” Jack smiled. “and who knows how many other young soldiers on their own they also befriended. Perhaps there are others who can tell the same story.”  
“No doubt with help from the newspaper seller.” Archie smiled, possibly at last, even after all those years, beginning to understand, if not yet quite able to comprehend. “At least now I know why I couldn’t find him - I wonder who he was.” he concluded.





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