ASHES TO ASHES
“What’s it to be, Charlie?” “Pint of the usual please, Stan.” “A whole pint? Are you pushing the boat out?”The landlord’s chubby face creased up in a wide grin.
“Well it is Christmas! Go on, and whatever you’re having yourself Stan.”
“Thanks very much, I’ll join you in a half.” Stan gave the pump another long pull and then set the glass of amber ale on the bar. Charlie Potter took a good swig then held the glass up to the light with satisfaction.
“A pint of Special at The King’s Arms on Christmas Eve, what could be better?”
“Cheers to that!” said Stan, and raised his own glass. “You’re not on the railway tonight then?”
“Done a week of long turns so I’m due time off, Christmas Day too.”
“You lucky blighter. Still, don’t suppose you’re sorry, what with the fog out there tonight.”They both looked towards the window. The King’s Arms was isolated in a grey sea.
“It’s rough and no mistake,” Charlie said, and shivered.
A blast of cold, damp winter night followed a group of men as they entered the pub, stamping their feet and rubbing their hands.
“Customers to serve,” said Stan, “shout when you’re ready for another, Charlie.”
Charlie leaned on the bar. Life, he thought, was alright. Being a fireman was his dream job, he loved the work, and the banter with his mates. He didn’t mind the heat, or the cold, or the dirt. But the fog? That was the railwayman’s enemy as far as Charlie was concerned. There was that
