Shorty

By Stephen Ant

A young soldier lands in Singapore during World War II - caught in time, he finds himself unable to return to his beautiful Suffolk home and his sister Mabel. This heart-warming story takes an unusual twist as it follows the experiences of Private Graham 'Shorty' Short and his comrades and friends through 50 years, until one day, a young girl - Gracie arrives and changes his life forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781631928796

Book preview

16

CHAPTER 1

SINGAPORE 1942.

Aged just nineteen years, I found myself far from home on my first morning as a real soldier. Having arrived in Singapore early yesterday, this was my first guard duty. My basic training back in England had passed by quickly and although it was hard work, it was an enjoyable time for me. Those training alongside me had given me the nickname Shorty, as other pupils had done at my school years earlier. Walking the length of the long shingle- covered driveway of the remote headquarters building, I was doing my best to look like a proper soldier. I was relieving one of the corporals from his night duty, which he had started at ten o’clock. It was still fifteen minutes before I was due to begin the morning guard, but I didn’t think he would mind seeing his bed a little earlier.

‘Morning, Shorty.’

‘Good morning, Corporal,’ I replied.

‘First day on duty?’

‘First day for everything Corporal. First on duty, first as a proper soldier, first full day in a foreign country.’

‘Well, shouldn’t be too difficult for you; just stop anyone who comes close. Not much happening, nice quiet day for you, lad.’

‘Okay, Corporal, thank you.’

Corporal Simmonds fell out and started towards the main house and his much-needed bed.

‘Oh, Shorty,’ Simmonds called back.

‘Corporal?’

‘Watch those Aussies. They’re lazy buggers, always up to no good.’

I smiled and raised a hand to acknowledge the warning.

Standing in the peaceful surroundings, I gazed at the tropical trees around me. Things looked very different to the garden back in Suffolk. Home for me was a lovely Tudor house in the small village of Thorington Street, just a short journey from Colchester in the adjoining County of Essex.

My family had lived in Thorington Place for six generations, with the eldest son of each generation taking up residence in the house. In turn, I would take over from my parents as the owner of Thorington Place when the time was right. Both of my siblings are younger than me. My brother Michael is nine years my junior and my beautiful little sister Mabel had only just turned five. Sadly I had missed her birthday as I was on the long journey to Singapore to serve King and Country.

For Mabel it must have been the unhappiest of birthdays. She hated being separated from me. I was always there for her, ready to play her games or carry her back to the house when she fell over. I would read to her every night and sleep on the floor next to her bed when she was frightened of the November storms. I was her brother, her friend and her protector.

At home, the warmth of the sun would soon bring spring to the Suffolk countryside and all the colours that filled the garden. The walled garden was Mabel’s favourite place to play. She could hide in the fruit trees or behind the rows of vegetables that James the gardener was growing for the family kitchen table. I was always able to see where Mabel was hiding, but I never found her too quickly, allowing her to enjoy the moment of the new place she had discovered. When it was my turn to hide, I would always leave a little clue for her, a dropped piece of clothing or leave a foot sticking out from the mass of growing rhubarb. My every waking moment had one purpose, to entertain Mabel and see her huge smile or hear her addictive giggle.

My brother, Michael, was a more serious person. He always had his head in a book. There would often be the sound of a bump or bang around the house as Michael walked into a wall or cupboard as he was engrossed in yet another book. Thorington Place had a good-sized library that was filled with all manner of books. I had probably managed to read a dozen or so of the beautifully arranged books in my nineteen years of living in the house, but Michael would read two or three books every week. He told father that he wanted to read every single book in the library before he was grown up and left the family house. This would take a lifetime to achieve and Michael would never need to leave Thorington Place, for reasons that would bring heartbreak to him and our parents.

CHAPTER 2

I had been pacing along the length of the wooden barrier of the small wooden guard hut at the start of the driveway, backwards and forwards, but the novelty of being a soldier on duty soon wore off. I had counted the number of white painted warning rings on the barrier then I counted the red warning rings. I even practised lifting the barrier, pushing the heavy weight down next to the guard hut. The barrier slowly lifted and gently lowered back down, stopping with a reassuring clunk as it came to rest in the metal cradle on the opposite side of the driveway.

I could hear the faint sound of a car engine in the distance. I stood straining my ears to work out which direction the vehicle was coming from. As the engine tone increased, I prepared myself to greet the car and check the occupants; if all was in order, I could lift the barrier, which I was now very practised in. As it approached, I prepared myself for my first act as a duty soldier, but the engine note did not change. I felt disappointed as the military car did not stop but just roared passed. After two hours on duty, this was the most exciting event that had happened. I let out a deep sigh and placed the butt of my rifle on the top of my boot, keeping it clear of the ground and resting the weapon against my hip. Surely the next year wasn’t going to be like this. Was Singapore going to be hours of standing, waiting, and, worst of all, missing home and my family? Slowly, my mind drifted back to Mabel and what she might be doing.

Suddenly a whooshing noise filled the air; an ear-piercing whistle made me flinch. Turning my head trying to work out what the noise was and where it was coming from, I looked along the road in both directions. It wasn’t the distant rumble of a car engine or a plane overhead. Within seconds a bomb landed on the lush green lawn to the side of the driveway. A huge explosion tore through the earth, sending soil in every direction. I was blown clean off my feet and sent flying backwards into the guard hut. Still holding my rifle, I was slammed back against the immaculate white wall. Clumps of soil sprayed in, sticking to every surface. Instantly I heard another whoosh and a second explosion happened only a few feet to the side of the first huge crater. Before I had time to regain my thoughts, more soil from the regiment crochet lawn rained down.

Rolling on to my tummy, I crawled to the open doorway and looked out. I could hear voices shouting from the headquarters at the top of the driveway. One of the sergeants ran from the front door and climbed into one of the four ambulances parked outside. The engine turned over as the sergeant pumped the pedal, trying to start the ambulance. A puff of exhaust smoke billowed from the side of the vehicle as the engine roared into life. Engaging first gear, the sergeant moved forwards by a few feet. The now recognisable whoosh of another bomb passed over head and scored a direct hit on the ambulance.