Ken

The lightening cracked across the night sky, ink black, fractured. The boy sat at the kitchen table, familiar, with its leathery smell of decades. His uncle walked silently passed, dressed in familiar clothes. Green King Gee work pants, Dunlop Volleys with a hole in the toe and an old business shirt.

As the thunder rumbled the boy thought he caught his uncle muttering as if he was talking himself through a situation. His uncle went and lay on the bed, arm over his forehead and shut his eyes.

He was a surveyor for the artillery in the war, nearly six years. Everytime the thunder rolled, the boy thought he saw is uncle flinch. He would never talk about the war, (so the family would say), only a subtle shift in behaviour, as the rain fell on the hot tin roof, bringing relief for some.

Later that night, the boy plucked up the courage and asked his uncle what it was like- the war. There was very little in the way of response. "The Japanese were tough" His uncle would say. " They could survive for weeks in fox holes, and only eat what the jungle would supply." Kens role as surveyor was to make the measurements for the guns to fire on the Japanese positions, requiring him to walk past snipers. They did not shoot each other, for to do so would give both positions away.

The boy went back to reading his comic, the sound of rain on the tin roof welcoming.

Later that evening as the storm relaxed its grip on the night sky Ken came out of his room and presented the boy with his army uniform, slouch hat and gaiters. It was a real soldiers kit, and the boy was more than pleased. It was a gift that he would never forget.