My Writing

It would be fair to say, that for Mary-Louise Bowdon, childhood was both comfortable and happy. Her parents were in their thirties when Mary had been born, her mother Joyce had two miscarriages before Mary came along and had started to give up hope of ever having a child. Her father, Charles Bowden, was the local bank manager and a respected member of the community and that was important to him. He had served on the parish council for many years and was chair of governors at the local girls’ grammar school. Her mother …

Lilian woke at 7.00am. Ever since her retirement, seven years ago,

she had allowed herself the luxury of not using an alarm clock, but

she always woke at 7.00am without fail. She put it down to thirty-five years of working at the bank and rising at the same time. It was annoying on Sundays! She had washed and dressed and eaten her breakfast by 7.45am and was about to set out on her morning walk to the paper shop. It was …

Joseph watched as the coast of France was slowly devoured by the murk of the sea mist. He strained his eyes as the last distant shadow that had been Calais was taken from his view. France was gone, Belgium was gone, but most important of all, Germany was gone. All of it now left behind them, swallowed by the mist. If only that same mist could swallow the nightmare of the last two years. Erase it from his mind as it had the coast from his eyes. But it could not. The horror of it all would torment him forever. …

It had been a normal run-of-the-mill Friday morning. Goods were dispatched, transportation all going to plan and delivery target times looking good. Jack looked at his watch, 12.30pm, the sun was shining and had been all morning. He slid his chair back and stood up, “I’m going to lunch Clare”, he said. Clare didn’t look up from her computer screen, just half lifted her left hand in acknowledgment, “Enjoy”, was all she said.

He blinked as he stepped out of the office into the warm June sunshine, …

She had made it! She had to run but she had made it. The 5.42pm from London Bridge to Redhill; she normally caught the 6.12pm, but for the first time in months she had got away early, and it was Wednesday! She liked to be early on a Wednesday, but normally that never happened. She made her way along the train, pushing her way through the normal throng of tired commuters in the vain hope of finding a seat. It had been a hard day, a frustrating day, but now she was hopeful …