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NOTES:

NEW WRITERS' SHORT STORY COMPETITION 2008/2009
HIGHLY COMMENDED

Please note: this work is copyright by the author and may not be used, copied or shared in any way whatso-ever without his/her express written permission. If you wish to be put in contact with this author, please contact us.

This story text appears exactly as sent in by the writer. No changes or corrections have been made; however, all stories to be included in the published Anthology will be edited for grammar and punctuation before printing.

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"A Moment of Glory"

by Heather Parker - Ulverston, Cumbria, UK

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Heather Parker lives in the Lake District with a collection of cats, dogs and a husband. She is a freelance writer and her new novel, Middlewitch, has just been published by Drollerie Press. Heather has won prizes in several literary competitions and many of her stories and articles have been published in popular magazines including The People's Friend, The Weekly News and The New Writer. Her stories also appear in several anthologies, including the 2009 Out of Line Human Rights anthology.

COMMENTS FROM JUDGES:

A well written glimpse of a funny but realistic episode during the War years in the Lake District. The emotions are well conveyed, characters nicely drawn. The beginning could do with strengthening (a better hook), and likewise the ending goes flat. Suggestion: end the story on the line about Hilda's extra heart tablet, and perhaps make the last bit a separate notation, in italics?

THE STORY:

The huge grey shape hovered above the heather fells, free at last from its moorings in the industrial town to the south.  Buzzards mewed their protest at the unwelcome intruder, a reminder of the terrifying war being waged in the rest of the world.  Naturally the inhabitants of this remote part of the Lakes knew of the nightly horrors, as planes emptied their bellies over the towns.  They listened to their radios and read the papers as avidly as everyone else.  They just didn't experience it.  At least not until the fateful day that blasted barrage balloon appeared over Grasmere…

Helen was sulking.  'You went to the parish hall last night.  The hours you spend with the Home Guard, you might as well be in the real army!'

Jack scowled.  'It is the real army, I told you.  And when the Germans land here, you'll be crying out for the likes of me to protect you.'

His girlfriend snorted.  'What with?  A couple of pitchforks and your dad's old gun from the Somme?'

That was too much.  Jack was sick and tired of folks mocking.  Didn't they realise how it made lads like him feel?  It wasn't his fault measles had left his eyes weak.  Helen had no idea how much he'd dreamed of becoming a pilot.

He pushed her away and stood up.  'I'm going back to the farm.  And maybe we should stop seeing each other for a while.  See how we feel in a few weeks.'

His girlfriend was shocked.  'You saying you're finishing with me, Jack Summers?'

She could hardly believe it.  They'd been going steady for a year now and she was expecting a ring anytime.  Or rather her mother was.  Gwen thought it high time her daughter was wed and providing her with grandchildren.  She was twenty-one next month and hardly a spring chicken.

But Jack's pride was hurt.  'That's up to you.  There's a war on, Helen, and we've all got to play our part.'

Helen hesitated.  She was more frightened than he knew.

'But this is Grasmere, Jack.  It's not like we're living in Barrow, with the docks and bombing raids night after night.  The Germans aren't interested in us.'

Jack shrugged.  He didn't want to see Grasmere to be bombed – but at least then he'd feel needed.  And maybe a bit more important.  He brushed the grass off his trousers and picked up his motorbike.

'You want a lift back to the village or not?'

'I'll walk,' mumbled the girl, trying to sound unconcerned.  Her new shoes were pinching and the heather prickled her legs but she had her pride too.

'Suit yourself,' he muttered and climbed astride the bike.  He wasn't going to argue.

'No, wait, Jack,' cried Helen, the newfound pride evaporating.  'I don't want us to finish.  And I don't mind about the Home Guard, honestly.  I…  Jack, what's that?'

He turned to follow her gaze as the sixty-foot dark shape drifted slowly over the horizon, eclipsing the sun and casting a huge black shadow across the sunlit valley.

'Bloody hell,' he whispered.  'It's a barrage balloon.  Where did that come from?'

Helen stared at the apparition in astonishment.  It was so big.

'If our lads can get hold of it, I reckon the Army's going to be pretty impressed.  They won't treat us like second-class citizens after this.'

Gordon Summers stretched his back and stared out of the tiny kitchen window.  What was Jack doing back this soon?  The motorbike bumped its way over the track and Jack and Helen leapt off.

'Quick, Dad, it's an emergency.  There's a barrage balloon heading this way.  I dunno where it's come from – Barrow maybe.  But we need to get hold of it for the army.  Can you ring Arthur and ask him to gather some of the lads?'

Gordon ran to the telephone, glad he'd decided to have the line put in last year.  With Hilda's heart the way it was, the farm was too damned isolated anyway.  But now with the war and everything…

'Arthur?  It's Gordon Summers.  Look, can you round up any of the Guard?  Jack says there's a barrage balloon loose up Red Bank and it's coming this way.  I'll put some rope in the pickup and set off straightaway.  Meet you at the parish hall?'

Arthur promised to do what he could.  He replaced the handset and put on his police cap.  It was lunchtime.  There was a fair chance he'd catch a few of his men in the Red Lion.

'Do you want dropping at home, love?' asked Gordon, glancing at Helen.  The lass looked upset.

She shook her head.  'I'll come with you.  Like Jack says, we've all got to do our bit.'

Gordon raised his eyebrows but said nothing.  He knew his son wasn't easy company these days.  He still hadn't got over failing his physical.

Jack shook his head.  'Go on home, Helen.  Your mam'll be wondering where you are and this isn't a job for a lass.'

'I'm coming,' insisted Helen stubbornly.  'You're not the only one as wants to help the war effort.'

Gordon sighed.  So they'd been rowing again, had they?  He swung the pickup into the square, grateful to find Arthur and four other members of the unit waiting.

'Got everything we need?' called Arthur and Gordon nodded.

'Jack said it was coming in low and there were ropes dangling.  If we can catch one of 'em, we should be able to bring it down and secure it.'

'Hurry up,' muttered Jack.  'Let's go and get the damn thing before it drifts away.'

'You don't have to swear,' complained Helen primly.  'My mother says it shows disrespect in front of a lady.'

'Your mother's right,' smiled Gordon.  'But our Jack respects you, don't you, lad?'

He glanced across at his son but Jack looked away.  Helen fiddled nervously with her hands.  He sighed again.  It was like that, was it?  He'd have to have a talk with these two when this was over.

They'd driven about two miles when the balloon appeared above Red Bank. It was low over the fells, for which the men were grateful.  But theory was one thing.  The reality of capturing the leviathan was something else.  Gordon pulled the truck over into the path of the balloon and the men leapt out.

'What the hell are we supposed to do with it, now we've got it?' yelled Gordon.

Arthur scratched his head.  'How about tying it to the pickup?'

The farmer frowned.  'I can't say as I'm keen on that idea.  This thing's capable of shifting the truck, especially if that wind gets any stronger.'

The policeman nodded.  He wasn't too happy about the weather either.  But there was no other way to secure it on the desolate, empty moor and his men couldn't stay up here forever, hanging on to the brute.  At sixty foot long and thirty foot high, there was every chance it would break free and take them with it.

'Why don't you just let the air out?'

The men turned to Helen and smiled.

'Nay, lass, I don't think we could do that,' said William from the post office.  'We don't know where the valve is.'

'Hang on, it's not such a daft idea,' cut in Jack loyally.  'It makes sense.  Then we could roll the thing up like a parachute and take it back to the army in the truck.'

Arthur wasn't good at making decisions.   'Do you think that would be all right? The army wouldn't mind?'

'Why should they?  They're getting their balloon back safe and sound.  And it's better than having it float around the countryside causing chaos.'

Gordon nodded.  'The lad's got a point.  A thing this big could do a lot of damage.'

Jack smiled at Helen, proud of his girlfriend.  She coloured, starting to feel better.  Surely he hadn't meant what he said before…

It took the men over an hour to deflate the balloon and roll it up.  The job involved a major difference of opinion and a terrible lot of cursing.  The situation wasn't helped by the rising wind but the Guard finally defeated the enemy and imprisoned it in the pickup.  

'Right, lads,' said Arthur, feeling a speech was called for.  'Gordon and Jack have volunteered to take it on to Barrow and hand it over to the army.  I want to thank you all for your efforts this afternoon.  I'd be surprised if there isn't a commendation in it.   Grasmere is proud of you!'

And with that the farmers set off, confident of the army's gratitude.  Jack could hardly wait to see their faces.

'You deflated it?  You idiots, don't you know how much gas there is in one of those things?'

Gordon and Jack were shocked.  Helen felt sick.  But they couldn't really understand the problem.  At least they'd got the balloon back safely.

'Can't you just refill it?' asked Jack.

The officer closed his eyes and tried to regain his composure.

'Do you have any idea how much that costs?  It takes twenty thousand cubic feet of hydrogen to fill one of those things.'

The members of the Guard were beginning to understand.

Gordon bit the bullet.  'You're saying the bag itself doesn't matter.  It's the gas inside that's worth saving.  That's what costs the money.'

'Precisely.'

Helen's face drained of colour.  It was all too much for one young, frightened girl.

'It's me to blame,' she cried.  'I told them to do it.  I thought Jack'd be proud of me and maybe he wouldn't leave me.  Not with the baby due in the autumn.'

To the embarrassment of all men present, Helen sank down by the officer's desk and burst into tears.

'Baby,' said Gordon quietly, staring at his son.  'I thought something might be going on but you never said nowt about the lass having a baby.'

'I didn't know!   I swear I didn't.  Helen, why on earth didn't you tell me?'

'I didn't dare tell anyone,' whispered Helen, wishing she could die.  Preferably in the next five minutes.

But Jack knelt down by the chair and put his arms round her.

'That's grand news, love.  I mean it.  I couldn't be more pleased.'

Helen looked up in surprise.  'You don't mind?'

'Course I don't.  I always meant us to get married.  I reckon we'd better just speed things up a bit, don't you? And who cares about some old balloon, now we've got this to celebrate?  Eh, Dad?'

Gordon softened.  What the hell – there'd be talk in the village but they weren't the first couple to jump the gun.  Particularly in wartime - as he and Hilda knew only too well.

'Jack's right, love.  Don't get yourself upset, especially not in your condition.'

The army officer couldn't agree more.  This was turning into a ghastly afternoon.  Not only had his errant balloon been deflated, he now had a pregnant woman in his office in tears.  Why couldn't they send him to the front?  It had to be easier than this.

'I ought to apologise, Miss.  You were only trying to help and it probably seemed the logical course of action at the time.  I suppose.  Why don't you go home and have a nice cup of tea.'  He groaned; he couldn't believe he'd actually said that.

 'It sounds as if you've got a lot to talk about,' he added briskly.

Jack nodded and helped Helen to her feet, keeping his arm firmly round her shoulders.  Gordon watched him.  He really didn't seem to care about the balloon.  Maybe the baby was exactly what he needed to take his mind off this damned war.  Now he just had to break the news to Hilda.  She'd best take an extra heart tablet tonight.

The story of the Grasmere balloon became famous in the years following the war.  Embarrassment faded and folks began to see the funny side.  Sixty years on, the Lakeland legend still endures.  And residents of Grasmere are proud of their unique contribution to the war effort.

The main events in this story are real - but names have been changed to protect the innocent…

Copyright (c) 2009 by Heather Parker - do not reproduce
without the author's written permission!

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