March...............Vic Davey

 March

The March wind arrived with a vengeance, tearing through the countryside, leaving a trail of destruction in it's wake. It howled around and through the old house, lifting tiles, rattling window frames and almost ripping the shed door off it's hinges. The old beech tree in the garden bereft of leaves writhed like a thing possessed

The old man wrapped in a blanket sat in his chair huddled by the meager fire. He clutched a cup of tea in his hands as though the wind would snatch it away. He remembered such a day, long ago, his Wedding day. 

 He closed his eyes and could picture her dressed in a dark blue suit borrowed from her friend and altered a little to fit. She looked beautiful and carried a small Posey of roses picked from her Grandma's garden. 

He was but a lad when rescued off the beaches of Dunkirk and invalided out of the rest of the war. Then he met Madge. It was instant attraction, love at first sight he told everyone and, for some reason he could never fathom, she felt the same. But she was a "good girl" and a part from the odd kiss and cuddle after a night out, it never went further.

The VE Day celebrations were very special to them both and they decided to get married as soon as possible. It was only 18 months or so since the war ended, clear up operations and rebuilding had scarcely begun. They didn't have very much, rationing  was still in place, but they married anyway. 

 He remembered little of the ceremony but recalls stepping out of the office in his Demob suit, as a married man and the wind sending the confetti into little tornadoes which swept around their feet and spoiled many a hairdo.

"Ah Madge", he sighed "you looked so beautiful and we were so happy. If only we could have had the children we always wanted, but it was not to be."

It had been so long since she had passed, so long without her. The years had not been kind to him. The old drafty house had not helped and one ailment followed another, and then the pneumonia with no one to care for him.... all gone.

Suddenly he realized the wind had died down. He heard a noise coming from the kitchen, someone moving about. He stood up, shakily, his cup crashing to the floor. He grabbed his walking stick and holding it like a club shuffled across the floor to the kitchen door which was ajar. Then he heard a voice, a ladies voice, a familiar voice.

"Come on my lovely we haven't got all day", the voice said. His heart leapt.

"Madge," he croaked, "is, is that you".?

"Course it's me who did you think it would be, come on now, I've come to take you home".

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