See the funny side. I.P.

I was sat in me usual place; in the big armchair, beside the range. I had me ear-phones in, listening to old blue eyes doin' his version of 'My Way'. Frances was pottering round the kitchen, making the tea; I could smell the rashers, crispin' on the pan – just the way I like 'em. Me old faithful, she is; I'd be lost without her, so I would.

This i-pod thingy that Mark had bought me for Christmas, was a real gift. Dunno how they got so much music on something 'bout the same size as a packet of fags; fuckin' amazin'. Mark said he 'downloaded' about twenty albums of Frank's onto it, plus a load of Deano's and other stuff that I hadn't heard of. He gotta couple of books onto it as well – ya know; stories - read by different people. I had heard of 'em before but never give 'em much thought, as I preferred readin' a real book, ya know, like one ya can hold in yer hand like; they come in bleedin' handy now though. He got on a couple of thingies' called Pod-casts; they're like recordings of pro-grammes from the radio – like I said; fuckin' amazin'.

Harry, from up the road usually pops by on Wednesdays and we go down to the Legion for a few pints. The darts match is on every Wednesday; they got two teams, so when one is playin' away, the other's at home. We have a right laugh, so we do. Harry still plays now and then, when they are stuck for numbers. He wouldn't hit a steel door with a fuckin' magnet but he thinks he is Phil-the-power-Taylor. He's got all the gear; darts o'course and a lime-green shirt an' all, with 'Harry-the-Hitman-Ramsbottom' on the back. It don't have the same ring to it, does it? Harry says it makes him look professional and makes the opposition shit themselves. The lads reckon, it makes him look like a Burke and makes the opposition piss themselves laughin' an' the only one who is scared, is the geezer marking the score-board, cos harry is more likely to hit him, than hit a double. I used to play meself and sometimes the guys still ask me to play first, before Harry like; that always gets a laugh.

There weren't no Legion tonight though, on account of poor old Ronnie (Sammy) Samuel, havin' popped his clogs. Nice old bloke, so he was; a gentle quiet bloke. You wouldn't here him behind a paper tissue, always well dressed, dapper I think you'd call it. He was a small man, with a round chubby face, last time I seen him anyways. The lads reckon that he failed a lot over the last year or so; got really thin an' scrawny. He got cancer and just sort of faded away. Sammy was from some part of Asia but he talked like a posh geezer. If he didn't agree with what you was sayin', he wouldn't say, 'Your wrong!' he'd say somthin' like, 'You may be right but...bla-de-bla'...and then basically tell ya that you was talking crap...but in such a nice way, that you was nearly happy to be talking crap.

Sammy had been a Gurkha and in the last war, had been awarded just about every medal possible. He never spoke about it or boasted and the only reason we knew, was that on remembrance day, he would wear his 'dress' jacket; it had more ribbons on it than you'd see at a Morris dancing competition. I remember, one time, Sammy was coming back from the city, when he seen a bunch of skin-heads pickin' on a young girl and givin' her some serious hassle; there was five of 'em. So Sammy walks up, nice an quiet like and politely asks 'em to leave her alone. 'Course, they thought it was Christmas come early and decided that, this short, little fat Asian guy, was better sport and started on Sammy. Well, I don't know the details...but I do know that three of 'em ended up in hospital, on liquid dinners, for about three months and the other two, cost the N.H.S. some serious bobs in Plaster o' Paris. We all walked around a bit taller after that; fuckin' amazin'! He never complained about his illness; not once.

Frances is just a little bit peeved at me after tonight...well more than a little bit actually but it'll wear off; she can never stay mad for long. I would have been lost without her, especially over the last eighteen months or so.

I remember the first time I seen her. She was coming off her shift down at the old munitions factory; they weren't making munitions any more but the name had stuck from the war. I thought I was Jack-the-lad, strollin' down the road in me brand new demob suit, lean as a whippet and with more front than Woolworth's. Me one and only chat up line was, 'Hello darlin', play ya cards right and I just might ask you out for a drink.' I offered this gem and was quickly told to...'come back when the muscle in your head, spreads to rest of your body and the space left, develops something resembling a brain'. I fell in love, there and then.

I was a stubborn git, even then. I asked 'round and found out where Frances lived and put me plan into action. I was goin' to call 'round to her house and ask her out; simple!

That Friday night, I got off the bus at the bottom of her road and truth be known, I felt really bad; how was I supposed to turn up at the house with nothin' in me hand but a sweaty palm. I was standin' there with me hands in me pockets, when I looked behind me and lo and behold, I spied the graveyard; and a solution to me problem...

So it was that I knocked on the door of fourteen Kingsley Terrace, with a huge bunch of flowers in me mit. There was daffodils, somethin' that looked dangerously like dandelions, a lot of green stuff that looked suspiciously like grass and lots and I mean lots of lilies, all wrapped up in a 'Daily Mirror' that I'd found by one of the benches. I was goin' for size, more than content.

The door opened and I suddenly knew what Jack had felt like, when he'd got to the top of the fuckin' beanstalk. Stood there, was a giant, in a vest, suckin' on a Sherlock Holmes pipe...
'Is Frances at home...please? I asked, shovin' the flowers at him.
He took the flowers, lookin' me up and down and shouted into the room behind him.
'Frances, there's a bony looking bugger out here asking for you, with flowers for someone called Rip'.
'They're for her' I said, wonderin' what the fuck was wrong with him..?
With that, he pulled a black card out of one of the huge lilies, with four little crosses in the corners and written, in gold, across the middle of it, was the letters; R.I.P. He looked at me, raisin' one bushy eyebrow but as Frances came to the door, he done me a favor by pocketin' the card and handin' her the flowers. He became my best mate that day and we stayed best mates, til he died.

Frances looked at the flowers and then at me and started laughing, like it was goin' out of fashion. I wasn't sure whether she was laughin' at the flowers, or at me and to tell yer the truth, I didn't care. She was even more beautiful, when she laughed. I'd saved enough for the pictures and maybe a bag of chips on the way home, so Frances went to get her glad-rags on an' I was left in the front room with Stan.

Stan had been a sergeant in the army and served during the war, in the desert, fightin' Rommel. He told me that he was a 'Desert Rat'; I thought, they must have had to dig some fuckin' hole for him to crawl in and out of. He told me some stories, I can tell ya. I told him about my 'National Service' an' how they give me the option to join up again, if I wanted but there was only so much torture, a bloke could be expected to take, willingly. The army had taught me to drive just about anything and I was gonna have a look 'round and see what was available. Stan said that he had some connections and would put a word in for me. True to his word, he did and it was through him that I got me first job, in civies street.

Just as we heard Frances closing her bedroom door, Stan decided to give me a 'little warning'; he told me that I seemed like a decent sort...but if I wasn't an' if I did anythin' to upset, annoy or – God forbid – harm, his little girl, he would pull off me balls and choke me with 'em. He asked me, if I understood? I told him, 'loud and clear'; we shook hands and I went on me first date, with the woman that I knew – before we even got out the door – I was gonna marry.

Me and Frances got on like a house on fire, had a short engagement, and got married. Frances' mum had died when she was young, so we moved in with her dad, Stan. We didn't have much, in the line of money but we was happy as two pigs in muck. We laughed a lot; I still think it is the best medicine, known to man. Stan put up a dartboard in the scullery. There weren't much room but we had some giggles in that little room and often passed the night there. Frances become a dab-hand at the old darts and the odd time that we would go down the pub, she'd give the blokes a right run for their money; they used to hate to see her get up for a throw but...to know her was to love her and besides, no-one wanted to mess with Stan.

She fell pregnant later that year and nine months later, Mark was born. I was over the moon and as for Stan, well...he was like the only Cock in the farmyard. We went down the pub, celebratin' like and someone said, 'Here comes Granddad'. At first Stan glared round, then sort of stopped and thought about it...and smiled. For the rest of the night, I could see him mouthin' - to himself like – Granddad! Granddad! I swear, he had a permanent grin on his mush, for a week. In the middle of all this joy, a little sadness crept in; the doctors told Frances that she wouldn't be able to have any more kids. That news, put her down in the dumps for a little while but she bounced back quick enough and besides, Mark was a full time job and I suppose, took her mind off of it. It didn't hit me really; I suppose I was too stupid, or just too happy at the time and – thinkin' back – not a lot of help to her really.

Stan was in seventh heaven and even learned to change the babes nappy, although he let it be known that he wouldn't appreciate the fact, becomin' common knowledge. It was amazin' to see him holdin' Mark; somethin' so big and rough, holdin' somethin' so small and helpless. He doted on him and even refused too smoke his pipe, if the baby was anywhere near.
Two years later, big indestructible Stan, got sick and died; simple as that! Our hearts were broke. Frances had lost her dad and I had lost one of the best friends that a man could have. I 'd never really known me own mum and dad; I'd been brought up by an aunt. Stan had filled in a lot of the cracks in my life too. The day of his funeral, I ordered up every lily in London; his grave was covered in 'em. I pulled a little black card out of me pocket, it had four little crosses in the corners and across the middle, in gold lettering was written, R.I.P. On the back, I just wrote; Bye Mate! It was the same card that I'd give him, accidentally, in a big bunch of lilies, the first time I'd met him. I stuck it in one of biggest lilies. I still miss him.

Anyways, as I started tellin' ya, there I was sitting in me favorite chair, earlier on tonight, listening to me i-pod, when the phone rings. Frances picks it up. I could kinda hear her jabbering in the background but Frank was into the last chorus and building up for the final 'My Way', so I was givin' her a deafo. Next thing I know, me earphones has been whipped outa me ears, so fast that I'm thinkin', there's gotta be skin attached to 'em.
'Oi, what's goin' on', I says
'What's going on, what's going on; that's what I'd like to ask you Mister?', says Frances and I can tell she's got a strop on. 'I just had a call from Marge Penny, telling me that, it says in the local rag that you have been confirmed as a judge, in this years 'Woolwich Photographic Society's annual competition. What have you gone and done now?'

'Oh!', was all I could manage.

'Oh indeed. Are you trying to shame me completely, you big idiot. Is this your idea of a joke?'

'Ah, it was just a bit of a laugh really. Ya see, Harry's in it and he reckons the judges must be...'

'Harry! I should have known. You two, are like two schoolboys...Well you ring them, right now and tell them, it was all a mistake. Really, I don't know what to do with you...and wait until I see that other idiot; I'll give him what-for when I see him, I will honest...

I told her, I said, 'You gotta be able to have a laugh, otherwise I couldn't deal with it. There' s people a lot worse off'.
The woman worries too much...but then she's been like that for the last twenty months and I suppose, I can't blame her. I mean, I weren't the only one who got a shock, when I woke up on Christmas morning, nearly two years ago, to find that I was totally blind.

Must give Harry a ring though; he'll be crackin' his hole at this one. Pity the Legion is closed tonight, of all nights, ha-ha!