Where I used to live -a house that needed a lot of renovation, I had a retired neighbour who would
come around and regale me with stories and anecdotes from the Second World War.
Politely nodding as he rambled on and gritting my teeth from an adjustable spanner slipping enough
to trash my knuckles on the wall, I interrupted his tale about how they were about to shoot thirty
soldiers on a small island in the Med for treason against the Crown to ask him whether he had a
tool that would reach under the bath and loosen the taps from underneath.
Bert made his own equipment for everything and after thanking him for the strange-looking spanner at
his front-door, I wondered if he was going to follow me back to mine.
That's when the Jehovah Witnesses came a-calling.
Bert gladly welcomed the two young men in and I went off to remove a bath that been installed around
the time my neighbour was shooting traitors. I did the job and when my wife came in from work at 5.00pm,
we had an early evening dinner.
Afterwards, I recalled it had been a couple of hours since I borrowed Bert's special tool and thought it
prudent to tap and his door and return it. Beaming from ear to ear, Bert invited me in over my comment
that I couldn't be long.
There sat on a settee were the pair of religious youngsters. Looking sick and tired of drinking tea, still
clutching the pamphlets they wanted to give Bert, the two men gazed over at me with eyes that told
me of countless stories of bloodshed and loss.
"Thanks Bert..." I called as he was in his yard putting the spanner away and quickly left via the front door.
Their God knows what time the Jehovah Witnesses escaped.
Oh, by the way... The soldiers were put in a stockade for the night before their punishment was carried
out and during the dark hours, their camp was bombed by German aircraft and the wooden prison took a
direct hit.
Not in the history books, but Bert assured me it happened.
I would think.