Suraj trimmed the last bit of his poppy, and then stuck the some what spikey leaf at eleven o’clock.
His uncle had called, and asked him to do something. Something a little important. Especially today.
Picking up a rather old fashioned pencil, Suraj leant forwards to write.
The letters formed, neatly. Suraj had practiced this morning.
Crewman Morrie. Bowers. One of our own.
“all right kids. We are done. Five minutes to tidy. Coats, gloves. Door please, when you are done.”
It hadn’t taken long. Years five and six would walk to the service down the road.
They waited, as the last post was sounded. A two minute silence, and then then reveille.
Then with observant solemnity, years five and six filed past the All saints cenotaph. Some had mums, dads, uncles and aunts who served in the armed forces. Grand parents too, who may not have been with them today.
After Eddie Harlow, Suraj took his turn. Tacking the poppy to the wooden frame at the base, he watched it flutter lightly as he walked away.
Replicators were curiously funny things. On the indy, Devon peered in and took up the red and green object. Checking the Asymmetry of the petals, he pinned the paper flower above his comm badge. It didn’t quite match the one made by the long Lost Aida of family yore. But it would do. And out here. It meant more than anyone could possibly think about.
Snipping out the red petals carefully from a scrap of red fabric, arihana had her tongue sticking out. Placing the nail scissors away, she coloured in the middle with some black eyeliner. She had a safety pin some place.
::flashback Armisitice day 1926, 37 Acacia Avenue::
Sweeping the autumn leaves across the lawn, Golly Dharma heard the chiming of church clock around the corner. The eleven hour, of the eleventh day, of the eleventh month.
Taking the handle of the rake, he took a deep breath. As though he was a back in that foxhole. It didn’t take much. The rake could easily have been the grime greased bayonet that he had prized from cold dead fingers.
He could still hear it. The death wail, the rat a tat. The whizzing. The sounds that hung in his ears.
Golly remembered. As he had been there
“He does it every year,” whispered a woman, standing on the threshold of the back door. A small fair haired child tugged at the bottom of her dress.”Since James passed, he’s come out alone. Excuses himself, and comes out here. Rakes up the leaves. One year, Laxmi, before you came. It snowed, snowed like I’ve never known it. And he still stood there.”
Another much younger child, was cradled by the second one. Laxmi Dharma watched her husband; and did her best to understand. Her English was limited, even after all these years. And life was hard, this far away from India. A coloured face was a different face strange, alien and untrusting. But there had been enough trust to be shared with the Windburns who had taken them in.
Life in hackney had been arduous, and James had uprooted his family as Birmingham found itself thriving. He and Golly had formed something of a strange familial bond. And then they had shared this house, and they still did.
Between them, they eked out enough in pounds, pence and shilling to cover the rent. Just.
“Take care of your little girl, Laxmi,” Florence said sadly. “Her daddy, and Alfred’s daddy. All the other boys. Gave up more than me and you could ever tell the kids. Golly, Gulwinder, he’s here, innie. And James, may not be. They both were never quite the same. Make sure that your little ‘in. Aida, innit. Makes something of ‘erself. For james. For Golly,” she looked up with a nod as Golly edged back up the garden.
“they can’t forget, Laxmi,” she whispered, gesturing that they should both retreat back into the warmth.
With the rake dragging behind him in the grass, golly walked along the grass.
The sounds. The smells. The sights. The boys.
They were still with him. Even now.
***
November 11th, 1946.
Aida tore a cover off her diary. It was red, and it would do the job. Reaching for a pair of her mum’s nail scissors, the now 20 year old Aida clipped a shape out of the paper. With one side slightly smaller than the other, there were 2 conjoined kidney shaped edges. Things were tight still, and mum didn’t have the spare change to buy one. Reaching for a tin of kiwi boot polish, Aida dabbed an index finger into the polish and then onto the centre of the red cut out.
Closing the tin, a small safety pin was picked up. Had the light been better, it would have glinted. Threading it through the card, she was happy with the venture. “Sunil, Anand, Jaya!” she called. The rest of her siblings were down the stairs. It took a moment before they thundered upstairs.
“Aida, what ya don wi’ ya book?” sunil all but wailed. “Oh, poppy!” he half brightened, and smiled. “Dad told me ’bout them.”
“I wan’ one,” Anand and his twin sister Jaya jostled forwards in unison.
“you’ll get one, here, help me,” pulling jaya towards her lap, Aida handed her the rest of the card.
On the landing, Laxmi peered into the room. It was a strange experience, seeing her children like this. Aida, 20, Sunil all very gangly. The ten year old twins. Golly would have been proud. A shame, that the twins barely remembered him.
But they would. Remember.
Suraj Havane NPC
Lt arihana dharma
Chief counsellor
SB BoB
Cmdr Devon Dharma
XO
USS Industrious
Gulwinder ‘Golly’ dharma, Laxmi and the kids
USS Caledonia & Starbase BoB
Starfleet Sector G
www.sectorg.org
horticultural 'obbit 