Short Story - Writers Magazine Competition

This weeks piece is a short story that I submitted for a competition in Writers Magazine. Unfortunately re-reading it today, I didn't employ my wife, Kathy, as a proofreader. That's more than likely why it didn't get anywhere, lesson learned I think. Please enjoy, the subject was a ghost story in daylight and all in 500 words. 

The Sun was shining brightly on Lion-sur-Mer.  The late spring sunshine on the Normandy coast was a stark contrast to the weather 75 years ago on the morning of 6^th June 1944. On the beach code-named Sword, a large crowd gathered for a service to honour those who had bravely stormed ashore on that morning.  Today returning heroes and families were joined by a number of re-enactment volunteers. Dressed in the uniforms of the times, they conveyed the scenes and feelings of the battles.

The early morning temperature rose. It was going to be a hot day and in deference to the ageing returning heroes and the heat, the service was quickly completed.

After a refreshing drink, the assembled crowd boarded an air-conditioned coach for the journey to the cemetery at Ranville. Today I had decided to yomp towards Ranville just as the allied troops had in 1944.

The coach passed me. The boys didn’t have the luxury of transport on this road that fateful day. The purring engine of the passing coach was very different from the loud explosions, gunshots and the rattle of tanks rumbling along this road 75 years ago.

Brigadier Lord Lovat had marched his 1^st Special Service Brigade down this road with his Bag Piper leading in 1944. This had caused much laughter from the passing tankers and Bren gun carriers as they waved their support to the lines of troops marching. Their task was to relieve the paratroopers at Pegasus Bridge

I yomped ahead in the rising heat of the day and was getting close to the bridge where once again I could mingle with the re-enactment volunteers to pay my respects. After another little break, I picked up my kit and made my way towards the cemetery at Ranville.

There was a loud bang. It nearly had me diving into the roadside ditch to take cover but I quickly realised it was the re-enactors, jeep backfiring.  There was a sudden roar of engine noise as a couple of Douglas DC3 Dakotas flew overhead. They were dropping their parachute passengers off over Pegasus Bridge.  Although today was a hot sunlit day, you could almost smell the fear and death that pervaded over the area on that day, 75 years ago.

I neared Ranville; the coaches were off-loading the families to pay their respects. I was puffing a bit when I finally arrived at the cemetery.

I went straight to the row where the lads that we had lost that day were laid. A family followed and joined me alongside the resting place of my colleagues.

“Here’s Grandpa’s grave; hasn’t it gone cold all of a sudden?” one of the women remarked.

I tried to answer but knew I couldn’t. Looking down at the headstone, the woman placed a small

wreath and it was then I realised it was my headstone; it was me who was being remembered. They were my family;

Ford, Frederick Henry

PLY/X204848

No. 48 Commando

Royal Marines

Died Tuesday 6^th June 1944