Cedars Senior School Blog 2011-2012: June 2012

S3 have just written short stories as their final piece of work before the holidays. The story was based around a photo taken by the photographer Robert Capa. Everyone worked really hard on their story and they are all making progress in their writing skills. Here is Ian Keir's short story for you to enjoy.

They think it's all over!
By Ian Keir

"They think it's all over!"

When Kenneth Wolstenholme uttered these immortal words on the thirtieth of July 1966, it was, for an entire nation, the glorious and victorious end to something. Roger Garret had been there, right at the centre of the action, but for Roger, it had not been a moment to think of endings, but rather a moment to reflect on how it had all begun. It had been a very long journey, but Roger had been fortunate. He had not travelled alone.

"Jong Garr-ay." He loved the way she pronounced his name. It made it sound so much more exotic than plain old John Garret. He also admired her paintings, envied the immaculate brushstrokes and perfect use of colour. In 1934, John had left London and come to study art in Paris. He and Paulette had met in class and had decided to marry soon after first meeting. When their little boy was born during the long winter of 1936, they called him Roger. John was delighted that the name worked in English as well as French. Roger's earliest memory was of feeding some ducks on the banks of a river, which must have been the Seine. It was also the last time he ever saw his Papa.

It was 1939. The British had declared war on Germany and John had received his call-up papers. He was to report to a recruiting office in London as soon as possible. He dreaded leaving Paulette and little Roger but he knew he had to go. It was his duty. Roger remembered sitting quietly on the riverbank. He could still taste the sad, salty tears he had cried when Papa told him he was leaving. He could still picture the brown paper bag which Papa had produced from behind his back, could still hear the rustling, crinkly sound it had made when he opened it. Most of all, Roger could still remember and would never forget the excitement he felt when he received his special present. He couldn't wait for Papa to come back and keep his promise that they would play with it together every single day.

At first, not much changed. Papa was not there, but otherwise Roger's life went on as normal. He spent most of his time with Maman, who was always happy and cheerful and who could make a fun game out of almost anything. Things changed when the angry men in tin hats marched into Paris, bringing their flags with the scary spiders on them. Roger sensed a change in his mother. She was not carefree or bubbly now. She was always frowning and seemed distracted.

He remembered the darkness. It was the dead of night when Paulette, the daughter of a Jewish tailor, had lifted Roger from his bed and told him about a new game they were going to play. She reminded him how he loved dressing up. This time, they were going to dress up as peasants, pretend they were farm workers and go for a little walk in the countryside. It was to be their special secret that at the end of their walk they would sail in a boat which would take them to visit grandmère and grandpère in England. Sleepily, they got dressed, ate a meal of bread and cheese and prepared for the journey. They could carry only a small suitcase, with their most precious belongings. Roger wanted to take only one thing: his present from Papa. As they slipped away, leaving their life behind them, to Paulette, it seemed like it was all over.

At first, it was an adventure. Roger was eager with anticipation and couldn't stop asking "When will we be there? How much longer?" They met lots of people on the way. Many were kind and gave them food and sometimes transport. They rode on a hay cart, in a van and once even on a horse, but mostly they walked. And walked. And walked. After a few days, it didn't seem quite so exciting. Roger grew tired and his feet felt like lumps of lead, too heavy to lift. He was hungry, thirsty and exhausted. He missed his own bed and their cosy apartment. He wanted to go back to Paris. He wanted to go home.

For Paulette, Paris was the past. It had been her whole world and she knew the place like the back of her hand, but she would never forget the extraordinary sight of German soldiers marching through the city and she knew it would cast a long shadow over her life. Seeing so many German uniforms in the streets had completely unnerved her and she knew she had to get away. England meant safety, but she had to get there first.

The journey to the coast with a small boy went at a snail's pace. Most of the time, she felt wretched with fear. It flooded her entire body and she constantly had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Every time little Roger asked "How much longer?", her eyes filled with tears and she would feel panic rising inside her. What if they were caught? The thought made her shiver with fear.

When they arrived in the town of Calais, Paulette found the address which had been given to her by a friend in Paris. This man knew how to arrange a boat. As she knocked on the door, her heart was hammering in her chest. She was trembling so much she could hardly stand up straight. Trusting a stranger was dangerous. It could mean total disaster, but she had to try.

The stranger had been trustworthy and had not let them down. In the middle of a wild and windy night, they were smuggled aboard a very small fishing boat. The crossing had been rough. The waves tossed the little boat around carelessly and Roger cried for most of the time. The wind howled and they were surrounded by total darkness. Fear jabbed their insides like needles. It was an endless, unforgiving night.

It seemed like a geological age later when they finally reached land. England. Meeting his grandparents for the first time was a bewildering experience for Roger. His Papa had been gone so long that he remembered no English and he felt very much like a stranger in this new country. He would fall asleep every night clutching his special present, which was all he had to remind him of his Papa and his old life. As he gradually got to know his grandpère, he started to trust him and before long the two of them were out playing in the garden every day. The old man was kind and still active and he taught Roger many skills. It was to his grandpère that Roger turned the day the dreadful news came. His Papa would never come back.

Roger had missed his dad terribly at first, but as he grew up his memories of him started to fade in the midst of Roger's very busy and now very English life. He played with his present every single day and it always made him feel a connection to the father he had hardly known. The special skills which his grandpa had taught him in the back garden developed into an amazing talent, which was spotted early on and led to a brilliant career, which came to a peak on that July day in 1966.

The special present his dad had given him before he left to play his part in history had played its part in Roger making history. He had practiced with that now battered old football every single day of his life - and what a life it had been. To be picked to play for England in the World Cup was a huge honour, but to be part of the team which won at Wembley in 1966 was the proudest moment of his life. His mum was there, cheering him on, enjoying this particular game more than any other. As the final whistle blew, they both thought of a man called John, who never did get to kick a football with his son.

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