The Old Paper Seller.

​

A war story but not as you would know it.

Not a bullet or a gun in sight

​

A story told in four parts
 

                                                                  Part One.

Archie Briggs was tired. It was early afternoon and two hours of trudging London’s tourist spots had wearied him, as did the prospect of another five hours before he was due to catch his coach.

      ​His kit bag weighed heavy as it dragged wearily behind him. Alternatively he carried it but when balanced on his shoulder it seemed just as heavy and it made his arm ache. Over his other arm was draped his heavy greatcoat, and between them they presented something of a problem for the young man, not least because of their heavy and cumbersome nature.

      His main problem however was that he was skint. The last game of cards on the troopship had not worked out well. He had hoped to scoop the jackpot which earlier success had promised. Three kings ought to have done the trick and on the strength of that he had put all the money he had into the pot. But mysteriously another player - a stranger - had produced three aces. So he had left the game with his pockets empty and a certain gnawing feeling that he had been the victim of a scam. Any hopes of a meal or a drink, or even a place to off-load his gear for the day had gone with those three cards.

      At any other time he would have muttered and cursed at his situation, but at least this time there was something different; something to cheer him on. It was V.E. day; 1945, and after five long years at last the war was over, and he, like so many other soldiers was going home.

      “You on your own son?”

      Archie heard the call but ignored it thinking it was intended for 'other' ears.

      “Hey soldier!” This time Archie stopped and turned. “Yes, you young man - are you on your own.”

      “What if I am?” Archie said defensively, fearing that he may be the intended victim of another scam or hoax. Or even that he was being solicited for some sleazy entertainment.

      “Want a free ticket for the show?”

      Only then did Archie realise that he was outside the Palladium Theatre, but what surprised him most of all was that he was being spoken to by a newspaper seller. An old and scruffy newspaper seller at that.

      “Sorry mate; I haven’t a bean in my pocket, so you’ll not get anything out of me.”

      “I said a free ticket - no catch I promise. The matinee’s just started.”

      “Why would you give me a free ticket?” Archie was far from won over but the chance of somewhere to park his weary body, and with a bit of entertainment thrown in was a tempting proposition. He moved a little closer.

      “What’s it about then?” he asked.

      “Just take the ticket and you’ll find out.” The newspaperman said.

      “You said 'no catch' honest?” Archie's resolve was weakening.

      “There’s no catch; honest.”

      Thinking he had nothing to lose and that if the worst came to the worst he could look after himself, he held out his hand and took the ticket. The newspaper man gave him the briefest of smiles, before he turned, accosting some passers-by with an ear shattering plea to buy a newspaper.

      Long before he reached the entrance into the theatre balcony he could hear the sounds; the music and laughter and already he could feel the atmosphere. As he moved from the relative brightness of the corridors to the darker auditorium he felt at ease. There were few empty seats, and surely he reasoned, nothing bad could happen in such a place, especially before all these people. He stood at the back, waiting for the acrobat to do his last trick before expertly tumbling off stage to great applause.

      Checking the ticket he made his way until he found the correct seat, which was on the front row of the balcony, next but one to the central isle. ‘This must be about the best seat in the place’ Archie thought as a tall, middle aged man, well dressed - if slightly old fashioned - stood up to let him pass. He smiled at the young soldier and suggested to him that he leave his kit bag and coat in the isle next to his seat. “It will not be in anyone’s way,” he said quietly, “and it will be far too heavy for me to run away with.” Another smile, and his gesture to take his seat convinced Archie that all was well. As he did so he glanced at the lady on his left, concerned less he should encroach on her space. She smiled and very slightly inclined her head. Archie sat down, and during the next act - a baritone singing the popular songs of the day, especially those much liked ones which had become associated with the war, he was able to relax. Other than that nothing further happened to Archie while a group of Lady comedy singers completed the first half.

       As the level of applause subsided, so the lights came up for the interval. For just the briefest of moments there was silence but then the man leaned toward Archie and offered his hand. “My name is Richard Spencer, and may I introduce my wife Rosemary?” indicating the lady to Archie’s left, at which point he was rewarded with another smile, and once again a slight inclination of her head.

      After Archie had responded with his name he continued. “You must be somewhat puzzled by this,” the man said, “but it is rather simple really. You see our son was due to come home on leave today, and was to have joined us here in the theatre, but he cannot make it.”

      “And it seems such a shame to waste the ticket.” Mrs Spencer interjected as though she suspected that her husband might not tell the story correctly.

      As if to regain control Mr Spencer spoke again. “So we asked the paper seller to look out for any young soldier on his own.”

      “And we got you.” She added quickly before Mr Spencer cut in again. “And before it is too late would you like some refreshment.”

      Archie was puzzled embarrassed. “I cannot I’m afraid. I’m flat broke and I wouldn’t be able to get you a drink in return.”

      “Oh do not worry about that. Our son Rowland is just the same; he never has any money in his pocket, so do not worry on that score.” He stood up, clearly expecting Archie to follow. “If you will excuse her my wife will not join us.”

      He made to leave and Archie felt bound to follow. “Of course.” he said, smiling at the lady who had remained seated. “It’s very kind of you.”

      The interval was soon over, as indeed was the show, during which the only conversation had been an occasional comment relating to the performers. Soon the auditorium was emptying but Archie’s hosts made no effort to join the throng, and Archie felt that he too must remain seated until they made the first move. ‘Perhaps there is something else.’ he conjectured, wondering what, if any, further surprises may be waiting.

      He did not have to wait long, but he was not prepared for what was to follow. It was Mrs Spencer who finally said it. “Thank you for joining us, but I’m afraid we have deceived you a little Archie - may I call you Archie?” Before waiting for the young man’s acquiescence she continued. “You see, our son was due to come home but he was killed in action on the last day of the war. So you are like a substitute son; do you mind terribly?”

      Archie was stunned; could hardly believe what he had heard, and had no idea how he should respond. It seemed inconceivable that these people, surely in mourning, should be watching a variety show as though nothing had happened. No matter that they had shown him great hospitality, he felt very uncomfortable, and as soon as he could, he thanked them for their kindness, commiserated with them in their grief, and wished them farewell.

      Once outside of the theatre Archie made strides towards the coach station where he had resolved to wait out the rest of the time. He had expected to see the newspaper seller again but of him there was no sign, even though there were lots of people milling around. People on their way home from work; others no doubt looking forward to an evenings entertainment, while others still, were simply wandering the streets, enjoying the freedom that the end of five years of war had brought. But the newspaperman was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it was just as well, for although Archie had intended to give him a piece of his mind over the 'no catches' promise, he was not sure what his complaint might be, or indeed what it might have to do with the old paper seller.

      As he made his way Archie was further puzzled for the Spencer's had said that their son had been killed on the last day of the war. "But that's today." He told himself, unable to resolve to strangeness of the events that had taken place.

​

                                                      Part Two.

​

For Archie Briggs this would be a first, a fact that gave him little comfort. He was forty three years old, settled with a comfy home and no wish to be a globe trotter. Yet here he was in some eastern European city the name of which he could hardly pronounce, with a load of people he did not know, and who, in all likelihood, he would never meet again.

      It was not his choice. He was a technician first and foremost, a good one too, and had risen to a senior position in his company. But at the last minute the sales director had been taken ill, and Archie’s boss had asked him to deputise.

      “I’m not a salesman!” Archie had protested.

      “I know, but you know our products better than anyone in the firm. Just talk with the same enthusiasm there as you do here and you’ll be fine.”

      So there it was. Archie found himself on a cold November day, in a cold somewhat run down conference hall in Ljubljana representing his company as best he could, but without the natural flare that good salespeople seem to be born with.

      It was mid afternoon when one of his visitors brought him out of the daze of a factual but rather dull presentation. He looked up from his notes hoping to find a face that would ring the same bell as had his voice. Though it didn’t quite ring the bell, there was nevertheless a gentle pull on the string, for standing before him was a man whose appearance was vaguely familiar. A man some twenty years his senior, with a rather formal authoritative manner.

      They spoke for some time on matters of mutual interest, that is to say light engineering, during which Archie was listening for some clue as to his visitors identity. At least he hoped to find where their paths had crossed. Eventually the puzzle was solved when the older man made reference to some similar features on a certain machine he had been involved with when he had been in the army.

      Archie’s not inconsiderable brain immediately swung into action. He too had been in the Army, and despite the obvious age difference it was entirely possible that the answer might be found there.

      “When was that?” he asked.

      “I was in all through the war years, though I was referring to about nineteen forty.”

      “Me too.” Archie replied, glad to have found a possible solution. “It seems that we are two of the lucky ones to come through it.”

      There followed a discussion of the possible places where fate might have thrown them together. Abruptly Archie snapped his fingers.

       “Got it.” he said. “Sergeant Willis. No - that’s not right.” A brief pause. “ Sergeant Wilson.”

      “Well I’m blessed,” Mr Wilson exclaimed, “that’s quite a trick.” He held out his hand. “Jack Wilson to be precise. But I’m afraid that my memory doesn’t match up to yours.”

       It was a statement which clearly implied the question.“

      Archie obliged. “Archie Briggs.”

      Formal introductions over they quickly filled in the details of where and when; both happy to have renewed an acquaintance.  So many of their comrades who had not made it through had been denied that simple pleasure, and these two men were quick to take advantage of their good fortune.

      Later that evening they met again in one of the hotel lounges, where they were each hoped to learn something of the other. But what they were to discover was much more than either of them could have foreseen, for not only did they both have a secret, they both shared the same secret .

                                

                                                     Part Three.

​

Archie Briggs and Jack Wilson, didn’t, on the face of it, have very much in common. They discovered that they had served in the same army unit and had become known to each other, but they were never friends. Jack was a Sergeant instructor, while Archie, not long out of his training, had been assigned as a technician at the same unit. Both were involved with new recruits, Jack directly, and Archie in a role supportive of all the instructors. As such they were aware of each other, and indeed as part of a large training establishment had formed an agreeable if intermittent working relationship. They were colleagues but nothing more than that, not least because the two decades difference in their ages. That inevitably propelled them into different social circles, as did their different ranks. Also Jack had a wife and family at home, while Archie was unattached.

      All that had been more than twenty years earlier, and now those distinctions were irrelevant. Both were representing their companies; both had major responsibilities, both were well qualified and respected and both now had family obligations. So when they met at the end of a long hard day they did so as equals, happy in each other’s company, and happy to be spared the drudgery of another night watching foreign television. Catching up on their respective movements since their time together had been entertaining, and long before the evening was over they had achieved something which in earlier times they had failed to do. They became friends.

      Lots of memories were revived and anecdotes shared. Jack spoke of his impending retirement, while Archie confided his belief that promotion to directorship was all but confirmed, and inevitably the subject of the war itself emerged. There was a certain reluctance to dig deep into that part of their past, especially by Jack, but it had transpired that they had both found themselves on active duties across the water, happy that they had been able to do their duty, but grateful that they had been spared.

      “Tough times to be sure.” observed Archie, his thoughts seemingly far away.

      “Certainly were. We all lost good friends.”

      Archie sat up. Something stirred within him. “Did you?”

      “Quite a few people I knew, or knew of, but there was one, one in particular. . .” He stopped for a moment, picking up his glass of beer. Archie sat back a little for Jack had clearly revived a painful memory and he had no wish to add to his new friend’s obvious distress.

      “Sorry,” Jack said after he had recovered his composure. “He was the best friend I ever had. In different times we might have been lovers.” He smiled. “That for me was the hardest part of the war. Losing Rolly. Some folk said we were like brothers  but it was much more than that.”

      “I never had a friend like that.” Archie said quietly. “I envy you.”

      “I met his parents you know; at the very end the war.” Jack volunteered. ”I’d been sent home earlier with a bullet in my leg so I got in touch with them and we arranged to meet in London.”  Jack stopped again and Archie could see that another painful memory had occurred. “Then they told me . . . they told me that Rolly was dead. I couldn’t believe it. Blown up on the very last day of the war.”

      “What a tragedy. I’m surprised they still went on with the meeting. It must have been very hard for them.”

      “They knew about me you see; they said they wanted to meet me . Perhaps they thought that there wouldn’t be another opportunity. They would have been right too. A few days after our meeting I learned that they both died in a suicide pact. It was said they could not live without their son.” Jack paused again and took a drink. “I think they knew then what they were going to do.”

      “It’s a very sad story. Where did you meet them?”

      “That’s the funny thing about it. We met in the Palladium theatre of all places. They said that they didn’t know how to get in touch with me at the last minute. They said that they only had a vague idea what I looked like, and as they had the tickets they thought it better to go inside as arranged, and left his tickets with a newspaper seller.”

      Archie was alert in a second. He sensed rather than knew that something very odd was happening. He remembered his own encounter so well, and now, a man who until only the day before was virtually a stranger, was telling him the same story.

      “What was your friends name?” he asked, hardly daring to hear, but somehow knowing, what the reply would be.

      “Spencer - Rolly Spencer.”

      “Rowland Spencer.”

      “Yes; why do you ask.”

      Archie ignored that question. “And the parents? Were they Richard and Rosemary?”

      “That’s right.” Now it was Jack’s turn to be startled. “How on earth can you know that?”  

      “Because I’ve met them too.”

      Archie quickly recounted the story of their meeting, and when he had finished Jack stared at him with a look of disbelief.

        “I cannot believe what I am hearing.” he started. “What you say cannot be true for by Nineteen Forty Five Richard and Rosemary had been dead a quarter of a century.

      Now it was Archie’s turn to stare in disbelief. “But how? I don’t understand. I was sitting between them, and you said yourself that they died at the end of the war.”

      There was quite a long silence before Jack spoke again. “I’m sorry Archie,” he started, “but there is something I haven’t told you. Something I rarely talk about, for it brings back such painful memories and in any case I had no way of knowing that you would tell me such a remarkable story. You see, I was in the first war too; enlisted in nineteen sixteen.  I was only sixteen at the time but they didn’t seem to notice; at least they didn’t try to stop me. I met Rolly early on. He was eighteen and took me under his wing. We were friends from the start and spent the rest of the war together until I was shot, and he was blown up. So you see; Rowland Spencer died at the end of the first war, not the second.”

      The two men stared at each other in silence for some time, until finally Jack spoke; softly, quietly but emphatically. “And so did his parents."

      “But how?” Archie exclaimed. “The Spencer's I met in Nineteen Forty Five were as real as you are.”

      “I don’t know Archie; perhaps they are still waiting for Rolly.”

      “But if what you say is true why did they pick me?”

      "Just chance perhaps; and anyway, maybe it wasn't just you. Who knows how many other young soldiers on their own were similarly entertained.”  

      Another period of silence fell as each grappled with their thoughts, each of them perplexed by the seeming impossibility of their discovery. But then, as though by some  telepathic process they both spoke at once. Even more curious it transpired was that they had both been thinking the same thing, but it was Jack who spoke the words.

      "I wonder who the old paper seller was?"

      Archie stood up and looked directly at his friend. “I don’t know Jack; you say that the Spencers are still waiting for Rolly but I think the paper seller is still there, and that he is waiting for you.”

      “Why should he be waiting for me?”

      “That I don’t know, but I believe that you are the link and that somehow, one day, you will all be reunited.

 

                                         Part Four. The Epilogue

​

It was almost a year later in mid November of 1963 while reading the newspaper, that a small passage caught Archie’s attention. It read - A man about sixty five years old had been found dead on the front row of the balcony of the Palladium Theatre in London and has been named Mr Jack Willson. The cause of death is not yet known but it is thought he might have suffered a heart attack. Police however are trying to trace the occupants of three seats either side of Mr Willson which were vacant when his body was found, despite the usherette confirming that a middle aged couple and a younger man had occupied the seats either side of Mr Willson, during the performance.

      Archie smiled and could not help a feeling of contentment, sure in the knowledge that Jack and Rowland had found each other and that he had played a small part, unwittingly and with little understanding, in bringing a conclusion to their story,: and ultimately to his own.