Interlude - No Place Like Home

Steam curled into the air like the last breath of winter giving way to spring as Corporal John Wilson watched his lovely Mary turn off the stove. She poured the water into two chipped mugs, the strong scent of black tea filling the cosy kitchen as she did so. He had dreamt about this moment ever since the war started and now that it was here, he didn't know what to do with himself. He rubbed his hands together, blowing on them in an attempt to warm them up. Between the coldness of the kitchen despite the lit fireplace and the pattering of rain against the windows, he knew he was back home. And yet, while he was no longer in uniform but instead a well-worn jumper and trousers, the war still clung to him.

"Ta," John quietly spoke as he reached for his tea.

"Sugar?" Mary asked as she set the tin beside him.

John shook his head, "Got used to it plain. Rations and all that."

She frowned, "Well, there's plenty now so go on and take two. You've earned 'em."

A chuckle rumbled from John's chest as he obliged, "If you say so, love."

John put his tea down and opened the sugar tin, taking out two cubes of sugar and putting them in his tea. The warmth of the tea seeped into his fingers as he picked the cup up again, not even bothering to stir the sugar inside. It grounded him in the moment. Home. Safe. Far away from the boiling hot sun and desert winds of Africa.

For a while, he and his missus simply sat together, drinking in the quiet as much as the tea. Then, Mary tilted her head.

"You've 'ardly said a word about it," Mary spoke.

"About what?" John asked.

"The war," Mary replied.

John swirled the tea in his cup before meeting her gaze, "What's there t'say about it? Other than 'thank fook it's over'."

"Not in 'ere, it isn't," Mary tapped her fingers lightly against his head, "And I know you, John. You've got a story itching to be told. You always do."

John set his cup down. While she seemed excited to hear what adventures her brave husband got up to, he didn't want to trouble Mary with what he'd seen in Africa nor did he ever want to think about it again. But he did remember what a few of his mates in the SAS told him.

"Aight, then," John spoke in a more confident tone, "Ever heard of Major England?"

Mary gave John a funny look "Major England? Sounds like that magazine me Yankee cousin gave me last time he came over."

John chuckled before shaking his head. "Well if you bothered readin' 'em before sendin' em t'me, you'd think Cap'n America jumped straight out the pages. You know, if Cap'n America was British. And a major. And 'ad a moustache."

Mary smirked, "A moustache, you say? Well, doesn't that make him sound distinguished?"

"Oh, from what I've 'eard of 'im, he was," John spoke before laughing, "Fookin' barmy too! Man jumped out of a Beau into Berlin wearing nothin' but the Jack under his kit. Right into the lion's den from what I heard."

Mary arched a brow, "That sounds like the sort of tale one o' your mates would tell in the pub."

"Aye but unlike other times, they gave me proof," John tucked into his trouser pocket and pulled out a creased photograph before sliding it across the table, "One of the lads took it while on a raid."

Mary picked up the photo, studying the grainy figure in it. In the dim light of the snow-covered woods, a man stood haggardly against a tree. He had short black hair and, true to John's word, a thick moustache covering his lip. His jacket was open just enough to reveal the unmistakable stripes of the Union Jack beneath.

Mary's eyes widened, "Well, blow me."

John leaned back as he sipped his tea, "That's what the Jerries must've thought too."

Mary set the photo down, "What else did the lads say about this 'Major England'?"

"Not much," John replied, "Other than he apparently killed Hitler."

Mary shook her head, "Nah. Even if he did jump out of a plane and wandered around the forest like the bogeyman, I bet the Jerries bumped 'im off before he even met Hitler."

"I thought that too," John continued, "I also thought they spared us the trouble of bumping Hitler off and done 'im in themselves. But the lads said, before they went back home, they saw a bird draggin' 'im along like he 'ad too much t'drink. One of 'em asked what she was doing with 'im and she said it was classified."

"And yet they told you and here you are tellin' me," Mary pointed out.

"Yeah but it's not like she told 'em what she was doin' with 'im," John continued, "But given 'ow they were ordered t'leave not long afterwards and then Germany surrendered a few days after they got back 'ome, I reckon we've got a good idea. He took on Hitler 'imself, won but got wounded, and whoever's in charge made up some bollocks about Hitler's high command getting fed up of Hitler then trying to top each other after the resulting power vacuum."

"And why would they do that?" Mary asked.

John shrugged, "Who knows? Maybe they wanted t'keep the major's identity a secret. You've seen 'is eyes in the picture. Those are not the eyes of someone who's proud of 'is job, I promise you that."

Mary picked up the picture again and looked closely at the major's eyes. It was hard to tell because of how grainy the picture was but she couldn't deny John had a point.

"You think he was ashamed?" Mary asked.

John sipped his tea, "Not ashamed either. More like...Well, I don't know what it's like. You see a man like that and you reckon they might 'ave lived too long. They probably think that too, seein' an' doin' nothin' no man ever 'as t'do."

Mary gently put the picture back down again, "You ever feel like that, John?"

"That I lived too long?" John replied, "Nah, love. As long as I've got you, I never 'ave t'worry about outstayin' me welcome anyway."

Mary smiled, her eyes reflecting the warmth of the kitchen. "Glad t'hear it. So...What shall we do now that it's all over?"

"Well, we could always fool around," John cheekily replied.

Mary chuckled, "C'mon, John. I'm serious."

"So am I," John continued before chuckling with his wife, "I 'aven't 'ad a shag in over two years."

Both John and Mary shared a hearty chuckle before clinking their mugs together. A simple toast to peace, to home, and to the little moments that made life worth living after the storm of war had passed.