The Setting Sun

The Major stood at the entrance to the hut I had commandeered, pipe in hand, wearing his cap at a jaunty angle, which gave him that devil may care look that I’m told is all the fashion back home.

We had just gone over our plans for the future exploration of the eastern hills which we were told harboured great apes the size of the Sergeant Majors wife and similar in appearance by all accounts.

Also to be found in this secret Eden were the inevitable pygmies; these were of the headhunting variety. We were informed that they would boil a man’s head and shrink it. One of the young lieutenants awoke one morning screaming, claiming that he had been a victim of the pygmies. Fortunately for him he had put on someone else’s cap which was two sizes too big for him.

Despite these dark clouds on the horizon, an air of excitement and mystery prevailed amongst the men, for what is life without risk I say. We should push the boundaries of our lives and question what we find, least ignorance and fear prevail.

The Major, absent minded, tapped his pipe out, the hot ash instantly setting fire to the rush matting at his feet. Immediately our local guide ‘Alfred’ appeared and with great presence of mind seized the matting and pulled it from under the Majors feet, in an instant his shirt caught fire and he disappeared screaming into the trees. ‘It’s very dry this time of year’ commented the Major.

The sun was now setting, bringing with it the fiery colours so typical of the African sky the moment spoiled only by a faint smell of singed hair.

One of the village elders in charge of the porters walked up to the hut and spoke to the Major ‘Mr Major Sir, It is time’

The Major turned to me and said ‘Will that be all then?’

‘Yes, I think we’ve gone as far as we can go today’ I replied.

‘And accomplished great things’ added the Major.

Do you know, as he turned to leave, his figure silhouetted by the setting sun, I caught a glimpse of a smile on his face.

The Colonel

In Memory of Stephen Patrick Rooney

The Morning After

Bea was in that warm and fuzzy place in between sleep and wakefulness...Wallowing in the luxury of the Aardvark cover the major had so thoughtfully laid down for her last night (he apparently has contacts in the Sutchi tribe in Western Tanzania)....ahhh last night!
She was heady with the warm bliss that comes the morning after one of 'those' nights...it had been so perfect...the major had thought of everything...

She had been quite thrilled when the Padre had agreed that a trip to the Outer Hebrides was just what she needed and that the Major was going to chaperone her on the pretence that he had to check on his butterfly collection that he just happened to keep there.

Taking half a dozen pygmies with them was a splendid idea from the Major, however Bea smiled to herself remembering it was her idea to hide them in picnic baskets to get them over the border - as one knows, pygmies are very hard to disguise.
It was a perfect scene; Bea carried aloft on the shoulders of two of the dear little things, not even noticing the blood from her toes as her feet scraped the roughed ground...Bea had only eyes for the Major. She could picture him now as if it was only yesterday...and it was....strutting ahead looking so handsome in Aardvark hat, full tribal gear...she didn't even mind that the below freezing breeze was having an adverse effect on the Major's spear....
He'd thought of everything....more pink gin than one could carry (so of course those dear little helpers carried it all)...well what more did one need? Just one more thing to make it perfect.....strapped to the Major's back was his trusty banjo...she knew it was going to be perfect.

And perfect it had been, the log cabin, the fire, pink gin flowing, the Aardvark rug laid out and the Major...oh the major playing that Banjo like he had never played it before, which was highly illegal in some countries....he knew just the right strings to pull to make Bea reach the edges of ecstasy (along with a snort of ground rhino horn)...he'd even let her have a strum of his prized possession, he was pleasantly surprised at how good she had been with it, however, it wasn't the time to let him know that she had been once been allowed to strum the entire Philharmonic's string section. Nothing was as good as the Major's instrument....

...lying there she wished that she didn't have to open her eyes to the new morning, however maybe the Major would have even more surprises for her. Slowly she turned over, it had to be slowly because she didn't want that build up of gas she could feel dangerously close to it's exit to be released just yet....stretching her arm out she felt for the Major....

...But where was the Major???

Mrs BP Smythe