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No True Pair Sept. 5 - Biggles & Bertie
September Five - Biggles & Bertie - a walk in the park
"It's quiet here," Biggles said.
It was supposed to be, Bertie thought, on the parklands surrounding Chedcombe. But you noticed it, didn't you, after the constant artillery barrage of the war, the chatter of guns -- oh yes, you noticed it. The silence had a ringing quality, and when there was a loud crash from down the hill, he saw how Biggles jerked a little. Might've jumped a bit himself.
"Sounds like the ironworks hasn't quite closed up shop yet," Bertie said. "Another week and they'll be packing it all off to -- you know, I haven't a clue. It was an old mill, before."
"What'd they turn out?" Biggles asked. "During the war, that is."
"I can't honestly tell you, old son. Something rolled and stamped. Might be tank parts, or shell casings, I know they had a munitions factory up the road a way."
Biggles nodded. He looked around at the mist-draped woods, always alert, and Bertie was glad he'd suggested going to check the trout ponds rather than shooting. He honestly had no stomach for flushing game himself right now. Would rather just let the jolly little partridge and woodcocks have their pleasant afternoon, no shotguns to disturb them. Towser trotted ahead, knowing these paths well, running along with a relaxed bound and his tail in a curl. He knew that because they carried fishing poles instead of guns, he was not expected to work ... though he'd probably have run off in delight if he crossed a fresh scent.
Like any good hunting dog, he knew when he was on duty and when he was not. And old war pilots would have to learn the same. There was nothing to hunt, and that was a reward, not a punishment. Bertie didn't regret leaving the guns at home.
But it didn't mean they might not appreciate a fresh scent again. You picked up the habit, couldn't really help it. With any good bird dog or courser, the hunt was in their blood.
Ficlet master list in this post
"It's quiet here," Biggles said.
It was supposed to be, Bertie thought, on the parklands surrounding Chedcombe. But you noticed it, didn't you, after the constant artillery barrage of the war, the chatter of guns -- oh yes, you noticed it. The silence had a ringing quality, and when there was a loud crash from down the hill, he saw how Biggles jerked a little. Might've jumped a bit himself.
"Sounds like the ironworks hasn't quite closed up shop yet," Bertie said. "Another week and they'll be packing it all off to -- you know, I haven't a clue. It was an old mill, before."
"What'd they turn out?" Biggles asked. "During the war, that is."
"I can't honestly tell you, old son. Something rolled and stamped. Might be tank parts, or shell casings, I know they had a munitions factory up the road a way."
Biggles nodded. He looked around at the mist-draped woods, always alert, and Bertie was glad he'd suggested going to check the trout ponds rather than shooting. He honestly had no stomach for flushing game himself right now. Would rather just let the jolly little partridge and woodcocks have their pleasant afternoon, no shotguns to disturb them. Towser trotted ahead, knowing these paths well, running along with a relaxed bound and his tail in a curl. He knew that because they carried fishing poles instead of guns, he was not expected to work ... though he'd probably have run off in delight if he crossed a fresh scent.
Like any good hunting dog, he knew when he was on duty and when he was not. And old war pilots would have to learn the same. There was nothing to hunt, and that was a reward, not a punishment. Bertie didn't regret leaving the guns at home.
But it didn't mean they might not appreciate a fresh scent again. You picked up the habit, couldn't really help it. With any good bird dog or courser, the hunt was in their blood.
Ficlet master list in this post
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There was nothing to hunt, and that was a reward, not a punishment.
Oh yes.
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I would read 10000 words of Biggles recovering post-war at Bertie's manor.
Biggles nodded. He looked around at the mist-draped woods, always alert, and Bertie was glad he'd suggested going to check the trout ponds rather than shooting.
That extra altertness 💔
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