Free The Uncertain Years by Beryl Matthews

stood there for a moment watching the evening sun highlight the flowers in thegarden. Early June had brought forth a riot of colour. The back had been dug over to grow vegetables, as had just about every garden in the country, but his mother clung on to this small patch for a bit of beauty, she’d said, and she was right. He felt as if the blooms were welcoming him home.
    He swore under his breath as his vision clouded. He was getting soft, and that was not going to help him get through this war. All he had to do was remember those poor devils in the burning sea, and that would cure him of mooning over a few flowers.
    ‘Are you going to stand there all night, Bob?’
    Composing himself he looked up and smiled. ‘Just admiring the garden, Dad. It’s nice to see so much colour after looking at grey sea all the time.’
    His father nodded, and Bob wondered how long he had been watching him at the gate.
    ‘Yes, it’s a picture, isn’t it? Come in now, you’re mother’s putting the kettle on and is anxious to see you.’
    He walked to the door and his father took his kitbag from him, nearly dropping it when he felt the weight. ‘What on earth have you got in here?’
    ‘I’ve collected a few things on my travels.’
    ‘It feels like it.’ His father studied his son for a moment, and then smiled. ‘It’s good to have you home, Bob. Are you hungry?’
    ‘Ravenous!’
    ‘I told you he would be.’ His mother rushed out of the kitchen to hug him. ‘Oh, it’s wonderful to see you. How long have you got?’
    ‘Let him get in the door, Sal,’ John chided his wife. ‘Let’s have tea first, and then we can talk.’
    They settled around the kitchen table with steaming cups of tea in front of them and a plate full of sandwiches. Bob downed his first cup of tea, hungrily finished two sandwiches, then took a deep breath of pleasure, ready to answer his mother’s question now. ‘I’ve got ten days while they carry out some work on the ship.’
    ‘Oh, that’s lovely.’ Then his mother frowned. ‘What kind of work?’
    ‘You know I can’t tell you that.’ He took a bite of another sandwich, and changed the subject. There was no way he was going to let either of them know how dangerous the last convoy had been. They had taken a chance and stopped to pick up survivors, which was something they shouldn’t have done, but they couldn’t leave the poor devils in the sea. The damage they had sustained had not been serious, but it was enough to give them this welcome break. ‘Tell me about Dunkirk.’
    His father reached for newspapers piled on the dresser behind him. ‘You’ve got to see these. Start on the top and work your way through. They are all in order. Will has had the front page right through the evacuation.’
    Bob began to read, the sandwiches forgotten in his eagerness to learn more about this disaster. He’d been at sea while this had been going on, and the information they had received had been sketchy at best. He was delighted to see his friend’s name on the reports. It looked as if Will was doing well.
    By the time he was halfway through the papers, hestopped reading and glanced up, puzzled. ‘These sound like first-hand accounts – as if Will was actually at Dunkirk.’
    ‘He was!’ His mother’s expression was concerned. ‘He jumped on a boat going up the Thames and sailed over with the owner. He was gone for some time and we were all so worried, not knowing where he was. The newspaper said he was covering the evacuation, and that’s all they would say.’
    ‘He made two trips,’ his father continued the story, ‘but when the owner was injured and the boat damaged, they couldn’t go again. Will stayed at the dock to gather as much information as he could, then staggered, exhausted, in to the newsroom and wrote his story. When he finally arrived home he slept for twenty-four hours.’
    A slow smile crossed Bob’s face. ‘That’s just like him. He was very disappointed when we all