The fiery smears of flames that engulfed large areas, were his favorite. His hearing had been severely damaged but he could still hear them when they spread their beautiful warmth and fire filled clouds over huge areas that once contained men. These flame clouds had kept him warm enough during the night. They set things on fire and he would stand or lie near them far into the night. It was cold at night.
A couple of times men had tried to come to him but had been damaged and cut down by the circling planes and their winking wings. After a while no one seemed to care and he was alone in his playground of smoke, flames, explosions and the dead.
He could not go near his Mum any more. She had started to stink and then an explosion had taken her away. She had peed and pooped in her clothes while he was under her and he had asked her why she could do that without getting put in a corner when he could not, but she had not answered. Her eyes eventually turned dead and her body cold and he knew he had to leave her. He was very thirsty and hungry when he had finally wiggled out from under her.
He guessed he was a big boy now. He remembered the other big boys in his neighborhood could run around all day without their moms always keeping watch over them. His Mum did not watch over him anymore so he must be a big boy. He cried every so often and wished she was here to watch over him again. He did not like being a big boy all the time. He missed her. He missed her so much.
No one would ever know why he and his mom were there near the airfield. In years to come when they excavated the grave site they were shocked to find the remains of such a small child. He had only 6 more hours to live but he did not know that and was getting excited as another bunch of whirling planes caught his eye and he watched in fascination as three of the red marked planes tried to stay on the tail of the green plane with the circles on its wings. He knew they were circles. His Mum had taught him that.
Just before the green plane crashed into the ground it came very close to him and he saw the pilots face staring in wonder at him as he waved. He had a nice face. He wished that he was his father. The last six hours and 3 minutes of his life were like the last 3 days or so. He ate some food, played with some interesting pieces of metal, went to the puddle and drank some water, cried a few times in loneliness and then wandered into an area he had never been before. He fell into a large pit and never regained consciousness. That’s where all the other bodies were eventually put in temporary graves. His mother and the pilot of the plane that he waved at were put in the pit as well. One small pile of what was humanity waiting to be discovered and separated into still other holes in the ground. As we all know they are just bodies and not the real person.
His body was never identified and his remains were placed in an unmarked grave. There should have been no one to even remember his name or that he have once existed. Yet there was one. A secretary who had helped deliver him when she had heard his mother crying next door. Out he came before the doctor could get there. It was all she could to hang on to him he cried so loudly. She was going through some old records and getting ready to store them when she remembered the little boy being born to that young girl. Pretty hard to forget that. He had such a smile. Most newborns don’t smile. He did from the get go. She was sure that she would see him in the films. His smile was so dazzling even as a newborn.
His name was Jeremy. He stood out so vividly in her mind. She was 7 months pregnant and just then decided to name her baby Jeremy if it was a boy. Jeremy Beadle… now that had a nice ring to it.
Bill couldn’t believe his eyes. What was a little kid doing out here. For God’s sake this is crazy. Where’s his mother.
“Stop watching that child Bill and concentrate on your loading mate.”
“But Charlie he’s all alone… he’s crying and wounded. We have to help him! He’s going to die out there, we have to do something.”
“For Christ sake keep loading or we’re all dead including the boy!”
“There has to be something we can do… look at him he’s bleeding… he’s hurt and scared. He’s terrified we have to do something. We just have…”
“We’re out! Bloody hell we’re out! Alright let’s go then… we aren’t doing any good with an empty gun. Let’s go.”
Charlie is cut in two before Bill’s eyes and he just stares uncomprehending and then turns and jumps the gun emplacement sand bag wall and starts to sprint towards the boy. All he can think of is getting to him and bringing him to safety. He hears the sound of the engine and knows that a Sturmovik is coming in for a run at his former gun emplacement. He even hears the click of the bomb being released. A wave of heat washes over him but he is on the edge of the napalms impact zone and only his legs beneath his knees are engulfed in searing pain. He is knocked down and tries to get up but his lower legs are missing and then the pain hits. The second Sturmovik’s run splashes him with napalm again.
Splashes is probably not the right term for something that is a liquid flame that does incredible damage to the human body and soul of those who witness it and those who inflict it on others. This little splash, for wont of a better word, of this viscous, liquid flame hits his upper torso as he is struggling to remove his helmet. When the splash of napalm hits it is splashed further and lands on just a couple of patches on his left and right side. He drops his arms and they become welded to his body. This douses the flame but not before his arms are pinned. He finally starts to scream. He screams for what seems like hours and then something gets through the pain. Something cuts right though his agony. It is the little boy and he is standing by him and watching him.
He tries to detach his right arm from his body and rips a pound of flesh from his side. He is so intent on reaching the boy that he feels nothing. He reaches out but then his muscles fail him. They become detached from their bony anchor and finally the pain becomes too much and shock sets in. He collapses and he dies staring at the little boy who in turn is staring at him.
Believed to be produced near the end of September in 1946 in the north of Britain.
The reel to reel tape hisses as you listen to the playback. The voices sound like they are coming from the bottom of a well. There is a slight echo in the room used for the interview. There are over a hundred of these interviews still surviving. The identity of the interviewer has not been accurately determined as yet.
“Test… test…
Thank you for speaking with us Mr. Mudd.”
“Well you asked me too didn’t yea.”
“Let’s get to it then…”
“Where you involved in the fighting this month?”
“Why of course I was. Why are we doing this taping if I wasn’t?”
“What was the closest you came to dying during the third war?”
“Come-on now Brian you know very well where it was. You were there too.”
“This is supposed to be like an interview Bob. You have to pretend you don’t know me…”
“Oh alright then… I was driving a lorry with you… er my mate Brian. We had planned to make two runs that day to Coventry carrying petrol in the lorry, one during the day and one during the night. We figured the Reds had run their course and after taking out the near-by airfields they wouldn’t be roaming around anymore. Then we heard it.”
“What was that you heard?”
“One of them twin engine jobs. The ones that should have been shot out of the sky and not roaming around free as you please. We had just stopped and lit up a fag away from the truck. You don’t want to be smoking in a petrol lorry you see. Anyway we heard it pretty far off. You get to know the sound of your enemy pretty quickly. I was going to get back to the lorry and move it under some trees when the bastard spotted us and bore right in without a care in the world. He didn’t even use the rockets he had under his wings he just casually shot the lorry to pieces and lite it on fire. A couple of explosions later and “Bob’s your uncle” the lorry was gone along with our means of employment.”