Victory Dance

Speechless

The Hall was filled with big, round tables each filled with bottles of wine and whisky, little nibbles and a beautiful spray of flowers in the middle, with little decorative flags nestled inside. Music flowed around the room, gently cushioning each table with the comfort that their conversation couldn't be overhead by others. At least, that was the case for all tables but ours.

Though each table was comfortably set for 10 people, ours was overfilled. Chairs were added, to surround Dad and Captain Kenneth Clarke Wright, allowing everyone to exchange the grisly details of the Wars. It sounded like they were attempting to one up each other, trying to compare one war to another. Luis was spellbound.

When everyone was gathered around their radios, anxious to listen to Churchill's announcement of our involvement in the War, Luis was only nine. Like most boys his age, the promise of hearing new war stories, about planes and guns and heroes was exciting. There was a new chance for them to play new games about the war, re-enacting the dog fights and whatever scuffles were relayed to us in the daily news. Play was imitating life. Then, as the years went on, he prepared himself mentally for drafting himself in. Boys were getting picked younger and younger and he was convinced that as soon as he turned 14, he'd get a chance too. Luckily, it never amounted to that, but he did go out of his way to make sure his disappointment was felt for a few days.

For Luis, being in the war meant he'd get to be like Dad, even for a little while. Dad was more respected than other black men in the community. Whilst this was partially because he was the guy who could fix your car or declare it for parts, it was also due to his role in the war. His tale of him fixing the engine. How he got a British tank back up and running after it had been water logged. It simply never made any sense to us, given that back here, he went around fixing cars and factory machines. Me and Luis never really believed most of his stories, and we had serious doubts about the time he saved a Captain's life, especially when he had to shoot a German to get them out of a hairy situation. But, more importantly, the rest of our street seemed to think he was alright, and that was what Luis liked more than anything.

Louie had a hard time in secondary school, especially when he was moved to an 11+ school. He wasn't just with the kids from our street any more. These were the kids that were destined for the draft, if the war had carried on. They were kids who were happy to reduce Louie to the colour of his skin and little else. That was, until their dads mentioned that they knew our Dad and asked after him. Suddenly, a transformation occurred. Louie wasn't just a blackie any more, he was a good one - and a mutt at that! - and that made him alright by their books. If their dads said he was alright, then he was alright.

It was important to be the right type of black man. Louie just wanted to show that he was just as patriotic as Dad. He wanted to be alright too.

Tired of hearing about men playing pranks on each other in the trenches, I sipped my glass of wine, leaning in to listen to Mum and the other women discuss their own War efforts.

Little Liz wasn't interested in either of these discussions though. She had been struggling to follow the men's conversation, but suddenly, her interest had been piqued when she heard one of them mention U-Boats. Ever so brazen, she "So you do have a boat, then?"

A mirthful laugh spread around the table. Captain Wright took a sip of his whisky before he leaned in across the table with a smile, "Now, why would you think I have a boat, Eliza?"

Liz looked around the group carefully before she responded. There was a hesitation in her voice as she queried, "Because...because you're a Captain?"

"Of course. That's a sensible question to ask. Well, dear, I'm afraid I'm not that type of Captain. I was a Captain in the army. There was no boat."