...The Broken Bond...

By Barrie David

Barry - South Wales - Early January - 1992

Tom lives in the flat below us.

He's an elderly, former SAS soldier and always good company.

With me being an ex para we have a lot in common and swap endless yarns. On a fairly regular basis my wife Elly and I spend an evening with him either in his flat or ours. Lean and wiry, white bearded and with a story for every occasion, Tom lives on his own and is very basic. His idea of a homely meal is what he calls ‘Combat Curry' served in British army mess tins and washed down with a large whiskey.

Walking downstairs to one of his invitations Elly and I are confronted on the landing by a group of children who promptly enquire if we want a dog. Before we can say anything a boy about twelve years old opens his coat and as if by magic produces a tiny trembling mongrel puppy. Immediately melting as she reaches to take him, Elly murmurs adoringly...

"Oh Bar, look at him!" Cradled in the warmth of her arms the puppy is jet black except for a white flash on his chest which dwindles to a thin streak under his throat. Enormous brown eyes dominate his small angelically rounded face and gaze up at me when I tickle his plump hairless belly. When we knock Tom's door the children have left, but not the dog. Living in a flat and both working we have no intention of keeping it. I have Elly's brother in mind who is currently grief stricken at the loss of his dog.

Perhaps he will give this whimpering straif a good home.