Days 94 and 95 – Writing Exercise

…

I had a plan. 

I just didn’t have a plan B.

And, because of it, I had an extraordinary story to tell the grandchildren.

It started out with the best of intentions.

I had been talking to this girl, Wanda Richardson. 

My mother would say that she was not my ‘type’, but her idea of type was someone who was way out of my and the rest of my siblings’ reach.

She thought we were ‘well-to-do’, so much so that the whole of the dating pool we all had access to was beneath us.

Or them.

I did ask once why we were not attending a ‘posh’ school instead of the local high school and got a belting from my father for sassing my mother.

Later, I discovered that my mother had come from a wealthy family that had lost all their money the generation before, but she refused to change her lifestyle.

But that was all later, when I’d gone down a path that I could never come back from.

Like I said, it all started with the best of intentions.

..

Friday night, Wanda worked in the Diner.  Wanda’s parents didn’t have unreal expectations.  I didn’t tell my parents I had feelings towards her; I knew what would happen if I did.

I’d seen my older brother Louis go down the same path; they had embarrassed him, and he had to leave town and vowed never to come back.

I was going to do the same as soon as I graduated from high school.

Friday night, I would hang out at the diner and then walk Wanda home.  I wasn’t the ostensibly eligible boy, even though I was on the football team, and sometimes made up the numbers for the baseball team.

I just didn’t have that killer instinct it took to get ahead, or the parents who pushed their kids into the top spots in the team.

Academically, I would get good grades, but nothing special, even though I could get a place at a nearby college, if I wanted it.

My mother wanted mt to go to University.  My father wanted me to stay in town and integrate into his business.  He had hoped Louis would but he didn’t.  I didn’t want to either, but it was beginning to look like I wouldn’t have a choice.

Wanda didn’t care.  He parents decided she would find a nice boy, settle down, be a wife and mother, giving her parents grandchildren. 

The sooner the better.

She wanted to see the world first

As the final reward of high school came to an end, we spoke of many things.  They didn’t include dating, the prom, or what would happen next year.

Except this Friday, she was different.

I dropped by about half an hour before the end of her shift, busy as always, and I had a seat at the bar.  I ordered a pie and a soda.  The same as always.

“You should try something different,” she said as she walked past, just back from cleaning and resetting a table for the next group.

Richie Fincal and Mary, and his offsider, Mickey and Elise, Richie and Mickie in the football team, Mary and Elise in the cheerleader squad. 

Children of influential families are often the cause of trouble. 

Mary had tried all year to get Wanda into the cheerleaders, but Wanda had no interest.  Richie was disappointed I didn’t try harder because he thought I had talent.

The coach had other ideas, and I agreed with the coach.

“I’m a creature of habit,” I said.

“You should think about trying something new.  Women like their men to be more adventurous.”

That was a surprise.  She often said I should try something different, bur the was the first time she mentioned anything about adventure.

“I don’t know any adventurous women.”

She gave me a hard stare, the one when I knew she was annoyed.  “What am I, a librarian?”

I wondered what the significance of being a librarian meant.  This year, she had changed and spoke of things I knew little about.

I had to admit that she had grown up and left me behind.  For a while there, she had dated one of the football A team players and got to hang out with what were known as the cool kids.

Then they had broken up, and when I asked why, she wouldn’t tell me.  It must have had some significance because she cried off and on for weeks.

“No.  Too good for me.  I’m sorry.”

She shook her head.  “I’m going to wait on a few tables.  When I come back, I expect better from you.  No girl would be ashamed to have you as a friend, Billy.”

She passed by a few minutes later and put the pie with extra cream and I creams and the mistaken in front of me. “Enjoy.”

…

“You going down the cove later?”  Richie stopped as the four were leaving.  The others kept going.

“Thinking about it”, it was one of the few gatherings before the prom and probably the last time we’d all be in one place before graduation

Richie was just being polite.  I didn’t normally go because turning up without a girl with you invited comment.

Kids could be quite horrible, especially to those perceived not to have friends.

I chose not to be too friendly with anyone.

“John’s got a couple of kegs from his dad, drinks all round.  It’s going to be a good night.”

We were not supposed to be drinking beer.  I’d seen two effects: some of the boys and the girls changed when they had too much.  Last time there were fights, and the sheriff had his hands full.

I swore I would never go again.

“I’ll see how the night pans out.”

He saw me looking in Wanda’s direction.  “She’s out of your league, Billy.  Harry’s gonna ask her out tonight, so leave it be, eh.”

A pat on the back, and he was gone.

Harry was an ass.  I hoped she had the sense to say no.

…

Wanda’s shift ended, and I asked her if she wanted me to walk her home.

She refilled the coffee mug while I reckon she was deciding yes or no.  “I’ll sign off and get my coat.”

I finished the coffee and waited outside.  When she came, Harry stepped up.

“You want to go to the cove?”

He had an interesting way of asking, direct and with no please or thank you.  He just took it for granted you’d agree.  She had told me he just expected she would be acquiescent.  Girls were meant to do as they were told.

I guess he was a product of most men in town, my father and mother included.  It was why my mother was constantly at odds with her daughters.

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“The gutless are expecting you.  I said you were coming.”

“You don’t have the right to decide what I do and don’t do.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“This is exactly how this works.  Billy is taking me, you see his boat.”

“What boat?”

“His father’s boat.”

Was I?  I never said I would or could, for that matter.  He had banned everyone from going near it because, firstly, it was his pride and joy, and secondly, it was his hiding place from home and responsibility.  He had only shown me once.

“He’s lying if he told you that.”

“He doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Harry.  Good night, Harry.”

The look he gave her didn’t augur well.  For her or for me.  Especially after Richie warned me.

…

“Why did you tell Harry about the boat?”

“Because I’m tired of him bossing me about.  I told him it was over, but he just doesn’t get it.  Besides, you can show me where it is, what it looks like.”

“But you told him a lie?”

“And you can make it the truth.  This is your one chance to prove to me you care about me, Billy.  I’m sick and tired of being disappointed by every boy in this place.”

The gauntlet had been thrown down.

And to be honest, I should have taken a little longer to consider the consequences, but here’s the thing, I felt like this was the first and possibly the only chance to find true love.

As much as any teenager who’d never experienced it before, and was feeling a range of sensations that had no rational explanation. 

Of course, I had absolutely no idea what love was, but I did have these feelings towards Wanda, and I assumed that it was love.

“I didn’t know you were interested in me or in boats, or anyone else.”

“There is a lot you do not know about me that anyone knows or has taken the time to find out.  Take me home, and then I will meet you near the Fisherman’s Cooperative.”

I knew the place.

Her grandfather had a small chandler’s store next to the Fisherman’s Cooperative, which I had collected from her one weekend when she asked me to take her home, after visiting her grandparents.

She had been upset at the time, and I had got the impression she had been in an argument with Harry and had gone to be with her grandparents rather than her parents.

I found her grandparents to be far more reasonable people, and that her parents were much like mine, with unreasonable expectations.

After doing as she asked, I left her at the front gate and then slowly made my way to the wharf precinct.  Standing on the wharf, it was possible to see the cove and the bonfire in the middle of the sand, looking almost like a signal to guide a ship in or away from the rocks.

There was a lighthouse on the point.

It was dark, and the wharf was lit by a series of single bulbs that didn’t cover much area.  From the car park it looked like a weird if lights heading out to sea.

When I arrived, the full moon was out and made it very bright, but since my arrival, dark clouds had rolled in from the horizon out to sea, blocking the moon.  Then, lightning appeared, way out to sea, putting on a spectacular light show.

Just after the first cracking of lightning appeared to hit the end of the wharf, the lights sent out, the breeze picked up, and you could feel the rain in the air.  Wanda appeared beside me, almost scaring me.

“You’re jumpy,” she said. 

“It’s a bit spooky in the dark, and the storm that’s going to hit very soon.”

“I’d been quite warm.  What’s not to like about cooling rain?”

What indeed.  Clearly, the thunder and lightning didn’t bother her.

“So, show me this boat.”

It was moored a short distance from the wharf and an area with a series of sea anchorages.  My father didn’t like the idea of mooring in the marina bays because when he had, and a storm hit, it caused a lot of damage.

Riding it out moored to a block on the sea floor and a stabilising anchor seemed much safer.

The sea had been rising with the increased onshore wind, and while the moon had been out, old could see the sea-anchored boats rocking on the waves.

There were several people aboard their boats, but if the seas got higher, they might have to row ashore.

I took her to the middle of the wharf, where there were steps down to the sea, now washing over the bottom level, usually a foot over the water level.

The tide was coming in and would be at its highest in another two hours.  If the waves got higher, they would break over the wharf itself.  It had happened twice in the last year.

A bolt of lightning illuminated the bay, and I pointed to the boat.  A crash of thunder, followed by more lightning, gave her an extended view.

“That’s not a boat.  That’s more of a dinghy.”

What did she know about boats?

“It’s quite large when you are aboard.”

Rain started, just drops, picked up by the gusty wind.  I turned to tell her we’d better find cover, to find her on the other side of the wharf, looking towards the beach party.

The bonfire was blazing, the flames picked up by the wind.  There were quite a few people there, defying the weather.

“They’re going to get wet,” she said.

“I don’t think they care.  Two kegs of beer make people apparently waterproof.”

“And stupid.”

Last time I went on one of Richie’s beach parties, more than innocence was lost.

I saw Wanda shudder.

“Bad experience?”

She didn’t say anything, bur it wondered if the tears were from the rain or horrible memories.

Another gust of wind, and the rain increased.

“We’d better find cover,” I said.

She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around me.  In my ear, she whispered, “Hold me.”

I did as she asked and we stood there, in the rain and the wind, her head on my shoulder, and I could feel her shuddering.

It was more than just the cold.

Then she spoke again, and it was like we were in a cone of silence. I could hear nothing else but her words, “I think I’m pregnant. I don’t know what to do.  I can’t tell anyone, and the fact that you are holding me now is the only reason I haven’t thrown myself off the end of the pier.”

…

The rain didn’t matter, it was the least of her concerns, and it want bothering me.  It had been hot during the day, and the storm was expected.

I gave her time, waiting until she wanted to speak, or not.  It had taken great courage to tell someone who, in truth, wasn’t all that close or had earned her trust.

But then, who could she trust with that news?

I felt her move slightly, and she looked at me. 

“What do I do?  What can I do?”

“Breathe for starters.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Her eyes were watery, tears leaving streaks down her cheek.  There was a look of utter despair in her expression.

“Does anyone else know?”

“That Harry raped me, only my grandparents, who are sworn to secrecy.  They don’t know about the baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“As anyone can be.  Things happen or don’t happen, and it didn’t happen.”

It was about as oblique an answer she could give me.  I wondered if my sisters knew what she was talking about.”

“But it might not be the case?”

“I have to go with the worst-case scenario.”

“Right.  How long before anyone can tell?”

“One of my cousins got pregnant, and my mother said she knew the moment she saw her.  You’re supposed to have this glow thing.  Do I look like I’m glowing?”

I shook my head.  “You look very wet, I’ll say that much.”  I think it was the first time I realised that it was raining.

She smiled.  It was a sad smile, but it broke the gloom.  “Can we run away somewhere?”

“Would you want to run away with me?  I mean, we know each other, but,” I shrugged, “if you believe you can trust me, I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

“Can I trust you?”

It was as an interesting question.  I had never been put in a position where someone had to take me at face value.  I mean, I hadn’t done anything wrong, not like Richie and his cohorts, but then girls hadn’t taken much of an interest in me.

“I give you my word I would never knowingly hurt you.  I can’t say the same for my parents, though.”

“Nor could I mine, but it’s as much as I can expect.  We are both so not ready for this, but it have been thinking about what I was going to do.  The thing is, he’s just going to deny it, and being the son of a deputy sheriff, who’s going to believe me?”

She was right.  Harry was almost untouchable, and Richie and his friends fed off that implied immunity.  It was wrong, but it was a small town.  Her word against his, and the others who would close ranks, iy was to was easier just to disappear.

“Then we need a plan.”

“You’ll help me?”

“Anything to get out of going to the Prom, yes. But, sure, I’m sure I can come up with something.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “You know, I could get to love you.”

…

©  Charles Heath 2026

Days 94 and 95 – Writing Exercise

…

I had a plan. 

I just didn’t have a plan B.

And, because of it, I had an extraordinary story to tell the grandchildren.

It started out with the best of intentions.

I had been talking to this girl, Wanda Richardson. 

My mother would say that she was not my ‘type’, but her idea of type was someone who was way out of my and the rest of my siblings’ reach.

She thought we were ‘well-to-do’, so much so that the whole of the dating pool we all had access to was beneath us.

Or them.

I did ask once why we were not attending a ‘posh’ school instead of the local high school and got a belting from my father for sassing my mother.

Later, I discovered that my mother had come from a wealthy family that had lost all their money the generation before, but she refused to change her lifestyle.

But that was all later, when I’d gone down a path that I could never come back from.

Like I said, it all started with the best of intentions.

..

Friday night, Wanda worked in the Diner.  Wanda’s parents didn’t have unreal expectations.  I didn’t tell my parents I had feelings towards her; I knew what would happen if I did.

I’d seen my older brother Louis go down the same path; they had embarrassed him, and he had to leave town and vowed never to come back.

I was going to do the same as soon as I graduated from high school.

Friday night, I would hang out at the diner and then walk Wanda home.  I wasn’t the ostensibly eligible boy, even though I was on the football team, and sometimes made up the numbers for the baseball team.

I just didn’t have that killer instinct it took to get ahead, or the parents who pushed their kids into the top spots in the team.

Academically, I would get good grades, but nothing special, even though I could get a place at a nearby college, if I wanted it.

My mother wanted mt to go to University.  My father wanted me to stay in town and integrate into his business.  He had hoped Louis would but he didn’t.  I didn’t want to either, but it was beginning to look like I wouldn’t have a choice.

Wanda didn’t care.  He parents decided she would find a nice boy, settle down, be a wife and mother, giving her parents grandchildren. 

The sooner the better.

She wanted to see the world first

As the final reward of high school came to an end, we spoke of many things.  They didn’t include dating, the prom, or what would happen next year.

Except this Friday, she was different.

I dropped by about half an hour before the end of her shift, busy as always, and I had a seat at the bar.  I ordered a pie and a soda.  The same as always.

“You should try something different,” she said as she walked past, just back from cleaning and resetting a table for the next group.

Richie Fincal and Mary, and his offsider, Mickey and Elise, Richie and Mickie in the football team, Mary and Elise in the cheerleader squad. 

Children of influential families are often the cause of trouble. 

Mary had tried all year to get Wanda into the cheerleaders, but Wanda had no interest.  Richie was disappointed I didn’t try harder because he thought I had talent.

The coach had other ideas, and I agreed with the coach.

“I’m a creature of habit,” I said.

“You should think about trying something new.  Women like their men to be more adventurous.”

That was a surprise.  She often said I should try something different, bur the was the first time she mentioned anything about adventure.

“I don’t know any adventurous women.”

She gave me a hard stare, the one when I knew she was annoyed.  “What am I, a librarian?”

I wondered what the significance of being a librarian meant.  This year, she had changed and spoke of things I knew little about.

I had to admit that she had grown up and left me behind.  For a while there, she had dated one of the football A team players and got to hang out with what were known as the cool kids.

Then they had broken up, and when I asked why, she wouldn’t tell me.  It must have had some significance because she cried off and on for weeks.

“No.  Too good for me.  I’m sorry.”

She shook her head.  “I’m going to wait on a few tables.  When I come back, I expect better from you.  No girl would be ashamed to have you as a friend, Billy.”

She passed by a few minutes later and put the pie with extra cream and I creams and the mistaken in front of me. “Enjoy.”

…

“You going down the cove later?”  Richie stopped as the four were leaving.  The others kept going.

“Thinking about it”, it was one of the few gatherings before the prom and probably the last time we’d all be in one place before graduation

Richie was just being polite.  I didn’t normally go because turning up without a girl with you invited comment.

Kids could be quite horrible, especially to those perceived not to have friends.

I chose not to be too friendly with anyone.

“John’s got a couple of kegs from his dad, drinks all round.  It’s going to be a good night.”

We were not supposed to be drinking beer.  I’d seen two effects: some of the boys and the girls changed when they had too much.  Last time there were fights, and the sheriff had his hands full.

I swore I would never go again.

“I’ll see how the night pans out.”

He saw me looking in Wanda’s direction.  “She’s out of your league, Billy.  Harry’s gonna ask her out tonight, so leave it be, eh.”

A pat on the back, and he was gone.

Harry was an ass.  I hoped she had the sense to say no.

…

Wanda’s shift ended, and I asked her if she wanted me to walk her home.

She refilled the coffee mug while I reckon she was deciding yes or no.  “I’ll sign off and get my coat.”

I finished the coffee and waited outside.  When she came, Harry stepped up.

“You want to go to the cove?”

He had an interesting way of asking, direct and with no please or thank you.  He just took it for granted you’d agree.  She had told me he just expected she would be acquiescent.  Girls were meant to do as they were told.

I guess he was a product of most men in town, my father and mother included.  It was why my mother was constantly at odds with her daughters.

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“The gutless are expecting you.  I said you were coming.”

“You don’t have the right to decide what I do and don’t do.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“This is exactly how this works.  Billy is taking me, you see his boat.”

“What boat?”

“His father’s boat.”

Was I?  I never said I would or could, for that matter.  He had banned everyone from going near it because, firstly, it was his pride and joy, and secondly, it was his hiding place from home and responsibility.  He had only shown me once.

“He’s lying if he told you that.”

“He doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Harry.  Good night, Harry.”

The look he gave her didn’t augur well.  For her or for me.  Especially after Richie warned me.

…

“Why did you tell Harry about the boat?”

“Because I’m tired of him bossing me about.  I told him it was over, but he just doesn’t get it.  Besides, you can show me where it is, what it looks like.”

“But you told him a lie?”

“And you can make it the truth.  This is your one chance to prove to me you care about me, Billy.  I’m sick and tired of being disappointed by every boy in this place.”

The gauntlet had been thrown down.

And to be honest, I should have taken a little longer to consider the consequences, but here’s the thing, I felt like this was the first and possibly the only chance to find true love.

As much as any teenager who’d never experienced it before, and was feeling a range of sensations that had no rational explanation. 

Of course, I had absolutely no idea what love was, but I did have these feelings towards Wanda, and I assumed that it was love.

“I didn’t know you were interested in me or in boats, or anyone else.”

“There is a lot you do not know about me that anyone knows or has taken the time to find out.  Take me home, and then I will meet you near the Fisherman’s Cooperative.”

I knew the place.

Her grandfather had a small chandler’s store next to the Fisherman’s Cooperative, which I had collected from her one weekend when she asked me to take her home, after visiting her grandparents.

She had been upset at the time, and I had got the impression she had been in an argument with Harry and had gone to be with her grandparents rather than her parents.

I found her grandparents to be far more reasonable people, and that her parents were much like mine, with unreasonable expectations.

After doing as she asked, I left her at the front gate and then slowly made my way to the wharf precinct.  Standing on the wharf, it was possible to see the cove and the bonfire in the middle of the sand, looking almost like a signal to guide a ship in or away from the rocks.

There was a lighthouse on the point.

It was dark, and the wharf was lit by a series of single bulbs that didn’t cover much area.  From the car park it looked like a weird if lights heading out to sea.

When I arrived, the full moon was out and made it very bright, but since my arrival, dark clouds had rolled in from the horizon out to sea, blocking the moon.  Then, lightning appeared, way out to sea, putting on a spectacular light show.

Just after the first cracking of lightning appeared to hit the end of the wharf, the lights sent out, the breeze picked up, and you could feel the rain in the air.  Wanda appeared beside me, almost scaring me.

“You’re jumpy,” she said. 

“It’s a bit spooky in the dark, and the storm that’s going to hit very soon.”

“I’d been quite warm.  What’s not to like about cooling rain?”

What indeed.  Clearly, the thunder and lightning didn’t bother her.

“So, show me this boat.”

It was moored a short distance from the wharf and an area with a series of sea anchorages.  My father didn’t like the idea of mooring in the marina bays because when he had, and a storm hit, it caused a lot of damage.

Riding it out moored to a block on the sea floor and a stabilising anchor seemed much safer.

The sea had been rising with the increased onshore wind, and while the moon had been out, old could see the sea-anchored boats rocking on the waves.

There were several people aboard their boats, but if the seas got higher, they might have to row ashore.

I took her to the middle of the wharf, where there were steps down to the sea, now washing over the bottom level, usually a foot over the water level.

The tide was coming in and would be at its highest in another two hours.  If the waves got higher, they would break over the wharf itself.  It had happened twice in the last year.

A bolt of lightning illuminated the bay, and I pointed to the boat.  A crash of thunder, followed by more lightning, gave her an extended view.

“That’s not a boat.  That’s more of a dinghy.”

What did she know about boats?

“It’s quite large when you are aboard.”

Rain started, just drops, picked up by the gusty wind.  I turned to tell her we’d better find cover, to find her on the other side of the wharf, looking towards the beach party.

The bonfire was blazing, the flames picked up by the wind.  There were quite a few people there, defying the weather.

“They’re going to get wet,” she said.

“I don’t think they care.  Two kegs of beer make people apparently waterproof.”

“And stupid.”

Last time I went on one of Richie’s beach parties, more than innocence was lost.

I saw Wanda shudder.

“Bad experience?”

She didn’t say anything, bur it wondered if the tears were from the rain or horrible memories.

Another gust of wind, and the rain increased.

“We’d better find cover,” I said.

She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around me.  In my ear, she whispered, “Hold me.”

I did as she asked and we stood there, in the rain and the wind, her head on my shoulder, and I could feel her shuddering.

It was more than just the cold.

Then she spoke again, and it was like we were in a cone of silence. I could hear nothing else but her words, “I think I’m pregnant. I don’t know what to do.  I can’t tell anyone, and the fact that you are holding me now is the only reason I haven’t thrown myself off the end of the pier.”

…

The rain didn’t matter, it was the least of her concerns, and it want bothering me.  It had been hot during the day, and the storm was expected.

I gave her time, waiting until she wanted to speak, or not.  It had taken great courage to tell someone who, in truth, wasn’t all that close or had earned her trust.

But then, who could she trust with that news?

I felt her move slightly, and she looked at me. 

“What do I do?  What can I do?”

“Breathe for starters.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Her eyes were watery, tears leaving streaks down her cheek.  There was a look of utter despair in her expression.

“Does anyone else know?”

“That Harry raped me, only my grandparents, who are sworn to secrecy.  They don’t know about the baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“As anyone can be.  Things happen or don’t happen, and it didn’t happen.”

It was about as oblique an answer she could give me.  I wondered if my sisters knew what she was talking about.”

“But it might not be the case?”

“I have to go with the worst-case scenario.”

“Right.  How long before anyone can tell?”

“One of my cousins got pregnant, and my mother said she knew the moment she saw her.  You’re supposed to have this glow thing.  Do I look like I’m glowing?”

I shook my head.  “You look very wet, I’ll say that much.”  I think it was the first time I realised that it was raining.

She smiled.  It was a sad smile, but it broke the gloom.  “Can we run away somewhere?”

“Would you want to run away with me?  I mean, we know each other, but,” I shrugged, “if you believe you can trust me, I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

“Can I trust you?”

It was as an interesting question.  I had never been put in a position where someone had to take me at face value.  I mean, I hadn’t done anything wrong, not like Richie and his cohorts, but then girls hadn’t taken much of an interest in me.

“I give you my word I would never knowingly hurt you.  I can’t say the same for my parents, though.”

“Nor could I mine, but it’s as much as I can expect.  We are both so not ready for this, but it have been thinking about what I was going to do.  The thing is, he’s just going to deny it, and being the son of a deputy sheriff, who’s going to believe me?”

She was right.  Harry was almost untouchable, and Richie and his friends fed off that implied immunity.  It was wrong, but it was a small town.  Her word against his, and the others who would close ranks, iy was to was easier just to disappear.

“Then we need a plan.”

“You’ll help me?”

“Anything to get out of going to the Prom, yes. But, sure, I’m sure I can come up with something.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “You know, I could get to love you.”

…

©  Charles Heath 2026

An old story resurrected

…

Eight out of eight passengers and crew never thought they’d find themselves in what was, literally, a life and death situation.

The air hung heavy with cigarette smoke, for nearly all smoked (and some for the first time).  Tension thickened the atmosphere to a point where it could almost be cut with a knife.

In the deathly quiet, all had time to reflect on the fate that had befallen them, and the resume of events read like the script of the archetypal disaster movie.

The first hint of trouble came when they’d lost one engine.  The pilot had been quite nonchalant about it because, he said, they had three others.  Only Harry thought he could detect a note of apprehension in his tone.

Then, after a short time, they lost another engine.

An hour later, they crashed.

Of the eight, during those precious seconds before impact, none believed they would survive, that only the pilot and co-pilot perished.  All admitted it had been a spectacular piece of flying on the pilot’s part, all, that is, except Rawlings.

…

“A fine mess this blasted pilot has got us into,” Rawlings said for the umpteenth time.  No one had taken much notice before, and it was debatable whether anyone was taking notice now, for Rawlings had hardly endeared himself to the other passengers.

As the only person travelling first class, he made sure he received the best service (and the only one to receive any service, for that matter) from the moment he came on board.  The fact that the airline had allocated only one stewardess for the flight was the airline’s (and his fellow passengers’) problem, not his.

“After telling us how clever you are, Rawlings, why don’t you do something about it?”  An indistinguishable voice came from the rear of the plane.  It was an indication of the undercurrent of hate simmering beneath the icy calm.

Rawlings, still in the forward section of the plane, glared at the group, trying to put a face to the voice.  “To whom am I speaking?”

No one replied.

“No matter.”  He shrugged it off.  “Had the pilot managed to get the plane down in one piece, I could.  Since he didn’t, you can be assured I’ll think of something, which is more than I can say for some.”  It was, to him, a simple statement based on his assessment of the situation, but it served only to further alienate him from the others.

…

Harry had known better days, and, not for the first time, he wished this were one of them.  He’d had a premonition the previous night when he’d woken, bathed in sweat, an unconscious warning of an impending disaster.

Not that the threat of death was significant to him, for he knew it would come eventually, despite the doctor’s optimism, but not yet, not here, in the middle of nowhere, atop a mountain range in the freezing cold.

He glanced at his fellow passengers, a curious mixture of travellers he’d ever met.

Rawlings was the egotistical, bombastic, thorough son-of-a-bitch.  He had gone out of his way to make the trip as miserable as possible for the others.  Status, to him, was all-important, even after the crash.

Harkness, Rawlings’ assistant (and relegated to Economy class because he was a servant), was the sort who said little and suffered a lot.  His defence of the pilot had caused Rawlings to ‘vent his spleen’ on him, after which, to Harkness, the silence must have been golden.

Daphne and her mother, Mrs Gaunt, two of the three women on board, were congenial, cheerful people who bore up well considering they were terrified out of their wits.  Daphne, in fact, had taken over stewardess duties for the Economy passengers, a job much appreciated by them.

The remaining two passengers, geologists, were odd sorts who arrived late and drunk.  After taking off, they’d fallen asleep and, in fact, had slept through the crash.  They were, Harry thought, in for one hell of a shock when they finally woke.

Above all, however, the stewardess had fared the worst, after the pilots, having, after the discovery of the death of the pilots, become hysterical.  It was an interesting development because she had kept a tight, calm grip on the situation all through the calamity.

Harry huddled closer under his blanket, only to remember his sore arm.  He didn’t think it was broken, but it certainly felt like it.  And the hell of it was, he couldn’t remember how it happened.  He shuddered as a gust of icy wind came through the rent in the fuselage near his seat.  But it was not only the cold which left him with almost uncontrollable shakes – it was also the onset of shock. 

In the back of his mind, he relived those cataclysmic minutes after successive engines failed.  It was then he wished he hadn’t been so insistent on having a window seat.

As the plane lurched sickeningly, the pilot calmly said they’d have to land immediately.  Of course, he added equally as calm, it would be difficult in mountainous country.  However, they were fortunate it had been snowing recently.  All except Rawlings took the news with equanimity.  It was odd, someone said later, that with all his knowledge and self-praise, Rawlings didn’t take over the plane and fly them to safety.

The plane was barely in the air when the order came to brace themselves, and all were prepared when the plane hit the ground moments later.

The plane came to rest abruptly in a snow-covered valley; the silence, after the cacophony of tearing metal and involuntary screams, was almost maddening.  The first realisation each had was that they were still alive – the second, the icy wind coming in through the large cracks in the fuselage.

Harry was the first to move himself into action and to make an appraisal of the situation.  The other passengers were more or less unharmed, except for the stewardess, who was slightly dazed.  Then, Harkness joining him, he went forward to the flight deck.  When they managed to wrench the door open, they were greeted by a scene of total destruction.  Both pilots were dead, unrecognisable in the mass of twisted wreckage.  Harry quickly reclosed the door before he was physically ill.

At least it explained why the plane had stopped so abruptly:  they’d crashed into a rock in the last stage of the slide.  It was miraculous that the plane hadn’t caught fire.

Harry had no intention of taking charge; it just happened.  He told the others what the situation was, briefly and down to earth and then suggested they search for food and other items such as blankets.  Everyone noted Rawlings’ lack of enthusiasm to help, and if it had not been for Daphne, he would not have received blankets or food.  Most ignored him, wondering at the fact that he could still be so aloof in such tragic circumstances.

Because of the cold, they quickly organised themselves so they could wait for their rescue.  It wouldn’t, they reasoned, relatively cheerfully, be long.

…

Whilst the others may have considered Rawlings little more than a pain in the neck, it would have surprised them to learn that he despaired for them.  He couldn’t understand their attitude towards him, for all he wanted to do was make them feel better, and, if he could, help.

But there was little chance of that occurring, and, in fact, as much chance as him receiving the treatment he considered he deserved.  It was clear in his own mind that there were two types of people in the world: the leaders and the led.  By virtue of his station in life, he was one of the leaders.  Why, he asked himself rhetorically, didn’t they realise that?  He glared at them, all studiously ignoring his presence.  There was, he thought bitterly, little prospect of getting any assistance from those people.

…

Conditions were unbearable during the first night.  Darkness had fallen quickly, and with no hot food to ward off even a fraction of the coldness that had settled on them, their relatively good spirits quickly dissipated. 

To Harry (and the others) the night seemed interminable, and he found it impossible to sleep for any length of time.  He was shaking uncontrollably, despite the warm clothing and number of blankets, and, as dawn broke, he wasted no time getting up and about to get his circulation going again, urging the others to do likewise.  It was something he remembered having seen in a film once: if the cold was allowed to take over, a person quickly succumbed and died.

His first venture outside was something of an experience.  In the first instance, it was colder outside than in, if that was possible, and in the second, the landscape was as bleak, in his opinion, as their prospects of rescue.

After trekking some distance through the rather solid snow and up a rise, he found he had a good view of the plane, and the fact that there were, strangely, no trees from one end of the valley to the other.  The same could not be said for the surrounding country.  It seemed an impossibility that the pilot had been able to find such a place, and, desperately unlucky, he should hit the only rock Harry could see in the line of the plane’s path.

The plane was half covered in snow.  It was apparent it had been snowing during the night, and by the look of the sky, more was on the way.  Low clouds continually swept through the valley, obscuring everything from view, and that, he considered, would make discovery from the air nigh on impossible.

What it really meant was that they would have to come up with their own plan of action rather than wait for hypothermia to take its toll.  It was something he had been thinking about most of the night, but he had been unable to progress to any sort of workable alternatives.

During a clear period, Harry saw Harkness coming towards him slowly.  He was rapidly gaining respect for Harkness, as he was not only surprisingly cheerful (despite being blunted by the more dominant Rawlings) he was resourceful.

By the time he reached Harry, he was out of breath and needed a few minutes to recover.  Harry noted he looked a good deal older than he had first estimated.

“What a hike, but it sure beats the hell out of waiting down there,” Harkness said when he’d recovered sufficiently, nodding towards the wreckage.  “And, God knows how, I feel warm.”

“So do I.  It was one of the reasons I came here.”

“Those two geologists, or whatever they are, are finally awake.  Boy, you should have seen their faces.  One swore he’d give up drink forever.”

“He may get his wish sooner than he thinks.”

“You don’t rate our chances of discovery high, eh?”

“Take a look.”  Harry beckoned to the mist, swirling through the valley, obliterating everything in their view.  Harry, in fact, could hardly see Harkness.

“Yes.  I see what you mean.  What do you think we should do?”

“God knows.  But one thing is for sure, I don’t think we can afford to sit and wait for someone to come and find us.  Not under the current circumstances, with more snow imminent.   It’ll take only another fall to completely hide us from any viewpoint.”

Harkness looked at the sky, then at the surroundings, and nodded in agreement, adding, after a minute, “It seems odd this is the only part of the country that’s clear of trees.  Do you think there’s any significance in that?”

“Exactly, would you believe, what I was thinking?”

“Do you think we might be near help?”

“Who knows.  But, because of the urgency of the situation, I think we should find out.  The question is who the ideal person is.”  There was, however, no doubt in his mind.

…

“You’re mad, stark, staring mad,” Rawlings said when Harry told the others of the plan he and Harkness had formulated on their way back to the plane.

“I agree there is an element of risk….”

“Risk?” Rawlings exploded.  “Risk?  It’s bloody suicide.  My own view is that we should sit tight.  We have enough to eat, and we’re relatively warm.  It won’t be long before the search parties are out now we are overdue.”

“You haven’t been outside.  Circumstances dictate that we must seek help.  It’s been explained in detail.  If you cannot understand the situation, then don’t interfere.”  Harkness glared at his old chief, for the first time feeling more than a match for him.  Rawlings would never again dominate him.

“Then you’re fools, as are all the rest of you if you condone this idiocy.  I wash my hands of it.”  And he ignored them, going back to his book.  If that Davidson character wanted to kill himself, that was his business.

There were no other objections.  The others understood the realities of the situation, both Harkness and Harry had explained at length.  Harry would seek assistance.  Harkness would do his best to keep the others alive.

Then, after a good meal (in the circumstances) and taking enough food for two days, Harry left.  At the top of the rise, he stopped, briefly, looking at the scene.  It was, he thought, exactly as it had been in the dream.

For two days, it had snowed continuously.  The sub-zero temperatures had virtually sapped them all of whatever energy they had left, and, on the morning of the third day, they were all barely alive

At the end of the second day, Harkness had requested everybody to huddle together, including the standoffish Rawlings, who finally agreed, despite inner misgivings.  It was probably this single action that saved them.

Harkness, though he said nothing, had given up hope that Harry would still be alive.  No one could have survived the intensity of the blizzard.

Harkness had woken to inky darkness and a death-like silence, the storm having abated.  His first thought was that he had died, but that passed as the cold slowly made itself felt.  Soon after, finding his torch still worked, he roused everyone and cajoled or browbeat them into doing their exercises to ward off frostbite.

It was then that they heard the strange throbbing sound, and Harkness instinctively went to go outside and found they’d been snowed in.  As the throbbing sound passed over them again, Harkness didn’t need to ask for assistance to make an opening in the snow.  They frantically dug their way through; luckily, the snow wall was only of powder-like consistency.  Not long after daylight showed through, and then Harkness was out.  But the plane, or what he assumed to be a plane, had gone.

Instead, he was alone, by the snow mountain that covered the plane, greeted by a perfectly blue sky and the sun’s rays.  It was, he thought wryly, perfect skiing weather, but awfully lonely if no one could see where you were.

In a minute, he was joined by Daphne, and the disappointment was written on her face.  They waited, wordless, by the plane for an hour, glad to be out of the confined space of the fuselage, and were, at various times, joined by the others, escaping what Mrs Gaunt had said (now, after the rescue plane had gone) would probably be their grave.  The disbelief and joy of having survived the crash had now worn off, and Harkness knew that if they had to try to survive another night, some might not make it.

He was alone, striking out for the rise when the throbbing sound returned, coming from behind him.  And judging by the sound, it could not be a plane.  It was too low and too slow.  Thus, he was not surprised when a helicopter hovered over the rise and slowed as the occupants sighted him waving frantically, and yelling, quickly being joined by the others.

They all couldn’t believe they’d been rescued, all, that is, except Rawlings.  In every instance, Rawlings had been the exception, and it was not to his credit.  He was the only one who had suffered severely from frostbite.  He was, however, the one to say, when they finally reached what he called civilisation, that he’d been right:  that all they had to do was sit tight and wait.  They’d be rescued sooner or later.

That was when the leader of the rescue operation shattered his illusion – and shocked everyone else.  “That’s not necessarily so, Mr Rawlings.  You would have been discovered, but late in spring, after the thaw.  The plane was terribly off course, and to be honest, after the second day, we’d given up any real hope of finding you.  The country around here is very rugged.  No, you owe a great deal to a fellow called Davidson.”

“Davidson, you say?” Harkness muttered.  “He’s alive?”

“Unfortunately, no.  He died soon after he told us about the plane and where it had crashed.  If he hadn’t, you’d still be there.”

“My God.”  Harkness slumped into a chair, only barely able to hear Rawlings say, quietly, “I told him it was suicide, but no one listened to me.  Suicide, I said.  And, as for that damn pilot…..”

…

©  Charles Heath  2026

An old story resurrected

…

Eight out of eight passengers and crew never thought they’d find themselves in what was, literally, a life and death situation.

The air hung heavy with cigarette smoke, for nearly all smoked (and some for the first time).  Tension thickened the atmosphere to a point where it could almost be cut with a knife.

In the deathly quiet, all had time to reflect on the fate that had befallen them, and the resume of events read like the script of the archetypal disaster movie.

The first hint of trouble came when they’d lost one engine.  The pilot had been quite nonchalant about it because, he said, they had three others.  Only Harry thought he could detect a note of apprehension in his tone.

Then, after a short time, they lost another engine.

An hour later, they crashed.

Of the eight, during those precious seconds before impact, none believed they would survive, that only the pilot and co-pilot perished.  All admitted it had been a spectacular piece of flying on the pilot’s part, all, that is, except Rawlings.

…

“A fine mess this blasted pilot has got us into,” Rawlings said for the umpteenth time.  No one had taken much notice before, and it was debatable whether anyone was taking notice now, for Rawlings had hardly endeared himself to the other passengers.

As the only person travelling first class, he made sure he received the best service (and the only one to receive any service, for that matter) from the moment he came on board.  The fact that the airline had allocated only one stewardess for the flight was the airline’s (and his fellow passengers’) problem, not his.

“After telling us how clever you are, Rawlings, why don’t you do something about it?”  An indistinguishable voice came from the rear of the plane.  It was an indication of the undercurrent of hate simmering beneath the icy calm.

Rawlings, still in the forward section of the plane, glared at the group, trying to put a face to the voice.  “To whom am I speaking?”

No one replied.

“No matter.”  He shrugged it off.  “Had the pilot managed to get the plane down in one piece, I could.  Since he didn’t, you can be assured I’ll think of something, which is more than I can say for some.”  It was, to him, a simple statement based on his assessment of the situation, but it served only to further alienate him from the others.

…

Harry had known better days, and, not for the first time, he wished this were one of them.  He’d had a premonition the previous night when he’d woken, bathed in sweat, an unconscious warning of an impending disaster.

Not that the threat of death was significant to him, for he knew it would come eventually, despite the doctor’s optimism, but not yet, not here, in the middle of nowhere, atop a mountain range in the freezing cold.

He glanced at his fellow passengers, a curious mixture of travellers he’d ever met.

Rawlings was the egotistical, bombastic, thorough son-of-a-bitch.  He had gone out of his way to make the trip as miserable as possible for the others.  Status, to him, was all-important, even after the crash.

Harkness, Rawlings’ assistant (and relegated to Economy class because he was a servant), was the sort who said little and suffered a lot.  His defence of the pilot had caused Rawlings to ‘vent his spleen’ on him, after which, to Harkness, the silence must have been golden.

Daphne and her mother, Mrs Gaunt, two of the three women on board, were congenial, cheerful people who bore up well considering they were terrified out of their wits.  Daphne, in fact, had taken over stewardess duties for the Economy passengers, a job much appreciated by them.

The remaining two passengers, geologists, were odd sorts who arrived late and drunk.  After taking off, they’d fallen asleep and, in fact, had slept through the crash.  They were, Harry thought, in for one hell of a shock when they finally woke.

Above all, however, the stewardess had fared the worst, after the pilots, having, after the discovery of the death of the pilots, become hysterical.  It was an interesting development because she had kept a tight, calm grip on the situation all through the calamity.

Harry huddled closer under his blanket, only to remember his sore arm.  He didn’t think it was broken, but it certainly felt like it.  And the hell of it was, he couldn’t remember how it happened.  He shuddered as a gust of icy wind came through the rent in the fuselage near his seat.  But it was not only the cold which left him with almost uncontrollable shakes – it was also the onset of shock. 

In the back of his mind, he relived those cataclysmic minutes after successive engines failed.  It was then he wished he hadn’t been so insistent on having a window seat.

As the plane lurched sickeningly, the pilot calmly said they’d have to land immediately.  Of course, he added equally as calm, it would be difficult in mountainous country.  However, they were fortunate it had been snowing recently.  All except Rawlings took the news with equanimity.  It was odd, someone said later, that with all his knowledge and self-praise, Rawlings didn’t take over the plane and fly them to safety.

The plane was barely in the air when the order came to brace themselves, and all were prepared when the plane hit the ground moments later.

The plane came to rest abruptly in a snow-covered valley; the silence, after the cacophony of tearing metal and involuntary screams, was almost maddening.  The first realisation each had was that they were still alive – the second, the icy wind coming in through the large cracks in the fuselage.

Harry was the first to move himself into action and to make an appraisal of the situation.  The other passengers were more or less unharmed, except for the stewardess, who was slightly dazed.  Then, Harkness joining him, he went forward to the flight deck.  When they managed to wrench the door open, they were greeted by a scene of total destruction.  Both pilots were dead, unrecognisable in the mass of twisted wreckage.  Harry quickly reclosed the door before he was physically ill.

At least it explained why the plane had stopped so abruptly:  they’d crashed into a rock in the last stage of the slide.  It was miraculous that the plane hadn’t caught fire.

Harry had no intention of taking charge; it just happened.  He told the others what the situation was, briefly and down to earth and then suggested they search for food and other items such as blankets.  Everyone noted Rawlings’ lack of enthusiasm to help, and if it had not been for Daphne, he would not have received blankets or food.  Most ignored him, wondering at the fact that he could still be so aloof in such tragic circumstances.

Because of the cold, they quickly organised themselves so they could wait for their rescue.  It wouldn’t, they reasoned, relatively cheerfully, be long.

…

Whilst the others may have considered Rawlings little more than a pain in the neck, it would have surprised them to learn that he despaired for them.  He couldn’t understand their attitude towards him, for all he wanted to do was make them feel better, and, if he could, help.

But there was little chance of that occurring, and, in fact, as much chance as him receiving the treatment he considered he deserved.  It was clear in his own mind that there were two types of people in the world: the leaders and the led.  By virtue of his station in life, he was one of the leaders.  Why, he asked himself rhetorically, didn’t they realise that?  He glared at them, all studiously ignoring his presence.  There was, he thought bitterly, little prospect of getting any assistance from those people.

…

Conditions were unbearable during the first night.  Darkness had fallen quickly, and with no hot food to ward off even a fraction of the coldness that had settled on them, their relatively good spirits quickly dissipated. 

To Harry (and the others) the night seemed interminable, and he found it impossible to sleep for any length of time.  He was shaking uncontrollably, despite the warm clothing and number of blankets, and, as dawn broke, he wasted no time getting up and about to get his circulation going again, urging the others to do likewise.  It was something he remembered having seen in a film once: if the cold was allowed to take over, a person quickly succumbed and died.

His first venture outside was something of an experience.  In the first instance, it was colder outside than in, if that was possible, and in the second, the landscape was as bleak, in his opinion, as their prospects of rescue.

After trekking some distance through the rather solid snow and up a rise, he found he had a good view of the plane, and the fact that there were, strangely, no trees from one end of the valley to the other.  The same could not be said for the surrounding country.  It seemed an impossibility that the pilot had been able to find such a place, and, desperately unlucky, he should hit the only rock Harry could see in the line of the plane’s path.

The plane was half covered in snow.  It was apparent it had been snowing during the night, and by the look of the sky, more was on the way.  Low clouds continually swept through the valley, obscuring everything from view, and that, he considered, would make discovery from the air nigh on impossible.

What it really meant was that they would have to come up with their own plan of action rather than wait for hypothermia to take its toll.  It was something he had been thinking about most of the night, but he had been unable to progress to any sort of workable alternatives.

During a clear period, Harry saw Harkness coming towards him slowly.  He was rapidly gaining respect for Harkness, as he was not only surprisingly cheerful (despite being blunted by the more dominant Rawlings) he was resourceful.

By the time he reached Harry, he was out of breath and needed a few minutes to recover.  Harry noted he looked a good deal older than he had first estimated.

“What a hike, but it sure beats the hell out of waiting down there,” Harkness said when he’d recovered sufficiently, nodding towards the wreckage.  “And, God knows how, I feel warm.”

“So do I.  It was one of the reasons I came here.”

“Those two geologists, or whatever they are, are finally awake.  Boy, you should have seen their faces.  One swore he’d give up drink forever.”

“He may get his wish sooner than he thinks.”

“You don’t rate our chances of discovery high, eh?”

“Take a look.”  Harry beckoned to the mist, swirling through the valley, obliterating everything in their view.  Harry, in fact, could hardly see Harkness.

“Yes.  I see what you mean.  What do you think we should do?”

“God knows.  But one thing is for sure, I don’t think we can afford to sit and wait for someone to come and find us.  Not under the current circumstances, with more snow imminent.   It’ll take only another fall to completely hide us from any viewpoint.”

Harkness looked at the sky, then at the surroundings, and nodded in agreement, adding, after a minute, “It seems odd this is the only part of the country that’s clear of trees.  Do you think there’s any significance in that?”

“Exactly, would you believe, what I was thinking?”

“Do you think we might be near help?”

“Who knows.  But, because of the urgency of the situation, I think we should find out.  The question is who the ideal person is.”  There was, however, no doubt in his mind.

…

“You’re mad, stark, staring mad,” Rawlings said when Harry told the others of the plan he and Harkness had formulated on their way back to the plane.

“I agree there is an element of risk….”

“Risk?” Rawlings exploded.  “Risk?  It’s bloody suicide.  My own view is that we should sit tight.  We have enough to eat, and we’re relatively warm.  It won’t be long before the search parties are out now we are overdue.”

“You haven’t been outside.  Circumstances dictate that we must seek help.  It’s been explained in detail.  If you cannot understand the situation, then don’t interfere.”  Harkness glared at his old chief, for the first time feeling more than a match for him.  Rawlings would never again dominate him.

“Then you’re fools, as are all the rest of you if you condone this idiocy.  I wash my hands of it.”  And he ignored them, going back to his book.  If that Davidson character wanted to kill himself, that was his business.

There were no other objections.  The others understood the realities of the situation, both Harkness and Harry had explained at length.  Harry would seek assistance.  Harkness would do his best to keep the others alive.

Then, after a good meal (in the circumstances) and taking enough food for two days, Harry left.  At the top of the rise, he stopped, briefly, looking at the scene.  It was, he thought, exactly as it had been in the dream.

For two days, it had snowed continuously.  The sub-zero temperatures had virtually sapped them all of whatever energy they had left, and, on the morning of the third day, they were all barely alive

At the end of the second day, Harkness had requested everybody to huddle together, including the standoffish Rawlings, who finally agreed, despite inner misgivings.  It was probably this single action that saved them.

Harkness, though he said nothing, had given up hope that Harry would still be alive.  No one could have survived the intensity of the blizzard.

Harkness had woken to inky darkness and a death-like silence, the storm having abated.  His first thought was that he had died, but that passed as the cold slowly made itself felt.  Soon after, finding his torch still worked, he roused everyone and cajoled or browbeat them into doing their exercises to ward off frostbite.

It was then that they heard the strange throbbing sound, and Harkness instinctively went to go outside and found they’d been snowed in.  As the throbbing sound passed over them again, Harkness didn’t need to ask for assistance to make an opening in the snow.  They frantically dug their way through; luckily, the snow wall was only of powder-like consistency.  Not long after daylight showed through, and then Harkness was out.  But the plane, or what he assumed to be a plane, had gone.

Instead, he was alone, by the snow mountain that covered the plane, greeted by a perfectly blue sky and the sun’s rays.  It was, he thought wryly, perfect skiing weather, but awfully lonely if no one could see where you were.

In a minute, he was joined by Daphne, and the disappointment was written on her face.  They waited, wordless, by the plane for an hour, glad to be out of the confined space of the fuselage, and were, at various times, joined by the others, escaping what Mrs Gaunt had said (now, after the rescue plane had gone) would probably be their grave.  The disbelief and joy of having survived the crash had now worn off, and Harkness knew that if they had to try to survive another night, some might not make it.

He was alone, striking out for the rise when the throbbing sound returned, coming from behind him.  And judging by the sound, it could not be a plane.  It was too low and too slow.  Thus, he was not surprised when a helicopter hovered over the rise and slowed as the occupants sighted him waving frantically, and yelling, quickly being joined by the others.

They all couldn’t believe they’d been rescued, all, that is, except Rawlings.  In every instance, Rawlings had been the exception, and it was not to his credit.  He was the only one who had suffered severely from frostbite.  He was, however, the one to say, when they finally reached what he called civilisation, that he’d been right:  that all they had to do was sit tight and wait.  They’d be rescued sooner or later.

That was when the leader of the rescue operation shattered his illusion – and shocked everyone else.  “That’s not necessarily so, Mr Rawlings.  You would have been discovered, but late in spring, after the thaw.  The plane was terribly off course, and to be honest, after the second day, we’d given up any real hope of finding you.  The country around here is very rugged.  No, you owe a great deal to a fellow called Davidson.”

“Davidson, you say?” Harkness muttered.  “He’s alive?”

“Unfortunately, no.  He died soon after he told us about the plane and where it had crashed.  If he hadn’t, you’d still be there.”

“My God.”  Harkness slumped into a chair, only barely able to hear Rawlings say, quietly, “I told him it was suicide, but no one listened to me.  Suicide, I said.  And, as for that damn pilot…..”

…

©  Charles Heath  2026

Day 93 – This is your life!

…

The Art of Timing: When is the Right Moment to Write Your Memoir?

You’ve lived a life full of twists, turns, heartbreaks, and triumphs. You feel the itch to put it all on the page—to organise the chaos of your past into a narrative that others can learn from. But then, the nagging question creeps in: Is it too soon?

We often hear that “everyone has a book in them,” but not everyone understands that a memoir is not just an autobiography—it’s a carefully curated work of art. If you’re wondering when to sit down and start writing, consider this your guide to finding the right moment.

The “Age 20” Trap: Why Gravitas Matters

It’s easy to feel like you’ve lived a lifetime by the time you hit your twenties. Perhaps you’ve travelled, fallen in love, or survived a difficult season. While your story is undoubtedly valid, it may lack the perspective required for a compelling memoir.

Writing a memoir requires emotional distance. If you are still in the thick of the trauma, the anger, or the immediate aftermath of a life-changing event, you are likely writing a diary, not a memoir. Diaries are for processing; memoirs are for reflecting.

At twenty, your life is still in the “active” phase. You are the protagonist, but you aren’t yet the historian of your own existence. Gravitas—the weight, the wisdom, and the “so what?” factor—usually comes when you can look back at your younger self with compassion rather than reactiveness. You need enough time to have passed so that you can see how the dots connected, not just how they hit you in the moment.

The Key Ingredients of a Compelling Memoir

A great memoir isn’t just a chronological list of dates and events. It is a transformation arc. To move your story from a personal journal to a page-turner, you need to infuse it with these three ingredients:

1. The Universal Theme

The biggest mistake aspiring memoirists make is assuming people want to read about them. The truth is, readers want to read about themselves through your experiences. Your memoir needs a universal theme—grief, resilience, the search for identity, or the complexity of forgiveness. If your story can act as a mirror for the reader, you have a winner.

2. The “Reflective Narrator”

Readers don’t just want to see the person who was making mistakes at 22; they want to hear from the person you are today. How has your understanding of the past shifted? The tension between who you were then and who you are now is where the “gravitas” lives. You must be willing to analyse your own motivations, even the ones that aren’t particularly flattering.

3. The Vulnerability Threshold

If you aren’t sweating a little bit while you write, you probably aren’t being honest enough. A compelling memoir requires you to strip away the ego. If you portray yourself as the hero of every chapter, the reader will lose interest. We connect with human flaws, failed ambitions, and the quiet moments of realisation. Ask yourself: Am I holding back to protect my image, or am I laying it all out to serve the story?

So, How Long Should You Wait?

There is no specific year on the calendar that signals “you are ready.” Instead, ask yourself these three questions:

• Can I write about this without wanting to exact revenge? (If you’re writing to settle scores, it’s not ready.)
• Do I understand the “Why”? (Can you explain what your story teaches you about the human condition?)
• Is the wound a scar, or is it still bleeding? (If it’s still bleeding, use your journal. When it becomes a scar, start your memoir.)

Writing a memoir is an act of archaeology. You are digging through the layers of your identity to find the fossilized truths that remain. Take your time. Let the story settle. When the urgency to scream your story matches the clarity to understand it—that is when you are ready to write.

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Are you working on your story? What’s the biggest challenge you’re facing in capturing your past? Let’s discuss in the comments below.