Memory Lane

1. 1940

1. 1940

It was a hub of everything British. London hummed with life from Buckingham palace to the Tower Bridge as the streets were awash with tourists, traders, and tailors by day. Big Ben was standing tall as the sole sentinel of the city at a time when it and its people were more vulnerable than ever. It was the year 1940, a second great war was spreading across Europe, and the armies of the Third Reich reaped the spoils of conquest as Britain's allies on the continent fell to German warpower. An invasion of the British Isles seemed to be not too far away as the Germans had seized the Channel coast and held nearly all of Western Europe under their death grip. In their haste, the Germans began to bomb Britain into surrender after failing earlier in the year to subdue the Royal Air Force. 

By night, the drones of incoming bombers filled the air before they unloaded their killer cargo on towns and cities across the country. In the beginning, it was an ordinary October afternoon for the residents of London who had chosen to stay in the city rather than be evacuated. The hum of life had been reduced to a mild buzz where everything continued as before, except on a smaller scale. Not far from the Isle of Dogs rested the red bricked banking institution of Walter's, one of the finest financial establishments in the city since 1858. Inside, multiple office clerks typed away and wrote down balances at their desks, each awaiting the next load of paperwork and transactions to process. 

Near a window on the south side of the building with a view of the Thames was the desk of a one Fred Nitch (1907 – 1986). He was a kind man, dedicated and diligent in his line of work at the bank. He was tall, slender, and possessed chestnut brown hair which was accentuated by a smooth black business suit that was complementary and compulsory from the banking company. His occupation and decent status among the financial elite ensured Fred was not drafted into military service, as he was helping to keep the economy afloat in these troubling times.

"oi, mate. What's the time?" a blond man called to Fred from the desk in front.

"just before five" Fred looked to his wristwatch.

"great. I'm thinking of getting a couple of pints before Fritz drops a bomb on my house. You want to come?" the blond man offered. It sound like he came from the East End and was a city boy through and through.

"not tonight Jim. Got to get home to the Mrs" Fred apologized while making a valid excuse.

"oh right, her. How's the old girl anyway?" Jim continued.

"she's fine. Off at her job" Fred explained.

"isn't it down at the factories across the river?" Jim pointed out from past conversations with his desk neighbor.

"I never knew why she took the job there in the first place, you know" Fred pondered after sitting back on his chair and looking up to the ceiling of the office building.

"how about Friday, you, me and the boys down the pub?" Jim proposed again.

"sounds good to me" Fred finally agreed.

"see you there, chief" Jim turned back to his desk before a clanging bell rang out over the floor, signalling the end of the workday.