MY HERO

My Hero

“George, George, there was a noise from downstairs, are you sure you locked up?” “There, did you hear it?”
“George, there is someone moving about”.
George shook the sleep from his eyes and looked at the bedside clock, “Bloody hell Helen” he said, and “It’s three o’clock in the morning, what is the matter?”
Helen adorned in her curlers and ‘protective’ flannelette nightie dug poor old George again in the ribs, “There is a noise downstairs”.
“Well” said George, “If they are looking for our money they are in for a bloody long search”.
By now Helen was getting into a panic, “George, go down and see what it is, there may be burglars”.
“In that case” said George “I’m not shifting, I don’t want my head bashing in, besides when they find we are skint they’ll go home, perhaps they may leave us a few bob!”
Losing her rag completely, Helen pulled off all the bedclothes and grabbed George by the pyjama waist, George winced as the crutch tightened around his manhood. “OK, OK, I’m going, don’t blame me if I get killed, I’ll go and have a look”. Sliding from his wife’s unconventional grasp, George crept to the bedroom door and listened, nothing - then a slight sound, “Christ Helen” he said, “You must have ears like a bat”.

Moving as quietly as he could, the half naked man began to creep down the stairs, listening intently for any further sounds, he could hear - nothing. Should he turn the lights on and shout ‘Gottcha’, no bloody fear, George was no fool. Peering from the bottom of the stairs into the hall he could see nothing; however there was a sound coming from the kitchen.
Carefully he edged his way along the hallway, the sweat had now broken out on his brow, what the hell was he doing!
He reached down to get some kind of a weapon, his hand searched and found the handle to the umbrella that always leant against the wall, he weighted it his hand, it was the one with the duck head handle, he felt a prat.
Inching his way to peer through the gap in the kitchen door George saw a movement, his buttocks clenched and he swallowed hard, now what?
Drawing himself to his full five foot four inches he pushed open the door and switched on the light, there in the corner lay the family cat playing with one of its toy’s.
The adrenaline that had pumped up into George’s system took a nosedive; slowly he slid to the floor drained of all his fibre.
The whining voice of his beloved called softly, “George, are you alright, is there anyone there?”
“Only me you silly cow” he called back, “They’ve run off”. He nipped across the kitchen and unlocked the door, leaving it slightly ajar giving the cat a swift kick up the arse as he called out “You can come down now its safe, there’ve have gone”.
Helen joined George in the kitchen and looked around, “There seems to be nothing missing, let’s lock up and go back to bed”.
“No bloody fear” said George,
“Now I’m up I’m going to have a strong cup of tea and gather my wits together” Helen put her arms round her husband and gave him a hug, “You are brave” she said, Did you see who it was?
George shook his head and mumbled there appeared to be two of them, big blokes too. Helen gave him another squeeze and pecked him on the cheek, “You’re my hero” she said, “You’re so brave”. George whinced.

Having finished their tea they both went back upstairs, “What an eventful night” said Helen climbing back into bed followed closely by her now apprehensive husband. Switching out the light they again settled.

George closed his eyes only to be alerted by the flop of a heavyweight flannelette nightie falling to the floor, “George, Ohhhh, George”.
“My Hero”…

© Terry Sorby