Post by Cpl. Thomas West on Jul 15, 2011 3:24:27 GMT
Corporal Thomas West knew exactly where he had wanted to spend his 72 hour weekend pass. For weeks, he had heard about the Blue Boar Pub that was only a few miles away in the closest village to his current base. Once Thomas had finished his duties for the day and had gotten his men situated for their weekend, he hopped in the first Jeep he could - rank had its privileges - and sped to the Pub.
The drive didn't take long at all in the Jeep and Thomas luckily hadn't had to stop for any military convoys on the way over. So far, his leave was off to a great start. Hopefully, the weekend would stay with the same high tone the whole way through.
Thomas parked the Jeep out front of the pub, and walked inside to find the pub somewhat full of GI's. As he walked in the door, he walked into a veil of cigarette smoke and the smell of fin liquor filled his nostrils. While Thomas had never been much of a drinker, he still was known for sharing a beer with his buddies from time to time. The noise inside of the pub was loud as always whenever GI's were present in a place that served alchohol.
Thomas walked up to the bar and saw a man standing behind it. He was a large, portly man. He had to be at least 55 years old. His head was balding, except for the small amount which he still had on the sides and back of his head. A large, bushy handle-bar mustouche made his face look even larger than it had already seemed. He wore a white, long sleeve shirt and a white apron that had quite a few stains on it. The man sweated profusely and was currently cleaning out a snifter with a small rag. As Thomas approached the bar, the man noticed his new customer.
"What'll yah be 'avin', Yank," the man asked with a voice that was as thick as his belly.
"Shot of Whiskey and a glass of Ale, please, sir," Thomas said trying to be heard over the noise in the pub. The man nodded and put the snifter that he was cleaning behind the bar. He turned to the back wall, grabbed a bottle off of one of the shelves, and came back to Thomas with a shot glass in his other hand. The man poured the brown liquid into the glass and looked back up to Thomas.
"'At'll be 2 bob, son," the man said.
Thomas reached into his trouser pocket and retreived some money. He held it in his hand, trying to remember what the Supply Sergeant had told him about the value of each of the coins and bills that he now held in his hand. After a few moments of having a confused look on his face, the gentleman behind the bar spoke.
"Don' fret, son," said the man as he reached for two coins from Thomas' hand. "At'll do," he said with a smile, his teeth were crooked and seemed to match his overall appearance.
"Thank you, sir," Thomas said as he put the rest of the money back into his pocket.
Thomas first reached for the shot of Whiskey and brought it up to his lips. In a quick motion, he sent the contents of the glass into his mouth. He could feel the burn in the back of his throat that traveled down into his stomach. His face contorted a small amount as he savored the taste of the drink. That's a good shot of Whiskey, he briefly thought to himself.
Picking up the glass of Ale, he turned around to view who else was in the bar and if he could see anyone from his unit...
The drive didn't take long at all in the Jeep and Thomas luckily hadn't had to stop for any military convoys on the way over. So far, his leave was off to a great start. Hopefully, the weekend would stay with the same high tone the whole way through.
Thomas parked the Jeep out front of the pub, and walked inside to find the pub somewhat full of GI's. As he walked in the door, he walked into a veil of cigarette smoke and the smell of fin liquor filled his nostrils. While Thomas had never been much of a drinker, he still was known for sharing a beer with his buddies from time to time. The noise inside of the pub was loud as always whenever GI's were present in a place that served alchohol.
Thomas walked up to the bar and saw a man standing behind it. He was a large, portly man. He had to be at least 55 years old. His head was balding, except for the small amount which he still had on the sides and back of his head. A large, bushy handle-bar mustouche made his face look even larger than it had already seemed. He wore a white, long sleeve shirt and a white apron that had quite a few stains on it. The man sweated profusely and was currently cleaning out a snifter with a small rag. As Thomas approached the bar, the man noticed his new customer.
"What'll yah be 'avin', Yank," the man asked with a voice that was as thick as his belly.
"Shot of Whiskey and a glass of Ale, please, sir," Thomas said trying to be heard over the noise in the pub. The man nodded and put the snifter that he was cleaning behind the bar. He turned to the back wall, grabbed a bottle off of one of the shelves, and came back to Thomas with a shot glass in his other hand. The man poured the brown liquid into the glass and looked back up to Thomas.
"'At'll be 2 bob, son," the man said.
Thomas reached into his trouser pocket and retreived some money. He held it in his hand, trying to remember what the Supply Sergeant had told him about the value of each of the coins and bills that he now held in his hand. After a few moments of having a confused look on his face, the gentleman behind the bar spoke.
"Don' fret, son," said the man as he reached for two coins from Thomas' hand. "At'll do," he said with a smile, his teeth were crooked and seemed to match his overall appearance.
"Thank you, sir," Thomas said as he put the rest of the money back into his pocket.
Thomas first reached for the shot of Whiskey and brought it up to his lips. In a quick motion, he sent the contents of the glass into his mouth. He could feel the burn in the back of his throat that traveled down into his stomach. His face contorted a small amount as he savored the taste of the drink. That's a good shot of Whiskey, he briefly thought to himself.
Picking up the glass of Ale, he turned around to view who else was in the bar and if he could see anyone from his unit...
