This is Goodnight Sweetheart, a Comedy that was popular at one time in the mid-nineties.

Disclaimer: The program was created by Laurance Marks and Maurice Gram

Goodnight Sweetheart the tune written by Al Boyle

Waterloo written by Abba I think it was!

I notice from my stats that people are regularly visiting this tale. This is good, though I suspect that some are merely curious as to what the forum is. But I would really appreciate any reviews, thoughts, comments that anyone might have, even though there aren't many other Goodnight Sweetheart stories out there, well, none that I can see, but I would love more reviews, please, Ham!

Goodnight Sweetheart, all my prays are for you

Goodnight Sweetheart, I'll be thinking of you

Dreams and fortune can make us forlorn

But we'll be born. A new day had dawned

Gary Sparrow was busy. Or at least he was under the impression of been busy. He moved the table of his little starter home in a cul-de-sac in Cricklewood. He swept under it. Looked sighed, swept under it some more. He adjusted the furniture a little. Then he started. Gary quickly rushed into the kitchen to make some adjustments to the meal he was cooking. Gary was expecting guests that evening. As was his wife, Yvonne. In fact, it was at that moment that Yvonne entered the house. She wasn't that impressed with Gary's tidying up and prombly moved the furniture back to where it was.

'Don't mess about with the furniture Gary, it looks untidy! Well, with a little adjustments it should be fine for our guests!' she looked at her husband with amusement. Yvonne did sometimes think of Gary as some sort of intelligent pet. Rather cute, but a bit irritating at times and needed some direction to cope with the dynamics of mid-nineties living. In fact there was rather more to Gary than even his wife realized, but that will come later!

The year was 1997, Gary was in his late-twenties- early-thirties, very tall, well over 6ft, skinny with rather a hang-dog face and brown hair. His wife was well below him in terms of height had a sort of mousy-blond hair and was the same age. Gary, however, didn't look that impressed with the guests he was expecting. 'Oh, yes, we must make a good impression for Mr Criptinson from your work. He's such an engaging character after all!

'Oh, you can call him Dave, Dave doesn't mind been called by his first name, and what's wrong with him?'

'He's an accountant!' muttered Gary.

'Gary, lots of people are accountants, what's wrong with that?'

'He goes on about his accountancy at work all the time and there is nothing more boring than listening to someone constantly going on about his work politics, this and that, his clients, blah, blah,' Gary gave a mock yawn and put his hand over his mouth. He didn't quite think this, but sometimes he did like to wind Yvonne up a bit and try to put some realism into her enthusiasm over work and matters.

'So he likes his work. Don't be such a grump. Oh, go on you said you'd be on your best behaviour, you're making one of your dinners, be you're normal entertaining self for Dave and Sarah!' There was a slight tinge of irony in her voice and sometimes she felt that Gary didn't make much of an effort for social occasions. She gave his cheeks a pat and Gary responded with a little smile.

'Also, Dave said he'd reply by meeting us with a business lunch tomorrow at 1, you coming?'

Gary looked horrified and tried to think of an excuse, 'No, sorry, I'm at work, lots on!'

'Like what?' asked Yvonne skeptically.

Gary blushed and tried desperately to think of something, 'Er, the Accounts?'

The next day, at said time, Gary was actually in his shop. It was an unusual kind of shop which sold archive material from the forties. How did all this stock come from the forties? Well, through the passage of time. Kind off! Gary was standing behind the counter talking to his friend Ron a rather stocky exiled Scouser. 'Well that was one of the most boring evenings I've had for a while!' declared he. 'I don't know what you where doing, but it couldn't have been more dull than me!'

'Well, actually, it was about my marriage...' started Ron, but Gary cut him off, barely listening. He did have a tendency to do this a lot.

'But never mind. I'm afraid that Yvonne is getting a bit ambitious lately. Must do something about that!'

'You said you'd support her, Gary! She is your wife, after all, quite a go-getting woman!'

Gary responded with a bit of feeling. 'Yes, she is. And I do. I love her more than anyone!'

'Apart from Phoebe!' Ron rather brutally butt in referring to Gary's mistress.

'Well, obviously apart from Phoebe.' Gary had the good grace to look a bit embarrassed. He did lead a bit of a double life to be honest. Well, to be totally honest, if there was anyone who lead more of a double life than Gary Sparrow it has never been documented! He spend half of his time as a loving husband to his wife, Yvonne. And yet...

Recently, Gary had discovered the secret of time travel. How it worked, he never knew, but somehow he had stumbled upon a time-portal and was able to go back in time 54 years where he got his kicks from impressing the densions of war-torn London in ww2 at a time when Britiain's very future existence was in question with songs from the Sixties and Seventies and gifts which one couldn't get at the time. Also, he did seem to enjoy the occasional danger which he was put into.

'Which is where I am going to now!' Gary was looking into a heavily-bound book.

'Ah, what do we have there, bombing raids in London in 1942!'

'Well, as it says, there wasn't any tonight, which was good for London and for me, giving me, free time to spend with my love, Phoebe!'

'Your other love! Nice that you keep things in perspective!'

Gary smiled back, 'Oh, look at that a raid on Portsmouth, but few casualties, apparently!' Just then there was a noise. Gary started, 'What was that,' looking around. But there appeared to be nothing. 'Probably just a cat. I'll just check outside, don't want any burglars, do I? said he, but he could see nothing. 'I shouldn't be so jumpy! Ah, well, Ron, TTFM!' Gary gave Ron the traditional wartime farewell.

Gary popped back into a typically gloomy War-time London. As he moved down Ducket's passage he saw a shadowy shape. A figure was hiding behind a fence. Gary thought he could make out the shape of a gun. A sudden unreasoning feeling of danger hit Gary. Well, it wasn't totally unreasoning, the man could have been a robber, a German spy, or worse. Gary stepped back into the shadows. But the man advanced as though he was looking and Gary could see a gun, but not the face as it was kept under a large hat.

The man looked some more, Gary was sure he was about to be discovered. When there was a noise and someone else entered the alleyway. Phoebe! Gary moved out to greet her and the man, seemingly unwilling to take on two people quietly melted away. 'Phoeb!' cried Gary and gave her a hug. Phoebe was dark-haired and around 5ft 6 dressed in typical war-time attire which wasn't that flattering to be honest!

'Phoebe, what are you doing around here?'

'Well, it's close enough isn't it? Now there's not so many bombs going of, I thought I'd go for a bit of a walk around to get out of that pub. Reg is been particularly annoying at the moment. But it's nice to see you here. Not that I have seen you for weeks. Where have you been?'

Gary gave his normal alibi. 'War-work. Lots on at the ministry. Can't say what obviously!'

'Well, come on let's get inside you can buy me something!'

Inside the pub Which Phoebe ran called the Royal Oak, which consisted of one bar and a few chairs and tables windows covered in stickytape in case of bombs, Phoebe served a pint for Gary and a Gin for herself. Gary impressed her with some presents. 'Look, Cheese, Stake, some nylons, I bet you haven't seen them for a while, and some biscuits and coffee!'

Phoebe smiled but seemed less than impressed. 'You always bring me things from where, I don't know, but I'd prefer it if you would stay for a while. You've been away for so long, not a word. I know, you can't say,' Gary smiled sadly. He would like to spend more time with Phoebe, but then he would be away from Yvonne who also needed him. As a result, both of the women in his life spend much of their time lonely. It was not a fact he liked, but Gary couldn't see how he could stop this.

'Evening Gary!' said a familiar voice.

'Hello, Reg!' sighed Gary to a man around 20 years older than Gary in a 40's metropolitan police uniform. Reg Deadman the local bobby, but not the wisest pea in the pod. In fact, he was so stupid that he once left the Bar while he was serving to fetch something and told the Kray twins to watch the bar while he was gone. But nevertheless he was a friend of Gary's.

'Been away a while haven't you, keeping the secret world busy! You could tell us about it! Oh, you can't, can you. But never mind, why don't you sing us one of your songs, a new one to cheer us up!'

'Yes, good idea, come on Gary sing us something!'

Now, as a time traveller, Gary amused himself by singing songs of the Sixties and Seventies to the locals of the Royal Oak from the forties. For him, nothing was easier than badly singing songs from those era that everyone in the nineties knew, but he loved the looks of awe he received from the locals when he claimed he wrote those himself. Despite the fact, as his nineties mate Ron told him that technically speaking he was committing fraud, copyright theft and intellectual piracy by doing this, he was beyond even feeling guilty now. After all, it wasn't as if Paul McCartney could walk in and catch him out, could he!

Now, Gary choose a song which, ironically enough he had heard himself earlier on a nostalgic radio station. He felt that the people of the Royal Oak needing a bit of cheering up, so he sang and rather appropriately played on an old piano.

Waterloo, how does it feel that you won the war?

Waterloo, promise to love you for ever more!

Woo, woo, woo, Waterloo, finally facing my Waterloo!

As usual Gary received a generous round of applause with his singing and a grateful look from Phoebe. He gave a nod to a man that had helped him out with one of the verses. 'Good stuff, Gary!' cried Reg the policeman. 'Yes, nice to be reminded of old victories. Waterloo, we sorted out the Hun could and proper in that one!'

'Reg, Waterloo was against the French!' groaned Phoebe at him!

'Oh, yes, course it was, never was taught much history as a lad!' quipped Reg.

'Anyway, look at that, come on, time everybody, save you!' Phoebe smiled at Gary. 'I think you and I are spending a little time together tonight!' said she as she rang the bell to empty the Inn.

Early the next morning, upstairs, Gary switched on the radio to listen to the early-morning news.

'Expecting anything on this morning!' yawned Phoebe at him.

'Not really,' said Gary in a typical 1940's upstairs bedroom, some sheets which to him seemed old-fashioned but where of course good for the time and the cloudy, early morning air beamed through the windows. 'No, not much on at all in fact, I'm only putting it on to listen to George Formby!' said he rather ironically as he couldn't stand the man!

Then the radio announced, 'This morning there was a major raid at Portsmouth harbour. Hundreds dead and many buildings destroyed. A naval ship was in the harbour at the time and has suffered considerable damage. The war-cabinet is to hold a crisis meeting. This is the most substantial raid we have suffered for weeks since the one in London.'

Phoebe gasped, 'Gary, you where all caught on the hop on that one then!'

Gary himself was a little confused, so didn't reply. This he didn't expect. Surely a raid this size would have been mentioned in the book of War-time diary he possessed back in '97. He would have to check. So the next day he was in his shop across Duckett's passage in '90s London with Ron. It was mid-morning. Gary was looking through a large, red book containing all the important news on the home-front in WW2.

'I just don't understand, look at this, almost a page about one of the most substantial air-raids in 1942, but this wasn't mentioned yesterday. I would swear on that. I read it and it wasn't there.' Ron was looking at him with a rather steely glare. 'I suppose I could be cracking up. But this is the first time the book's let me down on this scale!'

'Perhaps they just got it wrong. Can I talk about my marriage?'

'Later, Ron, later, this is important! Yes, you can scoff. But I know for a fact that events in the past can change events in the future. Look! Oh, Ron, there's no need to be like that!' But it was too late Ron had walked out of the shop with all of it's little artifacts that Gary bought from the forties to sell as antiques in the nineties. So he decided he would have to talk to his wife instead.

'Ohhhh, I saw little Mike this evening earlier. He's so gorgeous, nearly 3 now. You know, Mike your godson. Though I'm beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of you been a godfather. Hello, anyone there?' Yvonne waved her hand across Gary's face. Gary was preoccupied. He was intensely reading his war-time diary seeing if something had gone wrong.

'Are you all right, you seem very quiet. Remember we are seeing mum and dad tomorrow, so please be on your best behaviour,'

'Sorry, I'm just reading this!'

'Oh, the War again, I wish sometimes you would live in this decade!'

Gary was sitting in the living room of a very small cul-de-sac in Cricklewood. He was pondering wartime detail. It was almost as if Winston Churchill was thinking war-time strategy in a small 4 by 4 starter home in North London! 'Yes, but look, Yvonne I've just read something. It appears that the bulk of the British navy'Channel fleet was moored in secret in the South coast for refuelling and the Luftwaffe are getting close to discovering their whearabouts!' Gary looked up in horror!

Almost as much horror as Yvonne had with this statement. 'Oh, and there was I thinking you where doing something important!' Yvonne had no idea what Gary was up to in war-torn Britain. She would have killed him had she found out! Yvonne put most of Gary's occasional comments about ww2 due to him been a bit of a prat at times.

But then she sighed seen her husband's concerned face. 'I tell you what, I will read this with you, if you promise to be on your best and most joyful behavior tomorrow, deal?'

Gary agreed.

'So what's the problem?'

'Well, the Royal Navy there is relatively undefended. They assume the Germans won't spot them in that Harbour. But what if they do? One raid upon that harbour and the Navy could be destroyed in a manner worse than that of the Americans at Pearl Harbour. The Luftwaffe are nosing around that area, have a look at the stats!' said Gary.

'Yes, but of course that didn't happen, did it, the Navy wasn't destroyed in Portsmouth in 1942 even me with my shaky knowledge of WW2 knows that.' sighed Yvonne.

'Yes, but I don't know how they managed that if the Navy wasn't spotted,' Gary brow frowned as he realized he would have to come up with some kind of convincing excuse to Yvonne without given his time-travelling exploits away! 'If I can't find out how they did this, I'll never be able to show my face with my pals at the Forties artifacts souvenir fares,' smiled Gary unconvincingly.

'I never thought I'd help someone trainspot! You owe me Gary!' said Yvonne unimpressed. She looked at the book. 'The Navy stranded. No help could be found from the RAF? No, oh well,' she looked around for a minute or two then sighed. 'Oh, well, I give up. Maybe one of your pals went into a Tardis and sent the British a jump harrier jet they could use!'

Gary looked up! His face was like a rabbit caught in a carlight Was Yvonne suspicious? No, she was only joking. But inadvertingly she might have helped. He might well have to do something like that. 'Thanks, Yvonne anyway, that could be a help!' Yvonne smiled and exited the room, walking through a cream coloured glass door.

The next day, Gary was back in his shop, which was a bit empty, looking at the late-spring drizzle falling outside. The door opened with a ring of it's little bell and in walked his mate Ron, rain falling down from his rain-coat covering his jeans and rather smart shirt. Gary felt he owed Ron and apology. 'Look, Ron, I'm sorry, I should have listened to you, I'm just a bit pre-occupied!'

'No need to apologize mate, but I felt I was better off elsewhere! Hmmm, there was me walking out on you, to come home to find out that my wife had walked out on me. I think my marriage might well be nearing breaking point. There just seems no way to talk to the missus on this one.' Ron sadly pulled out some container with alchol inside. His face was a picture of abject misery.

But Ron's face recently was one of abject misery quite a lot as far as Gary was aware. 'Think that things are that bad, mate!' asked he, Ron slowly nodded. Then Gary suddenly noticed that he had custom. A man was looking at one of the old Wartime pencils he sometimes sold. The man looked up at him. Gary thought him oddly familair.

'Any more of these?' asked the man.

'Hold on, got a stock on the shelves, Er, hold on!' Gary stood up on a ladder to the top shelf. He looked down. The man had disappeared! 'That was odd, did you see him?' he asked Ron. Ron shook his head, then Gary's attention was a bit distracted. He looked at the little portable TV he kept sometimes in the shop. Daytime TV was showing a repeat as usual but a recent one and a fairly entertaining one.

It was that of Dr Peters an entertaining and brilliant scientific mind but one that had recently had acquired a reputation as been a bit of a nutter. He talked about much of scientific advantage, but to be honest most of his viewers, like Gary or Ron didn't understand a word of that. They just liked the man's eccentricity. Typical Englishness.

As Gary commented watching Dr Peters old, black face breathlessly failing to explain deep-gravitational physics. 'What a nutter!' laughed he. 'No-one understands a word of which he is going on about. Anyway, Ron, that man looked familiar. I've seen him before. In the 1940s!' said he trying to explain to Ron's blank expression. Ron was looking at a Newspaper.

'Nice to see that we have a clean Government now. A fresh one, one that will not only be transparent, but will be seen to be transparent,' said Ron, commeting on the recent election victory of New Labour. This was 1997, remember! Like most people at the time, Ron was enthusiastic, though this wouldn't last long. Gary wasn't so sure and just gave Ron a skeptical look. Ron continued.

'Well, perhaps he is one of those people that have a gene throwback which makes them look the same as their granparents. You've mentioned to me before that are some of those about.' Which was true. There was a policeman in the '90s doing his beat that was the grandson of Reg Deadmen and he was the spitting image of the fellow. But Gary wasn't sure.

'There's one way to find out!' Gary dashed out to the shop's back. To the erected corrugated iron just before where his invisible time portal lay, he could see muddy footprints. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that someone had just been there. Gary hurriedly took a quick look around. 'It was him. And he has gone back to the 40s. Another Time traveller. Using my portal, the check!' Gary could be very possessive about the time-travel portal at times. It wasn't like it was his, in fact Gary had no idea how it worked but he didn't meet many other people that could use it.

'Those aren't your footprints then?' asked Ron.

'No, I haven't been back today answered Gary. 'Sorry, Ron, I've got to go, I need to catch this guy, this is annoying me, oh, and yes there could be a security risk to the UK!' said he putting his priorities into order. With that he dashed through the portal and back to the 40s. Leaving Ron, looking at Gary sadly thinking to himself,

'He listened to me for at least five minutes!'

Gary slipped back to the 'forties. But he couldn't see anyone. 'Darn, must have missed him!' thought Gary and looked around. As always the 'forties seemed very dull and lifeless at least in terms of colour to the more panoramic nineties. He looked up into the sky. 'It's all right, my war-time diary said there was to be no air-raids on this part of London today!' As he thought this there was a bang, an explosion and flames of fire.

'And with the rift in time, I believe that book because?' thought he to himself as he ducked down. Poor Gary was caught in the middle of a war-time air-raid with no means of getting himself to a shelter. Gary was forced to duck down, yelling as the bombs fell down and just hoping that none landed near him. Gary was fortunate that day. After a nervous wait the all-clear sounded.

He dashed into the Royal Oak. Phoebe was serving at the bar, but there wasn't a great deal of custom, this been lunchtime in the 'forties as well! 'Phoeb, has anyone unusual been here today! Well, before the air-raid obviously.'

'No more so than usual, but we did have a break-in last night.'

'Yes, someone came in and stole five pounds from the till. We're making enquires.' Said Reg.

'Any leads?' asked Gary to the policeman.

'No!'

'Any witnesses?'

'No!'

'Any suspects?'

'No!'

'You have your work cut out then!' sighed Gary.

'Well, to be fair, when I say there are no suspects, there was one rather unofficial one!'

'How so?' Gary asked.

'The thing is there has been this chappie that has been coming in lately. Rather an odd fellow. Sometimes he seems very brilliant, doing things no one here could think of, yet at the same time he seemed odd. Almost out of place in his time. Do you know, he was looking around, and when I asked him what he was looking for, he said the loo, didn't seem to realize that it was outside!' laughed Reg, drinking a little swig of his beer.

'I thought him a good chap, bought me a drink, was asking odd questions!' said a little old man that was often at the bar, called Stan. Never spoke too much, well careless talk cost lives, but Gary was getting to know him.

Gary was now more convinced than ever that something odd was happening. 'Fine, thank you,' said he. But he was pondering his next move. He couldn't see the man anywhere, but Gary wouldn't mind betting he would use the time-portal again. So, Gary thought he would go back and guard it. Also as he said, 'Darn it, I've forgotten my little something for you, like a bunch of Bananas would you?' Seeing Phoebe's look he knew he would have to collect them from the nineties. 'I'll just pop back to headquarters!' said he with a wave of farewell.

Headquarters been Gary's shop 54 years later, but a small step for him. Gary saw Ron still there, 'Oh, Ron, I do keep forgetting about you, how are you now?' although Ron looked strangely cheerful and was wearing different coloured clothes from when Gary had last seen him.

'Not too bad, but if you're going to keep nipping off I'll have to watch one of your war videos!'

'Yes, sure, which one?'

'The one on 1948, The Europe campaign!' said Ron

'Yes, of course,' said Gary and picked up the video before realizing what Ron had said. 'What? d-day 1948! 44 surely,' then Gary looked at his videos. They where entitled 'the 9 years of WW2 1939-48. Gary nearly dropped the video in his horror. The timelines was been changed! Or something like that, Gary didn't really understand all that physics stuff. 'How come WW2 had suddenly lasted 4 years longer? Gary looked at Ron, 'Someone is seriously playing with the past.'

'Yes, you mentioned that before!'

'I'm putting a stop to it. There is serious flux for the time-space continuum!'

'Whatever you say, Dr Spock!' smiled Ron referring to a recent Star Trek film of a similar nature. This was an alternative timeline now!

'You can mock. But if I don't do something we could all be talking German!'

'Can't see that happening. I can talk only two languages, Scouse and English. I'm not great at the English!'

Gary tried something, 'Ron, what's the state of your marriage?'

'Martial bliss, as always. I'll soon be celebrating 7 years of happy marriage to my beloved. I'm going out to dinner with her tonight. Wonderful woman the missus, I couldn't do enough for her. I don't think a greater love has been invented than that between me and my wife!' Ron gave Gary a smile of a man that was blissfully happy. This definitely wasn't right and Ron didn't notice Gary's look at him.

'Now you're taking the mick!' said Gary. But now Gary had decided not to leave the portal unguarded for a while. So he looked at it from both sides. A few hours later, he was in the 'forties side trying to listen to anything suspicious. 'Hes bound to come back soon I just need to stay guarding this,' Gary was thinking to himself in the cold night. But Gary also thought, 'Maybe I could just nip into the Royal Oak. Only for one, naturally!

Gary put the hat to his Worcester suit on. But as he moved he heard something. Just a sound. But moving very quietly for such a tall man, Gary moved to a wall and took a little peek around. Yes, there was the man he had seen hiding in the shadows. Also operating some kind of transmitter. This was very suspicious. In fact the unauthorized use of a transmitter in the War itself could be enough to lock one up.

This was enough to go on, so Gary surprised the man, sneaked up onto him and put a pistol in his back. The man fought back briefly, producing a knife but Gary hissed at him, 'drop it!' and the weapon fell to the floor. Gary continued. 'I want to know who you are, how you are managing to use the time-portal, are you changing history and who you where transmitting to just now!'

'My name is Jean Von Bussel. There is no need to be so suspicious! I am on your side, I was just helping out the local authorities about air-raids right now!'

Gary didn't believe this for a second. His face in the dark if one could see was a picture of anger. He snarled in reply, 'Bullshit! I'm not buying that. Now, shall we try again, or shall I take you down to the local Police station. That use of a transmitter, which, by the way is ten years ahead of this time, I happen to know should be enough for them to ask some searching questions.'

Somehow this got through to the man. 'All right, I shall tell you! You, what makes you think you are the only person that can use these time-portals?' Von Bussel spoke in a vaguely European accent.

Gary muttered, 'Well, actually I kind of thought I was!'

'Well, you're not! Indeed many can. Though I admit I am one of the few that use the ones in this era. And I actually work for the Nazi higher command. I'm Belgium in fact, not German, but I sympathize with their aims. And the fact that they pay me a lot in terms of money and power for my time-travelling aid. All right, it is a bit difficult to convince them sometimes of the manner in which I collect my information...'

'I can imagine,' sort of sympathized Gary.

'But I can help them out. As you are seeing!' Gary digged him with his pistol for Von Bussel to continue. 'All right, all right. That transmission? Well, I was transmitting to the Luftwaffe information about the British Royal Navy based at Portsmouth. Sitting ducks, though they don't realize it. Now the Luftwaffe know, most of the Royal Navy will be destroyed in the next few days. I wonder how that will change the War outcome?'

'But why do that?'

'Do you know how much debt I am in this version of histoy? Well, it comes to many 0s. This is an alternative to a lifetime of debt. And if I can help make the master race pure and keep down all these N-s, P-s, Slavics and Queers, then that is all to the better. Shame about the Jews, still can't have everything one supposes!'

'Oh, lord, hes a genuine headcase,' thought Gary.

Gary snarled again and raised his pistol. 'What are you going to do now, shot me in cold blood!' smiled Von Bussel. 'This might be wartime, but you are from the nice nineties. Can you do this now for the first time? I'm not sure!' Gary pointed his gun but did nothing. It was true that if he was they spy he had often claimed to be he probably would have shot by now, but as he wasn't he hesitated a bit here.

'I will take you to the police station as I stated,'

'But I'm not coming, what are you going to do drag me there?'

'If necessary,'

'Bring it on!' Von Bussel gave a cold smile. So Gary moved over to grab him. When in a swift movement, Von Bussel gave Gary a nasty kick in the groin, the as Gary groaned, ran of in the shadows. Gary stood up, cursing.

'Oh, well,' thought he. 'I'd better put a general alert out for this man. But in the meantime, I could do with a drink. A lager this time, not wartime fare. I think I'll just pop back to '97. I presume not much else has changed,' and so he moved across the time-portal again. As he did so, he didn't notice Von Bussel looking at him and giving Gary a nasty little chuckle!

Gary dashed back to his nineties shop, or so he thought, without looking. He thought to himself, 'What an insane man!' then he did look up. The shop was different. Instead of British bits and pieces, it was daubed in black and red. Plus there where several Nazi swastika's around it. The videos read, 'A history of our beloved Hitler's glorious 40s conquering years!' The little TV he had was showing NNN Network Nazi News! He looked outside.

He could see the modern-day policeman grandson of Reg Deadman that he knew. But instead of his usual blue uniform, he was wearing black with a Nazi badge on his arm. The man gave Gary a Nazi salute. Gary looked outside some more and a patrol of Nazi stormtroopers carrying guns marched quickly by. Gary looked inside his shop again, there was a paper giving details of the 'World supreme leader introducing tough new rules for slaves!'

He looked at what was his war-diary and saw that it now talked of a 'Glorious German liberation of Britain from the terrors of Democracy!' Things had changed. What had happened now? History had been turned on it's head.

Gary gasped and slumped down on a chair. 'OMFG!' said he!

To be continued...