It was quite fun, to begin with, Pike thought. He was enjoying the chance to play something he'd never usually been allowed to growing up, and it wasn't raining or even that cold. He kept glancing over too; to make sure she was still watching. Having Sylvia there, to show off for, really, made all the difference. Simply being the youngest there was enough for him to look reasonable, although Jones was giving it his all, and they seemed to be doing fairly well…just as long as they made sure to keep the ball away from the goal, as any attempt from the opposing team would require swifter movement than Godfrey was capable of. He might have a chance though, he thought, checking who the Wardens had in goal. They were bright enough not to have that short man there, but surely who they did have wasn't quick enough to be much of a deterrent?

On noticing Sylvia's little wave from the sidelines, Pike suddenly felt encouraged enough to try for a goal – it might even be the one that won the game, and how proud would she be then? The fact that he'd never attempted such a feat before didn't matter…how hard could it be? He called out excitedly to Jones, who'd powered his way up the field surprising quickly for a man of his years, treating the game like the battle it was, even if he did appear to get a bit dizzy after passing the ball, and tottered off to sit down at Wilson's request.

'…I'm all right, Mr Wilson…' he heard faintly, the words catching on the wind. 'That's just like I did that time playing for the Warwickshires…'

'Yes, I'm sure it was, Jonesy, but just…five minutes. Get your breath back.'

As it turned out, he needed rather more than five minutes. All of a sudden, an agitated Mrs Jones rushed over to the Verger, heedless of the men around her.

'Oh Mr Yeatman, it's Mr Jones!' she managed, clearly upset.

'Why? What's the matter with him?' The Verger was none too pleased at having his match interrupted.

'Yes, Mrs Jones, what's wrong?' Mainwaring asked.

'It's his Malaria! All this running about set him off again! We'll have to go home!' Mrs Jones was clearly flustered, anxious for her elderly husband.

'Oh, I see,' Mainwaring glanced over at Jones, who was still shaking. 'Yes, under the circumstances, he's excused – Wilson, take Jones's van and get them home. Sponge…' he continued, turning to the rather rotund man on the bench. 'You take Jones's place.'

'Right you are, Captain Mainwaring!' he answered, and made his way on to the pitch.

'Look, have you sorted things out yet?' Hodges asked then, not having paid too much attention to what was going on. 'Time wasting, that's what it is!'

'For your information, it's not time wasting at all!' Mainwaring snapped back. 'One of my men could have been taken very ill! Now, if you don't mind, we have a match to win!'

'Wait a minute!' Hodges wasn't finished yet. 'You swapped out one of your players. I'm swapping out one of mine!' This would clinch it, he was sure. Even if the lad couldn't have made the start of the match, he was here now.

'Henry, you change with Derek!' He grinned as the young man, only weeks away from joining the Marines, ran out on to the field. There was no way they'd win now!

'Have you all quite finished?' The Verger was getting impatient.

'Yes…' Mainwaring nodded, looking somewhat concerned at Hodges's substitution.

The Verger blew his whistle, revelling in his little moment of authority, and the match resumed. It quickly became clear that Derek could outpace any of the older men easily, and scored his first goal almost without trying. With his next, he faced Frazer's blood curdling cry head on, avoiding his aggressive tackle with ease, smacking the ball confidently into the back of the net.

'Ach, yon Godfrey, man!' a somewhat out of breath Frazer said, catching up with Pike on the wing. 'He's got no chance against that…we're doomed!'

'No, Mr Frazer!' Pike insisted. 'We've got to stop him!'

'Then it's down tae you, son,' Frazer replied, shaking his head. Heaven help us…

'Yeah…' For all his earlier showing off, actually attempting to take the ball off a man who was clearly bigger and better at the game than he was, was another matter entirely. He couldn't even think of an example from a film to copy, but here they were, in the second half of the second half, suddenly two goals down. If they lost, Hodges would be insufferable for weeks.

Both men had to push such doubts from their mind then, as they could suddenly chase the opposing team up the field, thanks to a temporary break in the Wardens' defences. Somehow, Wilson had managed to wrestle control of the ball from an irate Hodges, and with a swift kick, passed it to Pike. He was surely their best chance at a goal now, and so focused was he on trying not to miss, or trip, that Pike didn't notice that Derek had also raced up to their end, and bearing down on the lad he vaguely remembered from primary school as a Mummy's Boy cry-baby, smashed into him hard.

Pike hit the damp grass, feeling a sharp pain in his ankle as he did so. He heard the Verger's whistle, but could do nothing but push up to a semi-sitting position, holding his ankle and trying – really trying – not to get upset at how much it hurt or how embarrassing it was to have been brought down in front of the girl he'd been trying so hard to impress.

'Pike?' asked Mainwaring, hurrying up to him. 'Are you all right?'

'He cheated!' Pike shot a dark glare over at Derek.

Mainwaring agreed. He'd have a few words to say to the Verger if he let that other boy keep playing…

'Yes, well, never mind that now…'

'Frank!' Turning, the Captain groaned slightly. This was the second female pitch invasion and one far less likely to be deterred.

'I told you he shouldn't play, Mr Mainwaring!' Mavis admonished him, crouching down by her son, quite oblivious to everyone around her. 'Frank? Are you all right?'

He wasn't, really. His ankle hurt and he was starting to feel dizzy and a bit sick. And where was she?

'Mum? Where's Sylvia?'

The question caught Mavis unawares, and came as a shock. She'd always been the one there for him, and now he wanted someone else? Taken aback, she replied that Sylvia had gone to the Ladies', and could only watch as a couple of the other men helped him up and took him over to the bench. As she followed them, Mavis was surprised at just how tearful she felt. Not only was her baby boy hurt, but he didn't want her…Sitting down next to him, she couldn't help but remember comforting him when he fell taking his first steps, his cut knees as a child…anything, really, but he'd come to her. Always her. As Sylvia noticed them on her way back, the realisation that this was no longer the case sunk in, and it hurt.

'Frank?' Sylvia sat down to the other side of him, taking his hand. 'What happened?'

Mavis started to explain, but didn't get the chance. 'You see him there?' Pike asked, pointing at Derek with venom. 'He tripped me!'

'What? Well, what's he doing still playing?' Sylvia was incensed.

'Dunno…my ankle hurts and I feel sick.' He was past caring now.

The loss and unfair tackle of their default best player however, had a rejuvenating effect on the rest of the men, and the Platoon managed to scrape the game back to a draw in the final minutes. With one blazing Caledonian attack from Frazer and one lucky strike from Wilson, it wasn't a loss. Still, Mainwaring was of no mind to accept anything less than eventual victory, and promised his men that the re-match would be theirs.

'This is just the first round, men!' he declared afterwards. 'A valiant effort from you all. We may not have won this battle, but we'll win the war! That's the sort of men we are!' It was no victory, but everyone one of them determined that next time, it would be.

'Well now,' Wilson said then, having eventually escaped the clutches of an emotional Mavis. 'I believe Hodges mentioned the Red Lion, for all those who'd like to go?'

Pike spent the following week off work, and was excused all duties with the Platoon. His ankle wasn't twisted, but it was sprained, and Mavis took every opportunity she could to fuss over her son. It was nice, but it was Sylvia's last visit before she went back that stuck in his mind. It stuck in Mavis's too. Watching her, and watching him with her, Mavis had to concede that the girl was in love, and so was he. It didn't mean she felt ready to let go – she couldn't imagine ever really letting go, but she was coming to accept that Sylvia would look after her boy.

Ada Hodges was one of the stalwart band of women that made up Walmington on Sea's midwives. She was often to be seen out on her bicycle, large bag balanced precariously on the back, and worked out of the small local hospital. Since the War started, they'd never been so busy, as the young couples of the town reacted to events and often long separations the best way they knew how. Thankfully the telephone line that had been out of action for weeks, following bomb damage to the exchange at the time of Sylvia's prolonged stay in London, was repaired soon after. One morning in December, when she was expecting to see Sylvia for her birthday, she was asked to be on call for young Mrs Meadows, due any day now. Ada hadn't planned to be working, and certainly didn't want to miss her 21st, but Mrs Watson had just lost her son in North Africa, and was clearly in no fit state, Mrs Townsend was busy with ARP duties and Mrs Taylor had just left to join the WRENS.

'All right, Betty,' Ada said to Mrs Watson, at a loss to really know what to say. How did any mother come to terms with the reality of a child not coming back?

'I'll look after Mrs Meadows, don't worry,' she continued, hoping to offer at least some comfort to the distraught woman. 'I've got her notes…'

Ada had mentioned to Doreen Meadows that her baby might share a birthday with her daughter at her first appointment – and now it seemed like she would find out if she was right.

Some weeks previously, the men of the Platoon had decided to hold a Christmas party at the Church Hall. Given the overall success of the Turkey Dinner held some time ago for the local pensioners, it seemed an excellent idea.

'…and so that brings us up to Christmas…' Mainwaring continued, appraising his troops. 'Now I'm sure we'd all like to have some time off, but unfortunately, Hitler's damned untrustworthy. Wouldn't put it past him to launch a raid any time soon, thinking he'd catch us off guard.' He paused. The men weren't going to be keen on the thought of Christmas duties, but he had a plan that would hopefully help sweeten things.

'So for that reason, I want all our usual patrols to continue, but I had wondered if you would like to arrange some sort of function at the same time? All work and no play, and so on, and all Messes in the British Army celebrate the festive season, after all…'

'Permission to speak, Sir!' Jones piped up. 'We always had a Christmas Do, Sir, even out in the Sudan, but there wasn't no snow or anything, very hot for Christmas Day it was, and there was this one time where General Kitchener got us all together, like you're doing now, Sir, and he said, 'Boys…' At this, Jones put one hand on his hip in the strange way he did whenever quoting Kitchener. 'I want you to come up with ideas for a Christmas Do!' and so we got our wives and Mums to send out crackers, and puddings and the like, and we even decorated the Staff Camel!'

'Yes…' At last Mainwaring had a chance to get a word in edgeways. 'That all sounds very promising, so I'll leave that with you, Corporal, you sort out the details with the men, and let me know what you decide.'

'Oh, and you'll be pleased to know that we heard from Private Walker the other day,' Wilson added. 'He'll be down to visit Walmington over Christmas, and he's very much looking forward to seeing you all.'

A buzz of eager chatter went through the ranks at that.

'Eh man, if Joe's coming down, that'll be a party and no mistake!' Frazer remarked, in eager anticipation of what he might bring with him…

'I'm sure Cissy could provide some of her elderflower wine…' Godfrey replied. 'She made it over the summer…it should be just about ready by now, and Dolly makes a very good Christmas cake – you can hardly tell there's no eggs in it.'

'And I'll get on to Mr Boggis, Sir!' Jones continued. 'He's always been grateful for us helping to count those Turkeys! I'll see what I can do, and maybe get a few sausages to go with it, you know, those little sausages you get in bacon…'

'Oh, we haven't had those since the War!' Pike added excitedly. 'Can we have crackers too? And paper hats?'

'Course you can, Pikey!' Jones agreed enthusiastically. 'Now then, boys, when do you want it for?' After some further discussion, a date was suggested.

'All right, that's the 16th, I'll write that down…' Jones said, reaching into his pocket for a scrap of paper and pencil.

'Uh, Mr Jones?' Pike asked then. 'That's Sylvia's birthday…'

'Well, bring 'er along!' the old campaigner replied. 'I'll ask Mrs Jones, and Mr Godfrey, I expect your sisters'd like to come an' all…'

'Yeah, all right then! But we are having crackers, and presents?'