Angels Don't Have Wings - Take 3
by Ron A. Sewell
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: None.
Description: Doris and Elsie break the rules again to create a legend.
_____________________________________________________________________
Once a year, on All Saints Day, Doris and Elsie visit Hades to recover repentant souls.
Having redirected their charges, they surfaced in Bond Street, London. Doris knew the effect the sight of so many shops had on Elsie.
“Elsie, stop looking in those shop windows. You know you can’t buy anything.”
“I can look, no harm in that. I need a bit of mental retail therapy after this morning.”
Doris arched her eyebrows at her life long friend. “I know. It’s not a very hospitable atmosphere down there. Thanks to God, we don’t have to go often. Mind you, that devil does make me laugh with some of his antics and he’s quite a flatterer.”
At Oxford Circus, they ascended the heavenly staircase. They were about to return to their rooms when a cherub ran towards them. “Gabby’s going mad. He wants to see you at once.”
On entering the middle chamber, Doris glanced towards Elsie. “Oh dear, we’re in trouble, again.”
Standing as still as they could, their handbags held in front of them, both women listened, their eyes fixed to the floor.
Archangel Gabriel rose to his full height, his long white robes wafting over the clouds. Two piecing blue eyes stared down at his two unorthodox angels. “There are a billion angels who follow the good book and then there’s you, who seem to think you can do what you like.”
Elsie became fidgety as their boss reprimanded them. Doris, sensing her mood, gently kicked her ankle.
“Why did you do that?” Elsie whispered.
“To keep you quiet.”
“Enough,” ordered the supreme command. “I’ve a special job for you, where you’re unusual talents might be of some use.”
“What do you want us to do?” asked an uneasy Doris.
“What you do best. Now be quiet and gone.”
In an instant, they found themselves standing on a small hill, overlooking Silverstone motor racing circuit. The day was glorious, the sun shining and crowds picnicking. Doris opened her large handbag and pulled out a small parcel. “That makes a change, we’ve been given lunch.”
“I bet they’re cheese sandwiches. Heaven must have a ton of it. Why can’t we have a nice bit of ham for a change?” commented Elsie.
“Be quiet, you daft old woman. You know the boss is kosher!”
Without a care in the world, they sat on the grass and watched the cars complete their warm up laps.
“Do you remember Fred, my old man, Elsie? He’s brown bread, bless him. Every morning he would wake up and promise me he would find someone else but he still came home every night.”
“Ah memories. Just like my Bert, Doris, when he came back from the pub, chirping like a budgie, he would go on about how much the barmaid fancied him. What he never understood was that she’d have anything in long trousers and from her records, she did quite well in that area.”
Having finished their sandwiches, they waited for a sign. A red Ford rounded a hairpin bend and spun out amongst a shower of gravel to a halt.
“That’s got to be our man, Elsie. Let’s go.”
In an instant, they stood in front of him. “He doesn’t look too good,” remarked Elsie.
“Nor would you if you were having a heart attack. The silly old fool gave up racing years ago.”
“What’s he doing here then?” asked Elsie.
“I think we’d better ask him.”
As they became visible to Harry Bolton, it about finished him. “What the…”
“Language,” muttered Doris. “At your age, you should know better when ladies are present.”
“Sorry love, you surprised me. This pain in my chest is killing me. For your information, this area is out of bounds to the public.”
“Oh, don’t worry, no one can see us except you and unfortunately that pain means your number’s up.”
“I can’t die. I have to win this race for the team or it’s all over. Their sponsor told them, no more money unless they win. The team’s broke. I’m cheap, that’s why they dragged me out of retirement; I’m their last chance.”
Doris felt Elsie looking at her.
“Use your finger, Doris. You know what to do.”
There was a long silence, and then she said, “I can’t help you win the race but I’ll grant you life until your car completes the final lap and returns to the pit. Then you come with us.”
Harry hesitated for a moment. “Who are you?”
“We’re angels,” said Elsie proudly.
“Jesus Christ. All right, as this is obviously my last race I’d better be on my way. See you later ladies. Enjoy the race.”
Harry squeezed himself into the driving position and in a flurry of stones returned to the track.
Both women made themselves comfortable on the roof of the VIPs’ grandstand overlooking the finish line and waited.
During the race the lead changed several times and with one lap to go, Harry was up there with the leader. More to the point, every time he had the opportunity to overtake he tried and failed; the leading young driver seemed to read his mind. Elsie shouted for all she was worth, even though no one could hear. Doris stood and with her serious face on pointed her favourite finger at the lead car. A moment later a plume of white smoke erupted from its exhaust.
“I thought you weren’t going to help Harry,” retorted Elsie.
With a grin, she looked at her companion. “Well he fought hard and deserves to win. It’s a pity he’ll miss the champagne.”
Harry, his body overcharged with adrenaline, roared triumphantly over the finish line waving his arm in the air. More sedately he drove down the slip road to the pits. With the car stopped he remained perfectly still.
Elsie and Doris watched his spirit leave. The pit crew appeared amazed at finding their star driver dead. Never before had a race winner died in the car.
Harry joined the two ladies on top of the VIP grandstand. “Thank you. You’ve saved the team.”
Doris shook her head. “Not really. Your death has shaken them so much they’ll decide to retire from racing.”
Harry looked at them seriously. “So it was all a waste of time.”
Elsie smiled in her motherly way. “Not really, Harry. You’ve just become the oldest man to win a Grand Prix and a motor racing legend. No one can take that away from you.”
Swearwords: None.
Description: Doris and Elsie break the rules again to create a legend.
_____________________________________________________________________
Once a year, on All Saints Day, Doris and Elsie visit Hades to recover repentant souls.
Having redirected their charges, they surfaced in Bond Street, London. Doris knew the effect the sight of so many shops had on Elsie.
“Elsie, stop looking in those shop windows. You know you can’t buy anything.”
“I can look, no harm in that. I need a bit of mental retail therapy after this morning.”
Doris arched her eyebrows at her life long friend. “I know. It’s not a very hospitable atmosphere down there. Thanks to God, we don’t have to go often. Mind you, that devil does make me laugh with some of his antics and he’s quite a flatterer.”
At Oxford Circus, they ascended the heavenly staircase. They were about to return to their rooms when a cherub ran towards them. “Gabby’s going mad. He wants to see you at once.”
On entering the middle chamber, Doris glanced towards Elsie. “Oh dear, we’re in trouble, again.”
Standing as still as they could, their handbags held in front of them, both women listened, their eyes fixed to the floor.
Archangel Gabriel rose to his full height, his long white robes wafting over the clouds. Two piecing blue eyes stared down at his two unorthodox angels. “There are a billion angels who follow the good book and then there’s you, who seem to think you can do what you like.”
Elsie became fidgety as their boss reprimanded them. Doris, sensing her mood, gently kicked her ankle.
“Why did you do that?” Elsie whispered.
“To keep you quiet.”
“Enough,” ordered the supreme command. “I’ve a special job for you, where you’re unusual talents might be of some use.”
“What do you want us to do?” asked an uneasy Doris.
“What you do best. Now be quiet and gone.”
In an instant, they found themselves standing on a small hill, overlooking Silverstone motor racing circuit. The day was glorious, the sun shining and crowds picnicking. Doris opened her large handbag and pulled out a small parcel. “That makes a change, we’ve been given lunch.”
“I bet they’re cheese sandwiches. Heaven must have a ton of it. Why can’t we have a nice bit of ham for a change?” commented Elsie.
“Be quiet, you daft old woman. You know the boss is kosher!”
Without a care in the world, they sat on the grass and watched the cars complete their warm up laps.
“Do you remember Fred, my old man, Elsie? He’s brown bread, bless him. Every morning he would wake up and promise me he would find someone else but he still came home every night.”
“Ah memories. Just like my Bert, Doris, when he came back from the pub, chirping like a budgie, he would go on about how much the barmaid fancied him. What he never understood was that she’d have anything in long trousers and from her records, she did quite well in that area.”
Having finished their sandwiches, they waited for a sign. A red Ford rounded a hairpin bend and spun out amongst a shower of gravel to a halt.
“That’s got to be our man, Elsie. Let’s go.”
In an instant, they stood in front of him. “He doesn’t look too good,” remarked Elsie.
“Nor would you if you were having a heart attack. The silly old fool gave up racing years ago.”
“What’s he doing here then?” asked Elsie.
“I think we’d better ask him.”
As they became visible to Harry Bolton, it about finished him. “What the…”
“Language,” muttered Doris. “At your age, you should know better when ladies are present.”
“Sorry love, you surprised me. This pain in my chest is killing me. For your information, this area is out of bounds to the public.”
“Oh, don’t worry, no one can see us except you and unfortunately that pain means your number’s up.”
“I can’t die. I have to win this race for the team or it’s all over. Their sponsor told them, no more money unless they win. The team’s broke. I’m cheap, that’s why they dragged me out of retirement; I’m their last chance.”
Doris felt Elsie looking at her.
“Use your finger, Doris. You know what to do.”
There was a long silence, and then she said, “I can’t help you win the race but I’ll grant you life until your car completes the final lap and returns to the pit. Then you come with us.”
Harry hesitated for a moment. “Who are you?”
“We’re angels,” said Elsie proudly.
“Jesus Christ. All right, as this is obviously my last race I’d better be on my way. See you later ladies. Enjoy the race.”
Harry squeezed himself into the driving position and in a flurry of stones returned to the track.
Both women made themselves comfortable on the roof of the VIPs’ grandstand overlooking the finish line and waited.
During the race the lead changed several times and with one lap to go, Harry was up there with the leader. More to the point, every time he had the opportunity to overtake he tried and failed; the leading young driver seemed to read his mind. Elsie shouted for all she was worth, even though no one could hear. Doris stood and with her serious face on pointed her favourite finger at the lead car. A moment later a plume of white smoke erupted from its exhaust.
“I thought you weren’t going to help Harry,” retorted Elsie.
With a grin, she looked at her companion. “Well he fought hard and deserves to win. It’s a pity he’ll miss the champagne.”
Harry, his body overcharged with adrenaline, roared triumphantly over the finish line waving his arm in the air. More sedately he drove down the slip road to the pits. With the car stopped he remained perfectly still.
Elsie and Doris watched his spirit leave. The pit crew appeared amazed at finding their star driver dead. Never before had a race winner died in the car.
Harry joined the two ladies on top of the VIP grandstand. “Thank you. You’ve saved the team.”
Doris shook her head. “Not really. Your death has shaken them so much they’ll decide to retire from racing.”
Harry looked at them seriously. “So it was all a waste of time.”
Elsie smiled in her motherly way. “Not really, Harry. You’ve just become the oldest man to win a Grand Prix and a motor racing legend. No one can take that away from you.”
About the Author
Ron A. Sewell was born in Leith, Edinburgh. At the age of fourteen, he ran away from home. Heading for the south of France, he found work as a deckhand on luxury yachts. On his return to the United Kingdom, he enlisted in the Royal Navy, eventually becoming a commissioned officer. During his career, he travelled the world, qualifying as an engineer, deck officer, boarding officer, a diver, and parachutist and for a time part of an Air Sea Rescue team. This has given him much experience and many ideas.
Ron has been writing for twenty-three years. He has written numerous short stories (many of them published) and five complete novels to date. Two of the novels, entitled The Collectors, are currently with his agent, who is attempting to sell them to a publisher.
Ron has been writing for twenty-three years. He has written numerous short stories (many of them published) and five complete novels to date. Two of the novels, entitled The Collectors, are currently with his agent, who is attempting to sell them to a publisher.