"I'll be fine thanks," Jack Snape answered. He picked himself up from the cold pavement and dusted down his jacket. He looked up at the tall, young lad and smiled, pleased to see a member of today's youth offer an old man some assistance. He watched the boy wander down the street and disappear into a throng of people. He was reminded of himself when he was that age. Keen and helpful; something most young people could today not seem to grasp.

Balancing on his cane he shuffled forward. He took only a few steps when his weak eyes caught the stare from another man; someone that had been watching him intensely. He turned uneasily toward him, and felt his bad hip start to ache. He looked sharply towards the ground, frowning, but could still see the man, who continued to stare directly at him, and who now laughed in his direction.

Like a thump in the guts, Jack felt it hit him. He turned slowly to face the man who was staring at him in the middle of the busy, windy street. They stood and gazed at one another for what seemed like several minutes, the rest of the street now a blur as the hoards of shoppers streamed past. Cars and buses inched their way along the road, some passengers noticed the two static men from their seats. It couldn't be, he thought, surely not after all these years.

"I saw the whole thing you old bugger!" the man said to Jack with a broad and welcoming smile.

"Raymond," gasped Jack, his mouth gaping, the icy wind freezing the full army of dentures contained within.

"Yes Jack, it's me," Raymond said. He moved closer, and placed his hand on Jack's shoulder. Jack stepped back and surveyed the aged man. He was dressed much the same way as himself; both wore suits pressed to a crease. Both were bald, with silver hair brushed back and matted to their heads. Both held canes, and both proudly displayed the crest of 'The King's Own Scottish Borderers', neatly sewn onto the front-breast pocket. In fact, both men looked very similar.

"I don't know what to say, it's been almost - what - sixty years Ray!" Jack stuttered. "What the hell..." he demanded firmly, "...have you been doing?" and he stared at the man, as if waiting for an instant, yet brief explanation.

"Looking for you Jack," came the reply. "Does it really matter though? After all, I have found you now. Do you have time for a drink?" Both men started silently up the street, their canes taking their full weight with each step.

Not a word was spoken as they made their way through the shoppers, office workers, builders and students all passed them by, oblivious to the significance of the meeting that had occurred. A significance only Jack and Ray knew from the history that existed between them. A history going back all the way to the Second World War.

They arrived at the main door of the Royal British Legion Club. Jack pulled the door open and let Ray in. A woman was there to greet them on the front desk. She looked at Jack and smiled. He had been regular as clockwork, turning up on the same day for years; longer than she had ever worked there anyway. Her face shone with pity, but both men missed it as they proceeded into the bar.

The lounge was small, quiet and surrounded by comfortable couches and wooden tables. Other members sat smoking, drinking and minding their own business. Pride and honour decorated the chestnut coloured walls. Memorabilia was pinned everywhere; mostly black and white pictures containing faded memories of both World Wars. Above the carved mahogany plaque, which marked previous Club Directors, a framed picture of The Queen was mounted to mark her Coronation in 1953.

Jack left Ray to find a seat, went to the bar and ordered two pints of lager. The barman, a new employee who had only taken the job to help pay for his college education, poured out two pints of flat lager, headless with spillage running down the side of the glass. "Can you manage them both?" he asked.

"I doubt it son. Can you bring them over?"

"Sure thing. You want me to bring them both over to your table?"

"Of course," Jack said, frowning at the barman. He was clearly still on his apprenticeship when it came to customer service, he thought.

He went over and rested his cane against the table and took a seat next to Ray. The barman followed, and placed both pints together on the table in front of Jack, who handed him a creased five-pound note. He snatched his change from the barman's hand to make sure he got the point. "Young upstart," he mumbled into his glass, and took his first sup of lager.

"You always were a moan Jack," Ray smiled, lit a cigar and sat back in the cushioned seat.

"Sure, compared to you I was a saint!" Jack said. What about that time just after we were conscripted? Oh what a song and a dance you made when you realised you had to have your lovely locks cut off before we left for France." Both men laughed. They recounted the trip to France in June 1944. They had landed at Queen beach on the sixth day, and fought Nazi Germany together. Both men were in their early twenties. Jack was only a year older than Ray, who had always held a more authoritative position throughout their friendship. He was a natural leader, and it served him well in the Army.

Their discussion took them on a journey only they could understand. They had defended their nation with pride and honour, against a tyranny they wanted no one else to have to face. 'Once a Borderer, Always a Borderer' was the Battalion motto, and they had lived by it, for all it stood for. It was in their minds while they fought around Caen until the town finally capitulated, and then they advanced north through Belgium and into Holland, to the Rhine and then Bremen. And it was while in Bremen the conversation took a downturn. For it was there Jack and Ray had become separated after being caught in an ambush. A bomb had exploded near to where the two men were passing with their Battalion, and seven men were killed instantly. Once the dust had settled, two were found to be missing - one of which was Ray.

He told Ray how he grieved before even returning home to Britain. He explained how he had fought to deny his best friend - his brother - had been captured, or worse. He told him the nightmares he had endured for months after, and even to this day he found sleeping a task. When youths set off fireworks in the street near to his home, it brought back horrendous memories of that day, the war never straying far from the front of his mind.

"Everyone was devastated Ray," Jack said, his head bowed and a tear in his crystal blue eye. "The whole community took it hard you know. One of their own never coming back; I told everyone you had died so as to spare them the angst of not whether you were alive or not. And what about what it did to Mother - you never saw how she struggled. All she wanted was for her two boys to come home safe. When she saw my pain, it was as if I might have been killed as well. That's what killed her Ray, the uncertainty, and the mess she saw it made of me."

Ray though about this for a while. He thought of himself growing up alongside Jack under their mother's wing. Their father died down a coal mine five years before they were called up to fight, the anger his death produced moved them to fight, and they devoted themselves to the Army. Never did they consider it might lead to death.

"Look Jack, I'm sorry okay? I really am. We're both in our twilight here though, let's enjoy what time we have left eh? I miss Mum, I really do, but we'll all be together soon enough wont we?" Ray said trying to lift the discussion's tone into a semi-laughable occasion.

"Sure thing," Jack answered, and he took his second pint to the halfway mark. Ray hadn't touched his since they arrived, but Jack wasn't bothered. He was just delighted to see his brother after all these years. He glanced at the ashtray on the table. Their discourse had lasted for two King Edward cigars, and the tray overflowed with ash.

Talk moved to happier times when their father was still alive. Family holidays, school trips, and a friend of Mavis MacDonald who lived next door. She would let the boys kiss her for a candy stick, and Ray always made sure he had a healthy supply of 'Granny Sookers'. The two men laughed as they recalled their old Sergeant. His shiny boots were always one size too big for him, or so they appeared. 'Sergeant Flip-Flop' they used to call him when his back was turned. He wasn't considered the hardest man in the Military for nothing.

Neither man noticed Jack's wife enter through the door on the far side of the room. She stopped, and watched them talk from afar. The barman went across to meet her. He asked her questions and pointed over to Jack and Ray. She explained to him quietly why Jack was there, and he apologised. She left him red-faced, to tend to some thirsty veterans who were gathering at the bar.

She approached the table they were sat, still unseen by either man. By the time Jack noticed her, he had begun to tell Ray about the five grandchildren he was now proud to say he had. Although he was too old to play football with them, he could still tell them stories about his heroic brother whom he fought proudly alongside in World War 2. He sat back uneasily as she invaded their space, disrupting the happy recollections they were sharing after almost sixty years in the wilderness. His mind was brought sharply back into the reality’s focus. He looked at the table in front of him, on it were three empty pint glasses and three full ones. He looked at the ashtray - it was empty.

Jack stood up slowly and buttoned his coat. He kept his head bowed; the stares from everyone else in the bar bearing upon his slight frame. He didn't want Mavis to see the tears welling in his vacant eyes.

"59 years ago today Mavis," he said to the floor, and she put her arms to take hold of him.

"I know Jack," she said. "I know."