BY RICHARD WEST

Copyright is held by the author.

1968
I was thinking about my retirement next March, when Karen and I could leave Derby and travel around Britain. But right now I was on duty outside the conference room in case something came up at the meeting. For the first time ever, American Lockheed had bought the Rolls-Royce turbo-fan engine for their latest plane.

After an hour the conference room door opened a crack and I went to see what the person inside wanted.

“Frank here. How can I help?” I said.

“We need ice,” was the whispered reply.

Then the door closed.

I thought, “I’ve no idea where to get ice. I don’t think people use it. Or do they? I suppose I’ll  have to try and find some.”

The tea lady was at the front entrance with her trolley. I asked her if she knew where we could get some ice. She gave me a strange look and said, “I’ve no idea. You may have some ice cubes in your fridge at home.”

I got in my car and drove the half mile home.

My wife’s eyes opened wide in surprise when she opened the door.

“Karen. We need ice. Apparently, Americans like to put ice in their drinks.”

 “I think I’ve seen movies where they do that. They call it on the rocks. They even put ice in water,” she said, “I’ll get what I have.”

She handed me a large jug and I dropped eight small ice cubes into it, from our fridges ice tray.

“That’s not enough,” Karen said, “I’ll call Kathy and Sally and get them to empty their ice trays for you.”

At Kathy’s house, she was waiting with her ice tray. Sally’s house was 100 yards further on. I got another eight ice cubes.

 Standing here with 24 small ice cubes in the jug, I’m wondering if that will be enough. Looking back down the road, I can see women coming out of houses with ice trays, waving at me. As I drove back down the road, they emptied their ice trays into the jug.

Back at the conference room I opened the door a little and pushed the jug through the crack.  Immediately, someone took it from my hand.

I sat down, breathing a sigh of relief.

Then the conference room door opened a crack, and the jug reappeared.

A voice said, “Ice. More Please!”

***

Richard West is a retired engineer. Richard’s career has taken him to all continents (except Antarctica) and has included a wide range of experiences. Whether it is Dickens, Lawrence or Czerneda, it’s the story they tell that fascinates. He is only an apprentice at writing but the journey is fascinating. Richard has published four books and a number of short stories. Please see www.richardpwest.ca