Pumping Gas

His name was Ken Elliot and he asked permission from my father if I could work at his gas station. I was only 12 years old but he had seen me working in my dad's grocery store and I suppose he saw that I was a responsible type and he was looking for cheap help. I was in charge of his bulk oil and fuel division when he was absent from the premises, which was quite often, because he delivered fuel to the local farmers. My biggest fear was that I would pour diesel fuel into a gas tractor or sell 'marked gas' to someone who did not qualify. The easiest part of the selling was when a farmer would come in and ask for a case of Havoline 20-30 engine oil and let me put it on his tab. That was like selling groceries.
I remember one lazy hot summer day, Ken and I were sitting in the shade of a big tree out front, sipping Cokes and waiting for customers. He told me that he was so grateful to be alive. And then he told me the story of when he had been a rear gunner on a Lancaster Bomber in the Second World War. They had just dropped their bombs somewhere over Germany and were heading back to Britain when they were swarmed by fighter planes. Their bombers were strafed again and again but somehow they all managed to limp back home, some with small fires on board and many pieces missing. He had been concerned for his best friend when he saw his plane lagging behind, with smoke trailing from one engine. They got back and waited for the all the stragglers to land. When his friends plane landed, it was with great relief that Ken ran to the tarmac. The plane looked like a piece of Swiss cheese with all the holes punched in it. The fire was out by now and as Ken raced to the rear of the Lancaster where his friend was also a tail gunner, his heart fell as he saw the hatch down and blood pouring out. His friend was unrecognisable and then he said, "they removed his body with a shovel."
I never forgot it and I can still see the look on his face as he told the story. Maybe he had never shared that with anyone before, but somehow I knew the importance of what I had just witnessed and I felt a closeness to him that I had never even felt toward my Dad.
He was a very kind and compassionate man to work for , and even though it was only for a summer, he and I always had a knowing smile for each other after that day under the shade tree, sipping cokes.