Scene: 10:30pm Parliament Square. I am sitting on a curb, drawing the famous statue of Churchill, lit only by street lights. An older gentlemen in a suit with a striped tie approaches.
2 characters – M: the old man. D: Duane
M: “You’re drawing that?!?”
D: “Yes sir.”
M: “…that statue?”
D: “Yes sir.”
M: “You know who that is, right?”
D: “Of course, sir it’s Winson Churchill.”
M: “He was a great man, wasn’t he?”
D: “Yes he was. It’s a great statue too. I admired this statue before I even came here.”
M: “Where you from?”
D: “The midwest of the United States.”
M: “Looks good.”
D: “Thank you, sir.”
Older man walks to the corner, as if to cross the street, turns around and returns, pointing at tie…
M: “You know, my regiment (continues pointing at tie) the … (didn’t catch the name – see footnote) … they called us “Churchill’s Butchers” because he relied on us so much.”
D: “That’s incredible. Where did you serve?”
(dramatically, with a wave of the hand in the air) M: “Everywhere. But Northern Ireland mostly. Take care, now.”
Scene: 10:32pm Parliament Square. I am sitting on a curb, drawing the famous statue of Churchill, lit only by street lights. An older gentlemen in a suit with a striped tie departs.
Cursory internet “research” has turned up multiple “Churchill’s Butchers.” So who knows which division he actually served with, but he was a nice old guy.