Meaning In The Message

I was sitting in a train station last week, minding my own business while waiting for a train.

There were two young teenage girls sitting across from me and an elderly man sitting two seats away from me. After a couple of minutes the two girls walked passed myself and the older man. As soon as they had passed, the man lent into my space and said, "Young girls today are asking for trouble, aren't they?"

In the second or two it took to turn and face this accuser I thought to myself, "No, why would he say that and what sort of sick bastard is he?" As I looked into his eyes, ready for a confrontation, he struck me as being a very gentle, caring person. I adjusted my frown to a sympathetic smile and my planned response to a far more accommodating, "I guess you could think that."

I hoped he would leave it at that, but he leaned back into my space, touched my arm and said, "I was accused of rape three years ago, you know." My shackles were back up. I decided I had been duped and the man must be bad news. Two questions came to mind: why had he chosen to engage with me on this topic and what was I going to do? I looked at him again. Again he looked kind and gentle, nonthreatening. "What happened?" I asked, drawing myself in.

"I was driving to Truro and a young girl stopped me and asked for a lift. I didn't see the harm in it, but next day the police were at my door because the girl had reported me for rape." As he recounted the story he didn't seem bitter or angry, sad if anything. I really felt he was a decent human being, but his opening gambit, aimed at two innocuous enough young girls, and now this revelation had me concerned that he was using me to offload his guilt on.

Even though I was expecting some sort of story of how the girl he gave a lift to was wearing a short skirt and low cut top so was practically gagging for it, I couldn't help but ask again, "What happened?" I added, to try and avoid the expected unsavoury detail, "Did it go to court?"

The old guy looked at me, smiled a wry smile and said, "No. I'm DSO"

He must have known what I was going to say next, he had drawn me in fine style so far, and I didn't disappoint him. "What's DSO?"

"I was in the army, fought in the war. DSO. It's an army term."

"What does it mean?"

"Dick Shot Off. I don't mean to embarrass you, but that's what happened. I couldn't have raped that lass if I'd wanted to. I've not got the equipment; haven't had since I was 23, I'm 88 now."

I was reeling a bit. It was a lot to take in in less than a minute worth of conversation with a total stranger. Accused of rape at 85 years of age after doing a kindly deed, having your dick shot off at the age of 23 while fighting in WWII ... the ramifications were stretching my mind.

"That's terrible.", was the best I could offer. Feeling the need, as I always do, to fill the silence I followed it up with, "So I take it you never married or had a family?"

The little, 88 year old man sitting before me smiled wryly again, then said, "No, I had a wife and child before that happened." What compelled me I don't know, perhaps the way he said the word 'had', but I asked if they were still alive. You just couldn't make it up.

"No, son. They died during the war. Our house was bombed by the Germans. My wife and son were inside it at the time. I was never told; only found out when I went back home on leave."

I think I was starting to go into a bit of mild shock. "I'm so sorry. That must have been devastating. What did you do, how did you cope?", I asked while imaging how I'd feel if I lost my wife and daughter in circumstances like that: in any circumstances.

"It's alright son.", he calmly assured me, "It was a long time ago now. I went back to war to fight the Germans with ferocity, then ended up DSO. My parents looked after me for a long time, then I looked after them. Now it's just me."

People tell me I wear my heart of my sleeve, I think I wear it on my face. As I tried to take in what had happened to this man as a youngster, to comprehend how he had coped with it throughout his life, to imagine how broken I'd be, he must have seen the pain and anguish in my expression. He lent over again, squeezed my arm, smiled and said, "It's okay, son. Just make sure you have a good life." Then he got up and wandered off.

I sat for a good while after he'd gone: eyes bulging, head nodding, mind racing.