Disclaimer: *is washed up on desert island* need... water... food... shelter... rights to Robin Hood...*dies*

Hey-lo! This is a one-shot, and it's kinda strange. I hope you all like it though!


Hi there. My name's Allan, but most folks call me Al.

Well... I don't really know how to begin. I sure you've heard the story of Robin Hood? Well, when I was a kid, I loved that story. I used to read it all the time, and play outlaws with my little cousins and siblings. I always was Allan A-Dale, mostly because of my name, but also because I could sing better than most of the others. Well, all of them actually. I had what you might call a gift. Fifty seven years of smoking did away with whatever gift I had, but when I was younger, I really had nice pipes. People used to say I could sing a bird off his tree... I tried once, but it never really worked...

Are you sure you want to hear the incessant ramblings of an old man?

You positive?

Well, alright then... it's your afternoon.

From the beginning?

Okay then, if you insist... I suppose it all started when I was nineteen. I was straight out of college and I was insistent on serving my country. There was a war on in those days. Yep, we had to beat the German buggers out of the rest of Europe and I thought I was just the man to do it. 'It can't be worse than boarding school,' I said to myself, and made my little way to the war station and signed up. I had originally wanted to be a pilot, but my mother said she would have me disowned if I survived long enough to come home. Being disowned was out of the question. If the Germans didn't kill me first, I would most likely die from the lack of my mother's cooking. Mince pies, pasties, and toad-in-the-hole, black pudding... my mother's cooking was the best in the world.

Well I signed up, and I felt right proud of myself to be serving my country. I was going to miss Mam and Ellen though.

I haven't told you about Ellen? Well, that's where I should have begun. Ellen was my girl, and she must have been the most beautiful girl in the whole universe. She looked just like Olivia DeHavilland. God, I loved her so much. And I could just get lost in her eyes. They were grey, like the sea getting ready for a storm. And she was witty, funny...

Sorry, did I go off track again? You'll have to excuse me, you know the elderly types. You know, when I was your age I wouldn't have willingly bothered with a man like me.

So I signed up and got ready to be shipped out to France. It was a sad parting, what with my mam and my girl both crying. More like sobbing actually. I hate partings, especially when one of the part-ees might not be coming back.

A month or so later I was done training, and I was set up with my platoon in Normandy. Now let's see... there was John Little, an Irishman, he died a few months ago of a heart failure, Willum Scarle, from Bristol, haven't seen him in years, James Tucker, the chaplain...can't remember the names of the rest... oh... of course... Rob Hood. He was our leader, and there never was a better one. Pity, can't remember the look of his face anymore. He died young, see? Don't remember what of... cancer maybe. His wife, Marian died soon after him. Poor thing. She married him right after the war. She was a Frenchwoman, and she was almost as beautiful as Ellen.

Robin and I kept up a regular correspondence after the war. I didn't find out he was sick 'till I got a letter from Marian saying how he died and all. I think I remember the ink being smudged in a few places.

Heh... I know, back to the war story, eh?

It's a pretty typical war story, you know. You don't need to listen to the whole thing. I know it's for community service and all, but you're young, you don't need to listen to all this boring talk...

No, you're just being polite. This isn't fun at all.

Hahaha. I know. It must be better than doing the laundry; especially with my roommate... Shh... can I tell you a secret about him? Well... he hasn't much control over his bowels...

Hehehehe. You're right, you didn't need to know that.

Anyway, I was in France, and...

Oh well. That was the dinner bell. Time for some meatloaf. I'll see you next week.


Pointless eh? Well, I think this might be just a one-shot, just because this is a hard prose to write. I feel like Holden Caulfield... if I get enough reviews telling me to continue, I just might though.