Showing posts with label Short Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short Story. Show all posts

Sunday, 1 February 2015

North Wind Blowing



The wind had begun blowing quite hard as I stepped down on to the platform at Dounitch railway station. This was to be an interim stop on my route north. My connecting train wasn’t due until eight o’clock that evening and the thought of hanging around a draughty station was not my idea of pleasure, so I had decided to explore the town for the next four hours.
My journey had begun at Garthwood city where I had been living. The flat I had occupied was ‘bijou’ which meant that you couldn’t swing a cat round in it, but it did me as I was working down at one of the city’s eating houses. The boss was a fair man who cooked wonderful meals but paid minimum wage to his workers. Often I would wait behind after the restaurant had closed to get any of the left overs.
One morning when I had awakened, yet again feeling as if the walls were falling in on me and decided that this was my last day in Garthwood. Surely I could get a better job further up north where most of the country’s affluence was. I had collected a little bit of money from eating ‘left overs’ or not eating at all and I could live for at least a week on what I had. So… now was the time. Every journey starts with one step and other well known sayings.
My boss at the restaurant was not happy when I told him I intended moving on the next day, but eventually he gave me my pay up to date and grudgingly wished me good luck, for, as he added, I was going to need it.

Dounitch town looked deserted as I left the station after putting my bits of luggage into one of the lockable cabinets by the ticket office. A spoor of snow blew around the street and the trees by the road shook menacingly as an icy gust tugged at their branches. A bill board message warned of impending blizzards forecast for that weekend with an icy stretch of weather to follow. I realised that my proposed journey north should have waited for a few months. Ah well, I thought, too late now.

As I walked up the road I looked up at the houses on either side. Curtains were drawn and in some cases, storm shutters had been pulled across. It looked like a town in a state of besiege awaiting the arrival of an adversary. The shops were battened down and from what I could make out through the windows; the shelves were nearly empty of any goods. Surely, somewhere must still be open, I reasoned with myself.

A bit ahead I saw a long stretch of light on the road. It was shining from a doorway above which a rickety sign hung. The joints screeched as the wind plucked at it. It was weather-beaten, but a welcome sight. The King’s Head Public House. A harbour, for a wandering soul in need of shelter and some liquid comfort on such a night as this.
The door hinges creaked as I pushed them open and stepped inside. Ahead of me stood a bar behind which sat numerous bottles on shelves. Two or three optics hung at the end of the bar with several beer siphons at the fore. A man with a knitted cardigan stood behind the bar.
“Cold night,” I grunted to the man, whom I took to be the publican. “Can I have a whisky please?”
The man looked behind him and taking a glass drew some liquid from the optic.
“Will it be a large or small one?”  he asked.
“Better make it a large one,” I laughed, “I’m freezing.”

The fiery liquid coursed its way down my throat and I felt a warmth spread through my body. I had sat down at the nearest table and after removing my coat and scarf surveyed the scene about me.
The room had been some sort of old meeting room and the walls were covered with dark wood embellished with carvings. Rosettes, branches of ivy and egg and dart designs covered the walls and ceiling. An odour of antiquity permeated the surroundings and lent an ambience of past grandeur to the place

“What was this place originally, “I asked the landlord. “Was it a club house of some sort?”
He grunted and finished drying a glass before he replied.
“It was the meeting place of the Gentle. They were like the Quakers, went about helping poor folk who had fallen on hard times.”
“What happened to them?” I asked.
“What happens to all those who try to fight against something larger than themselves. They realised that it was a ‘no win’ situation. Eventually they just moved on…somewhere else.”

The entry door squeaked as three burly men came in.
“Evening Jeb,” said one of the men to the barman. He was a giant of a man, at least 6 and half feet tall and built like a brick…wall. He sported a gold ring in his ear and a black beard. He glanced at me suspiciously.
“Hi there, Mory,” replied the barman. “Hell of a night!”
Mory and the two other men sat at a table over on the far side of the bar. They talked among themselves and then one of the other men, a small mousy looking creature approached the bar.
“I-I-I w-w-want t-t-t-two whiskies and a r-r-r-rum,” he stuttered painfully.
“Ok, ok, Guy, I’ll bring them over to you,” Jeb the publican replied, trying not to smile. He looked over at me to see if I found anything amusing, but I put on my disinterested, poker face and he returned to making up Guy’s order.

I sat gazing into space as I counted the minutes mentally before I could escape from this place where I felt as welcome as the Black Death and catch my train.
Checking my watch I realised that at least two of the hours had passed and with only another two hours, one hundred and twenty minutes, seven thousand, two hundred seconds, I could brush the dust of the town of Dounitch from my shoes and get on with my life, or so I thought.

“It’s a whiteout!” came a voice from the front door as it screeched open. A man rushed into the pub shaking snow off his coat. “At least two inches and a lot more to come!”
Jeb stepped forward and began drawing a beer for the arrival.
“Do you reckon it’ll stop the buses running, Saul?” he asked as the frothy ale splashed into the glass.
“Reckon everything will stop in an hour unless it lets up.” Saul said as he accepted his drink.
Jeb looked over at me.
“You got far to go tonight?” he asked not unkindly.
“I have a train out at eight o’clock this evening,” I replied. “I’m heading up North.”
A burst of laughter came from the three men at the far table.
“No way any trains will be running tonight, not with this snow.” chortled Mory.
“N-n-no way j-j-j-jose!” Guy mocked in a high pitched staccato voice.

The third man of the group stood up and came over to where I was sitting.
“Sorry, if we find your misfortune a joke, my friend,” he drawled. “It’s just we don’t get many strangers in our little town. My name is Eli Fallon and I’m the town’s undertaker.
He proffered his hand which I shook.
“I’m Joe Ritton, new in from Garthwood, but that’s ok, Mr Fallon,” I replied. “It’s just that it looks like I’ll have to spend the night in the railway station waiting room.”
Eli Fallon stroked his clean shaven chin and looked thoughtful.
“I think that will be the simplest solution,” he replied before going back to his table and sitting down.

I sat considering my options. I realised the bar would be shutting sometime near eleven o’clock. It would be the landlord’s discretion, but I couldn’t see good old Jeb, keeping the bar open for one minute extra than he had to. Sometime thereafter I must have nodded off. The whisky, the warmth and the mumbling of the three men at the far table had a strong soporific effect on me and I dropped gratefully into a welcome sleep.

Suddenly I was awoken by the clamour of people talking, arguing and making their points very loudly. The room was full of men dressed in dark clothes. Some of them sported bushy beards, but the most of them were clean shaven. The bar, the three men at the far table, Jeb and his customer had vanished and all I could see was a sea of faces.
All at once the men parted to let something come towards me. It was a female deer and her eyes were wide with terror.
“You must help her!” shouted one of the men.
“It is in your power to do it!” screamed another.
“Yes and we will aid you.” whispered a voice by my left ear.
The poor animal was terrified and did not know which way to turn to escape from the throng. I felt powerless to do anything except put my hand out and attempt to let it smell my scent in an effort to calm it.

“Sir! Sir!” a voice called out awakening me from my sleep. “Mr Ritton are you alright?” It was Jeb, he had come over to collect my glass when he had seen me in some distress.
“No…thanks, I’m fine,” I mumbled, a little embarrassed. “I just fell asleep and had a cracking nightmare.”
“Well, you better prepare yourself for a shock, the snow is about a foot deep outside and I don’t think you have any chance of making it to the station tonight!” Jeb said.
“Well, I haven’t got much of a choice have I?” I grunted. “You’ll be shutting up soon, wont you?”

Just at that moment there was a loud scream from outside the front door of the pub. The door gave an almighty squeal and a loud thump resounded in the vestibule.
“What the hell?” shouted Jeb. “It looks like a woman.”
Mr Fallon jumped up from his chair and went across to where the person lay on the floor.
“You’re right, it is a woman and it looks as if she is injured!” he shouted.
Mory came over and looked down at her with distaste.
“It’s Skanky Eve from the caravan park. She has obviously fallen out with someone. She is bad news”
“Y-y-yes, i-i-its her,” stuttered Guy. “R-r-reckon you s-s-should k-k-ick h-h-her b-backside out o-o-of h-h-here.”
Saul helped the woman to her feet and sat her down at one of the tables.
“Can we have a brandy for her, Jeb? She seems to have had a bit of tussle with someone. She has blood on her face”
“And who’s going to pay for it? She won’t have any money on her if I know her of old!” Jeb grunted.
All at once I stood up and reaching into my pocket pulled out a five pound note.
“Here,” I said. “Take it out of this.”

Mory, Guy and Mr Fallon went back to their table and made ready to leave. They began putting their coats on and wrapping scarves about their necks.
Saul had gone to get some water to wipe the blood from Eve’s brow. It looked as if she would have a black eye in the morning.
I sat close to her not knowing what to say.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Eve asked.
“No,” I replied hesitantly. I just stopped off here on my way north.”
Saul arrived back with a damp cloth and between us we managed to make Eve look a little more presentable.
Mr Fallon and his two comrades paused at our table as they made their way to the door.
“I trust you have recovered my dear?” the undertaker said. Mory and Guy just glared at Eve.
Eve looked at the three of them and smiled. “Yes, thank you and I’ll get back to my part of town as soon as is possible,” she replied sarcastically.

Five minutes later the three men returned.
“It’s hellish out there Jeb!” said Eli Fallon brushing the snow from his shoulders. “It’s a foot and a half deep and the wind chill factor is in the low minuses. You could die out there!”
Mori approached the bar and looking at Jeb said,
“You can keep the bar open all night, can’t you? At your discretion?”
Jeb looked uncomfortable. “Well, yes I could, but my licence only allows me to serve alcohol until midnight.”
“A-a-all w-w-we w-w-want is s-s-somewhere w-w-warm to w-w-wait out the s-s-snowstorm!” pleaded Guy.
“We won’t trouble you for drinks after hours, Jeb,” Mr Fallon confirmed.

Eve had relaxed as the night wore on. Every so often someone would check outside, but the storm roared on unabated.
I decided to find out where Eve had come from that night and who had assaulted her.
“My boyfriend has been dealing in drugs and had just received a large shipment. I hid them from him and wouldn’t tell him where they were.” she confided to Saul and I. “He and his three buddies were roughing me up to give them the location of the drugs when I escaped and ran out into the storm. Lucky in a way it was so wild, I was able to hide from them.”
“But…won’t they be looking for you now?” I asked in a horrified voice.
“Nah,” said Eve disdainfully. “They are a load of pansies, scared to get their Gucci shoes wet or their hair blown out of shape!”

The evening rolled on and as the midnight hour approached Jeb announced ‘last orders’. I had a whisky as a night cap and Saul and Eve had a brandy apiece, paid for by yours truly.
The three men at the far table had dozed off and Saul had found a couch to lie down on leaving Eve and I sitting alone.
“Why is it no one seems to like you?” I asked.
“Ah… it’s because my family and our relations live on the east side of town in caravans,” she confided. “The town’s folk call us trash and no better than tramps, but we’re just not as well off as a lot of them.”
“What will happen when your boyfriend catches up with you tomorrow,” I asked, fearing the answer.
“He’s got to catch me first,” Eve laughed. “I’ll give him a run for his money.”
“But why did you pinch his drugs? Do you use them?”
It was as if someone had flicked a switch. One moment Eve was sitting quietly and speaking quietly then suddenly she was on her feet, her eyes flashing and angry.
“I have never done drugs! And I have no intention of ever taking them! My young brother died last year after taking one tablet! It destroyed my parents, Dad left home not long after. He felt somehow responsible!”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! “I repeated over and over. “That was a stupid thing I said.”
Eve seemed to calm down and after a few minutes asked if she could lay her head on my shoulder to get a few hours of sleep. I gratefully agreed and soon her sweet warm breath was tickling my chin. I admired her secretly as she slept. Eve had long brown hair, green eyes and a pixie like nose. Truly a beauty, I thought as I too slipped into a doze.

Once again I was back in the room where the black clothed men gathered. The deer had blood on its body and was breathing in short gasps.
“She is in great danger!” one of the men shouted.
“You hold her fate in your hands,” another hissed.
“But what would you have me do?” I pleaded to the assembly as the wounded animal moved back and forward.

“Well, well, well!” came a loud braying voice. “Isn’t this cosy!”
A brutish looking young man stood just inside the door. Behind him stood three other thug like youths. I felt Eve awake and cringe as she took in the scene.
“Lommie!” she spluttered. “It’s not what you think…!”
“And what should I think my little beauty or should I say thief!” Lommie spat at her. “Where have you put my stash? Bommo said he left it for me and I still have to pay for it or else he will be looking for me like I have been hunting for YOU!”
“Lommie, you don’t need the drugs. Give them up!” Eve pleaded.
Lommie looked uncomfortable and glanced around the room nervously. “That’s right girl, involve all these good people. They don’t need to know anything! Get your coat on, we’re going!” Lommie looked around again, but this time with menace, daring anyone to intervene.
Mory and Guy looked down at their feet and Eli Fallon raised his hands in placation. Jeb and Saul looked on uncomfortably.
“No, Lommie. I want to stay here!” Eve shrieked.
A knife suddenly appeared in Lommie’s hand and he walked over to where Eve sat and grabbing her by the arm, yanked her to her feet.
“Please Lommie…!” Eve sobbed struggling.
All at once I heard the voice by my left ear whisper,
“Save her, she is in great danger!”
Lommie was dragging Eve to the door as I leapt to my feet. With a clenched fist I struck Lommie on the side of the face. He let Eve go and turned on me snarling like a wild animal. He swung the knife to and fro looking for an opening to stab me. I jumped back and began to step side to side in an effort to put his aim off.
“Right lads!” screamed Lommie to his three allies. “Get him, we’ll take ‘em both and have some fun!”
“Your not taking Eve anywhere!” I shouted as the three youths approached me in a pincer fashion. I can’t take them all, I thought desperately.
“And who’s going to stop us?” sneered brave Lommie as he and his ‘men’ prepared to take on one unarmed man.

“We will! Wont we guys?” came a loud voice from behind the group of four youths.
Mori and Eli stood shoulder to shoulder and all at once began to wade into the opposition. It was obviously a rallying cry for next Jeb and then Saul joined the fray. Even little stuttering Guy had been endowed with a solid right hook and knew how to use it.
Oh, Lommie’s gang were the typical bullies, plenty of bull but little bottle; but they bled and wailed like the rest of us.

Soon it was over and the four drugees turned and ran out into an unforgiving night where even Nature had turned on them.

Jeb opened the bar again and handed out drinks ‘on the house’.
We stood together like comrades after a long, hard battle and toasted each other’s bravery.
“These little buggers needed sorting out. They’ve ruined Dounitch with their blessed drugs. It’s time we all made a stand!” Jeb said filling up my glass for the umpteenth time.

Early that following morning the wind had dropped and a massive thaw was under way. We all felt like sole survivors emerging from a shelter as we walked out onto the street, but now with the snow only recognisable as little piles here and there, we realised that it was business as usual in Dounitch. The milkman drove by us in his van, the dustcart was collecting the bins and several of the inhabitants of the town were clearing slush from the front of their houses.

I had had an experience that I was not liable to forget in a hurry. As I remembered that assembly of men dressed in black, I wondered who they could have been. Could it have been a spiritual residue of the Gentles? Maybe they hadn’t just gone away as Jeb had said, maybe they were part and parcel of the fabric of the town of Dounitch in the background, but still influencing good in people. I like to think that was what it was.

The train pulled away from the station and I waved goodbye to my four new friends who had insisted they see me off. Did I say four friends? Well my fifth friend decided to come with me on my sojourn north. Until Lommie was sorted out by his supplier, Bommo and associates, Dounitch was not a place Eve wished to remain in and anyway I think something might develop between us – given time.

“Where did you hide Lommie’s drugs?” I asked my beautiful travelling companion.
“In the back of his mum’s fire,” she replied, looking at her watch. “The old girl will just be about to light it up! I hope there aren’t any birds by the chimney!”


Cairniehill
  31/01/14
…………………………………+……………………………………….


Wednesday, 24 July 2013

A Policeman's Tale

Robert Graves, Police Constable from Framlington Constabulary raised his head gingerly. He felt as if a ton of bricks had been dropped on it. And why were his hands tied behind his back, he thought tugging at the rope ties angrily. He was sitting, almost lying, in a dark room that seemed to move with a continuous rocking movement, reminiscent of being on a----train!
Then Robert remembered how and why he was there!

He had been down at the local railway station to collect his daughter. Lynne, a sixteen year old schoolgirl from Framlington High School, had been spending the evening with some of her friends from school who lived at the neighbouring town of Flaxton. Lynne had promised to get the last train into Framlington, but as Robert had suspected would happen – she missed it! Oh, the wailing and explanations that Robert had got through his cell phone from Lynne as he stood watching the passengers alighting from the last train that night.
“But, you promised me, Lynne! What’s your mum going to say?” Robert had shouted down the phone.
“I know Dad, but Laura has this great game on her Xbox and the time just slipped away!” Lynne replied tearfully.
Knowing this was a ‘no win’ situation; Robert asked to speak to Laura and after confirming what Lynne had said was true, asked if Laura could put Lynne up for the night. Laura confirmed that her parents would manage something and as the following day was Saturday, Lynne could catch the morning train.

After saying goodbye to his daughter, Robert rang his wife Sylvia, just to put her in the picture. He confirmed that he was on his way home and would see her in half an hour. As Robert made his way passed the train still standing at the platform, heading for the exit, he pictured in his mind the fish and chip supper he would get on the way home. Lots of salt and vinegar, that would just hit the mark!

The dark figure emerging from the ticket hall almost bumped into Robert as he made his way hurriedly to the waiting train. An odour wafted towards Robert from the small poorly dressed man. He smelt of cigarette smoke, onions and sweat.
An unhappy combination that tended to tell an observer’s senses that this was a person, as they would say in the old days, of ‘ill repute’.
The man turned and gave a sly look backwards and as the light from the ticket hall doorway played on his features, Robert knew who he was! It was Blackie Burnett,
Robert had seen his picture in the ‘rogue’s gallery’ down the police station. He was a ‘person of interest’ in numerous unsolved crimes that had occurred on or round about Framlington and Robert knew that he would have to arrest Burnett and bring him in.

“Hey, you!” shouted Robert, moving forward to apprehend the suspect. “I want a word with you!”
With another look back, this one with a mixture of shock and terror, Blackie opened a carriage door and after stumbling onboard the train, slammed it shut behind him.
Robert arrived at the closed door just as the guard’s whistle sounded and the mighty diesel train began to stretch its metal muscles prior to leaving the station.
Robert looked about, but apart from him the station was deserted. The guard had climbed aboard and the train began to pull out of the station.
With a quick mental weighing up of the consequences, P.C. Robert Graves yanked the door open and jumped aboard the train in pursuit of his quarry.

Robert tried to ring his sergeant at the police station to alert him as to the nature of his pursuit and to arrange for back up to take Blackie into custody when he had arrested him, but was unable to get a signal, possibly due to the  nature of the terrain  surrounding the station. Robert began to walk down through the compartments to find out where Blackie had scuttled off to.
Each compartment Robert looked into displayed no one resembling the dishevelled little man. Some of the compartments were empty as this was the last train of the evening and some just had a solitary traveller in them, often looking as if they were asleep. He could see no trace of his suspect.

Just as he reached the last compartment, Robert saw a familiar figure pull open the inter-connecting door and slip through into the nether regions of the train. Of course, thought Robert, there is a baggage area and that is where he is trying to hide.
Carefully pulling the door partially open, Robert peeked through the gap. All he could see was the darkness but then heard whispering.
“What do you mean, you brought a rozzer onto the train?” growled a voice.
“I don’t know whether he recognised me!” wailed a plaintive little voice, which had to be that of Blackie.
“That don’t matter,” whispered another voice, one with a little polish to it. “If he comes along we’ll handle him!”
“But, Gerald, he’ll ruin our plans!” said someone who sounded scared. “The train is due into Chesley in two hours and we have to be ready….!”
“Shut up!” hissed the posh voice. “It’s all set; no one can stop it now!”

Suddenly the door that Robert was listening at was flung open by someone from behind him and the policeman was thrown forwards into the dark. He landed heavily and after his eyes adjusted to the low light, saw that he lay as he had surmised, in the baggage compartment and in front of a group of mismatched individuals.

“I told you he recognised me!” Blackie said pointing at Robert.
“Be quiet Burnett, or I’ll throw you off the train,” the man in the three piece suit said with a polished accent. “Ned, tie him up!”
Ned grabbed Robert and wrestled him to his feet.
“Turn round!” he growled as he swung the policeman into the wall of the compartment. “Any funny business and I’ll smack you one!”
“Don’t hurt him!” pleaded a terrified looking man. “We can’t kill anyone!”
“Shut your mouth Wormesly!” hissed the man who had pushed Robert into the baggage car. “If we didn’t need a safe breaker, you wouldn’t be here!”

Robert found himself tied up and lying on the floor of the carriage. The five men, a real motley crew, looked down at him with distaste.
“Allow me to introduce ourselves, officer,” said the city gent with a smile. “I am Gerald Pettigrew, ex banker. My colleagues are Blackie Burnett, who I think you know. John Carman, a highly successful criminal, but prone to acts of cruelty and
Mr James Pelham, who masterminded this whole operation.”
“And what about me? Don’t I merit an introduction?” wailed the man called Wormesly.
“Oh yes,” the ex banker said, his voice full of mock regret. “Sorry, I forgot about you. Allow me to introduce Mr Percy Wormesly, an expert with safes.”
“You realise that we will have to get rid of you now!” snarled John Carmen. “Still that will be a real bonus, topping a rozzer!”
“No violence or you can count me out!” Wormesly said with real vehemence.
“OK,” Pelham agreed in a weary voice. “John, will you just stop him shouting out and warning everybody.”
Without breaking sweat John Carmen whipped a blackjack out of his pocket and hit Robert over the head, knocking him unconscious.
“Actually I meant you to gag him,” laughed Pelham. “But that will do just as nicely.”

.................................................................................................

 At this point in his memory flash back Robert was brought up short with a shocking thought: he should have been dead! They had meant to kill him! Not only could he identify the gang but he also knew their names thanks to that strange introduction from the one he took to be the leader. What was his name? Gerald, yes that was it, Gerald something…Gerald - Pettigrew! But wait there was the other one; he seemed to be the brains of the outfit: he could see the smug face - James Pelham? That was it. Robert had always been good with names and faces; that was how he had spotted Blackie Burnett in the first place. He brought the other members of the gang to mind - a motley crew! He wouldn’t forget them in a hurry - that was the problem; they couldn’t let him live…

Why had they just left him? They meant to kill him. That hadn’t been an idle threat -why was he still alive? Maybe, the thought was disturbing, maybe they were coming back!  Robert had lost track of time but judging by the failing light it must be early evening now. He must have been ‘out’ for longer than he had thought – maybe an hour …maybe more…

Robert had been straining at the cord tying his wrists. But it was useless; the cord just cut deeper into his flesh. He could feel the slipperiness of blood. He stopped his futile straining and strained with his ears instead. What was that? Was someone coming? There were so many sounds on the train: clanking and banging and rattling. It was hard to make out. There was something…he strained to hear; a background sound; faint but repetitive. His blood turned cold – ticking, ticking! Something was ticking. How long had he been hearing it? How long did he have?

Wait there was something else…the creak of a – door, and a distant voice, calling. He couldn’t make it out. Robert froze, straining to hear…

Was that them? Were they back?

The voice again, clearer, closer: ‘Frank…’ there was a pause, then footsteps.
‘Frank…you in here? Frank the games over!’

The games over? It wasn’t them, not the gang - it was a kid! Robert thrashed around to draw attention, growling in his throat.

More footsteps, much closer; from were he lay Robert could see an immaculate pair of white trainers.

‘Mister…you okay?’

Robert strained to look up, his eyes rolling. ‘Of course I’m not okay!’ he thought but he could only moan against his gag.

The kid stared back at him gormlessly but as the penny dropped his eyes popped in alarm. He reached into his pocket and produced an expensive looking pen knife. He flicked open a bright blade. For a moment Robert thought of the gang again but relaxed as the kid cut through the cord and freed his hands. He grabbed at the gag which was tied behind his head. The movement sent excruciating pain through his hands.
‘Thanks!’ he gasped. The kid watched him with big scared eyes.

‘It’s okay; I’m PC Graves…Police Constable Graves. You’ve done well son - you came in the nick of time’

The kid seemed to relax. ‘A Policeman’ he said. He still looked a bit shaken.

‘What’s your name?’ Robert asked.

‘Tommy’

‘Okay Tommy here is what we need to do…’ Robert started to search for the source of the ticking as he gave instructions to Tommy. He was relieved when Tommy left the baggage compartment to fetch the guard.

Eventually he discovered the elusive source of the ticking: a sturdy suit case which had been buried under several other cases. The case was very securely locked with two little combination padlocks.

Robert could barely hear the ticking now; it was almost drowned out by the pounding pulse in his ears. His hands were shaking. Sweat was stinging his eyes.

‘Screw this!’ he thought but he knew he couldn’t walk away from it. He remembered that moment when he had jumped on the train in pursuit of Blackie Burnett; there had been a split second there when he’d made a quick mental weighing of the consequences…he could have walked away from it then – but it was too late now.

The guard ran into the compartment. ‘Is that it?’ He shouted, pointing at the case. Robert nodded emphatically.

‘Yeah!’

‘We only have a couple of minutes! Quick- help me get this window open!’

Robert asked no questions. He hoped the guard knew what he was doing. The guard handed him a hammer.

‘This is the only way!’ he said. Robert didn’t hesitate. Two blows were enough to shatter the glass into a million pieces.

The guard grabbed the case. ‘Go easy with that!’ shouted Robert, as he gripped the other end. They got the case to the window. Robert could see the viaduct; it was approaching fast.

‘Ready…one, two, three, Now!’ the case flew out of the window and seem to hang in the air for a moment. Then it plummeted… It exploded mid-air just before it struck the river; the sound was deafening. There was a huge plume of water but no damage. The only casualties were a few fish.

Robert and the Guard exchange a look of relief and triumph. ‘Well done, well do!’ said Robert as they shook hands. ‘You’re a hero!’ The Guard grinned.

Robert tried his mobile phone gain. Surely he would get through to the station now. He had to warn his colleagues of the robbery to take place.
“Hello, this is Framlington Police Station. This is the duty sergeant. How can I help you?” a voice answered.
Quickly Robert explained what had been happening and what he needed.
‘Sarg! Yes, it’s okay this end.’ Robert turned from the Guard as he listened intently. ‘Definitely a bank job …yes, I think the bomb might have been a diversion at the local station…yes that will be the bank alright…Blackie and the boys are in for a surprise when they see me! Okay Sarg I’ll look out for the squad car with PC Kelly at the station…we’re just coming in now…. You and back up keep a low profile outside the bank, till I give you the shout!”

............................................................................................

We'd arrived, slowing, jolting and pulling into the station. I couldn't alight quick enough, with the platform still moving as my 8 hole Doc Martins pounded the concrete.

With all the confusion, excitement and adrenalin, my mind had dismissed PC Kelly as my eyes searched for the welcoming colours of a police car. For me, it was a sign of safety, a haven, home ... for I'd always been on the right side of the law but had I been a cop that long to have these feelings?

Just like old times, there she was, waiting for me, for us again.....tsk..tsk.....mind back on the job, it was a lifetime ago!

We were lovers then, just rookies, it was the olden days and before my life had meaning. But passion it did have, passion I'd been longing for, it seemed an age away.

"High street, Chesley, Angie" I almost ordered as I swiftly slid in and snapped my seatbelt home. "Hi Rob, how have you been?" she mellowed back. Her voice, the pitch, the tone, sensual and sexy as it had always been. Slipping into first gear, Angie hit the revs............

We'd met at rookie camp, graduated and been assigned to the same station in the early days. We were young and a pc's life wasn't so tight assed then. We'd become lovers within months and used every opportunity to explore each other intensely off and on the job.

The roads were quiet tonight, it was evening and people were at home doing their own thing, which left ghost highways for us to gobble up the tarmac.

"I've been good Angie, how’s the world been treating you?" "I'm good too" she quipped, "gave up on men for now, career driven I guess, it's never let me down" as she thumped into 5th gear. Boy, she could drive, always able to bring out the best in the standard squad car. She was as assertive a driver as she was as a lover. Always able to pump out the best of me ... Jesus, it'd been a while!!

Then....my phone went.....text message from the wife.....shit, I'd forgotten to check in. "All fine, I'm caught up with a job, Lynne having sleepover at Laura house tonight, home tomorrow on early train, don't worry, be home soon." my fingers frigged,....... as they had so many times as a rookie.

"Ok, take care, see you soon x" she replied........ I switched off.

As we rallied through the countryside, I stole a glimpse of Angie, the beauty was still there, raw sexual beauty. I was crossing the line, thinking the unthinkable, it was wrong......wasn't it??

Who would know? Would she respond? Is this territory I dare to tread??

"We've to maintain radio silence, in case of scanners" Angie said softly. "Yeah, I thought so", I breathed.

So here we were.....very much alone, our whereabouts unknown, our arrival at the bank unknown, phone killed, radio down, we had time, a place and I had a reason.....need, desperate need!

The squad car would be fine, passenger seat back, as we'd did it before, uniform stripped off, just enough to unleash our bodies.......to free us, so we could move, explore, like we used to, any way would do, her below, on top, all fours, for me to facially, digitally, or full penetration........

Then............as we cleared the trees, a lit horizon was before us, on the edge of Chesley. Was it too late? Had I blown my chance? Waited too long?....................Or had a close shave.....a real close shave but only in my mind?

We raced towards the crime, our chariot pounded the tarmac, just as I'd pounded Angie before, time after time, gripping her hair, harnessing her, controlling her, easing her legs, forcing inside, caressing her honey-pot, to the hilt, then air, hilt then air, over and over, like a flesh piston stretching her engine, eager to please, eager for an eruption, a mutual explosion on a sensual scale, with gripping and pulsing, sweating and moaning.........................

Then........................Relief....Huge Relief................as Angie eased off the gas, the built up town was upon us.

We had arrived..................

..............................................................................................

It was early morning and the streets of Chesley were deserted as we pulled up in a street down from the bank. On the way into the town we had been passed by fire engines, with their sirens blaring, heading for the station, pretending, for the sake of keeping the bank robbers in the dark, to be going to tackle the fire started by the exploding train carriage.
Robert quietly exited the car and looked round the corner at the bank on the opposite side of the street. It was surrounded by scaffolding as some external restoration was being carried out. Everything looked quiet. Quickly Robert returned to the police car where Angie quizzed him on what he had seen.
“Yes,” he answered. “Everything looks ok. The workmen have scaffolding up on the building, so we maybe able to gain access using it. Let’s go and find out.”
Stealthily they crept over the street. As they crouched by the building Robert felt Angie’s warm body touching his back. He mentally berated himself. He was on police business. He had to think of his companion and his own safety in case the whole robbery turned pear shaped.
As they carefully climbed up the scaffolding, Angie pointed up near the top of the building.
“It looks as if that window is partially open. Some incompetent has ignored our security guidelines regarding banks undergoing renovations. Scaffolding is useful to the villains.”
“It’s certainly helping us,” panted Robert as he pulled himself up another rung. “We are certainly going surprise the robbers. I wonder why I can’t see our back-up. I would have thought they would be here by now.”
“They’ll be here, never fear Robert and we’ll be able to provide them with intel from inside if and when  we get through that window.” Angie assured him.
The window was open and both police officers slipped through it after opening it fully. They stepped into a dusty attic space and moved across to the door.
“Let’s hope it’s not locked,” whispered Angie.
The door was unlocked and Robert carefully opened it, waiting for creaks that might alert the robbery taking place below, but the door swung open noiselessly. Robert and Angie crept out onto a landing and began descending a wooden staircase that led to the lower floors. As they moved slowly down, fearful of making a noise, Robert wondered what awaited them below.
In the main vault James Pelham was lording it over his colleagues.
“Right come on, pull out the gold bullion and lay it over there!” he hissed at Gerald Pettigrew, who was sweating profusely.
“I am not used to manual work,” grunted the ex banker. “I have a bad back.”
“An equal share for an equal amount of labour,” John Carman growled nastily. “It’s time you worked off all that fat round your middle, Gerald!”
Blackie Burnett and Percy Wormesly carried more and more gold ingots out of the open safe that had been opened by the safe breaker. They laid them on pallets that were lying on the floor.
“I think it is time that we were making ourselves scarce,” said Pelham. “Push the button to call the lift Wormesly.”
Percy pushed a red button on the wall next to two large metal doors and a motor could be heard starting up. Within seconds the large doors parted and exposed a fork lift within the lift. This was a specially designed lift for handling heavy weights. It would be able to transport the fork lift plus one pallet of gold from the vault to the ground floor of the bank. John Carman climbed into the fork lift cab.
Carman looked as his watch. “How many more ingots are in there, Blackie?” he asked.
“That’s the last of them. We’d better get this bullion hauled away before someone gets suspicious.” Blackie grunted, as he swung the large safe door shut with a clang.
Up on the ground floor the pallets of gold were piling up as the fork lift driven by Carman brought up loads from the vault by the lift. As the last one emerged from the lift the criminals began opening the back doors of the bank. This was where two lorries sat awaiting loading with the gold.

From their vantage point Robert and Angie could see the whole operation. They were behind a door that opened on to the ground floor of the bank.
“Our back up must be here by now!” hissed Robert. “Why haven’t they broken in and arrested these villains?”
“Maybe they are outside and waiting to pounce,” said Angie. “It’ll be a fair cop when they grab them with the loot.”
For the next half an hour Carman drove pallet after pallet out to the lorries. As the last one was hoisted up, Robert pushed the door open and entered the ground floor.
“Something has gone wrong. The back up teams should have been here arresting them, I will have to alert them to the robbery and he reached for his whistle.
It was at that point Angie lashed out with her hand and knocked the whistle from Robert’s hand.
“You won’t do anything!” she snarled as she pushed Robert so hard he stumbled and almost fell. “Carman! Take this plonker out to Pelham!” Angie walked past Robert as John Carman stepped out of the fork lift cab and grabbed him. Robert swung his fist at the crook’s head and began to punch him in the stomach, but it was like hitting a sandbag, the man was heavily built. Carman just swung his own fist and hit Robert on the jaw knocking him out.
When Robert came to he was in the cab of one of the lorries carrying the gold. He was trussed up like a turkey but he could see that they were on the motorway. Blackie Burnett was at the wheel.
“Oh you’re awake?” asked Angie, sarcastically. She was sitting to his left and was drinking out of a can of Coke. “A bit of a surprise for you eh? No backup turning up and arresting anyone.”
“Angie,” said Robert. “We used to be close, how can you do this to me, of all people?”
“Actually Robert, it made it easier when me and the boys intercepted your call. One of the guys, Pettigrew I think, pretended to be your sergeant. The line was so bad you would have believed anything he said. You always were a bit of a prat, I just needed you for the humpy bumpy and like most males you were OK with that; but did I feel anything deeper for you?” She stopped and theatrically pretended to be thinking, then with a look of scorn on her face said, “Nah!”
As the miles rolled by Robert realised from spotting the overhead signs that they were heading for the coast. The robbery would have been discovered by now and all airports and major ports would have been warned to be on the lookout. So, he surmised it would have to be a little known place that had a small pier. This would allow them to offload the gold and escape to sea.
“Watch your speed!” Angie growled suddenly. “There’s the Old Bill.”
At the mention of his colleagues so close, Robert thought quickly and making a sudden decision raised his bound legs and kicked out at Blackie. The force of his attack centred on the driver’s face and temporarily stunned him. He swung the wheel of the lorry, it went up on its two outer wheels and the weight of the gold took over and spun the lorry over on its side. It squealed along the road as terrified drivers tried to get out of its path. Sadly Angie had failed to put her seat belt on and was flung through the windscreen. Thanks to being trussed up Robert was kept fairly rigid as the vehicle went into its death throes. All at once everything went silent round the stricken lorry. Robert thought that he had gone deaf, when all at once the air was full of police siren’s and shouting. Someone wrenched the lorry cab’s door open and peered inside.
“Are you ok mate,” asked a man wearing a cloth cap. “I’ll get some help for you.”
By the time that Robert had been freed, the westbound motorway had been closed and the police were in control. A blanket covered body lay on the road marking the final resting place of Angie. Robert felt a sadness for her as he had known her so well, or thought he had. Blackie was getting his wounds seen to by a paramedic.
The gold was still miraculously in the back of the lorry, all piled up covering the body of Mr. Gerald Pettigrew, who had been travelling in the back eager to be close to his nest egg. Unfortunately being totally squashed by his money was not in his plans.

As soon as Robert had been allowed to use the police radio, an all points bulletin went out and the second  lorry was spotted entering the little seaside village of Walminton. The coastguard arrived in time to detain a large motor fishing vessel whose destination had been somewhere in the Frisian Islands, off the North West of the Netherlands, where no doubt they would have vanished.
Soon all members of the gang had been apprehended or were accounted for. Several months later, John Carman , Percy Wormesly and James Pelham were all found guilty at the High Court and sentenced to ten years apiece. Angie Kelly and Gerald Pettigrew were laid to rest in separate cemeteries by their relations and loved ones who were shocked to learn of their criminal dealings.


Robert Graves, Police Constable, was promoted to that of Sergeant and he and his wife and daughter were guests of her Majesty, the Queen, at Buckingham Palace, to receive an award for bravery and heroism. A fitting end for a chance meeting on a railway platform.

Wednesday, 1 August 2012

Coming of Age


COMING OF AGE

The world had been at war for the last three hundred solar years. I had been born into war and the way things were going I would die in war. We had been fighting endlessly it seemed.
At the start it was the Xeega. A delegation had arrived at our planet to discuss trade, but we knew they had come to spy so we imprisoned them. Their warships arrived soon after and the war commenced.
No sooner than we had defeated them when the Charein contacted us seeking permission to set up a base on our planet. We replied with missiles and rendered their home world sterile. We knew that they had planned to invade us and needed to be taught a lesson.
One hundred solar years later the Quaang had arrived and putting their space vessels into stationary orbit beamed down onto our world. They were an ancient race who had developed superior technology which they ‘said’ that they wished to share with us. We just decided to take their technology why share when we were the stronger side?
The war began and we had been fighting the Quaang ever since.

I lay face down as the heavy tanks rumbled by on the other side of the road. I clutched my rifle and prayed that they didn’t stop. I ate the dirt for half an hour as the machinery moved by and then there was silence. I had got away with it. Now, to rendezvous with the rest of the group.
I slowly arose checking about me for any activity. It all seemed quiet but appearances can be deceptive.
The dart launched by a small weaponoid struck me in the shoulder. They had left these small mechanical sentries along the route like they used to lay mines. Movement triggered their weaponry. This was a change in their methodology and it had caught me out. I felt unconsciousness wash over me and blacking out I fell to the ground.

When I awoke I found myself without my rifle,  in a small room. It had no windows and although there was a door I knew instinctively that it would be locked. As if to confirm my fears I attempted to open it, but I realised that I was right. I was a prisoner.
I rubbed at the mark left by the dart and noticed that the wound looked infected. It was red around the edges and I could feel the flesh was very warm.
I spent a few minutes banging on the door to no avail. I could hear the sound of my assault echoing down what seemed to be a very long corridor.

My watch was still working and after a few hours had elapsed I resumed my attack on the door.
“Hey!” I shouted. “I need some food and water! I am a human being!”

Two hours later I heard movement in the passage outside and I began hitting the door again and shouting. I heard something scratch the outside of the door and then there was nothing.
I had had just about enough of this. If they wanted to kill me then so be it, but I wasn’t going to be imprisoned like an animal. I grabbed the door handle and twisted it – it opened.
I was at the head of a long corridor and along the floor I could see splashes of what I took to be blood. There was lighting of a kind and I could make out that the gory trail ran the entire length of the passage and led to another door at the far end.
Suddenly I heard a crash behind me and turned just in time to see the room where I had been imprisoned collapse in on itself. If I had still been in there…. Then I noticed that the walls of the corridor were also distorting and folding. I turned and ran towards the far off door as some force began systematically destroying my prison.

Throwing the door open wide I threw myself through and crashed into a sandy surface. I was in a desert and as I got up I could see that it extended out in all directions. Looking back I saw my exit doorway fold in on itself and disappear. A thin wind blew over the area and I shivered. Where was I? Was this to be the end of my life?
The light from the planet’s red sun faded as a type of evening approached. I wondered how long the period of darkness would last for. I needed food and water, but as I gazed out on the fast fading plain I wondered where to start looking.

I must have slept, for when I opened my eyes I realised that it was light again.
Some distance off I saw a dark square object sitting in the sand. I leapt to my feet and ran across to where it stood. It hadn’t been there when I went to sleep, I was sure.

It was a flagon of water and alongside lay bits of cooked animal flesh and black bread. Never had I tasted anything so good, I finished all the food and washed it down with copious amounts of cool pure water.

“You are rested, fed and refreshed,” a voice boomed from behind me. I swung round and found myself facing a Quaang mandarin. Standing eight crells high, he gazed down at me.

“Where have you brought me to?” I shouted. “Return me to my planet. I am a warrior and I demand to be taken back to the battle.”

The Quaang mandarin, a superior in the armed forces, raised his arm. It was metalloid and carried various weapons.
“You will get your chance to fight,” he said. “A challenge has been set up. You will fight an opponent, if you win, we, the Quaang will leave your planet forever, but should you lose…well, your home world will be destroyed!”
“But I am wounded,” I said showing the mandarin the wound inflicted by the weaponoid.
“A mere flea bite,” he laughed. “The blood we strew in the passage should have raised your physiological fight/ flight capabilitiesand blood lust  turning you into a very capable fighting machine. Come, meet your adversary.”

The figure dressed in grey flesharmour and holding a large pikeaxe, stood silently waiting. I hadn’t seen him or her approach but it could have been Quaang magic or their ‘superior technology’. 
“I suppose I will be getting something to fight with,” I asked in a mocking tone.

The mandarin raised his metalloid limb and I felt a creeping sensation over my body. I looked down and saw flesharmour similar to my adversary’s but coloured red, begin to cover me until I was totally encased. A pikeaxe appeared by me sticking out of the sand. I pulled it out and tested its weight; now give me some fighting space!

We circled each other as the red sun rose in the sky. It was hot and I could feel trickles of sweat running down my back. My opponent looked at me from behind his/ her helmet and I felt their eyes drilling into me. This person hated me and intended to win.

All at once I was attacked, my opponent swung the pikeaxe at my feet and I had to leap above the blade to avoid injury. I parried and brought my blade swinging towards his /her helmet, but with a quick duck of their head my pikeaxe whistled by unchecked.
We fought for solar hours. I parried, they blocked. I lunged, they countered. It was almost as if the adversary could read my mind and I his/ hers.

Eventually as the red sun hung above the horizon, we both collapsed on the sand, exhausted. No clear winner, a draw. But I knew that this state could not be allowed. The Quaang mandarin required one to be a victor and one a loser.

I struggled to my feet just before my foe regained his/ hers. I could hardly lift the pikeaxe, but I raised the weapon using bruised and battered muscles and began to approach my opponent.

“Enough!” A voice boomed from behind us and I turned wearily to see the Quaang mandarin standing with his metalloid arms stretched out.
He looked across at me and shook his head.
“Do you know why neither of you can defeat the other?” the mandarin shouted.
I stood silently and shook my head.
“Do you wish to look upon the face of your enemy?”
I looked up at the mandarin and nodded. I needed to know.
He raised his arm and I felt the creeping over my body begin again. The flesharmour was retracting and soon I stood in only my tunic, breeches and boots.
“Gaze upon your worst enemy!” the mandarin screamed and pointed.

Across from me stood a mirror image of myself, complete down to the same garb. My twin looked as mystified as me.
“Yes, your breed is your own worst enemy. You fight with everyone you meet,” said the mandarin. “Your planet is in endless wars where populations die needlessly and the surface of your planet is scoured by nuclear blasts. We, the Quaang have raised our consciousness by selection and have improved our standard of life. We came here to offer you information and technology to bring your world up to a standard whereby you could join us as brothers and sisters. The Universe is infinite and has many opportunities. Stop fighting now and take our hand in friendship.”

I looked up at the alien and I felt his friendship was true. Gone were the suspicions and mistrust. I felt that our initial partnership could… would work. We could join with other worlds. We could journey and make bonds and forge allegiances.
“What have you done to me?” I asked the mandarin. “I feel ….different.”
The Quaang mandarin waved his metal arm and my reflection and I merged. It felt like the return of an old friend. Someone who I hadn’t talked to for a very long time.
“The dart from the weaponoid contained as well as the drug, a virus which alters brain patterns and basic modes of logic and thought formation. It makes you more susceptible to listening and acting on suggestions and proposals,” the mandarin explained. “Now enter the passage and let us return you to your planet.”

I returned to the four dimensional passage and room and as I waited I knew that for all these years my race had been wrong. We were too closed in on ourselves, too arrogant and proud to accept new things.
A chime sounded and the door that I had entered in the desert opened on the light of my world.

We never looked back for the virus was contagious and it wasn’t long before our governing body was in talks with the Quaang initially and then with other planets that we could trade with. Soon our world would be part of a massive network of space routes which would spread outwards like a spider web to all points in our Universe.

The Quaang mandarin and I stood below his starship as it prepared to leave, returning to his home world.
“Thank you for opening our eyes,” I said shaking the metalloid hand.
The Quaang ships roared into the air and I watched until their tail fires vanished among the stars.
It would take them several solar days to return to their planet, a world called by us as Zarran or in the Quaarang tongue – Earth.


……………………………………….+………………………………………………..

Tuesday, 24 July 2012

Adventures


James Tubb was sixty four years old and had never been away from his home town of Flodsem. He had been born there, had gone to school there and was now working there. On Flodsem railway station, to be precise. His title was senior porter. When he had started at the station he was a junior porter and his duties included sweeping the platform, washing the waiting room windows and making the senior porter’s tea. Now he was the senior porter but due to cut backs had no junior porter under his tutelage and so carried out all the said duties himself including making his own tea.But nothing was too much trouble for him. The passenger’s comfort was his main aim
He carried their cases, helped them on and off the train and was always able to give them the necessary information for their journeys.
James lived by himself in a little thatched cottage in Flodsem which had been owned by his late mother and father and bequeathed to him upon their demise.
There were little gardens at both the front and back where James grew flowers and vegetables respectively.

Monday morning was quite busy as quite a few parcels arrived for the residents of Flodsem. The ticket collector and guard on the 7.15 am would pile them in a cage which was then taken to the luggage office to await collection. James was up and out of bed by 6am on a Monday so he was ready for the delivery.
After the busy period was over James would snap the kettle on and after it boiled make himself a good strong cup of tea which he would drink while sitting on the platform watching all the passengers getting on board or alighting from arriving trains. Often, if he saw someone struggling with cases, he would put his cup down and go off to help them; often as not the cup of tea was cold by the time he got back!

Some of the passengers would come across and pass the time of day with James. Telling him of the exotic places that they were going off to. A holiday to France or Thailand.
Sometimes some of the more thoughtful of them would send James a postcard addressed to him at the railway station. He would carefully pin them to a board in the office to allow him to study them at his leisure and to provide material for his day dreams.
For James did dream of just going off to foreign climes, but he had been in Flodsem for so long that he secretly feared to leave his predictable and safe life.

The 7.15 am had just left and James made his way to his office for a welcome ‘cuppa’. As he moved across the platform he was conscious of a dull ache coming from his left arm. He had felt a nauseous when he had risen that morning and made a mental note to see Dr. Brabham, the local GP as soon as possible.
Switching on the kettle, James sat down and his gaze drifted to his collection of postcards. In them all, the sun shone brightly in a blue sky with large wispy clouds. The foreign places looked so inviting that he was tempted to book up for a holiday right away. But then the doubts arose and as he stirred his tea he realised that he was safer just staying in Flodsem.

The 8.30 train pulled up as James left his office feeling a bit better after his cup of tea.
The doors of the carriages swung open and soon the platform was a moving mass of bodies as the passengers hurried to leave the station. Soon all but one person remained and she was an elderly lady struggling with two large suitcases.
“Can I help you madam?” asked James politely.
The woman looked up and started to smile then her whole face changed and became serious.
“Oh dearie!” she said. “You are not well.”
“Oh, I’m alright, just a little indigestion.”
James reached for the two suitcases and began to walk towards the station’s exit. When he had gone only a few yards it felt as if a belt had been tightened round his chest.  He staggered and the cases fell to the ground. The old lady rushed to his side and took his arm.
“Do you have an office, where you can rest?” she asked kindly.
James pointed at the door to his room and together they struggled towards the office.

The old lady insisted on making James sit in his chair while she made him a cup of tea.
“You spend so much time looking after your passengers that no one looks after you.”
As James sat and drank the tea the tightness in his chest began to reduce.
“Thank you madam,” he said. “You are too kind.”
The elderly lady was looking at James’ postcards.
“Have you been to all these places?” she asked.
“Oh no,” he replied. “Some of the passengers sent them to me from their holidays.”
“Have you never gone on holiday?”
“No…I prefer to stay at home.” James said concentrating on finishing his tea.
The old lady stared at James for a few minutes and then seemingly having made a decision said.
“I think this is the exact time for you to go on holiday,” she said and began to search in her large handbag.
“No, madam…” spluttered James. “There is no one to take my place. I can’t afford it. The …..” The excuses ran off his tongue.
“Nonsense,” she said. “You need to get away….now. Here take this!”
James was handed a very strange looking ticket. It was like a piece of gold foil and had ‘World Adventures’ printed on it. It was perforated in the middle which divided the ticket into an ‘Out’ and a ‘Return’ section.
“Now!” said the lady. “Look! Your train is at the platform waiting for you. Off you go!”
Sure enough a train with carriages sat in the station. It was a very strange looking one as it was coloured red and had gold ornamental rails and decorations covering the train and carriages. It looked like a train fit for a king.
“But I haven’t got any clothes to wear. I haven’t even got a suitcase!” James protested as the lady helped him over to his elegant transport.
“Pshaww!” she said and when James looked down he was dressed in a smart charcoal coloured suit, white shirt, multicoloured tie and black shiny shoes. He had a smart looking leather case in his hand and a rolled umbrella in the other!

The old lady stood on the platform waving to James as the train pulled away.
“Have a lovely time!” she shouted. “You deserve it.”

No sooner had the town of Flodsem vanished in the distance, than a steward was at James’ elbow offering him lunch. A large menu displaying various meals and drinks was handed over and James licked his lips as he read the delicious list.
After a very heavy meal James returned to his carriage and due to the rhythmic rocking of the train, soon he was sound asleep.

“Train arriving at Paris!” a porter shouted rousing James from his slumber.
“What??” he stuttered looking out at the elegant platform where passengers dressed in very chic European clothes moved about, talking and laughing.
“Monsieur, you must get off now and enjoy the delights of gay Paree!” said an elderly lady who had been one of the passengers who had shared the compartment. She looked very familiar, but James just couldn’t think why.

Paris was wonderful. A taxi awaited for him outside the station and whisked him away to a very stately hotel. When James tried to pay, he was told that it had all been taken care of. His hotel room was large ‘light and airy.
For several days he would have breakfast then leave the hotel to walk along the bank of the river Seine, or climb high up to the top of the Eiffel Tower or just sit drinking in the atmosphere while he sipped a coffee.

Too soon he found himself climbing on to the gold and red express. James was positive that he had gone to bed the previous night and after he had fallen asleep he had awoken to find himself stepping onto the train, dressed in a very sporty looking suit with a bow tie. A pair of chestnut coloured shoes completed his dress.
The waiter arrived once again at his elbow as the train pulled away from the station and James noticed that there were different selections of food listed.
After the meal when he re-entered his compartment an old lady with a very tall hat offered him her newspaper to read.
“Thank you very much madam,” said James. “Don’t I know you?”
The lady laughed quietly and shook her head.

“Train arriving at Agra!”
James opened his eyes and bent to pick up the newspaper which had fallen off his knees when he had fallen asleep.
“Where is Agra?” he asked to two people who were sitting in the carriage with him.
“You must get off. You are in India. You will have a chance to see the beautiful Taj Mahal. It is one of the Wonders of the World!” said a very old lady who was wearing a string of beautiful pearls.

The taxi, as before, sat waiting outside the exit from the station. James was driven to the Palace Hotel where he was informed he would be staying for a few days.
“But I must pay you for the room and any meals I choose to eat in your premises…” James started saying, but the manager politely interrupted him.
“Sir, please excuse me, but everything has been taken care off. Just enjoy yourself.”

Visiting the Taj Mahal in the evening was a truly magical trip. The Moon hung high in the sky amongst jewel like stars. The white walls of the beautiful edifice catching and reflecting the moonlight.
A walk by the mighty River Ganges as it made its way through the country. James watched the holy men lie on beds of nails and climb ropes up into the air where they suddenly – vanished!

Life passed like a dream for James. His train took him to Austria where he skied on the snow covered Alps. He visited  London and saw the Tower of London and Buckingham Palace. He visited New York and climbed up the Statue of Liberty. He sailed down the canals in Venice in a gondola. Ate rice and noodles in a cafeteria in Tokyo.
The whole experience was almost surreal had it not been for the solid feel of the world’s landmarks beneath his hands. Each place the train stopped was a real place and James knew he had been there.

One night lying in a large four poster bed in the Regal Marco Polo Hotel in Thailand, James suddenly felt tired. He had been on the move continuously and his feet were beginning to hurt with all the walking. But, the sights he had seen, the people he had met and wonderful meals he had eaten. A trip of a lifetime.
But know he longed for the peace and solitude of  Flodsem with the duck pond and old mill. He thought of the station and finally of his little cottage. Home sweet home.

“Well James, have you had a lovely time?” the elderly lady asked as she stepped out of the shadows. “ It was your reward for all the good deeds you did for people who passed through your railway station. Now sleep, sleep…”

James’ lifeless body was found seated in his office in Flodsem station. It looked as if he was looking up at his postcard display which he had affixed proudly to a notice board above his desk.
In his hand he clutched a ticket made out of gold foil that had ‘World Adventures’ printed on it. The policeman who came to check out James’ death said that it was unlike any of the station’s ordinary tickets which were made of cardboard.
The other strange thing about James’ ticket was that both the‘Out’ and the ‘Return’ sections had been punched with a little heartshaped hole.




……………………………………….+…………………………………………………

Tuesday, 17 July 2012

Good Fairies




They arrived in clouds of perfume, one, lavender and the other, lily of the valley. They were dressed in ‘no – nonsense’ tweed that exuded adventure. Lavender wore a cameo brooch at her neck and Lily of the Valley sported a gold locket on a chain. On their feet were brogue shoes and they carried knapsacks on their backs. Both were aged about eighty plus.
 “Good morning, what a lovely day for a bus trip! My name is Ella and this is my sister Prissy.” they both chirruped to their fellow passengers as they made their way to their seats.
I nudged Carol and whispered in her ear.
“I told you we were too young for this bus trip. The clue was in the wording of the sign, ‘A Two Day Coach Trip to the Quaint and Exotic’. Imagine where we’ll end up!”
Carol my fiancée, punched me non too gently on the shoulder.
“Shut up! Now listen Jack, just because we are the youngest on the bus doesn’t mean that the journey wont be interesting and there is always the cream tea at the end of today!”
“Wow,” I said. “High spot of the trip!”

The coach left on time and soon we were flying down the motorway. The guide, a tall gentleman with a small moustache, announced that we were proceeding towards Wykhampton where we were to tour a medieval church and a swannery.
“I knew it would be fun with a capital ‘F’” I whispered and earned myself another punch.

The church was one of the really old types with a square tower sporting a small steeple. There was a large graveyard full of lichen and moss covered tombstones, where I smoked a cigarette as I waited. Churches were not really my scene, but Carol said she enjoyed the ambience of a really old church the air, still redolent with odours of candle wax and age. Me? I could only smell must and mould!

We spent an inordinate amount of time at the Swannery, the passengers parting with hard earned cash to obtain bags of mouldy crumbs to feed already over fed birds! Photographs had to be taken and cameras were handed to and fro to record this momentous part of the journey.

Our next stop was the Forest of Aveldon. A particular place of interest due to the large number of oak trees that flourished in this part of the country. Although other species grew there, the mighty oak predominated and had for the past four hundred years.
Carol caught me yawning as the guide pointed out various aspects of the forest as we proceeded deeper into the leafy jungle and she left me in no doubt that we would have some serious falling out, if I, in her words, didn’t grow up and get with ‘the programme’!

The guide, whose name I learnt was Mr. Goodman, helped each of our fellow passengers down the steps of the bus. We were now parked in a small area which had been laid out in one of the forest glades. A tea /coffee and snacks trailer was stationed across from where we sat and we all made our way across to it to check out its fare.
“Toilets are across there!” shouted Mr Goodman indicating two brick buildings on the edge of the forest. “Back here in an hour please everybody and we can continue our trip!”

By the time most people were back on the coach, we all had had something to eat and drink, stretched our legs and had relieved ourselves. There was a growing air of expectancy as to our next port of call amongst the passengers which I was trying to plumb into, if for no other reason than keeping Carol sweet.
“Is every aboard?” called Mr Goodman expectantly. “We really need to be at our next stop in an hour.”
A silence fell, for everybody knew who was missing – the two old ladies, Ella and Prissy.
“Has anyone seen them?” asked a slightly worried Mr Goodman. “In which direction did they set off?”
Everyone, including Carol and I shook our heads. I think we had all given the old ladies a wide berth as they exuded an aura of slight eccentricity and no one wanted to get ‘latched’ onto by them.

After a further fifteen minutes Mr Goodman was beginning to look distraught.
“Where can they be?” he was murmuring to himself. “I wonder if I should inform the police.”
Carol turned to me and said.
“Come on Jack, we’ll go look for them.”
“Wwwhatt?” I stammered. “You want me to go looking for the two old dears? What happens if we get lost?”
But Carol was on her feet and forcing me out into the passageway.
“We’ll go look for them, Mr Goodman!” she cried shoving me towards the bus door.

Mr Goodman, Carol and I had a powwow before we left the safe confines of the glade.
“I have a whistle,” said Mr Goodman. “If the ladies appear back I will blow it and keep blowing it till you return.”
“If we return…” I grumbled, getting a very nasty glare from Carol.

The branches closed behind us obscuring the bus and its occupants. Carol and I were following a well used path, if the amount of litter was anything to go by. Coke cans, crisp papers and sweet wrappers blew about.
“How far do we have to go?” I moaned to Carol’s back. “I’m hungry and I’m cold.”
Carol turned on me and hissed.
“It’s always me, me, me with you, Jack! What happens if one of them is hurt?”

Ten minutes later we heard a squeaky voice calling.
“Oh come down kitty. Please come down!”
Stepping into a small clearing we saw one of the elderly ladies, Prissy, I think, beckoning to a small cat which was sitting high up in a tree.
Ella stepped forward and pointed at the trapped animal.
“I am so sorry my sister and I have got you to come looking for us, but we couldn’t leave the poor animal trapped up there.”
I stepped up to the tree and shouted. My voice being a little louder than the old lady’s gave the cat a shock, for suddenly it ran along the branch, scampered down the tree trunk and vanished into the forest.
“Oh, I feel so foolish…” Ella began to say, but Prissy cut her off.
“No good deed goes unpunished, sister. We achieved what we set out to do.”

By the time we got back to the bus Mr Goodman was on the point of sending some of the more able of the passengers out to look for us! The law of diminishing returns! Goodness knows what would have happened then. More passengers setting off later to find these passengers? The bus would eventually be found as empty as the Marie Celeste!

As Ella and Prissy made their way back to their seats amid hostile stares from their fellow passengers, Mr Goodman told the driver to start up and get on our way.
The next visit sadly would have to be cancelled, explained Mr Goodman. It was to be a trip to a winery for some tasting but to ‘our’ tardiness we had missed our time ‘slot’ and would have to carry on to the next venue.
This news engendered mumping and moaning amongst the passengers especially with the wine aficionados and I noticed that the two old ladies kept their heads down and pretended to be fascinated by the passing scenery.

Castle Tresdal was our next stop and the battlements and towers of the edifice were visible from quite far away. The property was the family seat of the Vernon family and they had owned it for several hundred years, passing from heir to heir. Their crest was a rampant cockatrice and the motto read ‘Fear what I can do’.
As Carol and I stepped down from the bus the two elderly ladies rushed up to us and thanked us again profusely for coming to look for them.
“We haven’t been formerly introduced,” one of them said. “I am Ella and this is my sister Prissy and you are…?”

As Carol and I walked round with the sisters their tongues never stopped, even the castle guide had a hard job getting heard, but eventually the ladies took a hint from the other passengers and their conversation subsided to a ‘peep’.
The tour wended through the Great Hall with its elegant furniture, wall drapes and tapestries. The guide pointed to the stone staircase that descended from the first floor to centre of the hall. Several suits of armour stood guard at the edge of the banisters giving the area a baronial feel. As the party made their way up the steps Prissy stopped at one of the armoured suits and put out her hand to touch it.
Ella hissed at her.
“Prissy, don’t touch it. You might knock it of balance…”
Prissy started at her sister’s rebuke and knocked into the suit. It stood quivering for a second then fell sideways into the suit of armour below it on the stair. Like dominoes, the suits crashed down the stairs until they came to rest at the bottom looking like a scrap dealer’s collection.

As our coach made a hasty retreat from Castle Tresdal leaving very long faced guides and a very angry Lord Vernon, Mr Goodman decided that we should make for our hotel where we would have dinner and sleep the night. It had been a full day, he remarked and he hoped that everyone had enjoyed themselves. More muttering could be heard from the passengers and I received another punch in the arm from Carol for my muffled sniggering.

The Hotel Splendour (Five Stars) lived up to its name and provided the tour passengers with a meal to be proud of. A three course dinner that gave us a choice of meat, fish and vegetarian plates. Wine was served with the meal and there was coffee and biscuits to follow.
By the time Carol and I made our way to our bedroom, we were very tired what with the day’s activities, the meal and the excellent vintage of wine. As I closed the bedroom door, Carol switched on the thirty inch television which was attached to the wall of our room. It just happened to be a football match between two Premier teams.
Carol just grimaced and said she was going to take a long soak in the bath. “Wake me up when your football’s finished,” she said shutting the bathroom door.

With a can of beer, a packet of peanuts and a bar of chocolate, all from the mini bar in my room. I settled down in the armchair to enjoy the game. It had just started and it looked like Fernwall had scored already.

When I heard the knocking I thought it was someone in the next room telling me to turn the volume down, but on muting the sound I realised that it was coming from our bedroom door. I strode over and opened it.
“Oh Jack!” cried Prissy as she shot into our room dressed in a flannelette nightie.. “We are in dreadful trouble…”
“Can you help us Jack? We’re in a real pickle,” wailed Ella, who was sporting a purple pyjama suit.

It transpired that after changing for bed in their room, Ella had decided to leave her shoes outside the room for cleaning. No sooner had she emerged when Prissy rushed out with her shoes and the room door had banged shut behind them. As luck would have it the door had locked and the key was inside the room.
“All you have to do is go down and borrow the night porter’s key,” I said looking over at the television where Fernwall had scored another goal.
“Oh Jack,” they both chorused. “Couldn’t you go down? We’re in our bedclothes.”

Descending to the foyer I approached the desk where a elderly woman sat.
“Good evening sir,” she said, looking over the top of her spectacles. “How can I help you?”
I explained about the sisters’ predicament and asked if I could borrow the spare key for their room.
“If you could just wait for a couple of minutes, sir, the evening porter has gone to check the kitchen. When he returns he will come up and open the door.”
I thanked her and wandered over to the front door where I was just about to light a cigarette when I heard a shout and the sound of someone running.
“Quick Nancy!” shouted a man in uniform who I took to be the night porter. “Room number 233’s bath must be overflowing, there’s water coming through room 122’s ceiling! Who has room number 233?”
I knew instinctively before Nancy checked that it was Ella and Prissy’s room. It just had to be!
I followed the night porter and the receptionist up the stairs where upon the door to the sisters’ room being opened, a cascade of water rushed out. Prissy went white and began to cry.
“Oh I am sorry, I was going to take a bath and when we were locked out it just skipped my mind!”

Later that night as I lay in bed watching some stupid sitcom and Carol read her book I reflected on the trip – so far.
“They had to put the people from room 122 into another room, you know, Carol?” I said. “Everything was dripping and their bed was saturated.”
Carol put her book down and looking at me said.
“Ella and Prissy are just old. Life is too fast for them and sometimes they have a bit of bad luck.”
I reached over and drawing her to me kissed her on the lips.
“That is what I love about you sweetheart. You are always able to see the positive side.” I rolled over, switched off the television and was soon sound asleep.

It was a pair of very sheepish looking people who came down to breakfast the next morning. The sisters sat quietly at their table and ate some toast and drank a little coffee. Carol waved across to them and gave them a smile but the reciprocal greeting was very muted – from both ladies.

The coach pulled away from the Hotel Splendid with a sigh of relief from the staff. The insurance would cover the flooding out but as to whether the coach tour company would ever be welcome back was another matter.
Mr Goodman tried to get some songs sung by the passengers but the atmosphere was a little stilted and his attempt fell flat. Soon, the only sound was the coach’s engine and the hum of the tyres on the road.

“Here we are everyone!” enthused Mr Goodman. “This is Raithnett Glass Factory. It is famous all over the world for its glass products. Glass is blown into vases, bowls and other beautiful objects. It also has a cafeteria where we can have a snack.”

Ella and Prissy were the last ones off the bus. They were looking a bit down and Carol decided to raise their spirits.
“Come on ladies,” she said as she approached the sisters. “Let’s see what we can buy in here.” Linking an arm with each of the ladies the three of them entered the doors of the factory.
I stayed outside to enjoy a cigarette. I didn’t smoke a lot but I savoured the few I did smoke.
It was a warm day and the air was full of the sound of bees buzzing and birds’ cries. The sky was blue with little puffy white clouds drifting along. Idyllic with nothing to spoil it, when….Crash!!
The sound of glass smashing came from inside the building. I heard screams and all at once a flow of people began exiting the factory – quickly. I looked out for Carol, Ella and Prissy but couldn’t see them. What had happened?
Eventually the flow of bodies slowed then stopped. All was silent through the doors and myself and the members of the coach tour stood waiting with bated breath.

“Right ladies,” said a stentorian voice from inside the factory. “If you would make your way back to your coach please.”
Ella, Prissy and Carol emerged led by two security guards. Mr Goodman followed wringing his hands and looking thoroughly upset.
“What happened?” I asked Carol when we were walking back to where the bus was parked.
“Oh, you know, a little problem that got out of hand,” she said. “Ella picked up a paper weight and after admiring it handed it to Prissy. Prissy wasn’t watching and she dropped it onto the glass shelf- which broke. But Ella went to catch the falling paper weight and knocked one of the security guards who in turn fell through a glass display of vases. Not to be outdone the glass display smashed into a series of glass shelves displaying glass decanters.”
“Is that all?” I asked stupidly.
“Is that not enough?” replied Carol angrily.

On our way home, I thought to myself, only another few hours and I can get down to the pub and play darts with some of the lads. The bus trip had been a disaster. The poor old biddies, everything they touched seemed to go awry. Well at least I had had two days with Carol even if I had picked up some bruises on my arm!

“Can I have everyone’s attention please?” Mr Goodman shouted. “I’m sorry everything has not gone perfectly today.”
There were a few groans and sniggers from the passengers, but Mr Goodman soldiered on.
“We will be back in Cherton in a few hours, but I thought that we would stop at the Skylan Nature Reserve for a few minutes. The flower displays are beautiful and I feel it might raise our spirits. What do you say?”
No one spoke for a bit then Carol stood up and said.
“We owe Mr Goodman a vote of thanks for this entertaining (more groans) two days. I for one, think it is a wonderful idea to stop at Skylan.”
Suddenly everyone was shouting yes and clapping their hands. Mr Goodman was quite carried away by the response and began to sing the words to the ‘Happy Wanderer’ to which everyone joined in.

Skylan Nature Reserve was a beautiful spot and as Mr Goodman said, the flower displays were outstanding with their mixtures of colours and hues. The sun was shining strongly and it seemed as if all the mishaps that had befallen the trip had been forgiven. The coach passengers laughed and joked amongst themselves. Promises to stay in touch were made and addresses exchanged.
 Ella and Prissy were admiring the flowers and pointing out various species to all who cared to listen. They laughed aloud at someone’s joke and looked thoroughly relaxed.

The bee that was flying through the fields happened to pick up the scent of Skylan’s flowers and decided to stop for one more sample of pollen. It had flown many miles from the hive and it was tired, but it would manage one more stop. It flew down and alighted on a large hydrangea blossom- just as Carol bent over to smell the same blossom. The bee panicked due the proximity of Carol and stung her.
As the bee died so too Carol began to die. She had an allergy to bee stings and as she fell to the ground her air passageways began to close up.
 “Carol!” I screamed as I saw her fall to the ground. “What is wrong?”
I knelt down next to her and put my ear to her mouth. She managed to choke out the word ‘bee’ before her breathing stopped. I jumped to my feet screaming for medical help. She needed anti histamine right away if her life was to be saved. The seconds counted. She needed help.
Mr Goodman ran to the bus and got the first aid kit as I knelt down again and held my lovely Carol in my arms. I must have started crying for teardrops began to fall on her face.
“There’s no anti histamine!” shouted Mr Goodman. “Why is there no antihistamine?”

Suddenly everything went quiet. The shouting died away and I felt as if Carol and I were totally on our own.
“Don’t let her die,” I pleaded. “Please don’t let her die.”
Then there was Prissy and Ella standing by us. Their clothes gleamed with a radiance and I knew that they were very special.
“Let me take her for a minute, Jack,” whispered Ella and lifted Carol out of my arms as if she was as light as a feather.
Prissy took a handkerchief out of her bag and laid it over Carol’s face and then from a small bottle she dripped some golden coloured liquid onto the cloth.
All this was done in total silence and the whole area had taken on an ethereal ambience to it. Then came a darkness which swilled around like inky flood water and swallowed me up.

When I opened my eyes I saw Ella and Prissy standing looking down at me. I was lying on the grass and the sun was warming me.
“Carol?” I managed to splutter.
“Here I am, my love,” said Carol kneeling down next to me. “I think you must have fainted. Too much sun.”
“But, you died. I watched you. You were dead,” I was trying to make sense.
“Now Jack,” said Ella. “You must have been dreaming.”
“No!” I was adamant. “You and Prissy brought her back. I know you did.”

The coach drew into Cherton and stopped at the bus depot. The passengers gave Mr Goodman three cheers and sang ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow’ over and over again until he held his hands up for them to stop.
Carol helped me off the bus and then went back to help Ella and Prissy down the stairs. I walked over to the two old ladies and I held each of their hands in mine.
“I don’t care what anyone says, all I know is that you used magic today and I will always believe that. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart for giving me back Carol.”
Both ladies blushed furiously and mumbled that they didn’t know what I was talking about, but that they hoped we would stay in touch with them to which I whole heartedly agreed.

Later as Carol and I walked home I told her what I remembered about Ella and Prissy’s ‘magic’ and its effect.
“But Jack, if they are fairies or witches or something magical why do they have so much bad luck? “Carol asked.
“Well,” I said thinking before I spoke. “I suppose sometimes bad things happen to good people.”