Tom again, another investigation. If they had just listened to him this could all be avoided.
Yup, he has been trying for years to tell them what really happened.
When Mary sees all this activity we’ll have to hear for the umpteenth time how she was moved from Saint Pancras.
Do you remember last year, the whole evening spoilt when Judith’s family decided it was time she moved closer to them? Wonder how she’s getting on. The last thing she wanted was to be reunited with her husband. She was so glad to come here and have some peace.
So what are we going to do this year then? We never plan early enough then it creeps up on us.
We must do something to cheer Tom up. All this investigating is going to bring back the bad memories.
Hmmm just when he was coming to terms with his situation.
Let’s all go into town, Tom won’t have to leave till the morning hopefully.
Yes a change of scenery is what we all need. Wonder if there will be much going on in town this year?
There will be by the time we’ve stirred things up, giving that Danny Robins more than enough material for his next series.
But we’ll have to start off in Mary Junior’s pub…
…and have to listen to her going on about the year with no summer and how she got the inspiration for her novel?
Yes and then she’ll get all sentimental and beg Percy to recite one of his poems.
… and one will lead to a dozen.
…and he will drift into melancholy and declare his heart always belonged to Mary and England.
At which point we will move on and see what’s happening elsewhere in town.
‘I don’t think October 31st is a very good night for doing this Boss.’
‘It’s a perfect night for exhuming a body, the locals will be keeping away from the graveyard, even if they claim not to believe in all that stuff.’
‘Why are we digging him up?’
‘His family still want answers so he can rest in peace, though he’s not getting much peace if we keep digging him up. Poor chap, last time there was no DNA, not sure what they hope to find in his bones, but that’s not our job. Ah here comes the vicar, no cracking jokes, this is hallowed ground.
‘I’m not laughing I’m feeling sick.’
‘You will have to toughen up if you want to be a grave digger.’
‘I did not want to be a gravedigger, couldn’t find another job. And I thought I would be burying people, not unburying them.’
‘Half the people in this churchyard have been moved from elsewhere, someone has to do it. Evening Vicar.’
‘Boss, did you hear voices?’
‘Nah just get on with digging.’
‘Vicar, did you hear that voice?’
‘Well um, that’s why I am here, to pray for any unquiet spirits.’
‘Such as poor Tom who was viciously murdered?’
‘But at peace now…’
Footnotes
‘Mary Wollstonecraft was buried at St Pancras old churchyard with an epitaph reading ‘Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, Author of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman: Born 27 April 1759: Died 10 September 1797.’
‘Famously, Mary Shelley spent many hours in the graveyard that held her mother’s remains and was said to have professed her love for Percy Shelley, her future husband, there.’
‘Wollstonecraft and her husband William Godwin’s remains were moved in 1851 upon the request of their grandson Percy Florence Shelley, thanks to the imminent railway works across St Pancras.’
‘Today, their remains can be visited at St Peter’s churchyard in Bournemouth, where the family tomb holds the remains of William Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, grandson Percy Florence Shelley and his wife Jane Shelley (1820 -1899).’
Is this tale true?
‘Percy drowned while sailing his boat, the Don Juan, through a summer storm across the Gulf of Spezia in Italy. When his remains were found a few days later by friend and novelist Edward John Trelawny, a fire was built on the beach and he was cremated. To Trelawney’s surprise, however, Percy’s heart would not succumb to the flames. The hardened remains of Percy’s heart were plucked from the ashes and, after an argument over who would keep the remains, were eventually given over to Percy’s wife, Mary Shelley.’
Is his heart in the family tomb?
Back to the 21st century Danny Robbins presents ‘Uncanny’ BBC radio series, TV series and podcasts investigating many strange occurrences…
With real humans visiting I have not spent much time in the blogosphere, but luckily I have an extra hour this weekend… and time for a tiny tale…
Back in Time
It was Edward’s second favourite night of the year, staying up till 2am to watch the changes and do the alterations. An ancient ceremony to be revered, conducted for over one hundred years.
Edward’s home was analogue and digital, flashing on the cooker, ticking on the wall; a grandfather clock and his grandfather’s pocket watch he used to joke and promised he would leave his grandson the first digital watch he saved up £50 to buy…
Watching the time on his iPhone change, alert to see if this time it would change at 01.59 or 02.01 but it never let him down. Clambering up the folding steps in several rooms… adieu BST welcome back GMT. His son said he did not need a clock at all, let alone his horology collection. After all, he had the time on his smart phone and Fitbit, so he did not need to risk life and limb, especially to reach the grandmother clock high up in the stair well.
The night the clocks went back, changing from British Summer Time to Greenwich Mean Time, would be no fun without his beloved clocks. He was never ready for sleep after all the excitement and anyway, everyone was getting an extra hour in bed. He would go on the computer and check the time in other European countries changing their clocks.
He could not lie in for long in the morning as he always went round to his sister’s house for breakfast; more clambering on wobbly steps to change her clocks and the all important reconfiguring in her bedroom. He had bought her one of the first digital radio alarm clocks and after all these years she still had not figured out how to change the time.
Of course Edward’s favourite night of the year was when the clocks went forward in spring.
Facetiming is tricky at this time of year when you are talking to other countries, even other states, let alone other hemispheres. Some change, some don’t, not all choose the same weekend. If and when are you changing your clocks? More importantly, are you gruntled or disgruntled with the whole procedure?
This is the full version of last week’s tiny tale which accidentally turned into a mini serial.
Flora and Jim loved their new riverside cottage and could not believe their luck getting such an ideal spot in their price range. Even the name was quaint, Little Nile. Jim joked that it was just as well it had not been named Little Amazon.
‘People would think we were living in a warehouse!’
The little river that trickled past their tiny garden was actually called ‘The Seven’, not to be confused with The Severn, the longest river in Great Britain.
As they sat in the cosy sitting room enjoying a leisurely Sunday morning Flora sighed with delight
‘…and we did not even have to do any work on it. All newly decorated.’
‘Hmm, I don’t think I could live with that dreadful wallpaper for long’ replied Jim.
‘But it would be a waste to rip it off.’
‘What’s that mark on the wall?’
‘Just part of the pattern.’
‘No, it’s some sort of stain, bigger than yesterday. Perhaps there is a body hidden behind there, it is a very old cottage.’
‘You’re giving me the creeps.’
‘There is a corner peeling off by the ceiling, I could just have a peep…’
To their surprise the paper fell off in one strip revealing writing on the wall.
‘Oh how sweet, a height chart, we could keep that as a feature’ trilled Flora. ‘Five feet ten inches, 2024, some lanky teenager, we don’t know who was last to live here do we, the estate agent didn’t say.’
‘2022, five foot one inch, he must have had a growth spurt.’
‘2019, four foot six inches, a child back then.’
‘2010, four foot 2 inches, must have been very young then, how tall is your nephew?’
‘Doesn’t make sense, in nine years they must have grown more than that, unless that was a different child, pity they did not write their names. We must write their names when we do that with ours.’
‘Our what?’
‘Babies of course.’
‘1995 must have been a baby, two foot one inch, 1980 one foot six inches, must have been the seven dwarves living here, of course, hence the name of the river.’
‘Look down the bottom, can hardly read the writing, 1895, one foot one inch, The Great Flood. What’s that all about, look it up.’
‘I can’t find any great flood for that year and can’t imagine our tiny river flooding, what a hoot.’
‘We certainly would not want a foot of water in here.’
‘No chance after the hot dry summer we’ve had.’
The next day rain lashed the windows of their little cottage, but Flora and Jim did not mind.
‘It’s lovely being all cosy inside. What weather does your phone say Jim?’
‘Still no reception, but I don’t need to look at my phone to see what the weather is.’
‘No weather forecast, but it is rather liberating not having a television. Dad says we can have his old laptop to stream stuff.’
‘Once we’re on the internet. In the meantime we can go exploring and find a spot where we can get reception, just in case of emergency.’
‘I can’t imagine us having any emergencies, except not being able to order pizza!’
‘Come on, walking in the rain will be fun and when we get back I’ll have a go at lighting the fire.’
‘Great idea, but won’t the firewood have got wet in the rain?’
‘I’ll just pull logs out from the bottom of the pile, like Jenga.’
‘Looks like a real river now Flora, don’t get too near the edge, it must be at least two foot deep, ha ha. Let’s see how far along the river this little path goes.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coming on duty.
‘There is an amber alert coming into force at 15.00.’
‘Not like last year surely Sir, not after the dry summer we’ve had.’
‘We’re not taking any chances after what happened last year.’
‘At least the survivors moved out of that cottage down in the valley, can’t imagine they would have managed to sell it.’
‘Well it’s still standing, we hiked that way in the summer.’
‘Why are you playing with your phone Evans?’
‘Just looking it up on Rightmove Sir… Believe it or not it was bought last month, knock down price.’
‘Let’s hope they have been following the weather reports then. Right, we have got other problems to sort out in town, so let’s hope this rain eases off.’
Flora and Jim had reached a high point in the valley and looked down to see just a glimpse of the red roof of their cottage. The rain was even harder, if that was possible. They could hardly see the screens of their phones to check if they had any signal or any text messages.
‘It’s certainly exhilarating up here’ said Jim.
‘And so quiet, we haven’t seen a soul’ Flora struggled to make her voice heard above the wind and rain.
‘No one else is mad enough to come out in this rain. I think we’ll have to try our phones tomorrow when the weather has cleared. Best thing we can do is go back and get that fire lit.’
‘Whaaat, I can’t hear you.’
Jim signed to Flora to head back down the narrow steep track, clinging to her as he nearly slipped. The foot path had turned into a muddy stream, but they were still in good spirits enjoying their adventure. The sound of rushing water guided them back to the river, though it was hard to recognise how far they were from their cottage as they were on a part of the river that had no path beside it. Talking was impossible with the wind and rushing water and they could not see the river properly with the rain driving in their faces. The white shape of the cottage suddenly loomed out of the gloom, nearer to the river than they recalled.
‘Have you got the key Flora?’ Jim yelled.
‘No you put it in your anorak pocket.’
Flora paddled through puddles to grab at the front door in the hope they had forgotten to lock it, then remembered putting the key in her back pack. She could hardly undo the zip with her cold wet hands.
‘Unlock the door while I start fetching the wood.’
Jim slithered round the corner to where logs were stacked against the wall and was disconcerted to see water pouring down the hillside and swirling round the bottom of the wood pile. He thought of the cosy pub in the nearest town where they had enjoyed a hearty meal after first viewing the cottage. The best thing they could do was walk along the river the other way and take the gravel track that led up to the road and the bus stop. Was it quarter to or quarter past the hour that the hourly bus came along? Well they could always hitch hike.
The rain showed no sign of easing up and they were glad to get to the road.
‘Oh that’s funny, wonder why they have barriers across the road?
‘Jim, it will be getting dark soon.’
‘When a car comes along it will have to stop at the barrier and we can ask for a lift.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coordinating with the fire brigade and the Coastguard and RAF. It was turning out to be an even worse evening that with last year’s flood.
‘As far as we know most locals heeded the red weather warnings, they are checking names at the community centre now. We can’t account for any visitors staying or hiking in the area. The coastguard helicopter was only flying for fifteen minutes before it was grounded at 17.00 hours due to dangerous flying conditions. With the poor visibility they could not be certain there were no persons clinging to roofs or needing rescuing. We got the road blocks up early, so there should be no vehicles in the flood area.’
Clarissa was having a wonderful evening. At last, as a volunteer with Seven Valley Community Support, she was getting to do something exciting and useful. With power lines down, the community centre was lit with candles and battery torches. Computers were down and all they had were clipboards and pen and paper. Clarissa was in charge of the list, or registering unhoused arrivals as she put it. Her excitement grew when a young policeman pushed his way through the throng.
‘Has anybody been reported missing yet?’
‘No, all accounted for.’
‘Not so apparently, the station got a frantic call from a mother who said she had not heard from her daughter and she is not answering her mobile. She just moved into that cottage by the river, umm Little Nile?’
‘Oh goodness, surely no one is living there after what happened last year? The name?’
‘Whose name?’
‘The daughter.’
‘Oh yes, of course. Flora Dora.’
‘Are you sure? Obviously not from around here then. Anyone else living there?’
‘Her boyfriend, Jim James.’
Clarissa clapped her hands to gain attention, unsuccessfully. The police officer moved in front of her, glad of the chance to assert his authority and put on his crowd control voice.
‘Urgent, we need to know if we have a Flora Dora and a Jim James here.’
There was no response.
‘They just moved into Little Nile cottage.
There was a collective gasp and urgent mutterings.
‘They’ll be gonners by now.’
‘Yup, cottage submerged completely.’
‘Even if they got out the river will have taken them.’
The policeman moved among them trying to get any useful information.
‘They would have heard the alerts and the red warnings.’
‘Not unless they have registered for Seven Flood Alert or got the app.’
‘Slim chance they might have made it up to the road, but that’s blocked off.’
‘The army,’ called Clarissa ‘my nephew’s out there on a training exercise with the Ukrainians.’
‘Training them?’
‘No, the Ukrainians are training our lot, they can drive tanks in the most awful conditions.’
Flora and Jim had started walking along the road, best case scenario they would meet a vehicle. Worst case scenario they would have to keep walking till they came to a house or the town. Neither of them mentioned the actual Worst Case Scneario, not that they could hear a word they said to each other, nor could they read each other’s expressions. All they could hear or see was the relentless rain. Perhaps it was fortunate they had to keep their thoughts to themselves, cosy the memories of their parents’ boring little suburban houses…
It was so dark now, no street lights, not even any distant lights. There was no distance so they did not see the solid darkness looming out of the general darkness and barely heard the shouts. When they were blinded by a bright beam they had no chance of seeing anything.
‘Are you lost?’
‘Of course they’re lost corporal, not out for an evening stroll and get that torch out of their eyes.’
‘Soldiers’ stammered Flora through chartering teeth ‘are we on the firing range?’
‘No, but you must have a death wish, didn’t you heed the warnings. Names?’
They tried to say their names, but their frozen mouths did not seem to work. The soldiers got close and yelled ‘Are you Flora Dora and Jim James?’
They nodded vigorously.
‘The whole of the British army is out looking for you and half the Ukrainian army to boot.’
At the community centre Clarissa took charge of the new arrivals, she was not going to be upstaged.
‘Priority registration, have they got any rooms left at Premiere Inn, how’s the hot food coming along, we need two survivor kits over here right now, one men’s one ladies’.
She felt just like the United Nations or Medecine Sans Frontieres, though the survivor packs merely contained donated second hand clothes.
Flora and Jim soon became celebrities.
‘A good way to get to know the locals’ laughed Flora, almost restored to her normal self with hot chocolate.
‘And a free night at Premiere Inn hopefully’ added Jim.
‘Well your cottage will still be there, it’s withstood centuries of floods, though they are getting worse.’
‘Yup, it should be dried out by next August‘ added another local.
Clarissa was having a wonderful evening. At last, as a volunteer with Seven Valley Community Support, she was getting to do something exciting and useful. With power lines down, the community centre was lit with candles and battery torches. Computers were down and all they had were clipboards and pen and paper. Clarissa was in charge of the list, or registering unhoused arrivals as she put it. Her excitement grew when a young policeman pushed his way through the throng.
‘Has anybody been reported missing yet?’
‘No, all accounted for.’
‘Not so apparently, the station got a frantic call from a mother who said she had not heard from her daughter and she is not answering her mobile. She just moved into that cottage by the river, umm Little Nile?’
‘Oh goodness, surely no one is living there after what happened last year? The name?’
‘Whose name?’
‘The daughter.’
‘Oh yes, of course. Flora Dora.’
‘Are you sure? Obviously not from around here then. Anyone else living there?’
‘Her boyfriend, Jim James.’
Clarissa clapped her hands to gain attention, unsuccessfully. The police officer moved in front of her, glad of the chance to assert his authority and put on his crowd control voice.
‘Urgent, we need to know if we have a Flora Dora and a Jim James here.’
There was no response.
‘They just moved into Little Nile cottage.’
There was a collective gasp and urgent mutterings.
‘They’ll be gonners by now.’
‘Yup, cottage submerged completely.’
‘Even if they got out the river will have taken them.’
The policeman moved among them trying to get any useful information.
‘They would have heard the alerts and the red warnings.’
‘Not unless they have registered for Seven Flood Alert or got the app.’
‘Slim chance they might have made it up to the road, but that’s blocked off.’
‘The army,’ called Clarissa ‘my nephew’s out there on a training exercise with the Ukrainians.’
‘Training them?’
‘No, the Ukrainians are training our lot, they can drive tanks in the most awful conditions.’
Flora and Jim had started walking along the road, best case scenario they would meet a vehicle. Worst case scenario they would have to keep walking till they came to a house or the town. Neither of them mentioned the actual Worst Case Scenario, not that they could hear a word they said to each other, nor could they read each other’s expressions. All they could hear or see was the relentless rain. Perhaps it was fortunate they had to keep their thoughts to themselves, cosy memories of their parents’ boring little suburban houses…
It was so dark now, no street lights, not even any distant lights. There was no distance so they did not see the solid darkness looming out of the general darkness and barely heard the shouts. When they were blinded by a bright beam they had no chance of seeing anything.
‘Are you lost?’
‘Of course they’re lost corporal, not out for an evening stroll and get that torch out of their eyes.’
‘Soldiers’ stammered Flora through chartering teeth ‘are we on the firing range?’
‘No, but you must have a death wish, didn’t you heed the warnings? Names?’
They tried to say their names, but their frozen mouths did not seem to work. The soldiers got close and yelled ‘Are you Flora Dora and Jim James?’
They nodded vigorously.
‘The whole of the British army is out looking for you and half the Ukrainian army to boot.’
At the community centre Clarissa took charge of the new arrivals, she was not going to be upstaged.
‘Priority registration, have they got any rooms left at Premiere Inn, how’s the hot food coming along, we need two survivor kits over here right now, one men’s one ladie’s.’
She felt just like the United Nations or Medecine Sans Frontieres, though the survivor packs merely contained donated second hand clothes.
Flora and Jim soon became celebrities.
‘A good way to get to know the locals’ laughed Flora, almost restored to her normal self with hot chocolate.
‘And a free night at Premiere Inn hopefully’ added Jim.
‘Well your cottage will still be there, it’s withstood centuries of floods, though they are getting worse.’
‘Yup, it should be dried out by next August‘ added another local.
Flora and Jim had reached a high point in the valley and looked down to see just a glimpse of the red roof of their cottage. The rain was even heavier, if that was possible. They could hardly see the screens of their phones to check if they had any signal or any text messages.
‘It’s certainly exhilarating up here’ said Jim.
‘And so quiet, we haven’t seen a soul’ Flora struggled to make her voice heard above the wind and rain.
‘No one else is mad enough to come out in this rain. I think we’ll have to try our phones tomorrow when the weather has cleared. Best thing we can do is go back and get that fire lit.’
‘Whaaat, I can’t hear you.’
Jim signed to Flora to head back down the narrow steep track, clinging to her as he nearly slipped. The foot path had turned into a muddy stream, but they were still in good spirits enjoying their adventure. The sound of rushing water guided them back to the river, though it was hard to recognise how far they were from their cottage as they were on a part of the river that had no path beside it. Talking was impossible with the wind and rushing water and they could not see the river properly with the rain driving in their faces. The white shape of the cottage suddenly loomed out of the gloom, nearer to the river than they recalled.
‘Have you got the key Flora?’ Jim yelled.
‘No you put it in your anorak pocket.’
Flora paddled through puddles to grab at the front door in the hope they had forgotten to lock it, then remembered putting the key in her back pack. She could hardly undo the zip with her cold wet hands.
‘Unlock the door while I start fetching the wood.’
Jim slithered round the corner to where logs were stacked against the wall and was disconcerted to see water pouring down the hillside and swirling round the bottom of the wood pile. He thought of the cosy pub in the nearest town where they had enjoyed a hearty meal after first viewing the cottage. The best thing they could do was walk along the river the other way and take the gravel track that led up to the road and the bus stop. Was it quarter to or quarter past the hour that the hourly bus came along? Well they could always hitch hike.
The rain showed no sign of easing up and they were glad to get to the road.
‘Oh that’s funny, wonder why they have barriers across the road?’
‘Jim, it will be getting dark soon.’
‘When a car comes along it will have to stop at the barrier and we can ask for a lift.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coordinating with the fire brigade and the Coastguard and RAF. It was turning out to be an even worse evening than with last year’s flood.
‘As far as we know most locals heeded the red weather warnings, they are checking names at the community centre now. We can’t account for any visitors staying or hiking in the area. The coastguard helicopter was only flying for fifteen minutes before it was grounded at 17.00 hours due to dangerous flying conditions. With the poor visibility they could not be certain there were no persons clinging to roofs or needing rescuing. We got the road blocks up early, so there should be no vehicles in the flood area.’
Rain lashed the windows of their little cottage, but Flora and Jim did not mind.
‘It’s lovely being all cosy inside. What weather does your phone say Jim?’
‘Still no reception, but I don’t need to look at my phone to see what the weather is.’
‘No weather forecast, but it is rather liberating not having a television. Dad says we can have his old laptop to stream stuff.’
‘Once we’re on the internet. In the meantime we can go exploring and find a spot where we can get reception, just in case of emergency.’
‘I can’t imagine us having any emergencies, except not being able to order pizza!’
‘Come on, walking in the rain will be fun and when we get back I’ll have a go at lighting the fire.’
‘Great idea, but won’t the firewood have got wet in the rain?’
‘I’ll just pull logs out from the bottom of the pile, like Jenga.’
‘Looks like a real river now Flora, don’t get too near the edge, it must be at least two foot deep, ha ha. Let’s see how far along the river this little path goes.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coming on duty.
‘There is an amber alert coming into force at 15.00.’
‘Not like last year surely Sir, not after the dry summer we’ve had.’
‘We’re not taking any chances after what happened last year.’
‘At least the survivors moved out of that cottage down in the valley, can’t imagine they would have managed to sell it.’
‘Well it’s still standing, we hiked that way in the summer.’
‘Why are you playing with your phone Evans?’
‘Just looking it up on Rightmove Sir… Believe it or not it was bought last month, knock down price.’
‘Let’s hope they have been following the weather reports then. Right, we have got other problems to sort out in town, so let’s hope this rain eases off.’
Flora and Jim loved their new riverside cottage and could not believe their luck getting such an ideal spot in their price range. Even the name was quaint, Little Nile. Jim joked that it was just as well it had not been named Little Amazon.
‘People would think we were living in a warehouse!’
The little river that trickled past their tiny garden was actually called ‘The Seven’, not to be confused with The Severn, the longest river in Great Britain.
As they sat in the cosy sitting room enjoying a leisurely Sunday morning Flora sighed with delight
‘…and we did not even have to do any work on it. All newly decorated.’
‘Hmm, I don’t think I could live with that dreadful wallpaper for long’ replied Jim.
‘But it would be a waste to rip it off.’
‘What’s that mark on the wall?’
‘Just part of the pattern.’
‘No, it’s some sort of stain, bigger than yesterday. Perhaps there is a body hidden behind there, it is a very old cottage.’
‘You’re giving me the creeps.’
‘There is a corner peeling off by the ceiling, I could just have a peep…’
To their surprise the paper fell off in one strip revealing writing on the wall.
‘Oh how sweet, a height chart, we could keep that as a feature’ trilled Flora. ‘Five feet ten inches, 2024, some lanky teenager, we don’t know who was last to live here do we, the estate agent didn’t say.’
‘2022, five foot one inch, he must have had a growth spurt.’
‘2019, four foot six inches, a child back then.’
‘2010, four foot 2 inches, must have been very young then, how tall is your nephew?’
‘Doesn’t make sense, in nine years they must have grown more than that, unless that was a different child, pity they did not write their names. We must write their names when we do that with ours.’
‘Our what?’
‘Babies of course.’
‘1995 must have been a baby, two foot one inch, 1980 one foot six inches, must have been the seven dwarves living here, of course, hence the name of the river.’
‘Look down the bottom, can hardly read the writing, 1895, one foot one inch, The Great Flood. What’s that all about, look it up.’
‘I can’t find any great flood for that year and can’t imagine our tiny river flooding, what a hoot.’
‘We certainly would not want a foot of water in here.’
ONE Buy a cardboard ticket at the ticket office, preferably in advance. There was an outcry when it was suggested money could be saved by closing all the ticket offices. Few passengers understand the complexity and pricing of tickets, so it is easier to just tell a human being where and when you want to go. At Bournemouth mainline station they are used to holiday makers, overseas students, seniors and perhaps other passengers who would try the patience of a saint. I always find a friendly face to suggest the best route and give handy tips, such as your sister from Australia can have a senior rail card as well.
TWO Get a rail card if you are eligible, there are all sorts, from students to senior, you pay for them, but soon make a saving with a few journeys.
THREE Travel to and from a mainline station if you can. Trains are more frequent and you may catch a faster train that does not stop everywhere. There is also a better chance of getting to your destination or back home. When our train from Waterloo was abruptly terminated at Southampton we were pondering what problem had arisen, when it was announced that the next train was for Bournemouth only. Pity the poor passengers who were heading for tiny stations in the New Forest. When I was going from Margate to Victoria we were late leaving, then somewhere along the line it was decided time could be made up by not stopping at most of the stations! Unless you were going to Bromley or Victoria you had to get off at the next station and wait for a slow train.
Apart from the above, there is also the travel experience to consider. My nearest station is dire with MPs, councillors and locals always fighting for improvements. There is a long flight of stairs, fine for keeping fit, but not with buggies and luggage. No lift, no café, no toilets, mostly no staff and a record of suicides – the visiting pastoral care team will tell you to stay away from the edge of the platform. Meanwhile at Bournemouth there can be delays or problems, but plenty of staff to ask; even if they don’t know what’s going on either you can have a friendly chat. There is also passenger assistance to get on and off the trains. For the writer or photographer there is always plenty of Life going on and passengers even weirder than yourself.
FOUR Now you have arrived on the day of your journey you will see why it’s good to buy a cardboard ticket in advance. People are waving their phones around trying to get a signal for the ticket on their phone so they can get through the barrier. Others are causing a queue at the ticket office because their phone has run out of power and they can’t get at their ticket and their train is going in three minutes.
FIVE Ask for help from a human. Even following my advice there can be problems. One time my ticket went in the machine, came out, but the barrier did not open. Staff let me through, but the ticket was for two train rides and the Underground, what if it didn’t work on The Tube? It didn’t, but there were staff at the barriers, cheerful staff who said that was always happening. If you are battling with luggage or a rucksack larger than yourself, they will let you through the gate.
SIX If you are going on the London Underground check the map and the signs telling you which direction for your station. Don’t go the wrong way round on the Circle Line or north on the Northern Line when you are meant to be going south. If you notice you are going past the wrong stations, get off at the next station, looking like a cool regular alighting at your intended station. We did this on the Metro in Paris and did manage to end up in the right place… Do not panic, just make your way to the right direction platform.
SEVEN Don’t lose your ticket. Keep your ticket and your phone in a money belt, under several layers of clothing if you are neurotic, but easily accessible so you don’t look like a nervous traveller.
EIGHT Don’t do everything I tell you. You might well get all sorts of bargains in advance on line by booking yourself on specific trains or discovering it is cheaper to buy three tickets for one journey staying on the same train.
Visitors coming and going Chez Tidalscribe, but here’s something to think aboutwhile I’m busy…
While I was away I was idling away a few minutes on my phone and was surprised to get on ChatGPT. I had no intention of asking it to write my novel for me, but I would just see if it would make a picture of flowers and bees, perhaps a picture of a woman enjoying gardening ( age inserted ) – doesn’t look like me.
How about a beach hut, me at my beach hut, ask for purple hair and round down my age...
She looks fun, but it’s not me.
I’ll ask Chatterbox how to use my own photos…oil painting that looks better than my real garden.
Now my nineties friend wants a painting of her garden and thinks I’m very clever… I tell her AI is the clever one.
This is fun, could be addictive…. I have so many photos I could transform into art.
Or I could become an avatar.This really is addictive, I could turn all my family into Avatars, all my local scenes into an art gallery…
BUT of course this is dream land and it comes with guilt. We’re all using electricity and The Cloud is not really fluffy white and Artificial Intelligence uses a lot more power and water for cooling… Not to mention the ethics of presenting ChatGPT’s words as your own. Chatting to real people, it seems people are using ChatGPT for all sorts of useful things; asking it questions instead of Googling information, writing reports…
The above is all I have done on ChatGPT, using my own photos, except the one of me…
A real drawing by a human boy, Alex.
Have you used ChatGPT, if so how? Is it any different from all the other tools we use on line to create our blogs etc?
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 