The Ham Hub writers had decided to have something new to focus on, an exercise for fun, creating a fictional community. Each writer to bring along two or three characters and let them interact with each other. The setting to be remote and rural, between the wars so they would have no mobile phones or ready means of communicating with the outside world.
Charlotte enjoyed the task, a break from writing her novel about Lottie. She tried not to make it anything like Hambourne, though she couldn’t resist adding water. When it was suggested she go first she thought that would be easy, her plot could not clash with anyone else’s if they had not been revealed.
Ellie decided to take the towpath back to the farm, relishing the peace and freedom before returning to all her chores at home. Ellie was happy to volunteer to take newly laid eggs and milk to old Widow Brown in her tumbledown cottage. Mother said they had to be nice to her as she had lost both her sons in the war. It had been a busy morning as she had also taken a hearty breakfast to Tommy One Arm in the barn. Her father took pity on any tramps who had been soldiers in the war, especially those maimed or disfigured and unlikely to find work. Father called them all Tommy; there had been One-Eyed Tommy, he was a bit scary till you got used to him. Tommy One Leg had been a joker and popular locally as he could fix anything. Tommy One Arm was very quiet except when he was having a funny turn, which Father said was shell shock. He wore a hat and scarf all the time, only Mother and Father had seen his face properly as Tommy was very good at reading the difficult dusty old books that had been great grandfather’s. He read to their parents after the children were all in bed. Ellie hoped this Tommy would stay. Father never made them move on, but they often got restless and there would come a morning when the barn was empty. Ellie felt sorry for this Tommy, he wouldn’t be able to get married if he had to keep his face covered all the time and he didn’t seem to have any relatives to go and live with.
It was such a lovely morning Ellie skipped along the tow path…
‘Hang on, is that by the river or a canal?’
I don’t know, that’s why I just put tow path.
…thinking how good it was to be fourteen and never have to go to school again. She had not thought beyond leaving, though of course her parents had. Going to work as a maid at a big house far away
‘Hang on, in mine, it’s The Big House nearby so the characters can be tenant farmers.’
‘and have somewhere to work’ added someone else.
Okay, no problem, at the Big House nearby or to be a shop girl in town…
‘What town, thought they were isolated.’
That’s why she doesn’t want to work in town, too far away.
…were suggested, but she did not want to leave home and why should she when her big brother stayed on the farm. She had quickly found out that working at home was a lot harder than school. Helping her mother with the endless cooking and looking after the little ones, feeding the pigs and hens and milking the cows. But Father had promised her she could take the pony and trap to market. She loved Lucky the best in the family. He was called Lucky because he had been a colt when the war came and was not taken away to go to France. Ellie and Lucky had grown up together.
As Ellie wandered along picking spring flowers and watching out for the Kingfisher she was startled to hear a man’s voice.
‘I thought we were setting it in winter?’
‘No, it was autumn.’
‘It was definitely spring as it is spring now, we’ll be in the right mood’ Charlotte decided to be a bit assertive for a change.
‘Morning Miss.’
She looked up to see a young man standing on the bow of a colourful narrow boat. A new boat at the old mooring that hadn’t been used for years. Ellie knew all the river folk and he was definitely a stranger, so she was not sure if she should talk to him.
‘Thought you didn’t know if it was a river or canal?’
Well spotted, easy to change and we have to hear everyone’s story before we set details.
His smile crinkled up to his dark eyes and he had gleaming white teeth. If her father saw that mop of curly black hair he would have him sent off to the barbers or got her mother to get her clippers out, like she did with her brothers. He was taller than her big brother.
‘Oh I like him, watch out Ellie, my girl will be after him.’
‘This is a pretty sight on a spring morning.’
Ellie looked around to see what the pretty sight was.
‘Oh yes, this is the prettiest part of the river.’
‘That’s why I decided to moor up here yesterday evening and what a surprise to meet a pretty local girl so soon.’
Ellie looked around to see if a pretty girl had appeared
‘May I ask your name? I’m Jack, Jack of all trades.’
‘Hey, I’ve got a Jack.’
‘So have I, head gardener at the big house.’
‘And I’ve got a Tommy, who seduces the scullery maid.’
‘How long since the First World War War then, still got old soldiers wandering? ‘
‘Great War, they didn’t know there was going to be a second one.’
‘1928 I thought we said last week.‘
‘No, it’s going to be in the middle of the Great Depression’
‘When was that then?’
Do you go to a writing group? Do you enjoy doing exercises?
Tidalscribe Tales is now live as a paperback. If you want to know how to publish a paperback with KDP best not to ask me. I again followed Sam Kern’s book.
My second proof copy revealed I had ironed out a few problems subject to some compromises, at least I had managed to get some writing on the back cover…
Amazon always tells you if there is a problem, though you may not understand what the problem is.
You have submitted your manuscript in ( selection of incomprehensible numbers and letter ) format. Do you wish the Amazon Elves to change it to ( further set of incomprehensible numbers and letters ) format?
Yeah, whatever..
Looking at the nice large print I think they may have meant my manuscript would not have enough pages to fill the size book I chose, so they just made the writing bigger. Fine, I like the larger print.
While Team G were staying at half term I had help changing my photos to PDF so I could make another attempt to design my own cover. Alas the pictures were not the right size and the elves are not allowed to have scissors, so I returned to Amazon Cover Creator and the only template that vaguely made any sense. I like to think I am leaning towards the simplicity of the early Penguin books with a picture stuck on.
Can you tell the difference?
I noticed something slightly awry with the second proof copy. The colour was not as bright, the sea water not as clear and the sky not as blue! Which elf is in charge of paint? The colour choice was not very inspiring to begin with. But hey ho, the exercise was about producing a real book by myself and I have. My sister in Australia has ordered three copies, but has to wait till the middle of the month. We await with interest to see where Amazon Australia prints their copies. Perhaps the covers will appear in the rich red of The Pilbara or Uluru.
If anyone else orders a paperback why not follow her example and order two extra copies for friends.
I have dusted and vacuumed the Books and About pages on my website to welcome the new book, but have hit a brick wall editing my Amazon Author Page.. but you don’t want to hear about that on a Friday evening.
Do not be put off publishing on KDP, I’m sure plenty of authors know exactly what they are doing. There is also help available from various companies who will handle the technical side, some doing as much or as little of the whole editing process as suits you. I am also well aware that there are other places to self publish, but I can’t be bothered but I am enjoying producing whatever books I want, whenever as an independent boutique publisher…
Visit my Book and About pages to read about my previous books.
Are you an Indie Author? How do you like to tackle getting your books published?
Delia had read all the articles and listened to all the broadcasts and podcasts on sleep and health. She had been encouraged to get a Fitbit by her niece who was keen that she should find out her resting heart rate. The Fitbit alas, did not help her sleep more, only confirm that she did not sleep much. However, she persevered with following all the recommendations for winding down in the evening.
That night Delia had turned off the news and switched her television to the radio station broadcasting her regular late night music programmes, Night Waves and Round Midnight… Then she headed upstairs and was in bed and tuned to Radio 4 in time to be lulled by Sailing By heralding the late night Shipping Forecast. Delia pictured seaside places she had stayed and remote coasts she was never likely to see…
North Foreland to Selsey Bill – Strong wind warning
Ardnamurchan Point to Cape Wrath…
Tonight the mellifluous Scottish baritone of her favourite continuity announcer finished the forecast and bade her goodnight with his usual soothing words.
‘And that is the close of Radio Four’s broadcasting tonight. This is Alexander MacSmooth wishing you a safe and peaceful night.
Delia sleepily turned her radio off before the National Anthem could jar her serenity. She snuggled under the duvet, safe from the strong winds and waves pounding the coast…
Delia woke suddenly. It was dark, the radio clock showed 3.15 am, not unusual for her to be awake in the witching hour, but who on earth was frantically ringing her doorbell and what were those blue lights flashing on the ceiling? And who was yelling through a loudspeaker?
‘Emergency, this is the police, you must evacuate immediately. Leave your home now, do not stop to collect belongings.’
It was bizarre, but the only way to find out what was going on was to get wrapped into her velour dressing gown and head for the front door. When she looked outside she was stunned. The nearby streetlight revealed a huge hole where the road had been. Her first thought was ‘Bin Day’ how would she get her recycling bin out of that hole, how would the rubbish truck get down the road when there was no road. Before she could have another thought the street lamp plunged into the crater and the scene was plunged into darkness. A yellow arm grabbed her, at the end of another yellow arm was a powerful torch revealing a crack widening beneath their feet.
In a church hall a mile away Delia and her neighbours gathered round ‘next-door-but-one’ who had managed to grab his iPad on the way out. The live news showed next door’s car slipping into the sink hole and Delia’s front wall crumbling. She didn’t even recognise half her neighbours without their clothes on. They all reintroduced themselves and compared stories as it dawned on them that they would not be going home any time soon, if ever. The only possession Delia had with her was the Fitbit. She wondered what her resting heart rate was.
‘I don’t care where or how, as long as he is never ever found. You will do it as soon as possible and never contact me. When he does not return home I will assume it is done and after a few days I will report him missing and the second instalment will appear in your bank account. If a year passes with me receiving only sympathy from the police, you will receive the final substantial payment.’
They nodded in agreement and my aides entered the room to blindfold the three men again and escort them out to a waiting vehicle. It was a one hundred mile drive back to the outskirts of the city. I had every faith that the hefty first payment they were given a week ago would ensure they carried out their task.
I had never trusted Phillip’s partner, but for this plan I did. We had the same aim with neither of us getting blood on our hands. His contacts in the underworld had provided contract killers who could not be traced back to Phil or us. It was costing me very little as I had been syphoning money from Phil’s various bank accounts for years. His patronising assumption that I could just about manage the little personal and housekeeping accounts he had set up for me worked to my advantage. Phil also assumed I was only capable of using the old computer in my sewing room for dipping into social media.
It was on an ordinary shopping trip that an unexpected problem arose. I was just putting my shopping for one in the boot when a rough looking girl ran over to me crying that her bag had been stolen. She begged to borrow my phone to call the police. I wasn’t going to fall for that one and have my phone stolen, but she looked genuinely upset and reassured me I could keep my phone safely in my own hands and call the police, then put it on speaker so she could speak to them.
I weakened and let the false cosy image I projected 99% of the time take over. Ordinary anxious menopausal housewife meekly dialled 999.
‘Emergency, which service do you require. Fire, police or ambulance?’
‘Police, hurry’ cried the girl.
‘Police, how can I help you?’
To my astonishment the bag was not mentioned. The girl stammered in panic…
‘In the office in the old Jackson shoe factory you’ll find Phil Hardy’s body in a broken cupboard.’
‘Can I have your name please’ the calm voice spoke from my phone.
The girl looked directly at me, pointed at me, then whispered ‘Your phone, your name – goodbye…’
She was gone in a flash.
‘Caller’s name please’ the remote voice repeated.
The police are never around when you want them. I terminated the call, but already I could hear sirens. I didn’t know local big businessmen warranted such an urgent response, I had been pleased they hadn’t seemed interested in his disappearance. Now he was dead, or perhaps still a live body all three emergency services were turning up. Fair enough, the building was on the verge of collapse and I would not want anyone risking their lives for Phillip.
I was slipping into the driver’s seat to go home, play the shocked widow if they brought terrible news, but in seconds a uniformed chap was banging on the window.
‘So glad you’re here officer, I was just tricked into handing over my phone. This girl made a hoax call about my poor missing husband.’
‘Hopefully it is a hoax Madam, we will soon know, but prepare yourself, they are checking the building right this moment.’
I don’t think they were sure whether to arrest me or offer support with the Police Liasson officer. After a cup of tea at the police station it was decided to let me go home as a person of interest, with police protection in case whoever murdered my husband also wanted to kill me and presumably so I could not leave. They didn’t use the word murder or tell me any details, but it was soon all over local social media. My every day phone was kept at the police station, nothing incriminating on that one. I slipped into my ensuite bathroom with my iPad and read on the local Facebook page comments that would probably be rapidly deleted in the interests of good taste.
Decomposing body still recognisable as missing businessman Phil Hardy.
Urban explorers find more than they bargained for.
Teenage couple left traumatised as body topples out of cupboard.
His flesh was falling off his face.
His eyeballs rolled out.
Whatever possessed the killers to stick him in a cupboard in a building near our local shops and our house? Well, I certainly wouldn’t be using their services again, nor would they get the final payment next year. Maybe I should not have told them our address, but how could they have tracked Phillip down without knowing where he lived?
The other kids called him The Sponge because of the effortless way he soaked up information. His parents had thought he might meet his match at the large senior school, no longer top dog as he was at primary school, but he was soon a legend. Far from being an awkward genius his quick wit and sense of humour attracted friends and the fact he did their homework for them ensured a loyal following.
Mr and Mrs Nardo had followed family tradition of naming first born sons Leo. By the time he was four they had realised he was far cleverer than them and his younger siblings just took it for granted that Leo knew everything. They were not quite as clever as Leo, but their parents continued producing babies, considering it was their duty to contribute to the gene pool.
At school the teachers played down his abilities. As he appeared to have no syndromes, nor be on any spectrum they were not eligible for extra funding to get university professors in to keep Leo challenged. Instead, an afterschool club was started, for children with ‘extra interests’, it was not to be suggested that the little group were clever or cleverer than all the other pupils.
Leo was soon running the group and showing off his party tricks such as writing normally with his left hand and writing back to front on the other side of the paper with his right hand at the same time. He said it was easy, but nobody else in the group could do it. Parents were persuaded to contribute so the group could buy Lego and chemistry sets and all sorts of items that inventors would need. A teacher was present merely for health and safety reasons.
Dinner time at home was always lively and Mr and Mrs Nardo tried to make sure all the children got a chance to talk about their day, but somehow by the time they were eating pudding Leo had an intellectual conversation underway.
‘I was thinking it would be impossible to work out who the cleverest person in the world is, because nobody else would be clever or knowledgeable enough to understand how much that person knew or understood.’
‘Or she’ butted in his sister’ why can’t the cleverest person be a woman?’
‘They could be’ said Leo ‘but I was thinking it would be me, but how would I know?’
His parents sighed.
‘I don’t think it matters,’ said his father ‘all you have to do is use your talents for good, not for power or money.’
‘Yes I’ve already considered that. I will need a good deal of money for all my inventions, but I could get investors for that. I thought I could save the whole planet.’
‘Rather ambitious, but an excellent idea’ said his mother. ‘Will that be after university?’
‘No, soon, I’ve already written a book about how to do it. I just need to publish it. You can read it if you like.’
After dinner his parents sat at the state of the art computer they had given Leo for Christmas and started reading the word document of 300, 000 words. There were only about thirty words they understood.
‘The first few chapters are about metaphysics’ said Leo airily ‘I want readers to keep an open mind about the universe.’
His father hoped they would not be expected to proof read it and suggested as a joke he self published on Amazon first. Leo thought that a good idea and persuaded his father to open an account, then leave him to get on with it.
By Sunday evening he had borrowed his mother’s Kindle and showed the family his new book. By Wednesday a box arrived from Amazon with his weighty tome in paperback. He took a few copies to school.
The head of the science department was surprised and impressed with the cover design and happy and not a little amused to accept a signed copy as a gift, promising to start reading it in his lunch break.
In the afternoon science lesson Leo asked him what he thought of it so far. He responded by asking Leo what his parents thought of it.
‘Well to be honest, I don’t think they understood a word.’
The teacher was relieved as he grappled with the right words of encouragement.
‘Ah, I am managing to understand it so far, well the introduction at least…’
She had heard her mother talking to Aunty Lucy, a throwaway remark. They were in the garden, it was her tenth birthday party.
‘Of course poor Arabella has no imagination whatsoever.’
They were watching her younger sister Anastatia organize Arabella’s friends in some kind of fantasy adventure. Anastasia was playing the bold princess while Arabella was supposed to be a peasant girl hiding from the dragon and destined to be eaten.
‘Anastasia’s just like you were at that age’ said Aunty Lucy to Arabella’s mother. ‘We always knew you would be on the stage or become a writer.’
‘Or both’ twittered her mother.
‘I expect Arabella will take after Justin’ said Lucy unconvincingly.
The girls’ father was an artist, successful in several fields from high class book illustrations and theatre designs to proper paintings that people wanted on the walls of their homes.
‘She’s very good with her hands,’ continued Lucy ‘knitting and that little tapestry she made me.’
‘Well she has a logical mind, just following patterns…’
Thirty year old Arabella closed her eyes on the memory, closed her eyes to the television screen, then opened them long enough to press the off button on the remote control. It was Jack, her husband, who had reminded her that her mother and sister were appearing on yet another intellectual arts programme. Her family were always on television or radio, though not often together.
‘Have I missed it?’ Jack came bowling into the room.
‘No, or rather you haven’t missed much.’
She picked up her comforting knitting.
‘Is the baby asleep?’
‘Yes of course.’ Arabella laughed. ‘Just like me apparently, my mother used to say I slept through the night from two months old, always needed my sleep, then it was a shock when they had Anastasia. Mother reassured herself that the sleepless nights were because Anastasia had an overactive brain, highly intelligent.’
‘I am glad we have our ordinary little chap, heaven forbid he should turn out like your sister. I like our serene life and I am lucky to have you both.’
It was true thought Arabella, they were happy in their own little world and would snuggle up with a nice nature programme tonight, then turn over in time for Big Ben and welcome 2025. No wishes or resolutions, just thankful for what they had. Though as the bells chimed she couldn’t help wishing she had a little bit of imagination, just enough to know what it was like. Perhaps she would invent bedroom scenarios for her and Jack, she had read in magazines that couples did that. Or make up stories to tell the baby later on.
The next day they went to the big park for their traditional New Year’s Day walk, the baby safely strapped to Arabella and cosy inside her coat. A young child on a scooter whizzed by and she suddenly had a picture in her mind of the child hurtling off, hitting the bitumen head first and being attacked by the big dog she had just spotted. No sooner had this thought entered her mind than Jack suddenly bolted ahead, telling her to stay put.
A small crowd hid what was happening from Arabella’s view. Then Jack emerged with a firm grip on the dog’s collar. Several worried adults were rushing over, it was hard to tell who belonged to the child and who to the dog, until Jack handed the dog to someone waving a lead. He trotted back to his own family.
‘The poor grandparents couldn’t keep up with her…’
‘.. and she ran into the dog and fell off and seeing the creature lying on the ground revived the dog’s ancient hunting instincts and he went for her throat? And you’re a hero.’ Arabella concluded.
‘Not exactly, the dog was licking her face and she was crying because she hurt her knee.’
On the way home they passed the New Year fairground at the other end of the park. They looked up at the big rides.
‘Be a while before we take our chap on those rides’ said Jack.
‘Thank goodness, imagine if the big wheel got stuck when we were at the top’ said Arabella.
‘I’m sure the council makes sure all the rides are safe.’
‘I still wouldn’t take the chance.’
When they watched the local news that evening the fairground appeared on the screen.
Fire rescue teams were called when the big wheel stopped and could not be started. In view of the below zero temperatures, the difficult decision was taken to bring people down from the top on the fire ladders.
‘Oh I can’ t believe it, just what I imagined happening’ said Arabella.
Arabella was beginning to wonder if she had been granted imagination, was this what it was like, making things happen. She dismissed the thoughts from her mind.
The next day was an outing to the pantomime with Jack’s sister and family. Arabella thought the baby was a bit young, but had been reassured that it was a special calm performance for autistic children like Jack’s nephew or deaf children, or anybody that didn’t like screaming and shouting on stage or off.
‘Sign language, subtitles and miming, the baby will just sleep through it. We’re at the back of the top circle apparently, in case we do have to take the baby out.’
Arabella had not realised just how high up they would be in the top circle.
‘Thank goodness we’re at the back, I wouldn’t like to be in the front row and those steps down are so steep, if you weren’t careful you could go hurtling over.’
As soon as her words were uttered a small child flashed by running and whooping down the steps, ignoring his frantic mother who was yelling at him to stop. There was a collective gasp from others getting settled in their seats. Luckily the child was shorter than the barrier wall and collided with it, but the momentum his mother had picked up propelled her straight over. Any hope of calm had evaporated.
Debby paused with the kettle in her hand. She had seen a flash of red in her smart grey and white kitchen. There it was again, she must hurry up and make that appointment at Specsavers. She took her glasses off, polished the lenses then put them on again, only to see a flash of green and red. Blinking she looked around the kitchen and that was when she saw it, sitting on the mug shelf, one of those ghastly elves that parents moved around the house in December to spy on their children. Now she had her own Elf on the Shelf, but how on earth did it get there, she had taken a bone china mug down seconds ago to make her tea and it wasn’t there then. They had baskets full of them at the garden centre, but she hadn’t bought one. Her grandsons hadn’t been here for a week and it was hardly likely the girls next door had sneaked in when they came to retrieve their netball from the back garden. Well he might as well stay up there till Fergus and Hamish came round tomorrow, she would tell them the elf was watching over to make sure they behaved. Not much hope of that working, but worth a try. She wasn’t allowed to call them naughty boys, according to her daughter they just did naughty things occasionally, especially when she dumped them round at Debby’s. Rather ironic that Debby had been delighted to have a daughter, easier than bringing up boys she assumed and not thinking that a daughter might produce boys she would have to get involved with.
As she sat and relaxed with a cup of tea in the lounge she could not believe what she saw when she looked up from her newspaper. The elf was on top of the curtain rail. Perhaps she needed a brain scan as well as an eye test. Or was she an unknowing participant in a reality television show, her reactions being filmed, but who could have sneaked in here ahead of her. She could not reach the elf to see if it was battery operated. The best thing to do was go in the other room and catch up with her emails and other stuff on the computer, maybe look up elves or practical jokes.
The only practical joke was played by the elf as he suddenly leapt onto the screen from behind. This time Debby could see him all too clearly, not a stuffed toy, or battery operated. His eyes blinked, his lips parted and his cheeks blushed pink as he chuckled in a tiny voice.
‘Hello, what’s your name?’
Now she was really going mad, talking to him, did he say Alf or Elf? Before she could say anything else to him he leapt down and used the desk lamp cable like a zip wire. She soon lost sight of him. This was worse than having a mouse in the house, far creepier with no idea where he might pop up next and who did one report infestations, elfinfestations to?
Debby started looking up myths and history of elves, but could not believe she was seriously considering that elves were as real as any other creature on the planet, but where did any myth originate from, a kernel of truth surely. She imagined herself being on an intelligent Radio 4 programme, the first person to discover a live elf. Debby did not see him again that evening and carried on with her normal routine; perhaps she had imagined it all.
When she woke up in the morning and saw Alf Elf sitting on the pillow she stifled a scream. Too close for comfort. Debby shook herself and recalled she had once imagined being a naturalist; she should observe not frighten the poor little chap away, though he did not look scared at all. How did one get hold of a scientist, that one on her favourite radio programme perhaps. But she had a sinking feeling as reality struck. How on earth would she explain to her daughter, she would think she had early onset dementia.
Everything was ready for the grandsons’ visit, breakables put away, the least annoying toys out and she had read the instructions for the junior Christmas decoration creating kit. All that was left was to explain about the elf, would her grandsons be excited, impressed…
‘Bye Mummy’
‘Love you.’
Why did modern parents have to say that every time they went out the door, she was only leaving them for two hours thought Debby.
‘Hamish, Fergus, I have a really big surprise for you today, well not big, very small actually…’
They weren’t listening and had already disappeared to search for the Lego. It wasn’t long before she heard the familiar arguments.
‘I had that piece first.’
’Granny, he pulled my head off.’
Where was the elf, she was suddenly worried for the poor little chap’s safety. She crept along the hall, into the dining room, no sign of Alf, then into her little sun lounge, the only room where Lego was allowed. And there he was, playing Lego with the boys, who were so fascinated they had stopped arguing.
‘Granny, you’ve got a real elf, I’ve never seen a live one’ said Hamish.
‘I told you elves were real’ said Fergus.
‘Be very gentle with him, he’s so small.’
‘Can I take him for Show and Tell?’
‘Oh no, I think school would be far too scary for him, in fact I think we better keep him secret.’
’You don’t have to walk all the way back up, we can get the Noddy Train, but I thought you liked walking?’
John’s parents and his children all looked relieved.
‘We aren’t as young as we were and what with my knee and your father’s hip…’
‘And this bitter wind coming straight off the sea’ added John’s father.
‘Can we still have hot chocolate Daddy?’
‘That’s usually the bribery to get them back up to the café’ said John.
‘I think we all need hot chocolate,’ said his mother ‘I hope that café is still open.’
‘With marshmallows and cream?’ said Johnny Junior.
‘And a cake’ added his sister.
‘We must not spoil your appetites for that delicious dinner your Mummy is cooking for us.’
‘All that lovely sea air has sharpened our appetites’ said their grandfather, wrapping his scarf tighter.
Squeezed in one of the little carriages of the road train everyone brightened up and John’s mother recalled his favourite book.
‘I bought it at a jumble sale, The Runaway Train. I had to read it over and over to your Daddy. The train was meant to take all the office workers up to London on Monday morning, but the train was fed up with the same old journey every day and decided to go to the seaside instead. The passengers didn’t notice what was happening at first, too busy reading their newspapers. That was long before mobile phones were invented and everybody read great big newspapers. Then a few people looked at their watches, glanced out the window and wondered why they were seeing cows in the field instead of Clapham Junction! Soon all the passengers were muttering to each other as the train went faster and faster. The sky was blue, the sun was shining and they passed farms and cottages and hills. Nobody was sure what to do, one man pulled the communication cord with the notice that said emergency use only, but the train did not slow down.
‘Oh that would be fun,’ squealed the children ‘what happened in the end?’
‘Gradually the train slowed down and one of the passengers said Good Heavens, I can see the sea! Soon the train came to a halt in a lovely little station with flower tubs. Everyone got off to see what had happened and a very important and cross looking man marched along the platform to the driver’s cab, but there was no driver. They all stood on the platform scratching their heads and mumbling about getting to the office. Then someone started laughing and pointing to golden sands and the glittering sea… We will never get to work on time so let’s go to the beach instead.
Gradually they all wandered onto the beach and some took off their shoes, rolled up their trousers and started paddling, while others went to buy ice creams and fish and chips.
After a fantastic day, with everyone having fun and agreeing it was much better than going to work, they thought it must be time to go home. At the station the engine had turned itself around on the turntable and was steaming up so they got on board…’
‘Have you still got that book Daddy?’
‘No, that was a long time ago, but maybe that’s why I always wanted to live at the seaside and not work in an office.’
As the road train trundled up towards the café Johnny Junior said ‘Maybe this train is fed up with never going anywhere except back and forth to the beach, maybe it wants to go to London.’
They all laughed as the train drew up by the café and the driver climbed out of his cab to see if anyone needed help getting out. But before John had even opened the door of their carriage, the train started moving again, faster and faster. The last thing the family saw was a surprised look on the driver’s face as he tried to run after the train, but it was going much too fast.
‘Hurrah said,’ Johnny Junior ‘I told you the train was fed up, we’re going on an adventure.’
‘Can’t you do something John.’
‘Don’t worry mother, just a technical hitch, the battery will run down soon and the driver will have called for a mechanic.’
‘When can I have my hot chocolate Daddy?’
They drove down a pleasant avenue with pretty gardens and a few people waved to them. The children waved back. Then the Noddy Train turned right onto a busy road on a steep hill. As the train headed downhill they went faster and faster. Horns were tooting and they heard a siren in the distance. Even little Johnny was beginning to feel scared.
‘And finally tonight police are still searching for a seaside road train, known locally as the Noddy Train and apparently hijacked from a local beauty spot. Our reporter spoke to the shocked driver.’
‘I had just alighted from the train to help a disabled passenger disembark when it started moving. I had left the brakes on, it was on level ground and nobody had got into my cab. I tried to get back to my cab, but it was going much faster than it is capable of. None of this makes sense. Not a single passenger had managed to alight.’
‘Can you reassure family and friends that the passengers will be safe?’
‘No.’
‘Hmm, back to the newsroom to see if there is any update.’
‘The last sighting was junction 67 of the motorway an hour ago. Police are sure there will be drivers who have captured images on their dash cams. In the meantime there is a helpline if you are worried about relatives who may be on board.’
At the Cosy Toastie café Elizabeth’s friends had gathered for their regular coffee morning and eagerly listened as she shared her latest mishaps with the reclining chair her son had bought her. Nobody, including Elizabeth, was sure of the circumstances that had led to John moving in with his mother and there were mixed feelings about the benefits.
‘At least he managed to rescue my old armchairs from the tip and he’s having them professionally reupholstered; unfortunately that will take a while.’
‘But I’m envious you have someone to reach high shelves.’
‘And reach the smoke alarm to pull it off the wall when it’s beeping…’
‘Yes true, though it’s usually John that sets it off. Anyway, I’ve got my handy steps, I’ve had them for years, though I haven’t used them since John moved in. He got those boxes down from the top of the wardrobe that I’ve been meaning to sort out for years; though I had rather they stayed up there; his ideas of what to keep and what to throw!
When the taxi dropped Elizabeth home she was relieved to find a note from John saying he had been called in to work. She was grateful that whatever his job was exactly, it could not all be done from home on the computer. A nice simple cheese omelette for lunch she decided, but where had the cheese grater gone? A search of the cupboards under the countertop was to no avail so she decided to look in the top cupboards; there on the highest shelf was her cheese grater, why on earth had John put it up there? When she went to fetch her trusty steps from their usual corner they had disappeared. As she turned she stepped back into somebody and gasped in fright.
‘Oh it’s you John, I didn’t hear you come in, why do you have to creep around?’
‘I thought you didn’t like me being noisy?’
‘Never mind, now you’re back you can tell me what you’ve done with my steps.’
‘Those dreadful old things, I’ve got rid of them, health and safety.’
‘I couldn’t reach the cheese grater, I need those steps when you’re out.’
‘Remember what happened to Aunt Dorris.’
‘She was ninety nine and had dementia and those legs of hers.’
‘Well it’s best to be prepared, you’re lucky I work for such an innovative company. I’ve got you something very handy, or rather someone who can reach everything and do all those jobs you find difficult.’
‘I can manage fine.’
‘Just come and look in the dining room for the surprise.’
In the corner of the dining room stood a skeletal metal figure.
‘What on earth is that?’
‘Our new prototype, Rufus, you are very privileged to be the first to try it out.’
Elizabeth had never been quite sure what John’s work involved.
‘I thought your company made production lines for factories?’
‘That was when I was an apprentice, we’re in the Twenty First Century now. In Japan they have robots as carers in old people’s homes.’
Elizabeth shuddered. ‘Like those waiters on wheels I suppose. Couldn’t you have given this one a smiley face?’
‘It’s built for action and should transform the lives of the eld… all sorts of people. Do you want a demo?’
Elizabeth’s revulsion at the stranger in her home changed to nervous delight at the news she would have for her friends.
‘Where are his buttons?’
‘He doesn’t have any, you just talk to him like Alexa.’
‘Who on earth is Alexa?’
‘He won’t move unless you say his, um.. its name, otherwise it would be havoc. Rufus, go into the kitchen.’
The figure stretched its arms and legs and wobbled past the table, knocking the paint off the door frame as he went into the hall. Mitsy barked at it then retreated rapidly into the garden. Elizabeth was impressed when Rufus did indeed go into the kitchen.
‘How could he know where to go?’
‘In layman’s terms I downloaded a 3D map of the house.’
Elizabeth was nervous of Rufus and avoided speaking or going near him when John was out, telling herself the dog needed time to quietly get used to its presence. She gave evasive answers when her son returned and asked her how she and Rufus were getting on. John had him pushing the vacuum cleaner and loading the new dishwasher. Elizabeth was slightly miffed that the robot was better than her at learning new gadgets.
When John went away overnight to an important conference, Elizabeth was reluctantly forced to try out Rufus so she could make dinner. John and the robot between them had put away the new weekly Sainsbury delivery and she had no idea what John had ordered or where Rufus had put it. Feeling slightly ridiculous she said to herself, now let’s see how clever you are Rufus Robot and out loud
‘Rufus, get out a tin of tomatoes.’
As he headed for the kitchen Mitsy crouched and growled, then went and hid in her bed.
The robot reached up, opened the cupboard door and clasped a tin, lowering it carefully onto the counter top.
‘Oh clever boy’ Elizabeth found herself saying until she looked at the can and saw it was raspberries.
Well he was probably just a toddler in robot terms, cleverer than John at that age.
‘Rufus, find a tin of Italian whole tomatoes.’
This time the long fingers were rifling through the tins on another shelf and he brought down a tin in each hand, placing them next to Mitsy’s water bowl. Peaches and soup. She would have one more try, with all the shuffling around she had spotted the tomatoes. If he didn’t get it right this time she might call Fran down the road and ask if she wanted to try out that new pizza place.
She pointed up to the highest shelf.
‘Rufus get the tinned tomatoes.’
The robot headed to another cupboard and put his hinged fingers round the old flower vase, but as he lifted it down he lost his grip and it shattered on the tiled floor. Elizabeth sighed and imagined herself trying to get down and sweep up. Then she had an idea and handed Rufus the brush and dustpan.
Before she could utter an instruction he cranked into action and started sweeping. Elizabeth smiled as she imagined this story for her friends. Seeing Mitsy’s nose appear round the door she ushered her away from dangerous splinters. She turned back into the kitchen in time to see Rufus emptying the dustpan into the dishwasher.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 