This blackbird does not like being on the outside and has been tapping on the door, tapping on our windows and kamikaze diving windows. He either identifies as human or has been watching too many science fiction films.
This cow also has an identity crisis; unsure whether she is an Appaloosa or a human having a pyjama day. The dairy farmer is worried she may be offended if he tries to milk her.
Scientists have released pictures of what it is actually like living in the fifth dimension...
…and have warned members of the public not to try this at home.
The scent of the wood smoke brought back a memory. We were having a wood burner installed, my mother’s latest idea, all the rage then. No chopping wood as we do now, neatly bound stacks of suitable timber, factory sawn into identical chunks. They were delivered straight into the new designer wood store which provided enough cover to keep it dry, but still visible to impress the neighbours. It was my twelfth birthday and I took for granted our nice house, loving parents, good school and a host of activities. I was not spoilt, just happy, with everything to look forward to. Life was led at a frantic pace, but my friends’ families were just as frenetic. Our parents took turns ferrying us around to ballet classes, riding lessons, sleepovers. Several of us had auditioned for Britain’s Got Talent and were busy rehearsing, making our parents’ lives even busier. I felt a mixture of excitement and frustration that rehearsals were impinging on my precious riding lessons and the chance to go to the jumping competition. All that was missing was a pony of my own. Would I get one for my birthday?
Was I to blame for not caring about the rest of the world? My parents did not either. Later on, my mother would claim they were too busy working and looking after us. Chloe my sixteen year old sister did enough worrying for all of us, Eco Warrior Dad called her. She would inspect the Waitrose delivery to check if the food was healthy and correctly sourced. That week she was insisting she no longer flew and would not be coming on the plane with us for our Easter holiday. Dad retorted that the plane was going anyway so what difference would her absence make to the environment.
The camp fire crackled and I looked at my twelve year old granddaughter in the firelight. A love of horses was all we had in common, but she jumped raging streams and thorny hedges, not painted poles in a show ring. When she was little she adored stories of my childhood, now my memories bored her. I suppose they were always just fairy tales to her.
I didn’t get a pony for my birthday, unless they were keeping it as a surprise, but I did get lots of gifts, gaudy colourful teen stuff that I can’t recall now. Chloe had donated her pocket money to the children of Gaza instead. I knew about Gaza, but I did not see how her money would get there or help them. For my eleventh birthday she had given on my behalf to the children of Ukraine and that hadn’t stopped the war.
Those places were far away and my Piza party was what my friends were thinking about. Wood fired pizza, another smoky irony; tonight my seventieth birthday treat was on a spit, the young deer my grandson had shot.
I felt laughter suddenly well up. Chloe had not remained a vegetarian for long after it all happened. She was gone now of course. I was the only one left to remember those times. Dad had come home early; the only thing that was useful about his job in the media was that he was aware sooner than most of what was about to happen.
‘We’re leaving in half an hour, up to Cheshire, meet up with Uncle Alex, he’s found a salt mine.’
‘What the hell are you talking about’ said my mother.
‘What about Britain’s Got Talent’ I said.
Dad’s brother Alex was a scientist, Chloe’s favourite relative. Dad gabbled a few curt explanations in between his exhortations to get ready.
‘Shelter, safety, get out while we can.’
Chloe cheered and hugged Dad. ‘At last, one of my parents is going to break out of this smug middle class life and break into reality.’
She had her rucksack ready, packed a year ago to prepare for any and every emergency, war, pandemic, wild fires, floods…
Reality was far worse than Chloe could ever have bargained for, but she toughed it out and survived. My riding skills turned out to be invaluable. I got my pony, but not in the way I had dreamed of.
All I have are memories now. It has been a harsh life, but not all bad and I have been very lucky to survive till the agreed limit. Lucky to survive at all, there weren’t many of us. The human race always finds a way, but individuals have not been important for most of our history. Tomorrow they will break camp again, but this time I will not be going with them.
I can’t believe it’s my great grandson’s 100th birthday, seems like only yesterday I was saying ‘I can’t believe I’m a great grandmother.’
I was on the way out by then, several of those conditions eliminated or curable these days. Hanging around was not what I wanted and I set about applying on line to go to Switzerland. I’m still not sure what went wrong, but instead of signing up for Dignitas I had volunteered for Digitass; basically I was downloaded onto a home computer, stuck in my son’s living room forever. Though he’s long gone and I have been moved around a lot since then by various descendants.
Like Concorde and the space shuttle, oh you wouldn’t remember them, anyway Digitass didn’t last long before it was uninvented on moral grounds. I’m one of the lucky ones, not homeless. Those without family or descendants, or family that got fed up with them, were put in storage, staring at blank walls or switched off. That’s been hushed up for decades.
In answer to your question, nobody else in my family was downloaded before it was halted, they had a fair idea what it would be like. I have seen so many of my family die and it never gets any easier. It’s still rare for someone like my great grandson to reach a century, especially now it’s so easy to opt out.
I don’t really get bored; the ‘great-great-greats’ bring their friends like you to talk to me, ask me questions for homework, or just dead curious, ha ha, Dead curious, I can still make jokes. On the rare occasions the family are not too busy, they take me out for ‘a bit of fresh air.’ The irony lost on them that I can’t smell the fresh air. I am glad to see the outside world though, strangely the first quarter of the 22nd century looks very much like the world we were promised in the early years of the 21st century.
Do you know what I miss most, apart from independence? Food. When I see them sitting round stuffing their faces I can almost recall what taste was like. The days are so long without meal breaks and the conviviality of the family dinner table. And what wouldn’t I give for a cup of tea.
The nights are even longer of course as I need no sleep. I have considered applying to be switched off, but that is still against the law and my family don’t approve.
An island community is calling for their independence to be recognised. The ᛏᛁᛈ ᛏᛟᛖ ᛈᛖᛟᛈᛚᛖ or Tip Toe People appear to have gone unnoticed on their little isle in the Irish Sea. Even ornithologists had no knowledge of a bird unique to ᛏᛁᛈ ᛏᛟᛖ ᛁᛋᛚᚨᚾᛞ, Tip Toe Island. Sea bird experts are refusing to disclose the location of this island surrounded by rugged seas.
The Tip Toe people are so called because they tip toe barefoot carefully around the ground nests of the Rainbow Gaeulls. Unlike most sea birds with their blacks, greys and whites the Rainbow Gaeull has bright red, yellow and blue plumage, fluorescent orange webbed feet and a magenta beak.
Their stunning appearance makes them vulnerable to attack by predators and humans and this is the likely reason they are only found on this island, protected by their unique ancient association with the Tip Toe people. The gaeulls take off each morning in their strange formation and spot shoals of fish, the Tip Toe fishermen then follow in their small boats. As they haul their nets in the birds are rewarded with a share of the bountiful catch.
But this idyllic lifestyle is threatened by the discovery of precious Iridium deep in a cave, at the base of the cliff on the rocky side of the island avoided by the Tip Toes.
The foolhardy adventurer who made the discovery remains anonymous and the Tip Toes claim to know nothing about his revelations. But he must have told someone because now Eire, Northern Island, Scotland, The Isle of Mann and England are all claiming ownership of the isle.
Now our intrepid reporter from BBC Radio Nan Gaidheal, Rhuari MacGael, has landed on the island and brings us this report.
‘Is iad na Toes Tip tíre garbh, wiry le gruaig rua fiáin, ach síochánta agus milis. The Tip Toes are a rugged, wiry folk with wild red hair, but peaceful and gentle, or so I have bin tellt. They claim their language is a unique mix of Gaelic, Cymraeg and ᚾᛟᚱᛋᛖ , a heritage from the lands that surround them and the seafaring Norsemen. So I am finding it a wee bit difficult to understand them and only a few islanders have a smattering of English. I tried to explain that David Attenborough is on their side. To which I think they replied
Pwy yw’r uffern yw David Attenborough?
Achub ein gaeulls enfys sanctaidd
They were pleading with me to leave their sacred birds alone, then they addressed me in i toin beagán níos láidre
Nid oes unrhyw un o’r tu allan erioed wedi gadael yr ynys hon yn fyw.
Concern is growing for a reporter from BBC Radio Nan Gaidheal who was last heard reporting from the newly discovered island of Tip Toe in the Irish Sea.
David Attenborough had earlier pleaded for this precious island and its unique birds to be left alone.
Language experts have been attempting to translate the last words Rhuari MacGael transmitted.
Happy Birthday Doctor Who. Many of us, including the media are indulging in nostalgia as it is sixty years since BBC children’s drama series Doctor Who appeared on our screens. I was always rather resentful that I missed the first episode as we got stuck in traffic on the way home. In those days if you missed a programme that was IT, no recording on your video player, or catching up on iPlayer. It was not until 1990 when we bought a boxed set of videos of the first four episodes for a relative, that I discovered why the Time Lord travelled in a police phone box. The Tardis was meant to change its appearance to fit the surroundings wherever and whenever it landed. It landed in 1960’s London, but due to a technical fault ( or perhaps the BBC budget ) the Tardis remained a police box forever.
It was the second series that introduced the iconic Daleks. With sink plungers their only weapons and unable to climb up stairs, they still struck terror in our hearts. I only have to hear the word EXTERMINATE and a chill goes down my spine. I only have to hear the words Radiophonic Workshop and the electronic theme music fills my head.
Urban myth has it that children used to hide behind the sofa when the Daleks were on and I know this to be true. My aunt and uncle for many years recalled my friend hiding behind the sofa at my 11th birthday party and this same friend today recalled that she did indeed hide behind the sofa.
Doctor Who is wandering round my local area at this very moment, his police box is parked in the middle of Boscombe.
Back to adult television in 2023 and at last there is a drama with Janet as the lead character. Unfortunately she has her fingers chopped off in the first few minutes… well only one hand. Boat Story is a black comedy drama and there were more scenes I couldn’t watch!Not sure if I can face the second episode…
For proper adult drama I am really enjoying the second series from Australia of The Newsreader, set in the 1980s.
Were you a Doctor Who fan?
I know not all bloggers watch television, no doubt having better things to do like reading our blogs and writing their blogs. If you are a viewer have you found a favourite programme lately?
Today’s tiny tale follows on from Tuesday’s story or you can read it alone as a flash fiction.
Mike was the last person I wanted to talk to on this amazing day. I was just about to quietly explain to Stewart that he must be witness to what I was about to do, when Mike from our cycling club came bowling over with his inane chatter. Stewart was the only person who knew that The Portal on the beach was not just an art installation. Now my watch was telling me that the portal alignment was reaching the optimum moment again.
I had messed up the first time, but a scientist learns from his mistakes and keeps trying. Taking a step forward I had felt a force I can’t describe, saw a break in reality… or did I see anything? Flustered, I would not use the word panic, I had instinctively closed my eyes and stepped back.
This time I must do it, there might not be another chance, the portal was only granted a few days as part of the arts festival, then it must come down. I could not let all my work and research be wasted. Nobody would notice me as they wandered around the portal, taking photos of themselves in the reflections, touching the shiny surface to feel the vibrations. I strode forward.
It hadn’t worked, I was still standing on the beach looking at the sea, the portal behind me. Then I saw myself walking towards me.
The other me spoke, or had I read his thoughts?
‘I’ve done it, brought myself from a parallel universe.’
Simultaneously we reached out to touch each other, then we both recoiled, speaking at the same moment…
‘I’m not sure if… we must be careful…
I was expecting to go over to your world as you arrived.
I expected you to go over as I arrived.
Surely we can’t both exist in the same place.’
I motioned to him to be silent.
‘But we have proved that parallel universes exist, what I see around me is exactly what I left behind, you are even wearing exactly the same clothes.’
‘Are you Doctor Benjamin Gower?’ we spoke together again.
‘All these people on the beach have not noticed a thing, if they looked at us they would probably assume we were identical twins.’
We both laughed. ‘I’m an only child, I always wanted a brother.’
For a moment I felt as if we were naughty school boys doing an experiment that would not be approved of. I decided to remain silent, giving the other Ben a chance to relate his story.
‘I wanted Stewart to observe what happened, but that awful Mike turned up and started talking, once he starts he never stops.’
I twisted round to look back through the portal and sure enough there was Mike jabbering away to Stewart, gesticulating as if he was working his new bicycle gears. What could be better proof that an alternate universe would be exactly the same, in how many universes was boring Mike replicated?
‘Even if I believed or understood this fantastic project of yours Ben, I can’t see how you can finance and build it.’
My old school friend was a scientist, a poet, a mystic, a polymath… I had never understood his research or his poetry and he could not understand why I had chosen finance as a career. Cycling, chess and long suffering wives were the only things we had in common as we slipped into our forties.
‘Art installation Stuart, the council are delighted to have Portal as the centrepiece for their arts festival… your move.’
I had lost concentration on our game of chess.
‘Let me get this right, the council erects a fifteen metre high door frame on the beach with lights and strange sounds to make it an ‘experience’, blissfully unaware that your portal is tuned in to try and make contact across the universe.’
‘To re-establish a broken link, they will respond.’
I felt a shiver down my spine, I thought of all the sci fi films we used to watch when we were teenagers, surely he did not believe all that rubbish, he a respected scientist.
Ben laughed. ‘I can’t guarantee it will work, but if it doesn’t no one will be any the wiser, I don’t want to lose my credibility at work.’
‘Unless something goes wrong.’
Any sci fi fan should know something always goes wrong.
‘That’s why I had to tell somebody, only you know anything about this. The council have been working with an ‘arts company’ that has no connection to my name or my work. I can trust you to keep it secret.’
‘You can be sure of that Ben, I also have my credibility to preserve, but what is it we are expecting to happen? Do we have to wait for midnight or sunrise?’
He paused, holding his knight aloft.
‘No, no our time keeping is irrelevant, it could happen at any moment. Imagine when you switch on your radio, the radio waves were there all along, just waiting for you to turn the connection back on.’
‘And then what?’
‘Built in receivers will transmit all communications to my lab where they will be safe. ‘
‘How will you understand aliens from the other side of the vast universe?’
‘No, no that would be impossible. Did I not explain, we will be linking in with a parallel universe, with a planet identical to Earth, another real Earth. It is going to be so exciting proving we live in a multiverse.’
‘Ha ha, so another version of yourself is suddenly going to appear on the beach, how will you account for two of you?’
‘Presumably I would be transported in exchange and nobody would notice the difference.’
I stood on the cliff top looking down at the portal, it was certainly impressive and I was almost afraid to go down on the beach near it. Thankfully my wife was taking the children to their Saturday morning clubs and thought I was out cycling with Ben. They were looking forward to us all going to the many festival activities on Sunday. Hopefully by that time I would be reassured the portal was safe and just a ridiculous fantasy.
Members of the public were loving the creation, walking through it, looking at their reflections, taking selfies. The beach was getting crowded and perhaps no one would even notice visitors from a parallel universe. I locked my bike up and jogged down the zig zag path. As I plodded across the sand I felt as much as heard the strange thrumming. I was drawn to the huge rectangular arch gleaming in the sun, its weird surface reflecting and bending the sea, the beach and the people. Some reached out to touch the surface while others stood back, gazing up as if waiting for someone or something.
I moved forward to touch the vibrating surface and jumped when I felt a touch on my shoulder, it was Ben behind me.
‘What do you think Stewart?’
‘Okay, I admit I’m impressed, as an art work, as a popular attraction, but nothing has happened yet.’
‘How can you be so sure? You would not believe what I have seen…’
‘Hey Ben, Stuart, didn’t think this was your sort of thing.’
I groaned, it was Mike from the cycling club who loved to talk. Ben made his excuses and slipped away, said he was just off to take a few photos for Instagram, leaving me to hear in great detail about Mike’s new gears. I never saw Ben again.
The police interviewed Mike and myself as the last people to see Ben. I had to go and see Ben’s wife. I told her and the police the truth. Yes Ben was in a good mood and we had stopped off on our regular bike ride as we were both fascinated by the portal.
It wasn’t till Monday that the police had bothered to get in touch, a missing man who was not vulnerable was not of great importance, husbands walk out on their wives all the time. Then others began to be reported missing. University students who hadn’t called their parents and didn’t answer their phones. Adults living alone who did not turn up for work…
I had promised to keep Ben’s secret. Would anyone believe me if I told them the truth?
What if I had stayed? I felt guilty just having that thought after what I have put my family through. I feel no guilt about my brief stay in 2099, that was beyond my control and I would never have chosen to leave my home and family to venture into the unknown future.
As I sat down for another attempt at writing my official report I felt a surprising emotional pull to those few weeks in that very different world. The memories were coming back to me more vividly as the weeks passed and the initial shock and trauma began to wear off. The quiet life in our ‘safe house’, a magnificent country mansion, was making my real life in a 2023 London suburb ever more remote.
The clear skies, wonderfully fresh air and sheer abundance of nature were what many urbanites dream of, though probably not the primitive, dangerous life of The Hunters in 2099. I couldn’t help yearning a little for the comforting scent of roasting spits and the simple life they led, completely at one with their environment, the only life they knew.
I wanted to explain this in my report, I had not typed a single word yet. By 2099 London and presumably the rest of planet Earth, had returned to nature and yet it was not as it should be. Human interference in every part of life for more than a century had resulted in nature recreating itself into a form that terrified the Bunker People, who cowered in the remains of subterranean London.
My status as the mythical Lauren of London meant that I was protected from the dangers that lay outside The Hunter’s large camp. I had persuaded them once to let me go out with the women, children and old men gathering wild fruits. That wasn’t sexist, there were women hunters as well, the tough ones, though every woman was pretty tough. I surmised that anyone with a family predisposition to poor health had not survived the catastrophic breakdown of society. Truly survival of the fittest, these hunters had survived against the odds, plunged back into a prehistoric life without the generations of folk lore to guide them.
The computer screen remained blank and I could hear my boys fighting just outside the library window, I wondered where their father was. I hadn’t got my old life back yet, but after much negotiating my family had been allowed to come and stay here during the school holidays. My poor husband was subject to counselling and scrutiny, sworn to secrecy and his phone confiscated, but the last thing he wanted was to talk to the press after they had treated him as a murder suspect when I was missing. The staff here had persuaded him to listen properly to what I had to say, but he was not totally convinced. He promised to support me if I wanted to admit I was a part of some terrible hoax.
Our sons believed me. When you are five and seven everything in the world is new and amazing. For youngsters obsessed with dinosaurs and fantasy in films and books, it was easy to believe their mother had been transported to the future and back again. They were mainly interested in the strange creatures that grazed and hunted over the grasslands and woods that had spread out from natural parklands and gardens. Amazing creatures have always inhabited the earth and even in our own time if you met an elephant for the first time you would be terrified. Now add in the selective breeding that had gone on for centuries and the more recent legal and illegal tampering with DNA; even a non-scientist like me could guess what had gone wrong when infrastructure broke down and animals made a bid for freedom from farms, zoos, safari parks and laboratories.
The hunters could not understand this evolution, they just knew what to hunt for food and which creatures to escape from and scare off with their burning torches and thunderous drums.
My sons suddenly came rushing up to the desk.
‘Mummy, Mummy tell us about the wild cat again and the giant bison and the huge ram that ran you all over and why did you have to go and lose your phone so you couldn’t take any pictures?’
‘A tabby cat bigger than a lion, with teeth like a sabre toothed tiger attacked me. The hunter on a strong stallion rescued me and we galloped safely away, but I dropped my handbag…’
That was as close as I could get to describing the most terrifying moment of my life, I did not want to give them nightmares, but during the day they lapped up the stories.
‘And what happened when you were picking fruit?’
‘We all stayed close together, the hunters on horseback circled around us all the time with their flaming torches and loud drums, the fierce camp guard dogs warned them as soon as they caught a scent of dangerous animals, even before they came into sight. The dogs started barking in a frenzy and suddenly a ram bigger than a bull came charging towards us. He was not interested in attacking people, he had just seen another ram trying to round up his sheep, like we saw on that farm visit, but these sheep were as big as cows.’
‘What did the ram look like Mummy?’
‘He had curling horns as large as roller coasters and he wanted to attack the other ram, we just happened to be in the way. We crowded together, the fruit gatherers knew what to do and pulled me with them down into a dip, hiding in a prickly thicket. The hunters circled us out of the way and the ram thundered past, trampling a dog and knocking a hunter off his horse.’
‘Was the hunter okay?’
‘Yes’ I lied, shuddering at the memory.
‘Why didn’t they kill the ram?’
‘The spears they had found in the ruins of the Tower of London would never penetrate his mega thick fleece.’
I wasn’t sure where the hunters got their weapons from, passed down from their fathers they said, so this seemed a likely explanation. As I looked at the mixture of fear and delight on the boys faces I was so thankful I had survived to come back to them. No, I would not have wanted to stay.
Cummings led a very nervous Doctor Chowdry down the long corridor to what the boss liked to call the cabinet room. Used often for important but select gatherings, today’s could prove to be the most important meeting ever held there. A few royals, several iconic television commentators, a few scientists, two highly respected journalists and a young documentary maker. No world leaders or government ministers, but that was for the best if they were to have a serious discussion.
Doctor Chowdry himself had no idea who the men and women were, but seated round the long table, the men in suits and the ladies in professional attire, they looked impressive. The man from 2099 should feel he was being taken seriously.
The doctor was overwhelmed as he entered the room, he had his wish to meet important people, but his mouth felt so dry he wondered if he would be able to utter a word. In the bunker, since his father had died, he was top dog, but now he felt himself shrink. One older man stood up and walked over to him.
‘How very good to meet you at last. I hope Mr. Cumings has been taking good care of you and your stay here has been comfortable. Now we have many questions to ask you, as you would expect, but our only aim is to help you; if what you tell us is true. Now Mr. Cummings will first brief us on his investigations, so please sit down.’
‘Uh, hmm, well medically speaking, if we had all been better prepared, Doctor Chowdry and Miss Belinda Biggins would have been put immediately into isolation. As travellers from the future they would have no immunity to our colds, flu’, Covid etc… you get the picture. No one from the bunker has access to immunisation, but medical tests show these two people have immunity to a lot of diseases. Chowdry himself states that his people do get ill, most recover, a few don’t. Perhaps we can assume that survivors of the apparently horrific years of the middle of the Twenty First century are just that, survival of the fittest. DNA tests so far reveal no genetic defects that could make them susceptible to certain cancers or diseases.’
‘Can we get to the nitty gritty Cummings, two young people in good health, who speak English, what proof have you got they come from the future? Have they shown you the time machine?’
‘They have not had the chance, we brought them straight here for their own safety, but I can tell you that forensic examination of the Ladies toilets at the London Wetherspoon where Mrs Lauren Smith disappeared and where Mrs Smith, Miss Billings and the doctor claim to have appeared eighteen days later, revealed nothing unusual at all, let alone a time portal.’
Agitated, Doctor Chowdry stood up to defend himself.
‘As none of you understand what a portal is, how can you be so certain. Of course it does not have a physical construction you would understand, it can’t be seen or detected if it is not in your time at that moment. My paternal grandfather constructed it when that building was empty and derelict, but before London was destroyed. Like other underground constructions it survived to become part of our bunker. Nobody in the bunker came across it accidentally like poor Mrs Smith on her side, though twice we have had people go missing; we assumed they had stayed outside past the sirens and come to a nasty end, or foolishly decided to join the Hunters. How my grandfather designed it I have no idea, he only told me the secret when he was dying, he had never even told my father. He told me enough to work out how to go through it, but not how to get back again.’
‘How very convenient’ muttered a woman at the other end of the table.
‘I don’t need or want to go back; I am here to warn people to save themselves, what sort of future do you want for your grandchildren?’
The man who had first spoken to him stood up. ‘People have been arguing about time travel for a very long time, can one change the future, if we manage to save civilisation would you still exist?’
‘Who knows, yes if my grandparents still met and my parents still met in happier times…’
The journalist leaned forward ‘What year was your grandfather born?’
‘2004’
‘So all we have to do is find him and DNA would prove you were his grandson.’
‘Obviously we have thought of that’ retorted Cummings, ‘but there are a lot of Chowdrys around, especially if you include spelling variations. He would only be nineteen at the moment, Doctor Chowdry knew him as a doctor, a grandfather. But in our time he is not a doctor and couldn’t have invented his time portal already, because the building is not yet derelict. Now, we have narrowed down our list to Londoners born with that name in 2004, but our doctor here doesn’t know for sure where he was born and when he ended up living in London.‘
A young woman spoke for the first time. ‘Just supposing time travel was true, everything we have been told is true, is it ethical to introduce a teenager to his grandson? Would it change his future, did he invent a time machine because he met someone from the future? If he heard all we have learned would he decide on a different career, science, politics try to save the world?’
‘Yes, yes I must meet him’ shouted Chowdry. ‘He was such an intelligent man, he would understand me and I could help him.’
‘So he is old enough right now to see the problems of the world that gradually will lead to total disaster, but he obviously did no more than anyone else about it, could not understand the full implications. Does that mean he will never meet you?’
Cummings stood and gripped the table ‘Not in the present future, but if we introduce them perhaps it will never happen… old grandson and young grandfather, we must find him, they must meet…’
When Findlay Cummings cycled up the long driveway of the country mansion on his latest visit to interview Doctor Chowdry, he was astonished to see the usually restrained doctor up an old oak tree. Circling round the trunk in great excitement was the head gardener’s loveable ten month old Labrador. Grabbing hold of his collar wasn’t as easy as Fin expected, the dog thought it was part of the game, while the doctor appeared in fear of his life.
‘Have you got a gun? Fetch help, I think I’m going to fall.’
‘No, no, it’s okay, Ptolemy is just a big old softy.’
Despite loving dogs Findlay was still glad to see Ptolemy’s owner hove into view, he did not want to have to explain to the boss that their precious visitor from the future had broken his neck falling out of a tree.
A sharp whistle from the head gardener and the dog retreated; Ptolemy knew who the pack leader was.
The gardener marched off, not wishing to get involved with the strange guests and visitors to the normally peaceful mansion, but Findlay raced after him to ask if he had a ladder.
‘Thanks Mr. Cummings, that’s the last time I venture outside’ said Doctor Chowdry, as the woman who seemed to be responsible for medical checks bathed a few cuts and scratches.
‘I presumed it was the first time you had ever climbed a tree and I remembered, from when I used to play with my big brothers in the woods, that climbing down is often harder than climbing up. But honestly there is no danger in the grounds.’
‘All animals are dangerous, especially ones with teeth and I have read in the newspapers that dogs kill people.’
‘Oh em, well not often and not that sort of dog.’
‘And cows.’
‘What?’
‘Your cows kill people.’
‘No, they just wander round fields eating grass…’
‘Come with me to the library and I will show you my reading and studies, why I haven’t had time to do more interviews, go exploring outside. I wanted to gather evidence to explain my theories, to myself as much as to world leaders.’
The normally sedate and dusty library was full of newspapers and scientific magazines, in piles on the floor and spread over tables with cuttings and photos snipped out. Children killed by dogs, walkers trampled by cows…
Initially the doctor had been entranced by the wonderful old books, but then he became obsessed with fresh writing. Brought up in the bunker with only a few old books and tatty documents it was paradise for him to see freshly printed paper and glossy magazines. Intelligent articles on science and medicine were an antidote to the mindless prattle of Belinda Billington and Lauren Smith and the various persons looking after or guarding Belinda and himself.
‘Look Mr. Cummings, your citizens don’t need to be scientists, play with DNA to create new breeds. Bully dogs bred from the toughest specimens and what happened when they roamed wild? And this, introducing strange animals, calling it rewilding… your people don’t know what they are doing, if they saw the real wild lands …’
‘But plenty of countries have all sorts of wild animals, people have always co-existed…’
‘But when man started interfering with nature, changing DNA; safe in the laboratories perhaps, but when infrastructure breaks down, when all the beasts escape, mixing breeding, evolving…’
‘Okay, I understand your theories, but how did cities fall apart as you say they will?’
‘Look at today’s paper, Artificial Intelligence.
It is not me making things up. I am just beginning to understand how it all started to go wrong and we must tell everyone.’
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 