‘This is a special book – CHRISTMAS 2025 OUR FAMILY’
‘Old photos, who wants to look at old photos?’
‘I do, they must have lived in this house.’
‘Ha ha, look at what they are wearing.’
‘The garden has changed a lot since then, rather cute, flowers all different colours.’
‘Boring, turn over…. Yuk, what is that?’
‘A baby, what some people used to have instead of cats.’
‘Why?’
‘Not sure, maybe all will be revealed if we keep turning the pages.’
‘Why are they sitting on the ground looking at water?’
‘I’ll do a historic data check…. Sea side, that’s what a beach looks like…’
‘Boring, turn to the next page. That baby thingy seems to be getting bigger.’
‘I’ll data check… it’s growing.’
‘Why?’
‘It doesn’t say, just that they grow quickly.’
‘Keep going, oh it’s standing up, I wouldn’t want one of those things clinging to my leg.’
‘Look, here’s the front of our house, more flowers, lots more people, wonder how many lived here?’
‘Strange clothes, next page… they have put those baby things in boxes with wheels, our cats wouldn’t put up with that. Last page, what on earth is that great big green thing? I’ll data check… a Christmas tree, a tree chopped down and put indoors, no wonder there aren’t any trees left outside.’
‘Right, it’s time we went to check if the cats have finished playing with the humans.’
It is 1964 and in our little house in England we are saying goodbye to my mother’s lifelong friend and her husband. See you in 1984 the adults were saying. I did not get the joke about the year, but 1984 seemed far, far into the future. We were about to emigrate to Australia and the friends planned to visit us in 1984 when the husband retired.
Today is 1984 Day. George Orwell’s novel was published on 8th June 1949 and you can listen to it being read all day ( with breaks and different readers ) on BBC Radio 4. As you will have missed some by the time you read this, it is available on BBC Sounds. If you are elsewhere in the world I am not sure if you might come across it floating in the ether.
I first read 1984 in high school and by that time realised the year 1984 represented ‘the future’ or a future we hoped would not be realised. 1984 still seemed a long way off.
1984 came and went in a flurry of toddlers, nappies and ordinary life, though we paused to contemplate that the future had been and gone and we were having a better time than Winston Smith, well some of us. The next unimaginable future date was 2001, a new century and would it be like the Space Odyssey?
The new millennium started and we hurtled towards a quarter century without yet living on the moon. There is no longer a year number that represents the future. Has Orwell’s novel come true?
Big Brother, or at least someone is always watching. Not only are the final movements of missing people recorded on CCTV, but householders place cameras over their front door as easily as fitting a door bell. Police expect householders to hand over evidence and if you ring someone’s doorbell a disembodied voice will say ‘ Hi Joe you’re early, just walking the dog’ or ‘I’m in Scotland on holiday, can you leave the parcel with the neighbours.’
Thought police? We’ve created them ourselves, calling people out if they appear to be anti-something just because they expressed being in favour of someone or something else, or were overheard making a witty joke. In many countries of course, Thought Police are patrolling social media and journalism.
The 1984 holiday never happened. Mum’s friend’s husband had a degenerative condition that cancelled their holiday plans. You never know what’s going to happen in the future, except it inevitably becomes the past.
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.
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…’
‘Doctor Chowdry, can you sign this to say you agree to this interview being filmed?’
‘With that tiny thing you call a phone, however many things does it do?’
‘If you claim to be from the future, surely you are acquainted with far more advanced technology than this?’
‘No, no, that’s what I have been trying to tell everyone for the past two months, all gone, everything that you take for granted gone. Where does the power come from for your phone, it’s not plugged in like your kettle and toaster and all those strange things in the kitchen.’
‘Battery… well obviously I plug it in to charge the battery.’
‘Mr Cummings, you seem like a fairly intelligent chap; how would your society work if the power disappeared completely?’
‘Um well, I cycle to work and do a great BBQ…’
‘And do you work in a building, does it have electricity, computers?’
‘Okay, point taken, the best thing you can do is to explain to me and the important people who are going to see this interview, what on earth happened between now and 2099.’
Doctor Chowdry does not wish to reveal his given names. Interviewed by Findlay Cummings, HM’s private office, Saturday 22nd July 2023.
‘Can you tell me your age and describe where you were living in 2099?’
‘In the same place I have lived all my thirty five years, in a large bunker beneath what was London. What I am going to tell you is incomplete, passed down to me by my parents and others by word of mouth. When communication, as you Mr. Cummings know it, has been destroyed, it is hard to know what happened to the city, my country, let alone the rest of the world. But as no one has come to find us except The Hunters, we can presume a world wide civilisation no longer exists.
You are all in a panic about the future, without doing much about it. Is artificial intelligence going to take over, is climate change going to destroy the planet, will wars ever stop? Artificial Intelligence will take over for a while, until the power cuts out, by which time AI has ensured that wars continue. Programmed to send missiles to destroy cities and power hubs it kept seeking out new targets. The planet, Gaia, will be fine, it can look after itself, always has, while humans swarm around in panic like the ants and rats that live in our bunker.
A perfect storm of events occurred. In a city flattened by war or natural disaster and you already have plenty of those, people can’t access clean water or food or medical help. If the whole world was like that, who would send help? Are you getting the picture now?’
‘Yes, yes, but we wouldn’t have let it get like that…’
‘Well apparently you did. Add to that the fires and floods that you already have with regularity, bringing lost food production, we can presume lives were lost in the billions.’
‘But how did your people survive?’
‘My grandparents and others thought it a temporary measure, a wartime situation, shelter in the many underground networks, stock up on food and essentials to tide them over. It evolved into living underground, only creeping out to try and salvage what they could. Nature took over, quicker than they expected. You might think that sounds good, but for us nature is dangerous, certainly the way it developed. As nature encroached so did the animals and following them were the hunters.’
‘I thought no one had survived, how could they, but Lauren Smith has told us about the hunters…’
‘I have seen your so called ‘survival programmes’ and news about wars. Soldiers, mountaineers, people who love trekking around in the wild, those who hunted for fun, criminals as well perhaps; anybody who was tough, used to surviving out in the open, could handle a gun. Those people retreated to the wildest parts, shot animals for food, found abandoned farms, rode abandoned horses, they became the hunters. They were not bothered that they couldn’t read a book, go to the theatre, watch the news on television. Many of these tough ones would still have succumbed to natural disasters, but we know there are networks of hunters across our land. They bring us meat in return for medical help, such as we can offer.’
‘Are you a medical doctor?’
‘I don’t think I would get a job with your NHS. My grandfather was a doctor, a surgeon and I have his precious books, but not the means to carry out most of the procedures. I think of myself more as a scientist, preserving what has been passed down to me, trying my best to gain new knowledge.’
‘I will find medical people who will be very interested to talk to you. But I also want to know why you think nature is so dangerous, with war over why haven’t you moved outside, started growing food?’
‘Talking of food, it’s lunchtime and I’m tired and hungry, perhaps we will talk off record while we eat.’
Yes, today and report back to me ASP. If this woman is telling the truth we can’t let her get into the hands of the press… or the government. Show me that letter again… hmm where is she and where are her two er ‘companions’?
At a Salvation Army shelter, treating them all as vulnerable homeless persons apparently, so at least nobody will be in the least bit interested in them.
Good, good and if they do appear to be telling the truth we can slip them away to my place in the country and I will go and visit them personally.
Which place… and if you don’t mind me saying Sir, what if this is all a hoax, or this poor woman has been duped?
Then we make sure they are taken care of.
Isn’t that a bit drastic Sir, I wasn’t suggesting they be disposed of.
I mean cared For… what was your last position?
Mrs Smith, Mrs Lauren Smith?
Yes and this is Belinda Billings… and Doctor Chowdry.
Cummings, I have come on behalf of one of the people to whom you addressed your letter; I cannot disclose who until I have verified your story.
Fair enough, but how are we supposed to trust you if we have no idea who you are?
Do you know who you can trust?
No, no, even my own husband does not believe me, he just wants a rational explanation as to why or how I went missing for eighteen days, the worst eighteen days of his life. I can’t say I blame him, he was in a terrible state; at least now he’s not suspected of murder. He has managed to fend off the press saying the family need privacy at this difficult time, they are hiding out at his aunt’s in Devon. The Salvation Army have been very kind, but I think they are just humouring us, trying to find Belinda and the doctor on their missing persons data base, no luck for them with that ha ha.
Let me tell the story from our point of view Mr. Cummings. Lauren appeared in our bunker during one of our security alerts and was in a very confused state. She was not registered with us and in her strange outfit we had no idea where she could have come from, she certainly didn’t look like a hunter. Her ID, if it was real, indicated she had come from the 2020s. As the year is 2099, that seemed impossible until I recalled the legend of Lauren of London, who will come to take us back to the past so we can mend the future…. And she did and here we are.
Well Miss Billings I can certainly see why no one believes any of you. What do you have to say Doctor Chowdry?
If no one of importance listens to us our mission will have failed. Gaia saved herself, but she had no reason to care about humans. It was up to us to work out how to live in harmony with Mother Earth and we didn’t. So now we grovel underground, trapped like rats, rats with the minds of gods.
I believe them Sir, or at least it’s worth bringing in every expert you can muster to investigate their claims.
This story follows on from previous tiny tales about Lauren, but can be read a a stand alone tale; after all, the people Lauren meets also have no idea what happened to her…
Nobody believed me, why would they, but I had no choice but to tell the truth. I could not just walk back into my life, not when I had brought back two people from the future.
Why me, an ordinary forty year old mother and teaching assistant? I suppose it could have happened to anyone who visited the Ladies at that busy London Wetherspoon, couldn’t find their way out and went through the wrong door into the future.
The end of the twenty first century is far from what I imagined. A perfect storm of situations led to a future that looked more like the past; humans had managed to save the planet, but not their civilisations.
I must not speculate or ramble; I am writing this letter to put down what little I do know in the hope that someone will take notice. I am sending this to experts, those with a voice in the world and the imagination to not dismiss me… King Charles, David Attenborough, the science chap that does that podcast… I just need one of you to answer my letter.
The two people I have brought back with me are an officer called Billings, who initially was most helpful and understanding, though she is still convinced I am the mythical figure Lauren of London. She is so traumatized from her experience of London in 2023 that I’m not sure she will be of much help. The man is called Doctor Chowdry and I think he is what passes for the top scientist among the Bunker People. Scraps of life from earlier decades escaped destruction and in oral tradition knowledge was passed down his family. He is certainly clever as he worked out how to get us back to 2023, though it took him a few weeks and he didn’t quite get the date right.
Thus it was that we arrived back in London on the day of King Charles’ coronation, eighteen days after I left, but in the right place. There were the three of us in the Ladies at Wetherspoon. Luckily a trio of chattering women barged in through a door so at least I could see the way out; I hustled my companions through it before the women noticed one of us was a bloke and we were all dressed strangely. I realised we were late when I saw a missing persons poster in the corridor…
Were you in this Wetherspoon on the evening of Tuesday 18th April 2023?
The flattering photo of me dressed up for the ‘do’ we went to in March looked nothing like the person I had just glimpsed in the mirror. I had exchanged my sackcloth for the bunker clothes the civilians wore in the bunker, but they were hardly flattering.
We had tried to plan how we would arrive inconspicuously, but the main problem was that I had lost my handbag during my narrow escape from the great cat attack. I had no money, no proof of identity and no way of getting home.
Upstairs in the restaurant it was daylight; the place was packed and in celebratory mood. I tried to slip us out quickly, but had time to see a chap reading a newspaper with the front page proclaiming Coronation Day. Outside were crowds of people, though I knew we could not be on the route of the royal procession. Police were everywhere, security I supposed as there were protestors. Then the full implication of my position hit me. My family must be distraught, perhaps thinking I was dead. How could I contact my husband, should I tell one of the police officers? No, they would think I was trouble of some sort, they were already arresting a protestor. I was overwhelmed with panic, but that was nothing compared with the terror I saw in the faces of my two companions.
A woman’s voice behind me spoke in a calming tone. I hung on tight to the others as they flinched at the sight of the uniform.
‘You look like you need help, or perhaps just a cup of tea, a day like this can be very overwhelming. We’re doing refreshments in the hall over there.’
The Salvation Army, hurrah, yes I did need a cup of tea and as they are used to not judging people, salvation was literally at hand. We did not look much stranger than the other people gathered round various tables and as we collected our tea I told the woman I needed help.
‘You help look for missing people and put people back in touch?’
‘Yes we certainly do.’
‘I need to get in contact with my husband.’
‘How long have you been away?’
‘Eighteen days.’
‘Oh, that’s not long, are you able to go home or do you want a third party to speak to him?’
‘It’s complicated and I haven’t got a phone or any money so I think that would be a very good idea.’
So, good people reading this, that is how I was initially reunited with my family, who also don’t believe me. You will perhaps have heard about me on the news, but I plead with you to contact me personally and listen to the story the three of us have to tell.
The book had been locked away again; I had only read the opening lines of Door To The Future, published 2028, but enough to know the narrator shared my name and had also been propelled into the future. There must be many Lauren Smiths around, this book need not have anything to do with me, just a coincidence, though how many others of my namesake had gone through the wrong door?
How did it come to be written and if it was about me, was it reassuring proof that I returned to my own time? It was unlikely I had written it, I had no imagination, as my English teacher was always telling me. Before we had the children I worked in an office and wrote reports, dealt with finances. I liked that world of precision and writing a romantic fantasy novel would never have occurred to me. Someone else could have written it, but I knew no writers to tell my story to.
‘Lauren, Miss Smith, did you hear what I said dear, you must be tired, we must let you sleep.’
I had been so deep in thought I had lost track of what my rescuer and his mother were talking about.
‘No, I can’t sleep, I need to find out how this happened to me and how I can get back.’
‘No hurry dear, your time will stay the same, that’s what the book says.’
As they tried to explain their world I realised I could understand their past and my future better than they possibly could. I surmised Billings in the bunker had a better grasp of what had happened; my stomach churned as I wondered if she had made it safely back to the bunker or had she been eaten? I asked my rescuer what creature it was that attacked me.
‘A great cat, he wouldn’t eat you, got plenty of venison and beef out there, they just like to play with the weaker humans.’
The creature I glimpsed was a lot bigger than mythical black panthers spotted in the west country, it didn’t make sense.
As if she read my thoughts the mother spoke.
‘My mother told me strange creatures they had never seen escaped from the borytrees when everything stopped. Signtists made them from gentic earing. They mixed with other animals that went to the wild…’
It made sense, if normal society broke down the creatures we kept for our entertainment or experiment would escape, not just domestic dogs and cats, but wolf packs lovingly supervised in Scotland, animals in the zoo and wild boars that were already roaming some woodlands. I recalled Billings’ words that farm animals were much better at survival than humans, then there were large deer populations breeding happily with no natural predators.
‘How did everything stop?’
‘Pewters ran the world, then they turned off the cities.’
A simplistic explanation, but with no books and only stories passed down it must be hard for them to understand. When I worked in the office I was efficient, liked everything to be precise. If I had worked in pre computer days I would have kept immaculate ledger books and orderly filing cabinets; unless the office burnt down all that information would be safe and nothing would hold up our work. If the computers ‘went down’ in our office, or worse, the whole company’s computers were down it was a disaster, we were helpless and expected the tech people to sort it out. I Lauren Smith could not fix a computer let alone make them. If power started failing there would be no basic services or computers; society would grind to a halt.
‘But survivors, hunters… our people knew how to get food’ said my rescuer.
I would have been a bunker person, so would my friends. It was obvious who would survive, anyone who had been in the armed forces, knew how to use a gun, survive under tough conditions. Even those people we look down on who go out shooting grouse or culling deer and enjoying the stalking, they had the last laugh. Farmers, they deserved to survive, presumably they knew more about animals than the rest of us and probably had a shot gun handy and could kill a sheep or cow if need be. I knew little about life outside the city and now it seemed my lifestyle was pathetic when it came to awful disasters. But still there was a big question.
‘I don’t understand how the cities in my time could crumble, we have huge buildings everywhere, tall buildings, ancient stone buildings, where did they all go?’
‘There were wars, then the big destruction came. Weapons flew by themselves, even when the wars stopped. Weapons dropped out of the sky and flattened cities, my mother remembers even from the countryside where they had escaped they could see the fire and smoke on the far horizon. The city people who survived were hiding underground.’
In my cosy little world of the family and my teaching assistant job we watched the news, but still felt removed from all the awful events. Syria, Ukraine, it was possible for cities to be flattened under relentless attack and unmanned drones were a reality.
Even if I took the hunters and bunker people back to my time right now it was probably too late to unravel events already set in motion. I looked down at the uncomfortable rough cloth I was wrapped in and at the rough clothes of the man and his mother. Even if we could get back to 2023, who on earth would listen to us and our tale?
I felt a rush of air and something or someone grabbing me, hoisting me, hoisting me up as huge claws and teeth were inches from my face.
A huge horse, a rider, my teenage fantasy. I was being hauled up behind the rider. In my fantasy I was lithe and young, rescued by the handsome hero to nestle safely in his arms and cling to the horse’s mane. In reality I was a forty year old mother who had been snatched away from reality into a dystopian future.
‘Hang on tight, I can’t stop’ ordered the rider.
Hang on to what? The man was encased in leather and straps and encumbered with weapons, so was the horse. Suddenly his arm swung up then down, there was a glint of steel followed by a primeval scream. I felt something warm splatter my face; before I instinctively closed my eyes I had seen the arc of blood. If I thought being in the bunker was a nightmare I now realised why Billings said the outside was dangerous.
It was getting dark, but there were lights ahead, a sign that this was a nightmare and I would wake up in my own bed?
The lights were not a return to normality, but flaming torches lining some sort of tunnel. I clung on tight to my rescuer; it was painfully uncomfortable, but better than being eaten by a strange beast. The tunnel sloped downwards and tiled walls were just discernible in the flickering light. Tiled walls that belonged to a civilised city, but where was the city? If I had only been propelled seventy seven years into the future it made no sense. The open wild land I had glimpsed so far had no signs of buildings. Buildings become ruins, they don’t disappear; London could not have disappeared.
I heard other voices, figures emerged from the gloom. We weren’t underground, but in a huge compound. Rugged walls, more torches and a couple of leather clad people with guard dogs.
‘What sort of hunting do you call this?’
A fierce looking chap stepped forward and grabbed the reins.
‘I have no idea who or what she is, but let Mazie take her to the hospitality room and get cleaned up and then I will be the one to question her.’
Hospitality sounded encouraging and two women sat me by a fire and put a bowl of warm water by me. With no mirror I could only guess what my face looked like; the rest of me was bloodied.
‘Do you have a name?’
Did I look so strange I might have been living in the wild, not on an evening out in London with my husband?
‘Lauren, Lauren Smith. I know who I am and where I come from, but I have no idea where I am now.’
‘You’re not from the bunkers?’
I shook my head.
‘Well you are certainly not one of us.’
‘Who are you please?’
‘Hunters of course, Survivors, not like them lot underground. You’ll have to strip off, we’ll burn your clothes, you can’t have the scent of blood on you, wouldn’t stand a chance out there.’
For a moment I thought they were going to send me back ‘out there’, then I felt an hysterical giggle rise in my throat. What would I wear to the theatre if they burnt all my clothes? They put me behind an animal skin screen, poured water into a tub of sorts and handed me a bundle of rough cloth which I had no idea how to put on. Shower gel was obviously not going to be an option.
The drink was welcome as I sat on a bench and saw the bearded face of my rescuer properly for the first time. He smiled, he could have been a chap on television presenting a living in the wilds programme, just a normal man a bit rough and ready.
‘Thanks, thanks so much for rescuing me. I know you won’t believe me if I did tell you who I am and how I got here, or at least I have no idea how I got here.’
‘You look so weird I would believe anything you told me, I mean what on earth were you wearing?’
‘Tell me first what year it is.’
‘2099 of course, can you believe we’re nearly at the end of the century, the strangest century in human history.’
‘I come from 2023, London. I was in a restaurant with my husband and I went through a door and ended up in the bunker.’
‘Okay, so I don’t believe you.’
‘In the bunker a woman declared I was a prophecy come true, come from the past to take you all back to change what happened.’
‘Streuth, of course, the holy book my mother keeps locked up. I never believed all that rubbish … have you come masquerading as Lauren of London to trick some of the gullible ones?’
‘I am not a saviour, just an ordinary person, but perhaps if I meet your mother she will realise I am not a prophecy.’
‘Well here she is, hey Mother, you didn’t waste any time coming to see the stranger.’
‘Of course not, great excitement out there, I guessed you would need my help. I hope you are treating her properly.’
‘Oh yes, I am very grateful to your son for saving my life and everyone has been very hospitable.’
I thought it best to keep on the right side of a mother who might be an important person in this strange community.
‘I have waited all my life for this moment Lauren of London.’
‘No you don’t understand. I am not a saviour, just an ordinary person who can’t believe she has been transported to the future, a future that makes no sense.’
‘Of course my dear, you don’t understand yet. We have a learning journey of months, maybe years, to go on before the great return. First we will open the Holy Book together.’
I was escorted royally to a wooden hut of sorts.
‘Welcome to my home Lauren.’
Inside she slid open a sort of hatch and produced a rudimentary key to unlock a small rectangular box out of which she took a book, kissed it reverentially then handed it to me. I nearly burst out laughing. It was a paperback book, yellowed with age, but I could still discern the lurid cover and guessed it was one of those romantic fantasy novels my sister loves reading.
‘Do you have other books?’
‘Oh no, all gone and what need to do we have of books, just this precious one.’
‘Do you read it often?’
‘I can’t read, my mother used to read it to me when I was little till her eyesight failed; then she carried on telling the prophesy and I learnt it from her, even passed it on to some in the bunkers. Please read it to me.’
I looked at the cover, Door to the Future, not a very original title… by J M Scribbletide, what sort of name was that for a novelist? I perused the first page to find a publishing date, 2028. I felt a chill, this was no holy book, but it was proof that it came from beyond my time. I turned a page and started reading it to the eager woman.
‘It was just an ordinary evening out with my other half, who would have imagined that ordinary me, Lauren Smith, was about to have her life changed beyond imagining…’
I should have been in the theatre with my husband watching that new comedy drama. Instead I was trapped in a drama that was not funny.
‘Madam, you are not registered with any sector in this bunker. Which bunker are you registered at?’
How had a trip to the Ladies at a Wetherspoon pub turned into a dystopian nightmare? I must have opened the wrong door…
‘Please tell me where I am and who you are, then I will tell you who I am.’
I was now in a strangely lit smaller room with half a dozen men and women all in the same uniform, all glaring at me.
‘Name and date of birth Madam.’
‘Lauren Smith, 8th February, 1983.’
There was a sharp intake of breath and mutterings.
‘You are just making things difficult for yourself, please show us you ID and current status.’
Shakily I opened my handbag and fumbled for my driver’s licence.
‘Very funny, what do you call this piece of historic plastic?’
Suddenly a woman pushed past the others to stand close to me.
‘It’s her, it must be, the prophecy…’
‘Billings, you are on duty, this is not the time for your ridiculous fantasies, have you taken your medication today?’
‘Please Sir, just let me talk to her, I mean look at what she’s wearing… Lauren, it’s okay, we don’t mean any harm, we’re just not used to strangers turning up here. What is the date today?’
‘Tuesday 18th April.’
‘…and the year?’
‘2023 of course.’
‘It is her Sir, come to take us back to change things.’
‘For God’s sake Billings, the dawn of the 22nd century and you still believe in time travel and benevolent forces coming to save us.’
Some of my questions were being answered, but not the answers I wanted. Best case scenario I was being tricked and filmed for some ridiculous reality television show, but who would have arranged such a thing? Jay did not have the imagination and all he wanted was a romantic night away with me while his sister looked after the kids. And if this was real… the children. How would Jay explain to them I had gone missing, the last person to see me, they always suspect the husbands…’
‘Lauren, are you feeling okay, come with me to the calm zone and have a drink, you’re in shock.’
Mutterings among the others got louder and scarier.
‘She’s in trouble, not shock. Obviously a spy… or a total nut case.’
Despite my terror I wondered how politically incorrect language had survived.
‘Billings, you are dismissed from duty, report to headquarters in the morning.’
I was about to lose my only hope.
‘No, please, I am not a spy and I do not have mental health issues, just let Billings show me the way I came in so I can leave.’
‘No one leaves the bunker till the all clear.’
A green light flashed on the wall.
‘All clear’ said Billings triumphantly ‘permission to escort the prisoner to the custody suite while you supervise the security checks.’
‘Ten minutes then report back to me.’
My new friend ushered me out of the room and into a dark corridor. Was she a friend or was worse to come?
‘I have to get back, my husband will be wondering where on earth I am.’
‘You are not how I always imagined, but then the prophecy says only a few will recognise her and to think it is me you have chosen to be your disciple.’
‘But I am just an ordinary person who hasn’t a clue what’s going on.’
‘But you will, that’s what the writings say and it’s my privilege to help you. Once I take you outside you will understand.’
‘Yes, outside, lets go before your boss changes his mind.’
A door, a door with chinks of light, she pulled a lever and it opened; but not onto a busy London street at twilight.
I closed my eyes against the brightness, a wonderful scent came to me, fresh air, air even fresher than during the Covid lockdown. The ground felt soft underfoot. I opened my eyes. I was surrounded by green; fields and trees as far as I could see. If I had time travelled I was surely in the past, unless I had died.
‘Is this real, it’s wonderful, where are we?’
‘In North London ward, April 18th 2099.’
‘But it can’t be. If we are really in the future it means the planet was saved.’
I ran through the luxuriant grass like a child, hugged a tree.
‘Wait Lauren, it’s not safe, you must stay with me till you understand.’
‘Do you know how I can get back to 2023?’
‘No, you need to tell us how to get back so we can change things.’
‘But how and why, it’s beautiful, nature has reclaimed part of the city, how much is like this?’
‘All of it.’
‘Impossible, all of London?’
‘All of the world.’
‘How wonderful.’
‘Wonderful for the world and other creatures, but not for humans. It started in your time, most of you didn’t realise. I thought you would know all this as the wise woman who knew the past and the future.’
I was beginning to wonder if Billings should have taken her medication.
‘You don’t get it do you? I expect you have a lot to learn before you can help us. You turned everything off, no more polluting power stations and vehicles, no more exploiting the earth and the oceans. It didn’t happen overnight, but you weren’t prepared. People couldn’t get to work and many jobs ceased to exist. Food couldn’t get to shops, then food wasn’t being grown or caught. Only the ‘organics’ as they were called managed to support themselves, but they weren’t so smug if they got ill and realised hospitals could not function without power and medicine could not be manufactured.’
I couldn’t believe what she was saying, but wanted to defend my times.
‘But we all learned to live off the land eventually?’
‘The minority who were left in safe pockets.’
‘But you still have wars, the bunkers…’
‘No war, not on any scale. The bunkers are where we live most of the time. The outside is dangerous, most people did not know how to hunt, or at least hunt without being killed first. Farm animals left to their own devices turned out to be better than us at survival and provided good food for the carnivores to thrive.’
‘But if you could you go back how would you change things?’
‘That is for you to explain. You are a scientist as well as a seer…’
I was a teaching assistant in primary school, I didn’t even do A Level science or maths and certainly knew nothing about time travel. I clung to the tree with its spring leaves budding, it felt so solid and alive and real. I looked up at a host of birds calling and singing. Was this paradise? Suddenly all the birds took off from the branches in terror. I looked down to see a large creature slinking through the long grass. Billings’ voice and the sirens seemed faint as I heard my heart thumping.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 