time travel

Lauren’s Tale

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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.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – A Royal Enquiry

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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…’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Rewilding

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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.’

Saturday Short Story – The Interview

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‘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.’

Interview part one ended for refreshment break.

Saturday Short Story – Past Times

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Belinda Billings was now enjoying her new life in 2023, though initially it had been a shock, slipping in seconds from their 2099 bunker into a city full of people, more people within touching distance than she had ever seen in her life. Luckily they had Lauren of London to guide them as they were crushed and buffeted along. Some kind of official guided them into a building where they were ushered to a table as if they had been expected and given a revolting warm brown drink. It soon became obvious they had not been expected when they were questioned. Belinda began to fear they had been taken prisoner by soldiers from the Salvation Army. What happened after that had become a blur.

All that mattered now was that she and Doctor Chowdry were going to live forever with Lauren of London in a beautiful house, huge beyond Belinda’s wildest imaginings. She could not understand why they had been told the past was so dreadful; here she didn’t have to work, could stay outside all day with no wild animals and walk around vast green spaces that were called ‘the grounds’. This was deemed to be good for Belinda’s health and she took full advantage, exploring the many paths every day, though she was still nervous of going too far and getting lost. Out in the summer sunshine every day she was now browner than Doctor Chowdry, who spent too much time in the library.

Belinda was not sure exactly what went on at this place. They had various visitors who were very interested in talking to Belinda, which she loved; back in the bunker nobody took much notice of what she had to say. She wondered what everyone back in the bunker was thinking now; she had been right about the prophecy that Lauren of London would come from the past to take them back. It must have been strange for the observers at the bunker to see them step through the portal and disappear.

She paused to examine some new blooms, there were flowers everywhere, so many colours and heady scents.

‘Belinda, Belinda, oh there you are.’

‘What are these flowers called Lauren?’

‘Roses, very romantic flowers, but mind the thorns.’

‘I could wander round here all morning.’

‘You have been wandering around  all morning, I came to call you for lunch, we have a new guest apparently.’

‘You look sad Lauren.’

‘I am sad, I haven’t seen my family for two months, I want to go back to my own house.’

‘Is it like the house here?’

‘No, no, it’s so small it would fit into the dining room.’

‘So why do you want to go back?’

‘Because it’s where I belong, not in 2099, not here, but in my own home. I’m lonely without my husband and children.’

‘But you could stay here forever with me, then you wouldn’t be lonely.’

Belinda saw Lauren’s sad smile and despite the glorious sun on her face she felt a chill run down her spine. Deep down she knew something was wrong. Doctor Chowdry certainly was not happy, even though it had been his dream to travel through time. He muttered constantly about talking properly to important people instead of being imprisoned in a fool’s paradise.

No, no, Belinda was not going to think about things she did not understand, she wanted to just enjoy walking through the gardens with Lauren.

‘What are those buzzy things called?’

‘Bees, very clever and vital for pollinating flowers.’

‘What does pollinating mean?’

‘I’m not sure, we can look it up, but I do know this long border is heaven for bees… don’t pick the flowers, we’re already in trouble with the head gardener… Oh my goodness, is that Him?’

‘The head gardener?’

‘No, no Him, the one who rescued us and let us stay in this wonderful place… he is supposed to be anonymous, oh dear I wonder if we should curtsy?’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Drums

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‘…and the drums did not stop. I can still hear them in my head when I try to sleep. That was how the hunters passed messages safely across the dangerous wild lands; a complex drum language they had created with what means they had. Drums are easy to make with an endless supply of animal skins and pliable green wood from the vast new forests.’

‘Ah, that is interesting, drums have been an important part of many cultures, probably from the very beginnings of social awareness. Actually I play drums, love drumming, I’m in a bhangra band and play the dohl.’

My interviewer certainly seemed to be taking seriously my recounting of my visit to 2099 and he was far from the aloof official I had imagined. Even as he spoke, his fingers were drumming a rhythm on the desk between us.

‘The hunters certainly used them for entertainment as well, but drums also had another important use. A whole group of drummers gathered to escort me back to the bunker. I was put on a horse, clinging on for dear life, but feeling safe surrounded by guards, hunters and drummers. Off we marched, like being in an epic film, the drummers beating to ward off the dangerous animals, the hunters carrying flaming torches, even though it was broad daylight. The drums did not stop and no beast came near us.’

‘It sounds as if you were well cared for by the hunters, even if it was hardly the life style you were used to, so why did they return you to the bunker people?’

‘The leaders were in some sort of negotiation, there is interaction between the two societies. The hunters supply them with fresh meat and what passed as vegetables and fruit. In return I think they got medicines and medical advice … and mushrooms, that was all the bunker people could grow underground. Anyway, Doctor Chowdry needed me for his plan to travel back to 2023 and I agreed, it seemed like my only chance to get back.’

‘Yes I am so excited to be meeting Doctor Chowdry soon and so is my boss.’

‘Can’t you tell me who your boss is?’

‘No, no, protocol and all that. All you need to know is that we both believe your story, or at least we are taking the position that every word is true unless we can prove otherwise. But to be frank, it is going to be nearly impossible to get world leaders and experts to listen to what the doctor has to say, let alone act on it.’

My positive mood evaporated. I liked this chap, even though I had no idea who he was, but it didn’t sound as if he or his boss had much influence in the real world.

Stuck in this beautiful rural hideaway, that apparently belonged to The Boss, we were not prisoners, but nor did we have any means of getting away or accessing the media. We had been here nearly two months with only phone calls with my family. In that time I had learnt a lot about the second half of the 21st century from my time travel companions, Doctor Chowdry and Belinda Billings, but I feared they were not learning much about 2023. They were mesmerised by television and radio; I tried to shield them from programmes that I had previously sneakily enjoyed, but now saw as utter rubbish compared with more important issues.

The doctor had early on realised that time travel was simple compared to the task he had set himself, to persuade people to care for Gaia and live in peace. He could at least understand, from television news and serious documentaries, how countries and their leaders could get so wrapped up in the disasters of the moment and never see the bigger picture. Empty talk he called it, so many summits and meetings, everyone talking and nobody doing anything.

As for me, I had to face the fact that I was as guilty as anyone else of letting humanity sleepwalk to disaster. I had been wrapped in a cosy world of husband, children, work, friends and fun and even when I was able to return to my family it could never be cosy again.

Sunday Short Story – Late Home

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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…

Tuesday Tiny Tale 500 – Doors

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.

Tuesday Tale – The Wrong Door

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Today’s story follows on from this tiny tale, or you can read it as a stand alone story.

Tuesday Tiny Tale 500 – Doors

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.

Silly Saturday – Summer Solstice

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 10 Comments

Hurrah it’s the longest day of the year; but that doesn’t mean you cannot join in the fun if you are in the southern hemisphere. One of the features of the new WordPress BLOCKS, which not many people are aware of, is the fifth dimension, which only works twice a year at Solstice. Simply click on a picture and you can be transported to that place. A square picture will take you there in the present, a round picture will take you to the exact moment the photograph was taken. Got it? Just make sure you read the complicated WordPress instructions on how to return…

River Avon, Christchurch
Whitby, North Yorkshire
Salisbury, Wiltshire
Ironbridge, River Severn, Shropshire
Bournemouth, Dorset
The Forth Bridge – don’t forget to take your letters to post.
Westminster
Cornwall
Think carefully before choosing this one.
Come in for a cup of tea.

How did you get on? Tell us which was your favourite place.

Friday Flash Fiction 1000 – Per Ardua ad Astra – The Summer of 2018

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 7 Comments

Edward was not unique in his obsession with aeroplanes, but he was fortunate that his wife understood, or at least didn’t mind spending the summer touring round all the air shows in their camper van. The boys didn’t always go with them these days, but they had enjoyed a childhood of camping and exploring the British Isles.

A slight autumnal melancholy would descend on the couple as the air show season drew to a close, but the winter months were still busy for Edward, visiting air museums and doing research. Josie did not mind him spending long evenings on the computer, she was free to watch her favourite television dramas.

Winter also gave Edward time to spend in his man den at weekends; this was no ordinary garden shed, but the sanctuary where he tinkered with his inventions. If his wife and sons had paid more attention to what he was creating they would have been very excited… or very worried.

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Josie and the boys did not share Edward’s obsession with World War Two and the RAF. His special love, the other woman in his life, as Josie teased him, was the Spitfire, the most perfect aircraft ever built, a beautiful bird that pilots did not just fly, but became a part of. Or so Edward had read and heard from those who had flown them. His six foot four gangly frame, poor eyesight and asthma had precluded any hope of joining the RAF, let alone becoming one of the special few who flew with the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight. He was a frequent visitor to the BBMF visitor centre at RAF Coningsby and all the tour guides knew him well, too well; they didn’t always appreciate him volunteering extra information to their polished talks.

Edward had no idea where his Spitfire dreams came from, nobody else in his family had been interested in flying. Josie said he should consult a medium, perhaps he had been a pilot in a previous life, helping to win the Battle of Britain. In his dreams at night he was always soaring up into the blue sky, not diving down to a violent death.

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But Edward’s thoughts and day dreams went far deeper than his family could imagine, in his den were creations nobody knew about. Talk of time machines was outdated, Edward’s calculations and research pointed to folds in time and certain frequencies. His plan was to tune into the frequency of the iconic Merlin engines and his dream was to save lives; the Spitfire was built to fly not die, not kill. If he could bring the Spitfires forward to the present, before their pilots perished in the Battle of Britain, their young lives would not be wasted.

His theory became reality when he realised that even if he could not see the past he could tune his adapted radio to hear it. Edward had plotted meticulously the dates and air bases of that summer of 1940, but all the planes would converge to one date, the final day of the Sandy Cliffs Air Festival. The spitfires would fly in formation above the fields of Kent they knew so well.

There were only two drawbacks to Edward’s grand plan; the weather might be bad and he could change the course of history. If it changed so he had never existed then he would never have been around to change it… On the other hand if he was alive and well to witness the proof of time travel, he would also be able to observe if history had been changed. If the pilots were taken away the Battle of Britain would be lost, but that didn’t mean WW2 would be lost. Edward had given this great thought; historic events weren’t a matter of one way or another, there were infinite possibilities at the start of every day. Whatever happened, it should be a jolly good show for the RAF’s centenary.

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The weather was beautiful, Edward could hardly contain his excitement. Josie had a headache and decided to stay in the shade of the camper van, the boys had come along reluctantly and were mooching around glued to their smart phones. They should all be snapped out of their languor at three pm.

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The commentator also had a headache, the extra hot summer and too many air shows were taking their toll on his health. Wearily he turned on the microphone.

…and don’t forget the finale of the show with the Red Arrows and a few surprises, but now here come the Spitfire and Hurricane; on a sunny day like this in 1940 the sky would have been full of these beautiful planes… but

He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes…

On the cliffs the crowd gasped in awe as tiny dots became little planes and more and more filled the skies above them…

Edward thought his heart would burst with pride, the formation grew in the orderly fashion he had planned. The commentator was silent, but suddenly crackled back into life.

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Once again we celebrate the strange events of 1940 when German pilots reported the enemy planes disappearing into thin air in front of their eyes, day after day until they all refused to fly for fear they too would evaporate. And so began the slow process of conciliation and the creation of our great empire Gaul.

Edward looked around at the crowds waving strange purple and green flags and wearing clothes that looked unfamiliar. He rushed back to the camper van to tell Josie what he had done; he needed her to confirm what he was seeing.

A strange woman flung open the door, two little girls ran up to him.

‘Daddy, Daddy did you see all the planes?’

‘They certainly put on a good show this year Ed’ said the strange woman.

Edward realised a factor he hadn’t taken into account, he still existed, but the great mixing of the gene pool that occurred after the war and brought Josie’s grandparents to Britain had not occurred, or had occurred in a different variation…

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What does the RAF motto “Per Ardua Ad Astra” mean?

The College of Arms has stated that “no authoritative translation is possible” but the usual translation is “Through adversity to the stars”.

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I wrote this story last year, no time slips occured… but the Bournemouth Air Festival is on right now and you never know what might happen up in the sky. We won’t see The Red Arrows this year as they are touring the USA.

https://bournemouthair.co.uk/

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