A Summer Scene: Bexhill-on-Sea

 

The sun shines. The midsummer heat is moderated by the strong wind blowing in from the south west. It blows constantly, flapping the torn flags atop the lifeguard station. The people here all carefully socially distanced wear their summer clothes and bask in the English definition of summer. Two women walk into the teeth of the breeze. Their long blonde hair streams behind them as they bend to make progress along the shore path.

The sea a constantly shifting blue and green patchwork sparkles in the afternoon light. It crashes driven by the wind against the shingle shore. Away on the horizon sailing yachts make slow progress from right to left passing the Sovereign Light, its grey outline looking like an old railway semaphore against the cloudless blue sky.

Conversation and laughter drift across the browned grass. A terrier chases a ball and returns it to its family. It looks betrayed when its owner pretends to throw the ball, and it runs off anticipating its prize only to be disappointed for a moment as the ball has vanished. It bounces looking around for its toy until it is eventually thrown again. It retrieves the reward and returns to repeat again.

Cyclists weave between the strolling walkers frustrated at their lack of faster progress, whilst a group with freshly bought, fast melting ice creams, hold them at arm’s length like live hand grenades trying to avoid the drips that are running down the cones.

A young couple, with bronzed bodies walk hand in hand laughing. In the centre of the scene she trips and falls on her untied converse shoelace. They laugh harder, she is in hysterics on lying on the grass as her partner tries to help her up. He helps her to her feet and then lifts up her leg to tie her lace as she hops about enjoying his attention.

Being lunch time couples sit and enjoy their fish and chips from cardboard recyclable boxes. They keep the lids tightly closed between mouthfuls. Here is the domain of the herring gull. They float in the sky, circling, cruising looking for food. They land in the grass and try to look disinterested in the bounty they seek. They stalk the unwary diners, like ninjas in the darkest of nights.

A family throw a few chips at the gulls to get them to pose for a photograph. They arrive in numbers, calling for the senior gull to come and eat first, he arrives, larger and meaner than the rest to calm the cacophony. He eats his fill and his minions fight over the scraps. Presently the carnage ends and all that remains are small white feathers that flutter with the grass in the breeze.

A middle-aged couple walk past. They are very earnest, discussing some vital issue with great passion. The man with his flat cap and round horned rimmed glasses nods sagely as they walk, wearing a T-Shirt that proclaims the legend “Only elephants should wear ivory.” His leather shoes creak slightly.

Meanwhile the smile of the one I love encourages me.

Baking for Lockdown

During the enforced COVID lockdowns, interest in baking reached fever pitch. Now as a cook I must admit to being no more than just about competent.  I can follow a recipe if its simple, and can manage passable Roast Potatoes when the need arises.  As things get complicated though and as the amount of washing up increases, I will invariably reach for a take away menu, or something easily microwaved. 

However as the summer days stretched on I began to look back through old cook books looking for something a little different to try.  Buried deep in a box at the back of a garage lurked a slim volume from the dim and distant past, a cookbook sold by my primary school in London to raise funds for a swimming pool that was never built.  Parents and staff contributed their finest recipes and the books were sold out from what I remember.  The cover features an illustration by the famed Willie Rushton, who was a local resident.

The extremely rare Bousfield Cookbook

I flicked through classic recipes from the 1970’s dinner parties the cosmopolitan parents of an inner London school were making at that time.  Homemade delights such as Taramasalata, Spanish Prawns and Tabouleh, which for the uninitiated is Lebanese Parsley Salad.

Tucked away in the pudding section is a recipe for Crundle Pudding, which was submitted by my mother.  The origins of the recipe are lost in the mists of time, but it was made by my paternal grandmother and was passed down through her family.  It’s really quick to prepare, and is very filling.  So, for some 70’s nostalgia, courtesy of the long forgotten Bousfield Cookbook give this a try!

Ingredients:

1 ½ oz Margarine

2 oz Self Raising Flour

½ Pint Milk

2 oz Sugar

1 Egg

Jam or Syrup Sauce

 

Method:

Cream the margarine and sugar, then add the egg and beat into the mixture

Add the flour and mix well

Add milk just before baking

Pour the mixture into a greased dish (it will be slightly lumpy)

Cook for 45 mins at 190 °C

Serve with Jam or Syrup

If you're brave enough to give the recipe a go let me know how it was in the comments.  If any of you are really keen I might even share some of the other recipes from the book.  Let me know below.

A Beginners Guide to Setting up a Guitar

 

Congratulations! Father Christmas has brought you, the beginner guitarist, the axe of your dreams! But since it was delivered mail order, straight from the factory in China, it won’t be set up properly.  But wait, with a few simple tools and a little patience you can have your axe playing like a dream.

When your guitar comes from the factory it will have been set up quickly with a cheap set of strings, and by someone being paid to do as many as possible as quickly as possible.  This means that your guitar has not received the careful attention it deserves, and as a result it can play and sound awful.  You could get a professional luthier to set up the guitar on your behalf, but its not too difficult to do the work yourself.

There are three basic adjustments to make to your guitar, these are: The Truss Rod, The Action and The Intonation.  Let’s look at how we can adjust these each in turn.

Before we start it might be worth investing in a guitar tool kit.  These are around £15 online or widely available from music shops.  These include all the tools you need to maintain your guitar, including an action gauge, hex keys, snips and string winders.

Firstly, the Truss Rod.  This is a threaded bar that runs along inside the neck.  It resists the tension that the strings exert on the neck to stop it bowing.  If poorly adjusted the neck can either bow too much, meaning the strings are too far from the fingerboard, or bow too little meaning the strings buzz as they touch the frets.  To adjust the Truss Rod, you will need to expose the adjustment nut.  On “Gibson” style guitars this is under the cover on the headstock, or “Fender” style guitars it is found at the body end of the neck.

Gibson style Truss Rod.

Depending on your guitar, you may need a hexagonal (Allen) key or a socket wrench.  Often these are supplied with a new guitar.

Place a capo on the first fret, this removes the effect of the nut on the guitars action.  Next fret the low E string at the 15^th fret.  Take your action gauge and measure the clearance, sometimes called neck relief, at the 8^th fret.  It should be 0.007”.  If you don’t have an action gauge you can use a feeler gauge or a piece of printer paper folded in half.  If the clearance is too much, the truss rod must be tightened.  Turn the nut clockwise no more than a quarter turn at a time, then remeasure.  It will take a few moments for the wood to settle so don’t rush the adjustment.  If you need to keep tightening continue a quarter of a turn at a time.  If the clearance is not enough, loosen by turning anti-clockwise, again a quarter turn at a time.

Once you are happy with the Truss Rod adjustment we can move onto the Action.

Action is measured at the 12th fret.

Remove the capo and measure the clearance of the strings at the 12^th fret.  The treble strings should be no lower than 3/64” whereas the bass strings should be around 5/64”.  Play a few chords and notes and check for buzzing where the strings vibrate against the frets where they shouldn’t.  Adjust the bridge height on a “Gibson” style Tune-o-Matic bridge using the thumb wheels on each side.  On “Fender” type guitars the saddles can be adjusted individually for each string using a small hex key.

Try to get the action as low as you can, without the string buzz, this will make the guitar much easier to play.

The final basic adjustment is the intonation.  This is to ensure that the fretted notes moving up the neck remain in tune, by making sure the length of each string between the bridge and nut is correct.  In fact, you should recheck the intonation regularly, and readjust every time you restring your guitar.

For this you will need an accurate electronic guitar tuner and a small screwdriver to adjust the saddles on the bridge.

Use the electronic tuner to bring the guitar to concert pitch, (E, A, D, G, B, E) and then fret a string at the 12^th fret.  If the note is sharp, the string needs to be lengthened.  If the note is flat the string must be shortened.  Adjust using the screws at the back of the bridge to move the saddles.  Clockwise to lengthen, anti-clockwise to shorten.  Adjusting will change the pitch so you will then have to retune and then recheck the note at the 12^th fret.  Repeat this for each string in turn, until the open strings and fretted notes match.

Adjustment of a Gibson Tune-o-Matic Bridge

Now you’ll find that the guitar is easier to play, better at keeping in tune and sounds great!  There are more adjustments you can make as you get more confident, such as the height of the pickups or changing the string gauge which will change how the guitar sounds and plays.  Until you are ready for that though, just keep on practising!

Getting Students to Revise: A Hopeless Task?

Now that exams have returned after the Teacher Assessment forced on us by the pandemic, the perennial problem of getting some students to engage in revision endures. What strategies can be employed by classroom teachers to improve students’ attitudes to revision, and have a positive effect on their outcomes.

We’ve all been there.

“Right Year 11, end of module test next week, revision for homework. It’s really important as this will be the grade that goes home on your interim report.”

Once marking the test you get that sinking feeling. Something that you have taught in detail and appeared to be well understood by the class ends up causing carnage in the exam. What do you do about it? Extra classes? Detentions? Phone calls home?

Whichever you choose inevitably you will spend time going over it again, the class appear to “get it” as they did last time. You might give extra practice exercises which are done well, but when it comes to assessment the wheels fall off. So what’s going wrong? The answer is likely to be revision.

In my experience students fall into three categories when it comes to revision. The first group, lets call them group one, are the conscientious ones. They will work hard, engage in their revision and come and ask you questions about things they don’t understand. They are highly motivated and a pleasure to teach.

The second group, group two are the demotivated. It doesn’t matter what you do for these students they are just not going to revise. They won’t come to revision sessions, they won’t complete classwork or homework to the expected standard if at all. When you try and engage the parents, they are either indifferent or are having the same problems as you in trying to motivate their child. These students say that they don’t care about their results, either they are resigned to a certain grade and won’t try, or they’ve been told by someone they don’t need a grade in your subject so they won’t bother working. We can still help these students but it will take a lot of effort to get them working.

Group three are those in the middle. They are the ones that could move up to group one with the correct encouragement, or will fall into group two if it all becomes too much.

These students don’t like revision lets be honest. Going over something you’ve done already is just a bit boring. As teachers we cajole and try to motivate these “grumpy” teenagers to engage with our subjects, but remember we are competing with another ten members of staff, each vying for our students limited attention with the same passion for their subjects that we have for ours.

Equally if you sit down with students individually and discuss how they actually revise it becomes very clear that most of them haven’t the first idea of how to go about it. They may say that they read over the classwork that they have done. Some might do the odd mind map. Some may even write flashcards or post it notes. However, the common theme is that they get fed up very quickly and very soon they become distracted by their social media or the games console, and even those with the best of intentions will give up. We need as teachers to teach our students how to revise more effectively. If we can get them to engage in a method that works for them they will be more likely to revise and keep revising.

During my teacher training, at a time when the three-part lesson was the in-vogue pedagogy, one of the key messages was that teenagers have shorter attention spans than adults. I remember being shown graphs showing attention spans ranging from 10-15 minutes for year 7 up to year 13. This was supposed to encourage the planning of short lesson segments in order to better manage students in the classroom. This wasn’t always possible in GCSE required science practical’s, but as a general rule of thumb 15 minutes on a single activity works well in most cases. In fact, that is why commercial television has a break every 15 minutes. To encourage students to revise we can use this to our advantage.

Most students will get a revision guide at GCSE and A level. These can be used to help the revision process get started easily. I would suggest that students do the following:

• Choose a section in the revision guide. For 15 minutes read through that section making flash cards or highlighting the key points.
• Once the time has elapsed, stop, get up from their desk and have a break for 5 minutes.
• Return to the revision guide or workbook, and answer the questions on the section they have been reading, going back to their flashcards and amending where necessary. Stop after 15 minutes.
• Take another break, make a cup of tea and find someone in the house to talk to.
• Spend 5-10 minutes trying to explain to a parent what they have been revising. If they can do so fluently they have learnt that section well. If they struggle then they know that they need to revisit that topic again.

In the above example, the student has worked for a total of 50 minutes. They should find that this method of “bitesize” chunks was much easier than just reading over notes. By finding a family member to explain to they should hopefully receive encouragement and the family know the student is using their time effectively.

An ideal time to discuss this with students is at parents evening, as the parents can buy in at the same time, and keep encouraging the students when they start flagging.

This is just one important step to prepare students for exams. There is much more of course, particularly with regard to exam technique and answering subject specific questions and vocabulary.

Nevertheless, ensuring students do some revision, will have a positive effect on their outcomes. Indeed, once they find a method of revision that is effective for them, they are more likely to persevere and students will engage more positively with their studies in future.

The Pied Piper: A Modern Fairy Story

As soon as I saw the quaint little village I knew it was perfect. It nestled hidden in a valley high in the north country hills, almost completely cut off from the rest of civilisation. One road in and one road out. A Church, a small school, a pub and a shop cum post office. Country folk set in their ways. It was ripe for the taking, and I was the man to do it.

My first port of call was at the home of the councillor that had placed the advert. The cottage was typical of the area, that is to say square and squat with leaded mullioned windows. The door was wooden and very old. Without seeing a bell, I knocked loudly and waited. The door creaked as it opened.

“Good morning sir. My name’s Beamish, Joseph Beamish of Beamish Pest Control,” I pointed at my van with my name written on the side. “Would you be Councillor Snell?” My question was addressed to a tall elderly man with half-moon spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He was dressed almost entirely in corduroy and looked quite the country gentleman. His attitude however was less than gentlemanly.

“Aye I’m Snell, what do you want?” He spat the words at me, clearly the councillor was a man of little patience with a lot on his mind.

“I’ve come to assist with your rat problem,” I smiled as sincerely I could manage whilst waving the advert that had been posted in the local paper.

“Oh, right you are. Best come in then.” He was reluctant but I had piqued enough of his curiosity to be admitted.

I followed Snell into a sitting room with a low beamed ceiling. A fire was smouldering in a dusty grate. The place was shabby. When built it would have been marketed by a canny estate agent, if such a profession had existed in the 1700’s, as a Hovel for the upwardly mobile. In the twenty-first century it had at least gained electricity and indoor plumbing, but it had probably not been decorated since the early 1980’s. The wallpaper was peeling and old papers were strewn about the room. It was a typical bachelor pad. No self-respecting lady would have tolerated such a mess or for that matter Councillor Snell. I knew though that this kind of surface poverty concealed the depth of wealth of a successful miser. It was the kind of wealth I was interested in acquiring.

Snell explained that the village centre was overrun with rats. They had suddenly appeared about six weeks ago and now they were out of control. They were in people’s larders; they were chewing through beer barrels at the pub. The children were frightened to go to school as the rodents were running riot through the classrooms. It was putting off the tourists and something had to be done. They’d tried traps, poison, even men with terriers but it had done no good. The rats were becoming more numerous and the people of the village demanded action. In desperation the parish council had advertised for a pest controller to save the village.

The advert had mentioned a sizeable reward for success. I had a sizeable figure in mind.

“I’m sure I can help,” I said. “No need to pay me the £10,000 now, I’ll dispose of the rats and then you can pay me so you’re sure I’ve solved the problem. If I fail then no charge.” Snell was dubious.

“Ten grand what will you do to the blighters, paint them in gold?” I tried another sincere smile to try and reassure him.

“Standard fee for my patent method Mr Snell. It has been developed over many years and is scientifically proven.” If he was impressed he didn’t show it. “I offer you a guarantee of total satisfaction. No-one else in the country offers such generous terms. If there’s a single rat left in the village once I’m done you’ll pay nothing.” His eyes widened when I explained that he might not have to pay. He scratched his chin, weighing up my offer, balancing the no win, no fee guarantee, against the not inconsiderable financial cost of success.

“Alright on you go then, get started.”

I drove down to the village green. It was located in the centre of the old community. The medieval coaching inn was on one side with the impressive gothic church and school on the other. I unloaded my mini digger and set to work. In the centre of the green I began to dig. It took a few hours, by the time I had finished the sun was low in the sky and the shadows stretched across the green. For my efforts I had a hole ten feet deep and of twenty feet diameter. At the bottom of the hole I carefully placed my special device. It was a small silver box with a speaker in its centre. It looked nondescript but was very powerful. It was the solution to their problems, or the start of a whole lot of new ones. They would ultimately decide which and I chuckled to myself at the thought.

All this activity had attracted quite a crowd, it seemed most of the village had turned out to watch. They created a low hum as they chatted amongst themselves, confused at what I was doing, but curious, nonetheless.

I was climbing out of the hole as I came face to feet with Councillor Snell. I looked from his green Hunter wellingtons up to his confused face.

“What’s all this malarkey then?” I climbed to meet him face to face before explaining what he would be getting for his money.

“Simple Mr Snell, very simple. I place my special patented device at the bottom of the hole there,” I pointed to the bottom of the hole. “I activate it using this remote control here.” I pulled a small control pad from my pocket and showed him. “The rats are then attracted to the device; they just can’t help themselves. When they’re in the hole, we turn on the water and hey presto they drown.” Snell was not convinced the solution could be so simple after all they had tried before, but before he could protest I activated the device.

At first nothing happened. The crowd looked at each other and whispered, Councillor Snell folded his arms.

“Well Beamish?”

As the words left his mouth rats suddenly appeared from all directions. They scurried out of every building racing across the grass. Soon the green was a heaving mass of tiny four-legged grey bodies. The crowd scattered screaming as the rats raced headlong into the hole. I picked up the hose pipe and whistling a jolly tune, began to fill the hole with water. The device floated but the rats did not. In a matter of minutes every one of them was dead, their squeaks forever silenced. I switched off the device and turned to Councillor Snell. He was opened mouthed, completely in shock at what he had just witnessed. He wasn’t the only one, the rest of the villagers were amazed as well. Then they began to clap and cheer. Expressing relief as their rodent infestation nightmare was over.

“There we are, I’ll dispose of the corpses humanely and then I’ll take your payment. Cash is preferred.”

“Hold on a minute,” replied Snell. “Is that it? Dig a hole and drown them!”

“Yes, it’s very effective don’t you agree?”

“That’s not worth ten grand!” Snell was red in the face. Maybe he felt I’d humiliated him, tricked him in some way by getting rid of the rat problem so easily. “We won’t pay ten grand, £50 quid that’s our final offer.” I was taken aback. I turned slowly to face him.

“I don’t think you understand Mr Snell.”

“Oh I understand very well Beamish.” Snell was now playing to his crowd. “These rodents suddenly appear out of nowhere, and then you conveniently show up and get rid of them in five minutes charging the Earth!” The crowd murmured their approval, they’d forgotten the days digging apparently. “You’ll not get ten thousand off us. How do we know you didn’t bring the rats here in the first place?” The crowd was getting restless. There was a danger of the situation getting ugly. They were all siding with Snell. I tried to placate him.

“Look we had an agreement councillor. I’ve solved your rat problem. I asked for nothing in advance, just payment on completion of the job.” I kept very calm wary of provoking the crowd. I wondered if to bargain, accept a lower price. On reflection I thought not. Stepping closer I whispered in a low voice. “I’ll warn you just the once Mr Snell. If you decide not to pay me the agreed price there will be unfortunate consequences.”

“Do what you like, here’s your £50.” He threw some notes at me and they fluttered to the floor. He turned on his heel and walked away. The crowd dispersed, chatting laughing and pointing, enjoying my humiliation in the late evening sunshine. I crouched to pick up the notes and as they walked away I smiled to myself. Time for a little revenge then. I actually preferred it this way. They had made their choice. I gazed towards the school next to the church.

The following day the children arrived in dribs and drabs for Sunday School. I watched from my van as they waved goodbye to their parents. The adults went into the church, the good god-fearing country folk they were. I laughed aloud at my good fortune. The feast of St John and St. Paul. This was a 26th June they would not forget for a long time.

Before I could complete my plans I made a tour of the village.  I let myself into a number of homes, helping myself to a few valuables to cover my costs.  Councillor Snell had a number of very valuable items of gold jewellery that would leave me a tidy profit once sold.  I smiled as I returned to my van.

At 11am precisely the children tumbled out into the playground. They laughed and shouted with joy as they played, waiting for the church service to finish and their parents to return. The bells of the church began their peal. It was time.

On the passenger seat was my device. I chose a new setting and switched it on. Immediately the children stopped frozen to the spot. Expressions wiped from their faces, they gazed into the distance unseeing.

At that moment, the congregation poured out of the church. It took them a moment to take in the scene before them. There were a few moments silence before the shouting began. Cries of concern rippled from the crowd. Parents tried to run towards their zombie like children. I pressed another button on my control and they suddenly became glued to the spot.

I climbed down from the van and walked towards the church gate. It opened with a creak. I stared at the frightened faces of the congregation. I picked out Snell, desperately pulling at his legs, trying to free them from the invisible force holding them fast. I called to him.

"Last chance Snell. I am a fair man. If you pay up now, I will release you all and you'll never see me again. If not, then the consequences are on your head."

"Go to hell you B£$%&*%d."

These types were all the same. Lords of their tiny manors, too proud to back down, unwilling to make any compromise to save face. Their pride always cost them in the end. It was the secret of my success.

"So be it."

I pressed another button on the control pad. The children turned and began to walk towards my van. I climbed back into the cab, started the engine and began to drive slowly up the hill towards the moor above the village. The children followed marching in silence, immune to the cries of their anguished parents that faded into the distance.

Up the hill we went, a silent army marching to an unknown fate. Further ever further onto the moor, into the wilderness. I imagined the scene in the village. Desperate parents slowly freeing themselves from their paralysis, hunting for their children. Shouts and screams, hysterical tears when they couldn’t be found. The realisation when suddenly recall the arrogance of the unfortunate Councillor Snell. The arguments, the retribution and the sickening realisation that they were powerless. The children had gone. My smile was broad.

Miles from anywhere we reached our destination. In this remote and forgotten spot high on the moor there was a cave entrance. It was almost totally obscured by nettles and long grass. This did not stop my army. In they went one after another, marching into oblivion. As the last child entered I used my digger to push a huge stone across the entrance trapping them forever. I pressed a button on the control.

The spell was suddenly broken. I heard the screams as the hungry rats began their meal. Thirty children would last them quite a while. I have to keep my own children fed after all.

I studied my map looking for the next village to have a sudden rodent infestation. Always make sure to select one with a school and church.

Anyway, remember my friends, don’t be selfish and don’t be greedy. Always keep your promises.

Bentham’s Nuclear Bunker

On the moor between High Bentham and Clapham there used to be a secret military installation. Part of a national network whose purpose was to assist in the defence against nuclear attack, this is the story of Bentham’s Nuclear Bunker.

Following the First World War, the government concerned about the threat of attack by enemy aircraft, formed the Observer Corps. This new force was made up of local volunteers spread across the whole country. Their job was to recognise and identify hostile enemy aircraft flying overhead.

Observation posts were built on open and high ground. In more urban areas high buildings would be chosen, including one on the Brunswick Tower of Windsor Castle. These posts would usually be wooden or concrete platforms protected by sandbags. Each post would be manned by a minimum of three observers and would communicate to one of 39 control centres by telephone.

By the time of the Second World War, there were over 1500 observation posts, manned by more than 100,000 volunteer observers. Whilst the Chain Home radar system could track the approach of enemy aircraft, once over the coast it was these volunteer posts that played the vital role in monitoring aircraft movements. The Corps were bestowed with the Royal title by King George VI in 1941 in recognition of the important part they had played during the Battle of Britain.

A typical observation post c1939.

Following advances in aircraft and tracking technology, the need for visual identification of aircraft was much reduced. As the Cold War intensified the government decided to modify the role of the ROC to help with defence against Nuclear attack.

Between 1958 and 1968 the traditional observation posts were replaced by sub-surface reinforced concrete bunkers at a cost of around £5000 each. This created a network of 1563 bunkers built around eight miles from each other right across the UK. These were excavated to a depth of 25 feet. Inside was a large room containing detection apparatus, canvas chairs, desk and metal bunk beds. A smaller room with a chemical toilet cubicle was attached. Electric light was provided by a 12 Volt car battery, that could be charged from a small petrol generator. On the surface there were two ventilation ducts and a single hatch to access the bunker via a steel ladder.

Cross section of a typical bunker.

Each post would be manned by three observers, still local volunteers. Their task was to detect the size and direction of any nuclear blast and monitor the radioactive fallout. It was anticipated that the crew would need to remain underground for at least 21 days after an attack. The conditions could only be described as cramped, cold and damp.

The bunkers were grouped into clusters of between three and five, with one designated as a master. Bunkers communicated with the master using standard telephone lines, one of the best ways to identify one is a line of redundant telegraph poles that stop in the middle of a field. The master bunker was also equipped with radio communications in order to contact the regional control centre.

By 1968 the government had decided that the Cold War had begun to thaw, and the threat of nuclear war had eased. Many local areas were beginning to have trouble recruiting enough volunteers to man the bunkers in any case. The decision was taken to reduce the number of posts and the number was slashed by more than half. The remainder stayed in service until 1991 when the ROC was finally disbanded and all the observation posts closed.

A large number of the bunkers were filled in and demolished. Many of the sites were bought by mobile phone operators as their strategic locations on high ground were ideal for cellular radio masts.

Which brings us to the fate of the Bentham bunker. It was located on the side of the B6480 Clapham Road, just short of the Greystonegill Lane/Nutgill Lane crossroads. It closed in 1991 when the ROC was disbanded, and was finally demolished in 1997 when a mobile phone mast was built on the site.

Site of Bentham Bunker today.

Most of the neighbouring bunkers in the cluster have suffered a similar fate. Caton was located next to Bull Beck Picnic Site. It closed in 1968, and the bunker became a septic tank for the picnic site. The bunker at Settle was closed in 1991 and was located in a field between Anley Hall Nursing Home and Lords Close. It was demolished and nothing remains. At Horton-in-Ribblesdale the bunker was just north of St. Oswald’s Church. It closed in 1991 and has also been demolished.

However, the master station at Kirkby Lonsdale survives. It is located in a rectangular fenced compound next to the new Oakfield Park housing development adjacent to the QES Astroturf. Although it too closed in 1991, the surface features are still clearly visible. So next time you do the school run or go shopping at Booths in Kirkby, spare a thought for the brave volunteers of the ROC who manned the all the observation posts to help defend the country. The hatch is however firmly locked.

Kirkby Lonsdale Observation Post.

Crickets Greatest Comeback: Warwickshire v Hampshire 1922

 

Edgbaston Cricket Ground, Birmingham

If cricket teaches anything it must be the lesson that the game is never over until the final wicket taken or the final run scored.  There have been memorable matches where teams seemingly up against the odds have managed to salvage unlikely results.

Many of these remarkable matches are spoken about fondly, and as television cameras have been in attendance, many of them can be relived.  Headingly 1981, Eden Gardens 2001, Cardiff 2009 and Headingly again in 2019 spring to mind immediately.  However, June 2022 will mark 100 years since the most remarkable comeback of them all.

Following the First World War, cricket as with most of society in England was rebuilding from the loss of so many young men.  The English Counties were headed by the powerhouse professional teams, Yorkshire, Lancashire, Nottinghamshire and Surrey.  The rest including Hampshire and Warwickshire relied on a nucleus of high-quality players and others kindly described as ‘making up the numbers.’  

In 1921 Warwickshire had finished next to bottom of the championship, which then was a single division rather than the two we have today, above only first-class newcomers Glamorgan.  Hampshire by contrast were competing with Kent as “the best of the rest” behind the four leading counties.

The fixture between the sides at Edgbaston began on 14^th June 1922 under sunny skies.  Contemporary reports say that the pitch was damp, but dried quickly.  Hampshire’s captain Hon. Lionel Tennyson, grandson of the illustrious poet, won the toss and invited Warwickshire to bat.

They mustered a creditable 223 all out.  Top scores came from captain Warwickshire captain Freddie Calthorpe with 70 and Santall with 84 made in sharing a stand of 122 for the fourth wicket.

Hampshire had bowled the weaker side out in 55 overs, and now with the pitch dry and the weather set fair, they expected to build an impressive and commanding total.

At 4pm the opening partnership of Boswell and Kennedy began the innings.  They were both to become the first of eight batsmen dismissed without scoring, as Hampshire were dismissed in the ninth over of their innings for just 15 runs.  The Warwickshire opening bowlers Howell and Calthorpe got the new ball to swing and picked up 6-7 and 4-4 respectively.  The Birmingham Post reported that the Batsmen got into a “funk” and that every possible chance was taken by Warwickshire.  As a result, just 40 minutes after they began, Hampshire were invited to follow on with a deficit of 208 runs.

At their second attempt the Hampshire batsmen managed to reach 98-3 at the close, with captain Tennyson unbeaten on 17.

Resuming on the next morning Hampshire progressed to 127 before losing their first wicket of the day.  Still 81 behind much now depended on the captain.  He was the next to depart however for an aggressive 45 leaving his side at 152-5 a deficit of 56.

They were soon 177-6 as Mead was caught and bowled by leg spinner Billy Quaife.  Hampshire’s hopes now lay with George Brown, averaging just 15 for the season at this point. 

He batted with patience completing his half century after two hours of diligent defence.  He shared an 85-run partnership with W.R. Shirley to take the total to 262-7 a lead of 54.  Brown was able to complete his 185-minute century but the score was 274-8 at tea, a lead of 66 with plenty of time left for Warwickshire to compete an inevitable victory.

Hampshire’s next batsmen was Lionel Tennyson’s Valet and their wicketkeeper Walter Livesey.  This was to be the pivotable partnership of the match.  By the time Brown was dismissed for 172, they had shared in a ninth wicket stand of 177 runs in just 140 minutes.  The score was now 451-9, a lead of 243.

Was this stand just down to good batting by Brown and Livesey?  Or perhaps the Warwickshire bowlers had started to lose some potency.  Maybe the Warwickshire team so unfamiliar with winning matches against strong opposition began to suffer the self-doubt that can affect teams in such a position.  The truth may be a combination of the three, but the damage had been done, Hampshire had now taken control of the match.

Livesey though was not finished, batting into the final morning, he completed his century, finishing 110 not out, before last man Stuart Boyes was dismissed after a stand of 70.

Hampshire were finally dismissed for 521, setting Warwickshire 314 runs to win in five hours.  Despite resistance from E.J “Tiger” Smith scoring 41 and Billy Quaife with 40, Warwickshire were never really in the hunt.  They were dismissed for 158 in 68 overs to lose by the margin of 155 runs.

Will we ever see such a dramatic turn around in a first class match again? Probably not. Keep watching though as one thing is certain.  We just might.

A Visit to Lookout Mountain

Many UK visitors visit the southern state of Tennessee for its musical heritage.  The Grand ‘Ole Opry is located in the “Home of Country Music” Nashville.  Three hours to the west is Memphis, the home of Sun Studios and Elvis Presley’s home Graceland.

However Tennessee has so much more to offer and taking a short drive southeast along Interstate 24 from Nashville is another city immortalised in song, Chattanooga. 

Whilst Glenn Miller’s Choo Choo no longer runs, the historic station has been converted into a hotel.  Guests can even stay in Pullman train cars as an alternative to rooms in the station building.  Inside the hotel there is a restaurant and bars open to non-residents, at the centre of the lively downtown district.

But perhaps the most interesting attraction in this vibrant city is the remarkable Lookout Mountain.  It is no longer necessary to fight your way the summit in the style of General Grant, but rather take the Incline Railway, dubbed “America’s Amazing Mile.”

Accompanied by my intrepid son, we boarded the railway at the bottom station, the St. Elmo Terminal.  Here there is ample parking which has the bonus of being free for RV’s.  The St. Elmo district has a mixture of shops, restaurants and microbreweries, all within a few blocks of the station itself.  However, those were to explore later.  For now, we handed over our $21 for the round trip, ($15 for me, and $7 for children), and we were shown onto the platform.

The light and airy railcar is easily accessible, with dedicated space for two wheelchairs.  These are new cars, only introduced into service last year.  They have more glazing than the previous cars, and are now air conditioned.  The seating is tiered, and faces down the mountain giving passengers a clear view of where we’ve come from, helped by a glass roof.  My 8-year-old companion was apprehensive.

“Dad this train doesn’t look right.  It’s scary!”

I could see what he meant.  The railway ascends at a gradient of 72.7% making it one of the steepest in the world.  Compare that with the Lynton & Lynmouth Cliff Railway in North Devon that has “just” a 58% gradient.  The tiered seating meant we were leaning slightly backward here at the station, but that was soon to change.

I muttered fatherly words of reassurance, and with a jolt from the cable attached to the car we were off.  The car then travels at a gentle ten miles per hour, meaning the journey to the summit takes around ten minutes.  There is a passing loop halfway which allows an identical railcar to descend at the same time as our ascent.  Its sudden appearance alongside gave Tom a real fright.  As it vanished below us, the other car gave a real perspective of just how steep this railway is.

As we continued to climb my companion begins to relax and the railway travels through a wooded cutting directly up the side of the mountain.  The flora and fauna are varied and change with the seasons.  Mountain Laurel and Rhododendron are now in bloom as its mid-summer.  These are replaced by dramatic reds in Autumn, and clear views of Chattanooga far below in the winter months.  In Spring Dogwoods bloom.

On arrival at the summit, 2100 feet above sea level, the air is cool and clear.  The temperature is around 10°C lower than the valley floor.  We decide to stop at the small cafeteria to refresh ourselves, with plenty of sweets and handmade fudge as a reward for a younger traveller’s bravery.  On the roof of the terminal there are magnificent views of Chattanooga and beyond, into not just Tennessee but also Alabama and Georgia.  Further down in the station building is a large window into the machine room.  Here are the electric motors that drag the cars to the summit.  Originally these were steam engines but were replaced in 1911 by the Otis Elevator Company.

A railcar on the Incline.

There are a mixture of visitors from around the world here, enjoying the stunning view.  A young girls southern drawl was audible above the other conversations.

“What do you mean they couldn’t shoot them?” exclaimed Meghan.  Her father smiled as he replied.

“Just as it says honey, the mountain is so steep the soldiers on the top couldn’t shoot the attacking Yankees because their musket balls rolled out of their rifles when they aimed downhill!”

Standing on the roof of the Incline Railway terminal on the top of Lookout Mountain it was difficult to visualise Union soldiers attacking Confederate troops during the pivotal “Battle above the Clouds” in November 1863.  The bright clear day that allowed us majestic views of Chattanooga and the Tennessee River valley was not the day those soldiers found.  That day fog had descended to around halfway down the mountain slopes.  The attacking soldiers emerged into bright sunlight at the summit, and had the unusual advantage of being able to fire their rifles uphill at the enemy, who unable to fire back were forced to fight hand to hand.  The Union prevailed under the guidance of General Ulysses Grant, and the siege of Chattanooga was lifted.

A short walk from the railway station is Point Park, commemorating the Civil War battle that saw the Union take control of Chattanooga.  The centrepiece is the impressive New York State Peace Monument.  This is the only Civil War Monument commemorating both the Union and Confederate armies together, and was a gift from the State of New York.  On the mountains edge, lookout points provide even more spectacular views of Chattanooga and the Tennessee River in the valley below.  It was from here that the Confederate artillery fired onto the Union Army in the siege of Chattanooga.

The New York State Peace Monument.

Opposite the park is the Battles for Chattanooga Electric Map and Museum.  This tells the story of the extensive fighting in the area for the strategically important Chattanooga.  Described as the gateway to the south due to the large number of railways that converge here, heavy fighting took place for control of this important supply route.  The battle cost 34,000 lives and is described as one of the bloodiest of the war.  Tom, who has an interest in the First World War, is now in his element, comparing the memorabilia and stories from the battlefield of a different conflict.

Time for us to take the return journey back down the mountain and return to our hotel.  Boarding the railcar, we could see Chattanooga far below and the late afternoon sun glinting on the Tennessee River.

The Body In The Cave

Above Clapham Village is Trow Ghyll. This wooded limestone ravine in the heart of the Western Dales hides a secret. In the summer of 1947, in a small cave now known as Body Pot, human remains were discovered. Those remains are unidentified to this day.

Sunday 24th August 1947 was a warm late summer day. Two friends, Jim Leach an electrician from Great Harwood Lancashire, and Harold Burgess a motor engineer from Leeds, both members of the North Pennine Club, one of the oldest Caving clubs in England, were planning on exploring the area to find new entrances to the famous Gaping Gill cave system.

At approximately 12:30 that afternoon, they discovered a small opening partially obscured by stones. Investigating further Leach moved the stones to be able to gain entry to the cave. After climbing down about ten feet, he first saw a pair of shoes. Looking further he discovered a skull and the rest of a body. It was in a state of advanced decomposition with hardly any flesh remaining. Burgess also noticed that there was a small bottle of white powder next to the body.

The friends returned to Clapham to report their find, and were then accompanied back to the cave by Police Sergeant Nock of Ingleton. The remains were removed by the police the following day to Skipton Mortuary and the effects found with the body, sent to the forensic laboratory at Wakefield. The police assured the community that foul play had been ruled out as the cause of death.

An inquest was held at Skipton Town Hall in front of Coroner Stephen E. Brown on 25th November. Both Burgess and Leach gave evidence, as did the Police.

Evidence from the post mortem that took place on the 26th August was given by Professor P. L. Sutherland. The remains were described as being those of a man 5’5 ¼” tall, aged between 22 and 30 years. Death was estimated at having been between two and six years previously, and the bones found were not considered to have been a cause of death, since they were neither broken or diseased. The clothes had rotted to the point where they were difficult to distinguish.

Forensic evidence was given by Mr Lewis Nickolls from the North East Forensic Science Laboratory. The clothes were identified as a blue shirt and tie, a grey blue suit with red and white stripes, a tweedy herringbone overcoat, grey trilby hat and plum coloured scarf. The deceased hair was described as being light brown or auburn in colour.

Amongst the possessions discovered was the glass bottle spotted by Burgess. It was found to contain Sodium Cyanide, a lethal poison. The bottle was described as “full to the shoulder” but Nickolls was of the opinion a lethal dose could have been extracted. Also found was an unbroken ampule also containing Sodium Cyanide, and 11s 5 ½d, with no coins newer than 1939.

Also found were two pairs of shoes made in 1938 and 1939. A mineral water bottle of a type supplied to hotels in Morecambe, Lancaster and Ingleton, containing a blue crown top not introduced until 1940. On the basis of this evidence, Nickolls believed the date of death to be no later than 1941.

Other items included a wristwatch, handkerchief, shaving tube, studs, toothbrush, fountain pen, propelling pencil, compass, box of matches, tablets, torch and toiletries. A key was also found but the police could not identify the lock it opened.

Following publicity at the discovery of the body, several people came forward to link missing relatives to the remains. The police compiled a list of eighteen possible suggestions. On investigation four were discovered to be alive, ten were eliminated as having no resemblance to the remains. Of the four remaining it could not be said conclusively if any were the man. A verdict of insufficient evidence was returned as to cause of death and the identity of the remains.

Since the inquest there has been much speculation as to the identity of the Trowl Ghyll body. Was he a German spy? Had he committed suicide to escape capture? Had he been murdered? Had the man died in a tragic accident? Was this a similar to the recent case of David Lytton, the man that travelled from London to Manchester to later be discovered on Saddleworth Moor in 2015 having committed suicide?

The spy theory is the most romantic explanation. The enemy agent, possibly with the authorities on his tail hides out in the wilderness and with no chance of rescue. He has no escape and as authorities close in he commits suicide. Sadly, this does not stand up to scrutiny.

Whilst it is true that Cyanide ampules were issued to covert agents during the war, Sodium Cyanide was widely used as a poison for vermin at that time. In addition, documents discovered after the war from German Intelligence do not support the spy theory. Around 115 enemy agents were sent to Britain during the course of the war. All were successfully captured by MI5 with the exception of Willem Ter Braak, who committed suicide in Cambridge in 1941.

What about the murder theory? Since Leach and Burgess had to move rocks to enter the cave, could this suggest unknown assailants had dumped the body and tried to conceal it? But then why would the body be found not only with extensive possessions, but a reasonable amount of cash. Eleven shillings is the equivalent to around £30 today.

The most likely explanation would seem to be suicide. Perhaps the man had received his callup papers and did not want to go to war. Perhaps he was in love but had his heart broken. Perhaps he had committed a crime and was trying to avoid justice.

Whatever the theories, unless there is more evidence still to be discovered, the mystery will remain. The story of the body in the cave will probably be forever unsolved.

The Key - A Short Story

The Jiffy Bag was A5 size. It looked as if it had been stuck in the Post Offices possession for a long time. It was dog eared and water stains had made the ink used to write the address run in several places. The postmark said South Kensington SW7 23rd November 1963, the day Dr Who first aired on BBCTV. The postman was really apologetic.

“Must have got stuck in the sorting machine mate, happens all the time.” He smiled. “You don’t look old enough to have been alive back then though. What’s your secret?”

“I think its addressed to my late father, he lived here in the 60’s.” The package was addressed to Mr F W Warner Esq. 2a Bina Gardens, South Kensington. My father was also called Fredrick William. The curse of an old family name.

“Oh well I guess that explains it.” The postman was slightly crestfallen not to have stumbled on the secret of eternal youth, and headed off around the corner into Old Brompton Road.

“What have you ordered now?” Cat asked from the kitchen as I shut the front door of the flat. The smell of fresh coffee and burning toast was drifting through to the hall.

“Not me, it’s an old package addressed to Dad I think, it’s from the 60’s.”

“Really?” She snatched the package from my hand whilst taking a huge bite from a freshly buttered slice of toast. “Oh, ok. Wonder what Dad was buying mail order, do you think it’s a rare Beatles record?” She handed it back to me.

“Looks a bit small for that sis, maybe it’s a letter from mum, they’d have been courting then.” I turned the envelope over. There was no return address.

“Well open it, I’ve got to get to work and I can’t hang around waiting for you to make your mind up.”

“Ok, ok.” I tore open the top and shook out the contents. A large brass ornate key fell onto the counter with a clang, followed by a folded note. The note was short and hand written in flowing copper plate.

Dear Frederick,

My work is complete and I am finally ready to search for Catherine. I pray that I will find success.

I entrust you with the key to the laboratory. You must keep it safe. I do not know if Joseph or the girls will try to stop me, but without the key it will be impossible for them.

Keep safe my boy and thank you for all your help.

Love as always,

Grandpa Samuel

“Ooh I wonder what it opens.” Cat was really excited.

“Don’t you think that whatever it was is long gone? There isn’t one property round here that’s not been gutted and remodelled in the last forty-five years.” Cat looked crestfallen. “Look, get going to work will you. We can take a look into this Grandpa Samuel later on.” I put the key and note back in the envelope and left them on the counter.

Cat went off to work in the West End. I sat down with my laptop and logged onto a genealogy website. After some searching I found my father Fred Warner. His Father and Grandfather were also Fredrick William but his Great Grandfather was Samuel Alfred Warner, born Heathfield Sussex 1793, died London 1853. So, Grandpa Samuel was a real person, but he wasn’t around in 1963. A bit more digging showed Samuel had been an inventor of Naval weapons, but there had been some doubt about whether they actually worked. He died in what were described as mysterious circumstances. He had been buried in an unmarked paupers grave in Brompton Cemetery, just up the road. He also seemed to be linked to an Egyptologist named Joseph Bonomi and the design of the Tomb of Hannah Courtoy a rich widow. It was a mystery that he should have died with nothing to his name.

None the wiser I went off to my job pulling pints in the Anglesey Arms. At closing time, I said my goodbyes and began to walk the half a mile back home. Half way along Onslow Gardens I heard the footsteps behind me. As I quickened my step, the steps behind quickened in unison. I could see the traffic lights ahead, a busy road and safety. I reached the corner at a run, glancing behind I saw a figure in a cape and top hat rushing towards me with walking cane in hand. I panicked and sprinted towards home. Crossing Cranley Gardens, I stole another look behind, the figure had gone. I dared not stop. I found my keys in my jacket pocket, shaking I opened the front door of the flat and burst in slamming the door behind.

The flat was dark save for a light coming from the lounge. Usually Cat would be asleep by now, I wondered if she’d left the light on for me, though it wasn’t usual. I pushed the door open and found her sitting opposite a man that appeared to have come from the pages of a Dickens novel. His Top Hat, Cane and Cape were on his lap. His Mutton Chops were grey and his drawn face had an air of bitter sadness. Cat held the key and note in her hand.

“Will, this is Grandpa Samuel.” I was staggered. “It’s really weird but you need to hear his story.”

“What! How can this guy be our great-great grandfather? He’d be 200 years old by now!”

“Two hundred and twenty-nine to be precise.” His voice was soft yet full of authority. “Do sit down William, I need your help.” I sat down slowly.

“Did you just chase me home from work?” He was alarmed by the accusation.

“You were chased? My boy what did the man chasing you look like? This is very important.” Samuel became quite animated, shifting his position on the sofa to look intently at me.

“I only caught a glimpse. Cape, Top Hat, Walking Cane…”

“Forgive me, I must have been followed here, I don’t know how, but I have. I’m sorry both of you, I should never have come, I have put you both in grave danger.” He began to pick up his things.

“Look will someone tell me what’s going on. Please?” I looked at both Samuel and Cat in turn. Samuel recovered his composure and spoke.

He explained that Cat and I were his direct decedent's.  In the 1960's our father had helped Samuel with his scientific work but unfortunately he had been unsuccessful.  He wanted our help to try again.

“How can you be here? This is a joke surely.” I spoke partly in jest but mostly with rising panic. How was this possible?

“I know this appears, unusual. My work was in Time Travel.” I was speechless. Time Travel, really? This was like an interactive episode of Dr Who. I pinched myself but I wasn’t dreaming.

Samuel explained he had built a Time Machine.  He had been asked to do so by a man named Joseph Bonomi who had been an Egyptologist of some fame. Samuel claimed to have found the secret of Time Travel whilst studying ancient hieroglyphs.

“I built it, but when I tested it I was thrown into the future and it took me some time to get home again. In that time Bonomi and his assistants kidnapped my seven-year-old daughter Catherine and had me declared dead, leaving our family with nothing. I must go back and rescue Catherine from her prison.”

“You think Joseph Bonomi was the man that followed me home?” I asked.

“Yes, he wants the key to control the Time Machine. I must go back to my own time and destroy it.”

“How can you be alive? If as you say you are over 200 years old?” Cat asked out loud before I could ask the same.

“The machines curse is that it slows down the natural aging process. That is why Joseph and his disciples want the machine. They want to live forever.” This was pretty heavy. Time travel, the secret of eternal life. I still didn’t really believe it.

“Where do we find this, machine?” Samuel stared at me and blinked as if I hadn’t been listening to his tale.

“My boy, it’s in the cemetery. The Tomb of Hannah Courtoy. She was Bonomi’s patron. Her daughters are the ones that want immortality.”

Cat took out her phone and ordered an Uber. 

Suddenly we aware of the rain.  It beat down and blew against the windows, whipped up by a strong blustery wind. I packed some tools into a backpack in case we needed them, some screwdrivers and a crowbar. We waited for our taxi.

The journey to the cemetery was short, just five minutes and half a mile.

The large imposing gates were padlocked. The rain blew along Lillie Road from the direction of West Brompton Station. Being 2am on a winters Sunday morning, all was quiet.

Samuel walked up to the gates and produced an object from his pocket. There was a clang as the chain around the gates fell to the floor, and a creak as he pushed the gate open.

“Come.” He whispered to us and walked into the dark cemetery. Cat and I followed, shivering slightly, perhaps because of the weather, but more likely from entering one of London’s most famous cemeteries in the dark with a 200-year-old ancestor. Samuel walked briskly. First to the right and then down the second path on the left. Ahead was an imposing granite tomb. Standing by itself on an island between the paths. Its bronze doors, adorned by Egyptian symbols were weathered green, with parts of the parapet looking cracked and unkempt.

“The key Catherine my dear.” Samuel held out his hand and took the ornate key from Cat. He placed it carefully in the lock, turned it slowly and pushed. The door was stiff and both Cat and I stepped up to help push. With difficulty the door moved and we tumbled inside.

“Look Mary, Joseph told us they would come.” Two women in Victorian dress stood over us. They both looked pleased to see us, but as I glanced toward Samuel I could see he certainly was not. “Come now Mr Warner will you not you introduce us to your companions?” Samuel struggled to his feet using his walking cane.

“William, Catherine, may I introduce Elizabeth and Mary Courtoy.” We struggled to our feet. Behind us another figure entered the tomb. Another Victorian gentleman, however he was holding a revolver and it was pointed at us.

“Well Samuel old man, you are quite difficult to track down.” Joseph Bonomi spoke with a high-pitched voice.

“We have to stop this Joseph, its unnatural, none of us belong in this world.” Samuel was pleading with him. “We must destroy the machine.”

“Destroy it? My dear fellow we must improve it! With the technology of this age we could do marvellous things!” He walked towards us. “Just think Samuel, the lives we could save, the events we could shape. The Empire and Her Majesty would live forever.”

“What about your children Joseph? Is this affair not about saving them and Jessie? The medicines of this century would save them all.” Samuel had hit a nerve. Joseph was suddenly uneasy.

“Joseph you told us this was for us, for mother. Are we not to rescue her from the Cholera?” asked Mary.

“Of course, my dear. All in good time. We must first have Mr Warner recalibrate the machine.” Joseph had recovered his composure and was pointing his gun more menacingly.

“What about little Catherine Warner? What have you done with her?” Cat’s question was brave considering the circumstances.

“We did nothing to her, she died as Joseph’s children did of The Whooping Cough. Her father had disappeared. We arranged for her to have a Christian burial, in this place. Why what did he tell you?” Mary was confused. She looked towards Samuel Warner.

“He told us you’d kidnapped her to force him to do your work.” I replied.

“Samuel, is this true?” Mary was angry. “We gave you everything, money for your projects. Mother spoke to Wellington personally on your behalf. After you disappeared your family felt betrayed. We arranged for your fake death so that they could remember you fondly and not as the rogue you clearly are.”

“Catherine was heartbroken, she never recovered from your absence.” Elizabeth added. “Now you bring your descendants here to destroy everything? How could you?” She began to sob. Samuel used the distraction to dive towards Bonomi and wrestle him to the ground. They fought over the gun until the inevitable happened. The shot killed Joseph outright. Samuel pushed the lifeless corpse from him and turned to face the Courtoy sisters.

“You fools are all the same.” Samuel advanced towards them and they cowered together. “A genius they called me, a maverick genius!” He was almost hysterical. His eyes were wild, having committed one murder it looked as if he was prepared to commit at least two more. “I will control the machine, I will travel time and live forever. You shall all have nothing.” He raised the revolver and I hit him with the crowbar. He slumped and dropped the revolver, Cat picked it up.

“I am deeply sorry that you both have become involved in this affair.” Mary Courtoy spoke with the courage of the British stiff upper lip. “This rogue has brought our family and his own nothing but misery. We must take our leave and return home to our own time.” She and her sister each took an arm of the unconscious Samuel and dragged him towards a trapdoor in the centre of the floor. “We will lock the tomb from the inside before we leave, then no one can meddle with this machine again. Good evening to you both, and thank you.”

We were ushered out of the tomb by the sisters and the door slammed shut behind us. There was a creak of the key being turned and then a bright flash from deep within the building.

We were left standing in the November rain.