innovate-issue-005

In MemoriamMAUREENMumLlyn Clywedog in the sunWho was to know it would soon be doneThe race of life would soon be runNo more laughter, no more funPassed Into Glory Tuesday 29 th April 2014

Innovate Issue 5 ContentsJune 2014Editorial by the Innovate TeamCharity DonationsAuthor Interview with Nicua ShamiraAuthor Interview with Paul LeoneBoma by Grey WolfPlaying With Colour – Village Mill Scene by Louise FletcherCarnivore Act I by Swaroop AcharjeePoets’ CornerOn board United American Flight 817 by Jim SmithRemembering The Fallen of World War OneReviewsThe Library – Parts 1 to 5 by Grey WolfContributor BiographiesAdvertsThe Wolfian Press2014

Special Cellar PacksBe ready for the busy social summer period with one of our special cellar mixed packs ...Feel welcome to upgrade your Summer Standard Pack or to mix and match your own favourites to suit your tastes.Summer Sizzle 12 PackThe Summer Sizzle 12 pack includes 2 bottles each of:2009 Pinot Grigio2009 Savagnin2007 Red2007 Shiraz Viognier2008 Sparkling Shiraz Durif2009 BdV MuscatCellar Club price$175 00Save $48.40on Cellar Door pricesWhite 12 PackThe White 12 pack includes 2 bottles each of:2008 White2009 Pinot Grigio2009 Arneis2007 Marsanne Viognier2007 Viognier2007 Renaissance Viognier Roussanne MarsanneCellar Club price$175 00Save $44.40on Cellar Door pricesRed 12 PackThe Red 12 pack includes 2 bottles each of:2007 Red2006 Mourvedre Shiraz Grenache2007 Sangiovese2007 Shiraz Viognier2007 Durif2005 Petit SirahCellar Club price$205 00Save $54.40on Cellar Door pricesRenaissance Premium 6 PackThe Renaissance Premium 6 packincludes 2 bottles each of:2007 Viognier Roussanne Marsanne2007 Zinfandel2005 Petit SirahCellar Club price$165 00Save $44.70on Cellar Door pricesTo order please choose your most convenient method:Cellar DoorOpen 7 Days from 10am to 6pmTuileries Complex, Rutherglen VICPhone 02 6032 7999Fax 02 6032 7998Email cellar@rutherglenestates.com.auWeb www.rutherglenestates.com.auRutherglen EstatesReply Paid 291Rutherglen VIC 3685

Question 1How long have you been writing?I have been writing for as long as I can remember, before I could write I was always imagining up and acting outstories and telling them to my pets, mom and sister. Fairytales and bedtime stories were a big part of mychildhood and I believe this is where the love for writing and reading started. Then, during school, wheneverthere was something to do with creative writing I was over the moon. I started writing my first ‘real’ book when Iwas 15 and had it published when I was 19. Since then I have really been growing and learning as a writer andoften are overwhelmed by the amount of stories in my head.Question 2What is the earliest work of yours that you have published or intend to publish?My earliest ‘real’ book is entitled ‘Sylvan Elf Tears’ and it is the first of what I wanted to be a series. Althoughreaders have really enjoyed the first one, I unfortunately don’t have enough readers interested to afford topursue having the next one published with the same company seeing that the sales for the first were so bad.It is the story of two brothers in a magical land and their journey to becoming men. They have to travel acrossthe Nine Nations to confront an enemy that is not only sly but ruthless and cruel. Along the way secrets come tolight, relationships are tested, friendships are made and strange things are encountered. The brothers learn tofight from a warlord and must find the strength within themselves to confront the darkness that wishes to tear allthey love away from them and plunge their beloved land into darkness. They are joined by other companionsand a myriad of adventures follow.Question 3Who were the earliest authors to be an inspiration for your writing?There are so many, but I think the main inspiration for my writing, without a doubt would be J.R.R. Tolkien.Since my first introduction to his work when I was 9 years old, I have been head over heels in love with his workand having read The Lord of the Rings over 10 times, Middle Earth has become a solid part of my soul. Theheroes and journeys of the characters of Middle Earth have not only taught me about how to tell a story, butthey have also attributed to who I am as a person. I also gained a lot of inspiration and learned a lot from thewriting of Gene Stratton Porter and her ability to describe settings in a flawless manner that sets yourimagination aflame and really makes you feel strongly for the characters.

Question 4Which other authors do you consider to be an inspiration and for what reason?C.S. Lewis is another author who I believe has had an impact on my writing. Along with Tolkien, I have learntfrom Lewis how to create fantasy lands that can become as tangible and believable as reality.Juliet Marillier is a huge inspiration for me, especially in the last few years. Her work is flawless and hercharacters so multi-faceted and relatable that it is breath-taking. I think I have learned a lot about characterdevelopment and ensuring that the characters stay true to who they are from her. Another couple of authors Iwould love to mention are Janette Oke – one of my main childhood authors and Christopher Paolini. Theirdedication to detail and skilful weaving of a story have been huge stepping stones for me to start becoming theauthor I wish to be.Question 5Are you inspired by any landscapes or buildings, or even towns and cities?I am mostly inspired by nature; fields and waterfalls, forests and mountains fill my head with thoughts andstories and fairytales. Nature has the widest selection of unbelievably beauty, freedom and colour and I believethat the landscapes in my stories, the descriptions are a very important part.Question 6Which was the first book you published and why?Relate to Question 2? I published it because at that time I had come across so many YA books that were almostunhealthy to read. I wanted to present something that linked back to the old stories of valour and honour and atthe same time have an adventure that does not necessarily have to include aspects that are immoral oruncouth.Question 7Have you been surprised by a negative reaction to any of your work?I have been incredibly blessed to mostly have such uplifting and wonderful reviews of my work although therehave been a couple of sour apples in the barrel. One reviewer gave me a single star commenting that I missspelledmy main character’s name throughout the book (his name is Rayn and the reviewer said I miss-spelledRyan). He removed the review after a while, so maybe he was just having a bad day.Question 8Other than authors (and friends and family) who are your heroes?I have great respect and am actually in awe of several historical figures whom I would definitely considerheroes. The main ones being firstly Jesus Christ, then William Wilberforce, Joshua (from the Bible) and WilliamWallace. They have all been huge parts of my finding out who I am and confirming the morals for which I stand.There are also a couple more recent figures whom I would consider my heroes, namely Damien Mander of IAPF(his mission in life is to help save the rhinos and elephants of Africa from total annihilation at the hands ofpoachers) and Angus Buchan who is a man of God who is doing amazing things in Southern Africa to bring theland back to God. Heroes as a whole are also the firefighters and game rangers who risk their lives to protectthe innocent and they have a big place in my heart.Question 9If you could go back in time to learn the truth about one historical mystery or disputed event whatwould it be?This is such a brilliant question that I have taken some time to answer. There were a few trivial questions that Ithought would be fun to know, and besides the usual suspects of the Pyramids, Easter Island statues as well asAtlantis, I thought I would go with something less obvious but just as interesting. I think what I would choose inthis situation is to find out the truth about someone who has been portrayed as two completely different peoplein history; Richard the third. I am fascinated by the accounts of him, one being Shakespeare’s harsh portrayal ofhim as a cruel, deformed king who was unafraid of sacrificing others in his search for kingship. On the otherhand there are historical reports of Richard being a brave an honourable man, sustaining numerous injuries inhis final battle as he fought alongside his men. I would love to believe in the honourable side of Richard the thirdand would love to go back in time to see if this is the case.Thanks so much for having me!

and the problems with salmon lice infestations in the area.Work package 6 - Physical oceanographical factors on salmon lice distribution in the Hardangerfjord• Quantify the distribution of salmon lice in the Hardangerfjord system based on the physicaloceanographical and meteorological conditions for a given salmon lice production (number oflice and origin).Work package 7 - Workshop, data implementation• All relevant data from the different work packages in this project will be transferred into thiswork package and a knowledge base will be developed;• Selected data from the knowledge base will be made publicly available through a preestablishedNorwegian internet salmon lice page (http://www.fhl.no – and click “lusedata”);• Experiences and methods from mathematical models used in the ongoing NorwegianResearch Council project (Salmon lice as a population-regulating factor in Norwegian salmon:status, effects of measures taken and future management) from the Sognefjord and Altafjordsystems will, as far as possible, be integrated into the project;• The effects of an improved salmon lice strategy will be predicted through the base models andwill be verified in nature by the work being done in work packages 1 and 2.Results/DiscussionThe Hardangerfjord contains the highest density of fish farms in Norway (approximately 60 fish farmsin 2005) and the production of farmed fish in 2005 was approximately 60,000 tonnes of salmon andsea trout. A huge amount of data has been collected from this fjord system during field work in 2004and 2005 and more will be collected in 2006. All this information will be gathered into a knowledgebase for ecosystem modelling. The present project will be a joint venture for both Norwegian andinternational salmon lice research. Through broad cooperation between leading Norwegian researchinstitutes, Canada’s Network of Centres of Excellence - AquaNet, the aquaculture industry andmanagement, and experience gained from adjoining projects, we aim to develop a knowledge basefor the Hardangerfjord system, and for other fjord systems globally, which can be used inmanagement schemes aimed at minimising the risk of salmon lice infestation on wild and farmed fishstocks.AcknowledgementsAdditional partners in this project are described in the Hardangerfjord salmon lice project on NINA’swebpage: http://www.nina.no. The project has been funded by the Norwegian Fisheries andAquaculture Research Fund, AquaNet – Canada, the Norwegian Research Council and theNorwegian Directorate for Nature Management.ReferencesFinstad, B., Økland, F., Thorstad, E.B., Bjørn, P.A. and McKinley, R.S. 2005. Migration of hatcheryrearedAtlantic salmon and wild sea trout post-smolts in a Norwegian fjord system. Journal of FishBiology, 66: 86-96.Heuch, P.A., Bjørn, P.A., Finstad, B., Holst, J.C., Asplin, L. and Nilsen, F. 2005. A review of theNorwegian ‘National Action Plan Against Salmon Lice on Salmonids’: the effect on wild salmonids.Aquaculture, 246: 79-92.Thorstad, E.B., Økland, F., Finstad, B., Sivertsgård, R., Bjørn, P.A. and McKinley, R.S. 2004.Migration speeds and orientation of Atlantic salmon and sea trout post-smolts in a Norwegian fjordsystem. Environmental Biology of Fish, 71(3): 305-311.Tully, O. and Nolan, D.T., 2002. A review of the population biology and host-parasite interactions ofthe sea louse Lepeophtheirus salmonis (Copepoda : Caligidae). Parasitology, 124: 165-182.13

Photograph by Sanuj Goswami

the local salmon farming company’s ability to implement a stocking regime that incorporates asynchronous fallow of all sites within the management area.Loch FyneSituated in Argyll to the west of the Firth of Clyde, Loch Fyne is Scotland’s largest sealoch. LochFyne is 70km long from mouth to head, and is divided naturally into an upper and a lower basin.The significant rivers are the Fyne and Kinglas, which flow into the head of the loch, and the Arayand Shira which enter the loch 12km south of the head.Loch Fyne has 13 individual marine cage sites, all operated by Pan Fish Scotland Ltd, 6 smaller sites(450 tonnes maximum biomass) in the upper loch, and 7 larger sites (900 tonnes maximum biomass)in the lower loch, all on S0 production (i.e. autumn sea transfer of smolts).The Loch Fyne AMA was signed in 2002 with signatories comprising:• Pan Fish Scotland Ltd – operating marine cage salmon farms;• Otter Ferry Seafish Ltd – operating a pump-ashore production unit for halibut;• Lakeland Smolt Ltd – operating a freshwater salmon hatchery and smolt production unit;• Argyll Fisheries Trust;• Loch Fyne District Salmon Fisheries Board.The Area Management CommitmentThis is primarily a Pan Fish Scotland Ltd commitment to single year class stocking of all operationalareas, i.e. sites within defined management areas, with a synchronous fallowing period incorporatedinto the stocking regime. This policy was first implemented for the 2001 S0 generation in Loch Fyne,harvested out in 2003.It has since been maintained in other Argyll S0 production areas, namely the west side of the Isle ofMull, Lower Lorne and the Isle of Gigha, all of which collectively comprise the company’s S0production capacity outside Loch Fyne. Pan Fish Scotland Ltd sites in each of these three areas arealso subject to a synchronous fallow period. This means that harvesting operations of S0 fish switchbetween these areas in combination, and Loch Fyne, in alternative years.A synchronous fallow period was achieved in Loch Fyne through sites being used in groups of,generally, two or three within the area, incorporating:• a smolt nursery site – retaining (large grade) on-growers;• a grade of the fish stock on the nursery site to split larger, faster-growing fish (large grade) fromsmaller, slower-growing fish (small grade). The large grade fish remain on the original site,while the small grade fish are transferred by well-boat to one or two other on-growing sites,within the management area;• harvesting out all large grade sites within an area, followed by small grade sites, to set dates,to ensure synchronous overlap in fallow periods.This is illustrated as a theoretical model in Figure 1, and the actual stocking and fallowing history ofthe Loch Fyne sites in achieving the synchronous fallow is illustrated diagrammatically in Figure 2.The results of the synchronous fallow of all the Pan Fish Scotland Ltd sites in Loch Fyne in 2003 areillustrated in Figure 3. It can be seen that the net result of this fallow period was a period of 10months, October 2003 to July 2004, when sea lice levels did not reach a level that triggeredtreatment. This compares with the same period in 2001/2002 when a number of treatments wererequired. The veterinary treatments available during both of the periods illustrated were the same,namely Excis TM and Hydrogen Peroxide. Slice TM became available in early July 2004 for Loch Fynesites, and this was used in the first sea lice treatment necessary for the 2003 year-class later thatmonth.15

that the king says would serve well as transports in time of war, though what they would transport isbeyond me. Maybe he will mobilise the police into an army unit if needs must!21st June 1843Ah, Louise's birthday, not that I should care any more. We went our separate ways many years ago andMother's letter at Christmas indicated that, rich widow that she now is, she is being wooed by one ofthe Grenvilles. But we shared a while together, so sometimes my heart still wakes and thinks of her.News travels so slowly here, that we have only just heard that Flanders has demanded recompensefrom Hamburg for debts that the former Hansa state owes them. Nobody is clear how it is thatHamburg has defaulted, bankruptcy is even rumoured. Here, money is so scarce that nobody wouldeven dare to suggest frittering it away. But where money is plentiful, people keep less of an eye on it,and sometimes find it has all gone. The Duke of Peterborough can attest to that! Maybe Hamburg canalso.The actions of Flanders of course gain a lot of attention here. The king apparently denounced the newsas petty warmongering, though one wonders how much of that is jealousy! His Majesty of courseclaims Flanders for his own, as he does the provinces annexed by France. But even in Brussels, andcertainly in Paris, the claims of this nation calling itself Belgium are laughed at. Perhaps one day.though - who can tell?23rd July 1843The king and court are ecstatic! News has arrived from Europe that Prussia has sided with Hamburg.The forces of Flanders are reeling. Surely, these events began some months ago, and maybe they haveeven reached a conclusion that we will not learn of until the Summer is out. But these things can taketime, so perhaps the fighting is still ongoing?Some have been swept away by the excitement of the moment to descend into insanity. There is talkthat if Flanders loses too badly, there will be a rising in the name of Belgium! Some are even lookingto charter ships to sail back in victory. I do not think the king shares that degree of hope, but hope iscertainly in the air.For my part, I think that if revolution comes to Flanders it will be anarchists that will be at theforefront, to make of Flanders a state unto their own desires, and not a harking back to the glory daysof Belgium.25th September 1843This year I entrusted Father's present to the Hannoverian ambassador who was returning home, viaLondon. If anybody will get it safely to Father then Count Ludwig will. And what do I speak of? Onemight well ask! It is a fantastic ivory carving, from the tusks of elephants that pass through here intrade, and carved not by some heathen African (I would not impose that on Father!) but by an ancientWalloon, resident in the dockside, a man of few words but skilful hands. I think Father will be pleased- he certainly cannot say that I lack originality of thought this year!What news from Europe? The war still rages, last we heard. Prussia has blockaded Flanders butBrussels refuses, so far as we know, to throw in the towel. There is news too of war in Northern Italy -the Swiss and the Venetians have made common cause against the Milanese. Such places, such wars,

they seem exotic to our ears down here. There is no global reach to a war where Switzerland is themajor player.1st November 1843Sophie's birthday. I s till think of her tenderly as my sister, though since her marriage I ought to mindher as the Duchess of Kenilworth. It is of course an indication that I know her not, these days. Someyears indeed since I last saw her, and though Mother makes mention in her occasional letters, itbecomes as if I hear about a stranger. Perhaps at Christmas I will hear some more - but probably out ofMother's mouth, or rather pen, for I do not think to hear from Sophie's hand at all.There is a curious atmosphere about this city - this kingdom, for there is scarce a difference betweenthe one or the other. News has reached us from France that Prussian troops are in Bruges, that Flandersstill fights on but surely has no chance, unless a friendly power intervenes at the eleventh hour.The thought of foreign boots stamping the pavements of Bruges is not a pleasant one to people here. The king led prayers for All Saints' Day in the cathedral and prayed for the safety and survival of whathe insists on calling His people, lost to him these many years, but still there in his heart. They wish forFlanders to lose, and to collapse, but they take no pleasure in the idea of Prussian boots suppressingthem. It is in all something of a poignant stance to see.25th December 1843Christmas Day and Lord Halifax plays his part well. I knew from when he stepped ashore two weeksago that he had the family's gifts and greetings, but he waited patiently until this morning to bringthem unto me. No doubt he scarcely felt the burden of them, s o bus y have his factors been processingthe rubber and the animals that come down the rivers in increasing number. But it is a kindness that hecollected them upon his visit home, and a pleasure to receive them once again.Maybe Father has discovered irony? The camel coat is fine indeed, but in this clime will hardly beworn unless someone kidnap me and set me drifting off the shore. But I can know, or hope, or dream,that I will not for ever be stationed in this strangest of places, this most remote of so-called Europeankingdoms. One day I will wear the coat with pride. Mother's gift is both more prosaic and moreimmediately of use, a hundred Cuban cigars, and even if I do not smoke them myself, they will go along way in good will and fair relations, even with the Portuguese who usually disdain anything with ahint of Spanish.Father's letter was friendly and full of talk of people I barely know, or hardly remember. I was halfway through before I realised that Peterborough was not old profligate Ferdinand but my old schoolmateLawrence. Never did Father mention the old duke's death, perhaps he assumes I have bettersources of information here than I c an even dream of?Mother's letter was as always warm and full of things that I do remember - the garden at the House, thesnows upon the hills, the party held for the tenant farmers, but even here I beheld surprise. I alwaysthink of her as Young Katy, for as children when we played together, lords and tenants alike, she wassome five years my junior. Now, she is a mother to four hale lads, Mother makes a lot of that fact. Noinfant deaths in that line, she says with borrowed pride.

1st January 1844New Year and still the news from Europe trickles in. A Flemish warship attempted to break thePrussian blockade and was sunk with all hands. T he king and court mourn the men, but celebrate theloss. It came as something of a surprise to learn how relatively recent the event had been the turn ofDecember from November. The Venetian merchantman out of Bremen most certainly made goodspeed. Not to mention the excellent quality beer they brought with them out of Northern Germany.Beck s all round, was the cry in the dockyard tavern, though at that rate it will not be lasting long.8th February 1844We hear news that Flanders is about to fold, maybe indeed they have done so already. The court waitswith baited breath, though I fear they are waiting for a pipe dream. If Brussels is able to negotiate apeace, then Flanders has not fallen so badly as these Belgians need. It would be odd indeed if it everdid, for I find it hard to imagine most of these dilapidated aristocrats ever properly transferring back toa Europe that has moved far on from them.Mother's present, I thought long about this, and sent her something that she will never see. MathiasRyland is no charlatan or liar, but the rubber plantations he sells shares in are not for Europeans to see.The tales he brings are at once fascinating and grotesque. Maybe it is true, for certainly the rubbercomes in greater quantities these days. I do not doubt there is land there that my certificate refers to,and Mother now owns for I passed it into her name with Messrs Hart, Louvain & Dartman.23rd April 1844Father will be at the church today, the anniversary of Grandfather's death. The fact that it elevatedFather to a dukedom was never any compensation for the loss of his beloved father. Sometimes I chidemyself for not remembering enough.Switzerland have beaten Milan and annexed an obscure mountainous province. A Venetianmerchantmen out of Venice herself brought us that news, and also that that Venice still remains in thefight, its own aims against the Milanese not yet fulfilled, if ever they will be. The Captain wassomewhat withdrawn about that, but I got the impression he thought Venice's war a fool's errand, andone best cast aside and forgotten, though perhaps he thinks the Senate do not share his common sense.That would be no surprise, considering the vagaries of our own House of Commons! Thank God, wealways say, for the Lords!4th July 1844Americans are brash, obnoxious and republicans to boot! They celebrate their Independence Daywithout regard for the large British community here, and their damned singing grates mostannoyingly! Poor coincidence for us that two American merchantmen heading South meet up here, onthis day, with one that has rounded the Cape and plied its trade with British Lengeh. The three crewsfill the dockside taverns and swagger with their ill-formed pride.Despite this, I managed a while to converse with the mate of the trader Punxatawnee, a ship named forthe language of one of the many Indian peoples they have massacred on their way to self-proclaimedgreatness. He had some news sheets, a few weeks old, but telling a definite tale of victory upon victoryin America's war with Mexico. I could not tell you where Nevada is, somewhere way out West, farbeyond where us British ever got, but it seems that American forces are on the verge of taking it fromMexican hands.

Personally I doubt that it will be s o soon, or so easy, but if the American news sheets are to bebelieved, then I do not doubt that it will happen when this war finally comes to a conclusion.5th August 1844Mother and Father's wedding anniversary. I have no doubt that he is taking her to one of thefashionable London restaurants though sometimes fashion changes so much, that I doubt I wouldrecognise many names, excepting only the oldest, stable favourites. Lord Halifax told me in Decemberhe had been to a new up-and-coming establishment, run by two Sicilians no less, but somehow I do notsee Father taking Mother to that one!Spain has invaded Morocco, and there is some war in South America between Brazil and Bolivia,although the details of that one is mired in complexities so dense that I doubt anyone outside Rio deJaneiro understands what that war is truly about!25th September 1844Father's Birthday - another year on, and I read with some amusement his suggestion that he comes outto visit me here, not least he says to investigate the validity of Mother's plantation certificate withwhich, he says, she is much taken. I would be most proud to play host, and most amused, or perhapsintrigued, to see his reaction once he sets foot in this so-called European kingdom.A Venetian merchantman serving the Italian colonies in Central America (none of them Venetian ofcourse!) reports that the war between Mexico and the United States of America still goes on. I thoughtit would. People think that a victory will mean the enemy gives in, but so often a victory isbut a long slow step on the road to eventual peace. Sometimes it is a chimera, a false dawn, and thisfact so often gives the loser hope that nobody will make a losing peace until they really have to.25th December 1844A Roman trader put in this morning with news that the Americans sued for peace! I think perhaps hehas some facts backwards, but there can be no doubting that the war between the United States ofAmerica and Mexico is over, and yet Nevada remains in Mexican hands! Personally, I think it meansthat Washington over-stretched itself, that it faced financial ruin if it continued, and that when Mexicorequested peace talks they felt obliged to accept. One wonders how much this will hurt Americanpride, or if they will simply brush it off and pretend that it never did happen!Perhaps Father has been researching the climate - perhaps he truly does intend to come and visit meout here? His present this year to me is far more suitable, and most welcome with it - sun hats, fans ofJapanese origin, and certain tinctures he assures me are the newest and best, though I will test them onthe servants first, I think! Mother sent me something amazing, a photograph I am told that it is called,not just a likeness, or even a lithograph, but somehow by light onto chemically-readied paper, this is anexact moment in time! It shows her sitting, with Father standing, his hand upon her shoulder, andthough the colours are strange, I have no doubt that I am looking back in time to the moment that thisoccurred. It is all very strange - and very exciting!

5th May 1845The 5th of May has no particular association in memory, that I can recall, but I feel inclined to write,for it has been a while now. Venice won against the Milanese, that news came in this morn with aLuccan merchantman. Her captain seemed unimpressed, even uninterested as he told his tale, but onesuspects it would have been much different had events taken the contrary course.We finally learn the details of the Spanish peace with Morocco, and it is one that the Arabs will not behappy with, their country has been sundered in half, and the South split now so far away from whatremains of the heart of Morocco that it is a wonder whether the Sultan can hold onto it.23rd July 1845There is a new musical sensation in the dock yard taverns - a saxophone, it is called after its inventorwho lives here on First Street, close to the palace. Adolphe Sax, he is, certainly some kind of genius,for his instrument certainly gives off a powerful sound, and one that sings to theheart as much as to pure musical appreciation.Why do I mention it? For my forty-fifth birthday, I thought to hold a party this night in the embassy,and two of Mr Sax's "saxophonists" were invited to attend. The hall was spell-bound, then the applausevivacious. I dare say this has been the best birthday since I left the homeland far behind.1st November 1845We hear that Sweden is at war with Japan. It is rumoured that Russia is also, but there are no Russianships coming this way. Of the Swedes, a half dozen bearing provisions and supplies have passed inrecent days.I consulted with Doctor Moore today, and he examined Father's tinctures carefully, beforepronouncing them to be of uncertain value. I think that was his way of saying they are useless. I couldhave guessed that for they scarce frighten the insects away, and seem to do little to assuage the injurysuch cause. I am grateful for the thought, but not surprised that what was all the rage in London turnsout to be of little value here in Africa.Doctor Moore, who came amongst us a year or so ago, jumping ship as it were, from a decrepit EastIndiaman he did not trust to round the Cape intact, has much experience and great wisdom. Heintroduced to me a new advance in theory which he swears is true. As proof he gave to me anew kind of ointment, something he called anti-septic and bade me wear that on my bites for a week,to see the results!1st January 1846There is no news. It is amusing to open the New Year with such a pronouncement, but it is true. Noadvances or disasters in the Farthest East reach our ears. Of the war in South America, we can presumeit to be still afoot, but we have heard nothing of it for months. No news, and yet there must be thingshappening in the world, somewhere.I joined the procession to the cathedral this evening, and it no longer seems strange to attend a Catholicservice. I doubt any of those who would castigate me for doing so would really notice any differencefrom the services they are used to. What about the language you may ask? But if the service had not

een in Latin it would have been in French, or Flemish - I can be thankful it was in Latin, for we areall educated in that! A service in French would have sat ill indeed, whereas one in Flemish would havebeen completely unintelligible. Apart from the prayers for the Pope, replacing in a sense those for HerMajesty, the service could have been any service back home - albeit in Latin, but I explained theadvantage of that.23rd April 1846There is political agitation here. I would be tempted to see it as a letting off of steam, a reaction tofailed hopes and the general ennui that can take hold here if one is not careful. A fortnight ago, aFlemish organisation presented a petition to the king demanding equal rights for their language, for allthat it has always been treated with respect. The king reportedly asked the Lord High Chamberlainwhether the court could afford to print all decrees in Flemish as well as French! It is no doubt anunnecessary additional expense!Yesterday a few hundred men and women, and not a small number of children, marched through thecity under banners borrowed from newspaper articles on the so-called Chartists who have sprung upacross the nations back in Europe. One was uncertain what the marchers were demanding - in fact,speaking to a couple in one of the small inns near the palace later, I got the distinct impression that themarchers did not know exactly what they wanted.Representation I hear, but they have the assembly and I have been here long enough to have seen anelection, although it seems I forbore to comment upon it. Quite probably, this is nothing more than anoutlet for exasperation and will soon pass, but it was worthy of note, in its own way.23rd July 1846Apparently Bolivia won the war in South America, against Brazilian aggression. I have failed to find asingle person here who understood what the war was all about, but a Venetian merchantman out ofBuenos Aires brought us news of peace.Of greater excitement here, is the news that Flanders has engaged in a punitive expedition againstLubeck , apparently another one-time Hansa port unable to manage its finances successfully. There isno information on how well the intervention is going, or on Prussia's intentions this time around. Somehere hope that Berlin will act again, and this time do more than bloody Brussels's nose. Others have acertain pride in the action of Flanders and cannot but help to support them in their action against aNorth German state.One cannot think that things will really end well.25th December 1846The Prussian ambassador's party tonight was without doubt the best of the lot. I was not alone in tryingto pump him for information about events back home. Many of the Belgians wanted reassurance thatPrussia would, or would not, intervene against Flanders in their war with Lubeck. But the old countdeclined to comment, and I am left thinking that Prussia feels no need to interfere, for Flanders isdoing badly enough on its own.Captain Sven Larsen of the Swedish merchantman Scania was a guest of his country's ambassador atthe party, and took great pleasure in informing us that Sweden and Russia are winning in their war

against Japan. Quite how far they are winning, or whether it will be enough, he refused to makecomment upon, but he received many pats on the back and not a few complimentary drinks for hisexplanation of Swedish policy in pursuing this conflict.Apparently Argentina is now at war with Bolivia. The captain of the Luccan merchantman out ofBuenos Aires was a sour fellow, and ill-given to explaining things. Personally I do not think he knowswhy the two nations are at war - though I would not wonder that even the Foreign Office's best men inLondon are somewhat perplexed!21st June 1847This has been a difficult six months. Fluctuations in world markets are having a serious effect onBelgian finances. It is all very well for so-called Economists to say that it is a flux, a temporaryanomaly that will pass, but the king and court cannot afford to accept their word without proof.I hear from the Minister of Trade that if things take an even greater dive, then Belgium is going to findpaying its way almost impossible. There are scarcely any reserves and the government lives day-today,never getting into debt, but always hovering just above break-even. These last six months, thefinances have been on or just below this point, and any new sudden down-turn will plunge the countryinto disaster.4th October 1847Age is strange. It comes as a surprise to realise that it is thirty years ago since I danced with Louiseupon this date. Still it remains etched in my mind, though now it is hardly relevant.News these last couple of weeks has been dramatic, if distant. Argentina has conquered a province offBolivia, whilst Sweden and Russia have defeated Japan, and it is rumoured that Russia has evenannexed a part of Japan proper, though rumours being what they are we await proper confirmationbefore handing our maps over to the Brothers Lavoisier for amendment.25th December 1847Christmas Day again, and time seems to have passed furiously fast this year. My letters from Hometell that both Father and Mother are well, and Mother reports that Sophie has had another child - I amnot sure how many that makes now. Perhaps I will ask for a Genealogy for my Birthday, this year.Russia indeed annexed Osaka province, and has split Japan in half, much like Spain had donepreviously with Morocco. But surely Japan is stronger than the Arab states are? Or maybe not. Perhapstheir martial history is marooned in the past, and they have no present strength.A merchantman out of Bremen brought news that Flanders still exists in a state of war with Lubeck,but that it seems a mere formality now. Probably Brussels hopes to hold out until Lubeck finally givesin, but what assurance can there be of that outcome?18th February 1848The king proclaimed today that trades unions are to be permitted, registered with the court andoverseen by an appointed Prefect. In essence these are to be state-controlled, but the Chartists

celebrated it as if it were a victory, and if the king's intention were to defuse tensions , then I can saytrue that he has achieved that.4th July 1848A strange fight erupted in the port tonight, between Americans celebrating their damned IndependenceDay and a party of adventurers from Darmstadt, here to journey up-river as a guest of Mr Ryland.Apparently the Darmstadters were, the phrase goes, 'mouthing off' about the power of their countryand how it has come to have a place at the top table of European powers. The Americans took offenceto think so small a nation could boast so, and a running battle ensued before the city police, aided bysailors from the Belgian merchantman Roi de Soleil broke the two parties apart.Mr Ryland appeared and bailed out his guests, but the American ship captains left their men to rot thisnight, no doubt to pay off their fines on the morrow.25th September 1848Tensions apparently are rising fast between Egypt and Persia. A British merchantman bound forLengeh put into here last night bringing news that Cairo and Tehran are engaged in a war of words. Tohear him speak he did not doubt that it would soon enough become a war of guns and cannon, but thequestion is whether Britain will this time join our Egyptian ally in the fight, or whether London sees fitto stand and watch for the moment.25th December 1848I decided this year to host the best party in the city, and as part of this I accepted the request by a newartists movement to play host to their paintings. They truly are remarkable, soft of tone and yet vivid ofcolour. They like to call themselves Romanticists, and yet there is something more powerful than mereromanticism at work here.The party was a success, though many of my guests divided their attention equally between ourembassy and that just along the road of Prussia, where the count once again had several of Mr Sax'ssaxophonists performing for the evening.23rd April 1849War, war, war, war and war! None of them involving either Britain or my hosts, but the news fromships putting into harbour here is of a sudden outbreak of hostilities across the world, or so it seems tous.Ecuador is in default and several nations have put together a loose coalition to force repayment ofdebts. Russia and the Ottoman Empire are at war, and hostilities have finally erupted between Egyptand Persia, though London has stood aside from this, so far.Tomorrow, the king will open the new Stock Exchange here, something that many have commented onas being mere hubris on his part, but with trade down the rivers continuing to increase, and MrRyland's ventures in the interior attracting increasing numbers of partners, it seems a prudent move,and one which can only help the usually parlous finances of this tiny kingdom to improve.

23rd August 1849One is not certain how this came about - I tend to think it was Russian adventurers talking large ontheir way to Osaka. But the Belgian Botanical Society has agreed to finance a research mission...toNizhnevartosk! Without a map all I could have told you is that the place sounded Russian. It is - in thefar North, in Siberia, within the Arctic Circle. I can see why it might be of interest to botanists, butwhy Belgium is the one to send the expedition, I can see no logical reason, and quite what SaintPetersburg's reaction will be, I dare not think!25th December 1849We hear that Russian armies are making steady progress into Anatolia and that the Tsar has demandedthe Ottoman's cede the rest of Kars province to him. There is no news as to what Constanta's answerhas been, if indeed there has been one.Contrary to this, Egypt's efforts in Persia are apparently on the verge of collapse. The advance hasbeen turned, and Cairo is sending panicked messages to London, but I cannot see us deciding to join alosing endeavour when we had had the opportunity to partake jointly of victorybefore.21st March 1850Bragging sailors, swaggering through the city - more Americans! They sing of their coming victoryover Mexico, in a renewal of the war over Nevada. A few city wags who tried to tease them on theirfailure last time were beaten black and blue before the city police intervened.Switzerland has invaded Milan - and the king and court have begun wooing the Swiss ambassadorhere, though none of the rest of us can be quite sure to what end. Maybe they just feel in need offriends, and a victorious Switzerland looks a good bet, and a harmless one at that!25th September 1850News has reached us that the Belgian botanical expedition has been covered in glory! London isringing to their discoveries, and the king here has just decreed that all of its members will receive theLegend of Honour.The king and court have also decreed this week that Boma is open to the establishment of insurancecompanies, or agencies for those based back in Europe. What has long been common in London, hasnot until now reached here, but now they are welcomed officially, and no doubt a dozen or so willsoon spring up between the dockside and the palace.7th June 1851The king announced today an expansion of healthcare for the people. Maybe the Chartists are havingan effect, after all! Or perhaps it is s imply that the finances of the kingdom have settled downsomewhat, and such plans as these which doubtless benefit the poor are now in the realms of theaffordable.

30th June 1851A large Chartist rally took to the streets today! The king and court had agreed its permit so the citypolice stood off to the side and allowed it to pass through to the assembly fields outside town. Thingspassed off peacefully, and there was even acknowledgment of the king's recent move towards freebasic healthcare for all.25th November 1851Twice since June the king has announced an expansion of the healthcare sys tem, and today'sannouncement was met with incredulity by some of the foreign visitors and seamen in from thedockside to watch the proclamation outside the palace. If the king meets his promises, then Belgium isgoing to have one of the world's leading services in providing free care to all.14th February 1852A festival of romanticist poetry and fiction was held courtesy of the combined arts fraternity of thecity, celebrating great moves in the genre, no doubt much of it imported from Europe, but a fairnumber of Belgian authors having their work trumpeted for the first time.That it was Saint Valentine's Day was not lost on the young and unattached, and I even received aninvitation from a daughter of one of the aristocratic families to attend. Unfortunately, protocoldemanded that I refuse and in so doing, shy away from attending the event altogether, which on pureartistic terms was a disappointment.30th June 1852The finances of the kingdom must really be looking up, or the king and court are running scared of theChartists, for all that there have been no marches or demonstrations for almost a year. Today, the kingannounced that a basic elementary school system was to be set up, free for all young children, andprovided without prejudice by the state itself, rather than franchised to the religious brotherhoodswhich is the usual way of these things, I am told.25th September 1852It seems an aeon since I have seen Father, or for that matter since I have even seen Britain! Hopes thathe may come out here proved to be a mere chimera, but next year I will request leave to return home tosee Father and Mother for the first time in over a decade. London cannot deny me that, not leastbecause Father's friends in the Lords would vote them down!The Swiss ambassador attended a meal at the palace as guest of honour tonight. One might think mejealous, but I remain merely intrigued. Whether Switzerland can truly do anything for Belgium is amystery, or perhaps the king and court simply look to find a friend in this world.

7th November 1852If it is true it is astonishing! The king has announced that free schooling will be available up to the ageof sixteen for any boy or girl who desires it. The schools are being enlarged, that much I have seenwith my own eyes. Tutors are being signed on, some stepping ashore from ships from the Americas,most from Europe, one or two even hired from amongst Russians returning home after a spell inOsaka.One begins to think that the king has a long-term plan in mind, that this is not mere reaction butconsists of steady steps to a laid-out plan. How else to see that we have gone from an expansion of themercy system in June to this fully-expounded plan less than six months later?5th April 1853A celebration at the Sailors Hall tonight showed two distinct developments off side-by-side. On theone hand, the main focus of the evening was on the so-called Realist Art school, but what many of thenew paintings depict is the sudden growth of factories and manufactories in the areas around thedockside. Mechanised industry is spreading in Boma, and the new school of art is being used toexcellent effect to depict it.23rd May 1853The king announced the establishment of what he described as critical-need old age payments today,called already by the news sheets Pensions, to be paid to those whom old age and the cessation of workhave made destitute. As with healthcare and education, he announced that this was but the first step onthe road to a comprehensive set of measures to provide for the elderly.News of a completely different kind - London is sending the frigate Crusher for me and I am totake ship on her on the 23rd August. She is expected to arrive a good couple of weeks before then, sothe date of departure should not vary. To deputise in my absence, they are sending Lord Henry Porteron the same ship. I vaguely recall the man - he has no chin!7th August 1853The Crusher has put into port, slightly battered from being caught in a gale as its captain took a shortcut across the open ocean, but stoutly built and well crewed. I have no doubt it will leave, with meaboard, on the due date.Porter was all I remembered him to be, albeit rather more grey about the temple than memory served,though all memories here are over a decade old. I tried to brief him but he refused to accept the realityof the king's social reforms. Lest he act the moron while I am away, I am determined to appointMathias Ryland as his eye-opener. The entrepreneur and financier is in the city again for a couple ofmonths, recovering from river fever, and could do with an amusing diversion! I asked him aboutMother's certificate again and he gave me signed and sealed proofs, certified by Leconte and Sons.Mother will be pleased!

24th August 1853Away! A day late due to a brawl in one of the dockside taverns, Captain Frobisher insisted on gettinghis men, but agreed to my request to observe city law. The men were bailed this morning and confinedto the brig. We sail a day late and several hands short, in effect, but we s ail! ToLondon... To home... It could be another life, or a story told from the Brothers Grimm for how real itseems to be not.15th October 1853We put into Gibraltar this morning! Europe! At last, and not just in name for we all play at thepretence that Boma is Belgium, and that the king and court who live out their play thereabouts are aEuropean nation, just removed. But this is Europe proper, Britain's naval fastness beneath the rock, andit is amazing to be here!I had hoped to spy great men of war and steam-powered raiders, but the port is deserted of warships,other than ourselves. Two dozen sail of a mercantile nature are to be found, but Boma can be as busyas that some days. But to step ashore, and feel the ground of Europe beneath my feet.. After all thistime. It is not yet a home-coming, but it comes closer all the time.26th October 1853We sailed from Gibraltar an hour ago, after ten days of refreshment and relaxation. One day I evencrossed the Spanish border for a tour, my guide a one-eyed veteran of the Lengeh war who was aswilling as they come to discuss the ins and outs of what to everyone else is already just history.19th November 1853London! We put into Southampton this morning and after a fair send off from Captain Frobisher Icaught the train to London. We have such things in Boma, though there they run from the dockside tothe river docks, or from the new factories to the works outside the city. In Britain, the trains run fromcity to city, crossing hundreds of miles, and do so in a luxury that would be unimaginable back inBelgium.I shared my compartment with a remarkable young woman of no more than sixteen. She said her namewas Hermione but would not tell me of what family, but she insisted on regaling me with mathematicaltheory of a most intensive nature, and of talk of powerful calculating machines thatshe is hired to work upon. One might have thought it a jape apart from her seriousness and that I fail tosee how it could in any wise amuse her to dupe someone like me. She cannot have any idea who I am,and yet she talked so eagerly and yes, earnestly. I would make he acquaintance again, but she wasgone in a trice, and I with not even her name to work with.Father has booked me into the Savoy. His terse little note says that I should find it adequate! If only hehad been able to manage a journey to Boma, then he would truly understand the word, and see justhow far beyond mere adequate this place is!25th December 1853Christmas at the old House, with Mother and Father and the tenants! Katy is huge, but there is nodenying she is healthy and has a brood now numbered at seven with never a fatality among them.

There was no expectation on my part that Sophie would attend, but I was shocked, it is fair to say, tofind myself face to face with Hermione from the train! I was even more astounded to find that she isone of Sophie's - or a daughter of the Duke of Kenilworth as it is wrought! Everything she said is true,and she is apprenticed to Lord Caithness in London, but that she is my own niece! That I could neverhave conceived of! The duke's blood must flow strong in her, for she is in appearance nothing similarto how Sophie was.1st January 1854I have heard from London that I am to sail on the 25th. I am sad to miss Mother's birthday, aftercoming all this way, but London is most insistent and I am wondering if Porter has made an ass ofhimself, and they wish to remove him from Belgium to save themselves embarrassment.World news in London is very immediate, although strangely less exciting for all of that. We do nothave to wait weeks, even months, and we do not have to pick what morsels we can. It is delivered to usat the fastest possible speed, and somehow that makes it seem to be more common and less vital than itever was in Boma.Sweden and Russia are at war with Japan again, and Spain has intervened in Venezuela over therecurrent debt issue that many of these South American states seem to have.25th January 1854Hermione accompanied me to Southampton to see me off. The Crusher once again, this time sailingbeyond the Cape to Lengeh. She swore that before the year is out she will come out to visit me inBoma. I wish I could believe her, but I am not sure how that could even be possible!5th March 1854As we passed Gibraltar, this time without approaching it, news reached us from a passing Venetianmerchantman that Bremen had gone bankrupt! Yet another of these ex-Hansa city states living beyondits means. What will it mean for the beer, that is what everyone aboard wanted to know?! And it is avalid question.23rd April 1854Boma, again, and for some reason I feel this as much a return home as my visit to London was! Porterwas at the dockside to greet me, and I thought I saw something there - some kind of sheepishness? Iwill learn soon enough what he has been up to, I accompanied Captain Frobisher to the palace, to handover various documents and letters from London and to renew my credentials. The king looked old, asif he had been ill, but he was as solid as ever in the diplomatic niceties. I am back, as they say, oncemore Ambassador to Belgium, relieving my erstwhile deputy who I am sure I will learn less thanthrilling things about.

4th July 1854American Independence Day passed off peacefully. There was an American merchantmen in theharbour, but her captain had organised on-ship celebrations, buying in meats, booze and it is rumouredwhores to please. For once there were no Americans striding the docksides struttingtheir stuff, as one says.I have returned to a tiny kingdom that seems big of heart. The king is ailing, but he has enactedpension reforms and unemployment benefits to keep his people fed and well, even in the worst oftimes. The factories have grown and out of town manufacturing areas have begun to spring up onevery side.Perhaps there is less hope here of a return to Europe, though it never goes away. Many of thearistocratic families are now led by the sons or nephews of those who first fled here. Some of thesewere adults or youths back then, others though were children and there is a definite drift away from thebelief that one day the court will return in triumph to Brussels. Counter to this, and I think the kingnow epitomises it, there is a growing acceptance that Belgium is Boma and that making the one good,makes the other powerful with it.14th February 1855Another Saint Valentine's Festival, but this one with the best that mechanised works on the dockside,and on the outskirts of the city, can produce. It is almost a relief to be this removed from events in therest of the world, to not hear of them day in and day out, but to wait for the ships to come in with thenews.The Danes have attacked Bremen over the issue of debts. We no longer get any merchantmen fromBremen, but many say the beer now coming from Copenhagen is as good a quality as Bremen's everwas.21st June 1855It has been four days of wonder since Hermione stepped ashore from the merchantman Longstrider ! Ihad given up expecting her when the year ran out, but she had never given up her plans to come, andcome she had done.We have danced, and partied, seen the sights, met with Ryland's deputies and the manufacturingbosses, and today we met with the king. Yes, I took my seventeen year old niece into the palace andwe had a private audience with the king! In my position, I had never had that honour, but Hermionemarched in with papers from Lord Caithness and we had our private audience.25th December 1855Hermione was the guest of honour at the Christmas Party. I was going to say I hosted it, but to be fairshe hosted it, under my auspices. The artists, the authors, the manufacturing bosses, the railroadowners, and Ryland's deputies, they were all there, they were all wooed by my niece, and they all leftunder her spell.

25th January 1856It is a sad irony that today marks forty years since I first met with, and danced with Louise. Thisafternoon at 3pm, the frigate Constantine put into Boma, bearing news from home, and the commandthat Hermione return to London and take up her work under Lord Caithness. She will leave in twoweeks when the Constantine returns North.10th February 1856Two days late, the Constantine set sail, bearing my Hermione away from here. I will be bereft andalone. Perhaps it is time I married, or at least got myself a native woman as half a dozen or more otherambassadors have done. But I find it sits ill within me.6th June 1856There is growing murmuring among the aristocracy, that the king is giving too much away, that witheach decree he promulgates giving wide-ranging pensions, or unemployment benefits , or safetyregulations to be overseen by inspectors, he is destroying the monarchy and with it their own power.4th March 1857The king is dead. When I first heard, I feared the worst. Over the last twelve-month decree upondecree has determined maximum working hours, safety regulations, and wage regulations. Thatgrowing opposition within the court had coalesced into an alliance was well known. I could not butfear that they had acted. But apparently I was wrong.Crown Prince Baudoin, now king of course, summoned the ships' doctors from the frigate HMSCalliope, the raider USS Miquelon and the Prussian merchantman Seeadler . No doubt fearing thathis father's death, and his own assumption of power, might be declared suspicious he gave the threedoctors free reign and this evening we hear they each delivered their independent report - the old kingdied of natural causes.14th February 1858Father is dead... He was almost ninety and one should not be surprised, but I am more upset that I canmanage. The worst thing is that the news reached me by private packet, paid for by Mother andcaptained by Leander Dudley, Hermione's brother, my own nephew. That was in itself good, but newsthis far South means that six weeks have gone since the events of which they tell, and Father is longsince buried even now, and would be long since by the time I could return to London.I am a duke, well pending the arrival of the Letters Patent that is, but one can hardly imagine ascenario in which Her Majesty will not issue them. I received Leander well, as much for his sister, asfor mine. He is a calm and steady lad, and his ship will return within a fortnight. I send letters toMother, and to Sophie for form. It is another world now, and I cannot but wish I would spend it withHermione at my side.

31st May 1859Belgium is involved in building a second frigate, no matter that it might bankrupt the country. KingBaudoin is intent to make a mark for himself. He has adopted experts from Europe and the Americas,and not a few passing Russians, returning from Osaka.We hear that Russian rule has spread even beyond this province into Nagoya, but these words meansomething only to the brothers Lavoisier.25th May 1860The man of war Saint Marie returned today from her trials. Everything was a success, it is reported,and Belgian arms it is spoken take a step forward.The new Prussian ambassador came to see me tonight, asking why a duke of the realm was serving asambassador to this tiny country. I asked him why I should not. He seemed to think that I should be inParis, or Berlin, Saint Petersburg or even Washington, but not here in Boma.------------Here, the diary breaks off. A check with court records in London reports that George Grey was issuedletters patent as Duke of Launceston on 1st September 1860, upon the death from a heart attack of hispaternal cousin, Morgan, late of Boma, Belgium.

Photograph by Sanuj Goswami

Playing With Colour – Village Mill Scene by Louise FletcherThis is the now disused mill in my sleepy little village, but it was once a bustling business and a major localemployer. How times change.

I'm playing with colour, recreating the same village mill scene but in totally different hues. Just a sketchobviously, but so interesting to see how the different colours change the mood. Might try it in pink next - whatwould that evoke?

I'm developing the red/orange/blue idea in quick sketches and really liking the contrast between the colours, although Idon't think I have the colour scheme just right yet. If at first you don't succeed ...

One last colour sketch of this view before I decide which one to develop: This is "Village in Purple."If you liked these sketches, which colour scheme was your favourite? I know mine, but I'd be interested to knowyours (look down the page for the other versions).

I've had a few days away, but got home today and finished this painting. Was going to work up a more detailedversion, but decided I like it as it isLouise Fletcherhttps://www.facebook.com/louisefletcherartAboutI draw and paint animals and landscapes. Currently I'm a bit obsessed with cows! Stay in touch with me via mynewsletter at http://louisefletcherart.com/BiographyI've been drawing and painting since I was very small but lost my inspiration when I moved abroad in my earlytwenties. After 22 years of living in the US and Canada, I came home to Yorkshire and almost immediatelybegan to create again.I'm passionate about animals and am currently working on a series of cow portraits with a focus on showing theindividual natures of each animal. I also create pet portraits on a commission basis.

Carnivore series by Swaroop AcharjeeAct ICarnivore(In the pyres of Varanasi)“Either you are dying or running away from your sins!!”It was the first time we met. It was a beautiful sunset in the city of Varanasi. We were sitting on thebanks of Ganga, watching the sun going down into the silky covers of the water. We were smokingjoints. Varanasi was as famous for its joints as it was for it’s after death Hindu rituals. The joints gaveme psychedelic visions of the past, present and future. But I was little skeptic about the present part,because at best it made your vision tangy and colourful.“I am running away from my sins!” I replied and took another drag from the smouldering sigri. “Inwhich group do you fall in?”He didn’t answer. His face had a crimson glow imparted by the dying sun in the west. His hair wasparted cleanly in the middle and his long locks fell in front of his eyes. He looked tired and hisunshaven face complimented my deduction.He coughed with a white handkerchief covering his mouth. He then unfolded it for me to see.There were blood stains on it. Some were faded to brown and some were new scarlet red.“I am dying.” He replied.“I am sorry!” I replied instantaneously. Well I felt little hypocrite in these situations, because I didn’tfeel sad that he was dying. He was a stranger to me. Strangers die, it is what they do.“Its okay. I am more scared of life than I am scared of death.” He flashed a weak smile and then tookanother drag. Long deep opium filled drag.We went quiet.The sonorous sound of the bells from the evening arati filled the sound scape around us. Numeroustemples on the bank of Ganga were illuminated by diyas. The dark Ganga flowed in between like asilent snake in the flower garden. The Brahmins were chanting Sanskrit verses from Gita which after apoint of time ceased to be words with meanings attached to them. All they are left with was sound thatchilled me down to the bones.“Aren’t you little harsh on life?”“Do you know who I am?” He looked at me, with a shade of arrogance painting his face black in theevening pyres.I raked my brain. But no, I didn’t know who he was.“No.”“Thank god.” I was surprised that he was relieved in a fact, which may be a reason for perplexity forthe rest.“Should I know you?”

“It depends on how much you follow rock music.”“I don’t follow rock music.”“Well I am the lead singer of a band called Sculpted vision. All my albums are 10X platinum. I camehere to hide.”“Oh. I am a typist in a press. We publish books and periodicals. It is very famous in West Bengal.” Isaid thinking that might impress him.“Ha ha..You are funny. You are nice.” He said.“And you are famous.” I replied.We went silent again. He took the last drag from the sigri and threw the butt to into the river. I watchedthe smouldering sigri touch the water surface and then get extinguished into darkness.He laid his head on the concrete floor of the ghat and I followed his action.It was blissful. Cold wind from the river was blowing across our face and the monotonous groan of thebells filled our ears. Gradually we succumbed to peace.“Do you have any regrets?” He asked as we were looking at the stars above us and waving at them. Ihope they wave us back.“I wanted to be a writer but ended up being a typist. Typing words; that is what I do. I guess it wouldhave been similar if I was a writer but then it is not. I just type words, I don’t feel them the way Ishould. I don’t cry when my words cry or I don’t fall in love when my words do, I just type them asthey are some blotches of darkness on the white paper.I guess you don’t have any regrets in your life,you are famous and you made it big.”“You speak beautiful. I have more regrets than you will ever have or had in your entire life. I made itbig but then far along the road; I lost the meaning and the values of smaller things in life.There was a song I wrote-Those and them cry;The leader screams and condemns belief.Drowning in the sorrows of deepest grief,Bearers of light turned out to be the lighting thief.!!.”“It’s beautiful.” I was mesmerized. I made a mental note that I will listen to this song when I go back.“It won Grammy award for best rock performance and guitar solo, but then people only saw the wordsnot the emotions underneath.” He was sad but there was a little tinge of vanity in his words. But hewas truthful. He was saying what he was feeling. He was not trying to impress me, he was justimpressive. “Would you like to listen to a story? Promise me, that you won’t judge me!”“I have the whole night with me. Go ahead, you can speak for hours and hours, I won’t mind andwon’t judge.”“Let me walk down this empty path,With a hope to see you again,Writing poetry just to ease the pain,Long I have been writing alone,When you were gone,

I thought I won't be writing at all.err, This is what I call- "Irony" !!” He sang these lines under his breath for the stars above us.“It is beautiful. Is it another hit song of yours?”“No it isn’t. It is just something I haven’t recorded. I didn’t have the courage to record it and show it tothe world.”“Why?”“Only if I could answer this. Will you listen to my story now?”“Yes, I am already way deep into it.”He started to tell me his story and I heard him quietly, blowing smokes into the air towards the stars. Iwave at them again but the UFO’s didn’t wave back at me. I felt hurt.Act IICarnivore (Rockstar Theory)(The rockstar narrates…)It was my first live show, 10 years ago. I was still not in a band, I used to play acoustic stuffs in pubsand café’s before I started opening for local bands in small shows.It was one such show. The local band performing that night was couple of hours late and the audienceswere getting restless. So it was the brain wave of the manager that I should engage the audience withmy songs. He didn’t have much expectation from me; he just wanted to engage the audience until thelocal band made an entry.Rocking entry that he used to say!!I took my old acoustic guitar and faced the audiences. Few puzzled faces stared me back and somefaces radiated repulsion. I guess they wanted to see the band, not a loser guy with an old guitar. I wasnervous; I still get jitters when I stood up in front of the mike to sing.But it was different then, there was no cheering crowd, no celeb crazy girls who get crazy on yoursight and definitely no media clicking away your pictures. Then it was just 50 odd people looking backat me, apprehensive at best.I fumbled with my first notes and started singing in a nervous but pleasant voice. When I startedsinging I believed that the audience won’t even remember my performance. It was just engaging butnothing more than that.It was then I saw her, she was standing way back into the crowd, holding hands with her lover. Hereyes were shinning like she was really happy and was enjoying the evening. He was also happy, bothwere happy and I was there on the stage, singing a song. What happened after that was a miracle.I remember, I was singing a song called- Stranger by Secondhand Serenade. I did a lot of covers thosedays because of lack of my own original songs.I looked into her eyes but she wasn’t looking back into mine and I sang this line-“Look into my eyes; and you will realize how beautiful you are!!”I don’t know why but a collective awe spread throughout the crowd and it was then I had the fullattention of the crowd. After that line, there was no looking back.

I sang for the better part of the next two hours. I did covers and few of my originals and audiencesloved it. I was happy that they didn’t miss the local band.By the time I was taking my leave from the crowd, few of the people were chanting- Encore!!Encore!!It was a mind numbing experience. I climbed down the stage and countless hands congratulated me onmy back.You know when I was walking down through the crowd that time; I suddenly lost the vision that Ialways had in my mind. Prior to that night, I used to dream about this cheer. I used to dream girlscheering for me and me handshaking with a crowd that has gone crazy at my sight, but that night, I lostit all.Crowd was cheering for me and numerous hands congratulating me on my bravado but I made my waytowards that girl like a hypnotized person.“Hi!” I said when I reached their table.“Hi there, loved your performance. Take a seat with us.”“With pleasure” I replied.I sat down. The local band was playing then. I couldn’t help but only look at her. I was surprised thatthere wasn’t a tinge of jealousy in the eyes of her lover. He just sat there cradling his beer in the haloof his hands.It was why I hated myself, you know. I am a jealous kind of person since my childhood. I am anattention freak. I wanted people to always attend to what I was saying and what I had to offer. If I wasin his place, there would be jealously written all over my face. This is repulsive, I know, but I was bornthis way. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t help it.There she was sitting; with her hands entangled with the love of her life and there I was; torn betweenthe need of a selfish deed and a mind numbing.She was wearing white that night and her hair was tied back into a high pony tail. And how could Iforget the twinkle in her eyes, big child like eyes.“We must leave, the music is getting heavier!” The boy said.She nodded and stood up.“It was nice meeting you! I didn’t catch your name?” she said.“Craig!! I didn’t catch your name either.”“I am Anita, this is my boyfriend Sivang.”“Nice to meet you both!!”She smiled and replied something that I didn’t remember because I was too busy replying her name inmy head. I don’t remember much of anything of that evening, after they left. I remember walkingdown the empty road because I didn’t have money for a taxi. I was yet to be paid for my performance.I vaguely remember reaching home cold and hungry.After that night, my next few years were a blur of activities. I just remember the songs I performed.Stages changed and audiences changed and places changed but the songs remained the same. I was

signed in a band and we had successfully recorded our first studio album which, by god’s grace, wasselling well. We were regularly booked for shows. Gradually we stopped performing for smallercrowds in small pubs. We performed only at big places in front of 1000 people at least.By that time my bank account had grown insane. It is still insane but then it felt more insane. I hadfans all around the globe but something felt empty inside. The more I tried, the more it became emptyand hollow inside. No amount of sex, money or alcohol could quench the thirst of my soul.There was a time; when I worked for 14 hours a day just to keep my mind sane. I was not ahardworking person but then I was afraid of coming out of my shell and get exposed in the light,exposed in front of the emotions that I was trying to confront.I am no writer or a poet; I was just a sick soul trying to keep my mind busy. There were and will bemore eloquent writers who could and would express what I was feeling then, in a more beautiful waythat would stupefy your speech. But sadly I was not one of them.People loved the shit I was writingand that made the managers of the record company happy. It was a win-win situation for everyone.ButI can’t really express in words what I was feeling then. A hollow grinding voice deep inside my soulhaunted me. I really had my doubts that the sound was coming from my stomach so I tried to fill it upwith anything I could find. Alcohol and pizza were the top- most things that I preferred to fill mystomach with. I threw up often because the voice inside my stomach was not habituated to be drownedin the pool of alcohol and guilt. The hollow grinding voice went throughout the recording of thesecond and third studio album. Those albums made their way to the apex of each and every musicchart. We performed a lot and it that took us around the globe. By that time we had a private jet, so wehad everything that we ever wished for.I remember one night, it was raining hard outside and I was alone in the studio inside. I was doingnothing productive, just playing some acoustic stuff and writing lyrics of a song that I knew I won’teven record with the band. It was just to keep my mind busy.Inside the studio you can’t hear the rain falling, it is always silent inside. I knew it was raining outsidebecause the glass window in front of me was drenched with the silvery glow. Thick water dropletsadored the glass pane like pearls and they glistened in the studio lights.The lyrics I was writing crossed its sane limits, and so I stopped writing it altogether. The guitarslipped out of my hands and hit the studio floor with a thud. More fat drops hit the window but therewas no sound inside.It was like my life. I could see everything outside but there was nothing inside! I could see my dreamstaking definite shapes. I had what I wished for and I could buy the rest, but there was somethingmissing that couldn’t be bought. I was filled with the hollow grinding noise that never stopped.I cried for the first time in last 5 years. Once the tears started to flow, there was no stopping. I don’tknow how long I sat there, crying, but by the time I stopped, the rain too had stopped the drops likelittle pearls glistened on the window pane.“You okay?” it was our lead guitarist, Brad.“How long have you been sitting there?”“Couple of minutes. What's wrong?” He was the sensitive guy in our band. He had the knack of sayingthe right things at the right moment. When Roul’s mom died, (he was our drummer), he was there toconsole him. He said the right words at the right time which made Roul smile, but the rest of us, stoodthere like lifeless puppets without strings. It was the last time I wore my black tux.

“I don’t know. I wish I knew. I feel so hollow from inside. Nothing is making sense to me right now.”“I understand, take a break, you deserve it. You work lot harder than we do. It is just the exhaustionfrom work.” Right words at right moment.“Thank you, you are kind, but what will I do taking a holiday? I have no family with whom I can goout and enjoy or be with someone whom I like. If I take a holiday, all I will have is the guilt of notworking. By the time I return, I will be more hollow inside.”He was thoughtful for a moment then he replied.“Will you reply to the fan mails?”“Do I ever reply?”“I thought it may cheer you up. Look at this, a pretty girl says that she saw your first performance backin Hard Rock café` in Kolkata. It also says that you shared a drink with her after the performance.”“Oh really? What is her name?”“Anita, huh, she is really pretty.”I might have lost my speech, it might have been an eternity or might have been a second but thegrinding noise in my stomach stopped for a while.I took the iPad from his hands and looked at her Facebook picture. There she was, smiling the way shealways smiled, with her head on her boyfriend’s shoulders. Sivang! I remembered his name. Well, howcould I forget his name? I would have traded everything to be with her in the picture.The twinkle in her eye was not lost.“Yes, I remember her!”It was written all over my face that the girl meant something to me.“Something inside me says that you are ready for your holiday.”“Can I borrow your i Pad, I want to reply to the fan mails!”“Go ahead; I should be leaving right now. I am reading to my children tonight.”“Thank you!”He patted me on my shoulders and left me in solitude.Next few hours I went all over her Facebook profile. I saw all her pictures. In few of them she wasenjoying a vacation. In some other pics, she was having a merry time with her friends with cake on herface. In some of her statuses, she tagged Sivang in cheesy lines from Hindi romantic songs.I noticed that she had liked our official band’s page. She evidently liked our songs. Oh well that was apersonal feat on my part.Sometimes it so happens that a person ceases to be real. She becomes an apparition, a feel deep insideyour soul. I had forgotten how she looked like but I remembered the twinkle in her eyes. Most of the

time we don’t remember the person, we just remember how that person made us feel. She made mefeel as no other person had made me felt before.The feeling was deeper inside! When she left that night, the only thing I remembered since then wasthe hollow grinding noise in my stomach.With trembling hands, I sent her a friend request. I could feel my heartbeats coming out to my throatand there was numbness in my brain. I don’t know what it was called by the poets, but the numbness,diluted all of my senses.After what seemed to be an eternity of me staring at her profile picture, there was a notification. Shehad accepted my friend request.Next day I accepted my holiday offer. By 6 am, I was standing on the porch with my packed suitcase.It was first time in 5 years that I was traveling alone without my band members and without my tourbus. It was a strange feeling to be alone in a city; I was not habituated to it. I was habituated to crowd.I wondered how the time has changed. There was a time I was habituated to solitude but now I washabituated to its opposite. Cruel play of dice!!I had called her before hand and virtually invited myself for a dinner in their home. I wanted to takethem to a good restaurant but I was tired of eating at restaurants. They are all same, same menu’s thatonly differ my themes and same easy talking waiters and of courses fans asking for autographs andpictures. I could never enjoy my meals there, so I told her that I am coming for dinner at her home andshe happily invited me.I remember it was close to 8pm that I made my way to her front door clad in my black tux that I woreon Roul’s mother’s funeral. It was the only tux I actually had! Rest of the things I used to wear wasfrom the sponsors that I had to return back after the shows. As I told you before, I was empty frominside.I took a gift for Anita, a brand new piece of dress that Brad suggested and for Sivang a brand new tux.Well I miscalculated when I realized they had a baby.Anita opened the door for me and Sivang smiling brightly behind her.She didn’t change a bit!! She was standing by the door, smiling as brightly anyone could smile andkindness flirting in her eyes. She was nice. She was king to me.When I was eating with her family, I realized how different my life was! Mine was not a life.They had pictures all over the wall. Pictures of Rihanta, (the baby girl, she was 1 year old by then)playing with Anita or Sivang or playing with both of them. In some of the pictures, Rihanta was alonein the garden, playing with the wild flowers while the sunshine made patterns on her face. The pictureswere beautiful.Anita was saying a lot of things and Sivang silently interjected her at the right moments, saying theright words. While I sat there transfixed in the whirlpool of my own fucking emotions that made mechoke. I couldn’t swallow a morsel let alone enjoy the meal. I sometimes wonder, why saying the rightthings at the right moments make such a difference in the course of life.They were happy that’s why I shouldn’t be there, ruffling the feathers of peace. I should be back in mystudio, making songs so that people can listen to them. People will enjoy the songs with their lovedones while I sit inside the blanket of darkness.We artists are strange breeds. We don’t enjoy normalcy despite of the fact that how much we carve forit. We can never lead a normal life, we want tragedies, and we want sadness to haunt us in every path

of our life. Yet we complain, write songs, write stories and make people listen to it so that they feelpity on us. We are the carnivore of other’s pity, we are the scavengers of sadness and we are the peoplewhom the world loves but loved by none.“You talk very less na?” Anita said interjecting my train of thoughts.“Inside a studio, it is so silent that you miss the warm noises of a home.”“Tell me about your family!” It was Sivang.“I have none. Well if you include the guitar that I have been using since the start of my, then one. He isback in the studios. It is where I write all my songs. ”“Girlfriends?” Sivang winked. “Rockstars are heartthrob of teenage girls!”“No girlfriends either.” I tried to smile but something exploded inside.“Then you are lying.” Anita laughed and Rihanta smiled too. I have no idea why she smiled.“No no I am not lying. It is just that I am so much preoccupied with my work that it becomes difficultfor me to have a real human contact. ”“Well that sucks.” Anita said.“I know right, it sucks. It is the first vacation I am having in 5 years. I didn’t have any place to go so Icame here to trouble you.”“It’s not a trouble, it’s a pleasure to meet with you and have dinner with you. It is certainly special forus.” Sivang said.“If I may return your kindness, these are the two VIP passes for tomorrow’s show at Hard Rock café`for you and Anita. Expenses of the dinner will be paid by me. I am performing there after a gap of 5years. Remember my first show there?”“How can we forget that night? He proposed me for marriage after your performance.” Anita said asshe flashed her engagement ring.Damn!! Ouch!!“Nice!” is what I said. “I should be leaving right now.” I stood up.“Rihanta say bye!” Anita said.Rihanta said something that sounded like bu bu.I was choking again. I picked her up in my lap. She smiled! Too bad I had nothing for her. I searchedin my pockets and I found a guitar pick. I know it holds no value to a child but then I had nothing. Igave it to her. Her smile broadened as she took the guitar pick from my hands while her eyes twinkled.I think that the twinkle in the eyes was something of a hereditary in the family. I promised her that Iwould meet her again but somewhere deep down, I promised myself that it was the last time I wouldbe meeting Anita’s family.I will go far away from her, write more songs, release more albums then die in oblivion.

That night, at Hard Rock Café`, I was nervous for my performance for the first time in 5 years.When I stood before the mike that evening, I realized that everything had changed. I was not openingfor someone else 's show that night, it was my own show. People were cheering for me and girls weregoing crazy at my sight, I had their attention well before I climbed the dark stairs to the stage. The spotlight burning eyes and 100 odd eyes were staring at me, with anticipation and great expectations.I noticed Anita, Sivang and Rihanta were sitting a little distance away from the stage, they weresmiling broadly. She was wearing white that night may be it was just a co-incidence.I got over with my performance as soon as I could and before I knew it, the evening was over and itwas time for us to leave. I didn’t want to leave; I wanted the evening to go on and on to infinity.“We must be leave, thank you for a wonderful evening!” Sivang said and extended his hand for awarm handshake. We shook hands; it was like admitting defeat. Rihanta was long asleep on her mom’slap.“Thank you. Let me drop you all home.”“We will take a taxi, thank you for everything.”“No, I want that we walk back home. It is just 20 minutes away. There is no better way to end anevening than to take a walk in this blissful weather. Come with me.”“It would be lovely” Anita said and Sivang agreed, although reluctantly.So we started walking, I took Rihanta on my lap and she was sleeping with her head on my shoulders,her soft breaths was warming my shoulders! We walked one step after another into the cold. It was justlike the walk I took 5 years ago, but then that night, I was alone, cold and hungry. We didn’t say muchbut there were lot of conversations going back and forth in my mind. May be she knew and he alsoknew about what I was thinking. But somewhere deep down, I had a fear that, they will have a fightabout it when they return back home that night. They will close the door as Rihanta would be sleepingin the other room.He would ask- does he have any feelings for you? She would reply- he is lonely, he just came here forsome company. He would raise his voice and say- Company, my foot, he loves you, it was written allover his face. Why would he come to our house for his holiday while he could afford any holidaypackage he wanted to? She would cry and say- he is lonely, can’t you see, can’t you have little mercyfor that guy. He would reply- oh wow, you are taking his side now. He is lonely!! Go marry him then,why are you standing here. This fight will be followed by one week silence then they would make it upfor each other on bed later one night by a steamy sex. He will say, sweating and his breath coming outin spurts- I am sorry for all the rubbish I said. She will moan out in pleasure.I should leave before it was too late, before it was too late to be made up by an after fight sex. It waslike a rusted knife going back and forth in my belly. I was choking and I seriously wanted to cry.It was then something happened that threw our lives out of course. It just struck us out of the thin airwith such a momentum that changed everything that I ever held dear in my fucking life.“Give your wallet and anything valuable you have, if you want to spare your lives!” said a goon,pointing a revolver at us. He was wearing a black mask to hide his identity.Sivang was quick and calm; he took out his wallet, pulled out his credit and identity cards and threwthe wallet toward him. He caught it in the mid-fight and put it inside his big black shawl.

He, then, pointed the gun at me. I was frozen on my spot; neither could I move nor did a single soundcame out of my throat. I was choking again. I fumbled with my wallet and but then I was able to give itto him. My hands trembled with fear!Then he pointed the gun towards Anita.“Hey, give me your golden chain!” He said and revolver glinted in the street lamps.“Take it easy!” I said, moving an inch closer to him.“You move back, I am serious, I will shoot.”I don’t know what happened after that. It is still a blur to me. There was lot of heavy breathing andscreams and Rihanta crying. They all diluted into a blob of activity and lights! Then there was THESHOT that silenced it all.I turned back and she was there, with her eyes wide open, staring through me and her hands clutchingher belly. Gradually the red blood spread throughout her white dress and she fell on the road with adull thud that sent a crunching noise in my heart. The shot rang in my ears like an echo of virtue and Isaw her die that day. It was like a bullet through my heart instead of her stomach.I still wish that the bullet had pierced my stomach instead of her. I so wish that. I will trade anythingjust to play back that moment, go back in time and save her from the bullet. I go through that night,scene by scene like a movie, thinking how each of our insignificance could have saved Anita from thejaws of death. I dream about her eyes, I dream about the red blood soaking through her white dress andI dream about her happiness that I ruined. It was a movie I didn’t want to see but it is played over andover in the silver screen of my mind.You know she died before we could take her to a hospital and the goon ran away with her bloodiedgolden necklace.I remember how Sivang looked at me. I can never forget that face. Anita was in his arms, blooddrenched and Rihanta crying some distance away. He looked at me with his helpless and eyes. I knowit was my fault. I came back in their life, I took them out for a dinner and then it was me, who insistedto walk back home rather than taking a taxi. It was fucking me who ruined their life. Why I had to beso selfish. I had ruined the best thing on earth, I had ruined a family and the god above me won’t everforgive me for what I have done. Never! It seems I will have to carry this guilty conscience to mygrave.(The typist narrates…)Act IIICarnivore (The uneasy interlude)We sat there in silence as he spoke the last words of his story. The cold wind was rushing over ourbodies was like the mother’s soft hand, caressing the temple our injured soul. He didn’t look at mewhen he had finished his story. He was a lonely soul from inside seeking solace from the solitude ofthe night. We started smoking another packet of weed. Varanasi was silent then, as if it was reflectingour thoughts and listening to our stories. Ganga flowed silently. He was waiting for me to saysomething.“Do you think I am a sinner?” he asked after a long time, blowing a fresh cloud of smoke into the air.

“I told you that I will hear your story but I didn’t say that I have to be the judge of your character. It isa deal that we made when we agreed upon to hear each other’s story.”He remained silent. May be he was thinking about Anita and her twinkling eyes.“Do you know when someone dies; their soul doesn’t get a rest until the ashes are submerged in theholy waters of Ganga?” I said.“I know that!”The conversation between us was not flowing. It was coming out in spurts that were followed by anuneasy amount of silence. The joints were taking toll over my head; I was seeing colours in the burntblack sky, blue colour diluting into red and then yellow coming in the fore. I was hearing noises thatwere there in my head, locked in for so many years. The voice accused me for the sins I did. It wasbecoming a fucking cauldron inside my head.“Do you want to hear my story?” I said.“We have a long night ahead of us. I will hear you out but I won’t judge you.”“Oh! Then again I did found HIM;Drinking the last bottle of beer!His eyes were red, and his breath did stink.He said-"Will you make me another drink?"I said-"Please help........do anything?"He said-"I am just a GOD!” ” I recited few lines of poetry.“Did you write that?”“I did.”“It is haunting. Are Gods allowed to drink?”“I don’t know. But I guess they sometimes drink. I will start my story now.”(The typist narrates…)Act IVCarnivore (My Father and his sins)Someone said to me that there is a story in every one of us. It is inside us, waiting to be written. Ithaunts us when we can’t sleep at nights and remain dormant in the laboratory of our minds.But that someone was not my father.I spent my soul inside out writing things that no one would have read and without any surprise, no oneactually did. Rejection slips were all I had as trophies in my room and my dad was losing patience onme. All the time I was spending in the front of my typewriter was going in vain. The veins bled and anew skin came over it, but I kept on trying to bleed again and bleed again. Then there came when theblood in my veins ran dry.People were right, there was no money in poetry but there wasn’t any poetry in money either. I keptmy held high but the forces were strong and they were trying hard to bow it down.

I was trying hard, you know, I tried very hard but there wasn’t a single publication house which waswilling to sign me up.The only thing that I learned from my 8 years of struggle of becoming a writer was that I could typevery fast. I didn’t have a proper training in typing but then when you type for 12 hours a day for 8 longyears, you tend to get better.So my father got me a job at a publication house where I typed out novels before it went out to thepress for printing. I used to get 3 Anna per page for typing. Now the amount has increased to 5Rupees.When I used to type out the novels of other writers, I felt like it was the destiny’s way of rubbing saltover my injured skin. It pained a lot! Every time when I typed a novel, it went through my mind that Icould do better than him. I could have written better English and my stories could have been moreinteresting. But those were the thoughts that the publication houses didn’t share with me.But gradually, those thoughts were drowned under the rhythm of the typewriter keys hitting the reel.Now I don’t think anything while typing. The soul that wanted to write stories was dead. And my bodycarried the dead soul.I was earning decently so my family started looking for a suitable soul mate for me.I had never loved agirl before, so I didn’t even knew what it was like to love a girl. But then it didn’t stop my family fromdeciding about the girl with whom I should spend my life with.I was scared, but I was more scared of raising my voice against my father, I had let him down oncealready and I didn’t want to add more wrinkles to the existing ones.So we went to see the girl whom I was going to marry. It may seem weird, but it is a tradition in Hindumarriage that the boy’s family go to girl’s home to meet their family and if boy’s family like the girlthen boy’s family proceeded with the marriage.The weirdest part of this whole tradition was that the participation of the groom and the bride wasleast. It was called arranged marriage for a reason.Her name was Urshula. Well, when I met her that day, she looked beautiful. She had a light make-upand her eyebrows were delicately curved over the bridge of her nose. You know, she had verybeautiful and expressive eyes. You could read volumes of poetry in them. You would say that I washopelessly romantic and she was the first girl I ever looked at properly, but then, I really liked her. Shemade me feel something that no one had made me feel before. It was something magical. The littlebutterflies in my stomach were fluttering with joy.Somewhere deep down then, the thought of being married with her, excited me.That night, I overheard my mother saying to my father that she liked her. I was very happy. May be itwas the first night in many years that I slept with a smile on my face.We got married next month. It was all a blur of activities to me because of the frenzy in the house.There were so much activities going around with so many people and in so little time that made mefeel light headed. People whom I have never seen before and most probably won’t even see themagain, crowded in my house to celebrate my marriage! It was very chaotic and I hated this hum-drum. Iwas habituated with the clicking sound of the typewriter but the sound made by the animals in the formof my relatives was just intolerable.After, what seemed to be unending loops of traditions one after another, I was officially married toUrshula.

We got out first night of solitude. It was our first night together after our marriage.When I entered the room, I found her sitting on the bed in her bridal dress. The bed was decorated withall kinds of flowers and fragmented artistic pieces. She was wearing all the jewellery she had and athick veil covered her face.I was nervous, more than nervous; I was terrified of it all. Everything happened so fast that my headhad hardly any time to register what had happened. Before I knew it, I was married to a stranger andthen I had to spend my whole life with her.I made my uncomfortable journey towards the bed with my wobbly legs. I sat beside her, but she saidnothing. She offered me with company without robbing me of my solitude. May be she was alsoscared; it was a lot harder for her to leave her home and her parents and to come to a house that wastotally unknown to her. She was now tied into a marriage with a stranger, about whom she knewnothing, except the name.Gradually, with soft shaking hands, I lifted the veil to reveal her tear stained face. The khol had pavedits way from her eye lashes to the corner of her lips.She looked vulnerable. It was nothing like my friends told me about how a first night should be. Theywere generous enough to share lewd secrets about their sex life, so I played them over and over in myhead to reduce the nervousness that was flowing through my veins. But I felt guilty. It felt wrong.One by one I took out her bulky jewelleries. She never protested or showed any signs of dis-comfort.She just sat there, still, like a doll. May be this was how a perfect bride had to behave in her first nightin company with her husband.Before I could go any further, she said to me a meek voice.“Can you please switch off the lights?” those were the first words that she ever spoke to me.I switched off the lights.After those initial moments of fright, my nerves slowed down and we both embraced each other in asensual dream.All the tips, all the lewd secrets that my friends shared with me, gradually faded in my head as shetook control over my body and soul without doing anything.I felt the sensual pleasures cutting through my skin and I lost control over my body. My body burnedlike the sun and our flesh became one.We woke up next morning, arm in arm, having discovered each other’s soul and body. It was the startof the rest of my life.Rizu was born nine months later. He looked very much like Urshula. He had her smile and my facecut. He was still bald so I had no idea of knowing how his hair pattern would look like. It wasfascinating to watch him grow up.He grew up rather fast; soon he was walking around the house.

But there wasone thing that he never could do. He never called me papa or Urshula mom. He was borndumb. He could hear everything but then he couldn’t speak a single word. I mean he could makesounds but those sounds were just air coming out of his vocal chords. Those were meaningless.Urshula was very sad about it. We tried doctors and everything but he couldn’t talk. Gradually we hadto accept the fact that our Rizu would never speak a word in his entire life.Things changed a lot after my marriage and after having Rizu. There were more responsibilities overmy shoulders. I had to run a family with my job as a typist; I was barely making ends meet. At the endof each month, we were left with no savings. I was worried about it. For a family, savings arenecessary.One night, I was typing out a novel in my home. I was working over time then, just trying to save ussomething each month. It was not going well.Then I drifted off. I was bored, typing a geography book. Random facts about rocks and soils werecompiled into the manuscript. The handwriting was very bad and the content equally boring.So I put a new sheet of paper in the spool and began typing something that I don’t remember. All Iremember was that, it was poem about a person who was telling a girl how much he loved her, but thenhe couldn’t speak so he was saying all that in hand gestures that made no sense to the girl. The boywas very similar to Rizu and I hate to admit that fact.Then I showed it to Urshula. It was the first time I ever showed her my writing.“Wow, you write beautiful. Is it your first time?” she asked. Her sari tucked in the waist and her hairtied into a bun.“Before we met, I wanted to be a writer. It is just that I couldn’t make it to the top.”“Really? This stuff is beautiful, I don’t know what the publishers were thinking when they read yourwork. I am afraid that they didn’t read it at all.”I smiled. Our marriage was arranged, but then I really loved her.“Do you want to read more?” I said and there was a child like curiosity in her eyes.“Yes yes. I would love to.”I crawled under my bed and brought out the old big tin box.“Oho, that is why you never allowed me to open this?” She said with a smile playing on her lips.“I was shy!” I replied.I took out the old key from the drawer and opened the lid to reveal its contents. There were lots andlots of paper inside it. The papers were decaying to yellow and some of them were decayed further mymoisture and bacteria. I had mixed feelings of sadness and happiness when I opened the lid.I gave her a typed poem that I wrote long back.She read it twice, and then she looked at me and smiled. I can't forget that smile, I had left herspellbound.

“It is beautiful. It is just beautiful.”“Thanks. I never thought that someone will actually say these words after reading my work. It wasworth not getting them published.”It was then I realized that it was worth not getting published. Writers don’t write for the masses, theywrite for a single person, in hope that the person will read it and understand the things he could neversay in person.She went through my decaying collection of my poems. She loved them. She put them carefully backinto the tin box and said to me that she will dust them next day afternoon after the lunch. She alsopromised me that she will sew the decaying papers into books and then put them in the family libraryso that people may borrow them.“Rizu can make cute book covers for you.” She said.It seemed I got my own publishing house now. I really felt happy.May be I didn’t make it big as a writer but it was all worth it for the little moments of joy that I sharedwith my family.“What is rabbis?”She asked suddenly as we laid down together on the bed watching the ceiling fanmoving round and round in circles.“Why this topic suddenly? Are you scared that my poetry may bite you?” I joked.“Ahh ha...don’t joke. A person for the hospital came and said that rabbis is spreading and we shouldtake care.”“Rabbies is a disease that occurs when an infected dog bites a person. Whenever a dog bites, it is saferto get the injections so as to be safe.”“What happens in it?” she asked me naively as she crept closer to me. Her fingers dug into my skin.“Well, I don’t know properly. All I know that the person becomes hydrophobic and foam comes out ofthe mouth. Internal fractures occur due to muscles cramps. And person dies a painful death. Just takecare that nobody in the house gets bitten by a dog. Unfortunately if any one gets bitten, make sure thathe or she gets to the hospital and get the injections.”“Rabbies sounds terrible. I will warn Rizu about not playing with the stray dogs.”“Yes, take care that no stray dog enters our compound.”Then gradually we drifted to a peaceful sleep, arm in arm.Next day when I returned home, I found Urshula sewing the paper bundles into books and Rizu lyingon the bed with a bandage on his legs.“What happened to him?” I asked.“He fell down in the courtyard. He came crying back to me while I was in the kitchen.”

“Rizu, wake up, Rizu...” I called him up. He woke up, rubbing his eyes. His eyes were red from crying.“Where did you fall down?”“Hgshhff…hhssirtuhg gjjg hhs” he made sounds from his mouth and pointed his fingers towards thegate.It is where he used to sit and play alone or sometimes play with his cousins. As he couldn’t speak, somost of the time he was left alone. He didn’t complain about the solitude.“Let me see your wound."He reluctantly showed me his bandaged covered knee. I undressed the bandage to reveal the wound.There was very little blood but more swelling. It looked like he had knocked his knees against somesolid object.“Are you sure, that the metal gate didn’t cut your knees?”He nodded vigorously in negation.“Urshula, I am taking him to the hospital for the tetanus. It is better to be safe than sorry later.”I heaved him up in my lap and made my way towards the clinic near-by. I remember how small he feltthat day. He was hardly 4 at that time. He was thin and small and I could easily carry him around inmy arms. It was no trouble at all.He cried a lot when he saw the injection. He cried more when the needle broke into his skin. He didn’tstop crying until the next day. By the time his tears dried, his body became warm. He got a little fever.But nobody paid attention to the dog that died in front of our house. Rizu called that dog Shafali.When the dog died, the people from municipality took the dog and burned it. But nobody paidattention to it.We thought that it was a normal fever that children usually get when they cry for a very long time.Urshula was attentive at her best. She attended to his every need. She changed the wet cloth on histemple that helped to keep the temperature down. She fed him boiled rice with boiled dal.But he was far from being cured. His fever didn’t come down for next two days. I was starting to getworried.As advised by the doctor, we gave him medicines. On the third day the fever came down slightly. Itook that as a good sign.Rizu was cured on the fifth day. He was back to his old routine of creating mayhem around the house;stealing mangoes from the trees and irritating his grandmother and grandfather when they tried to takea nap in the afternoon. He made cute little drawings that Urshula sewed on my poetry books and wekept them in our home’s library.I admit I was flattered to see my books, matching shoulders with the likes of Bakim Chandra on thelibrary shelf. Those little things made me feel that I really succeeded in my dream of becoming awriter.

You know, how much I regret those days. I was so busy in making ends meet that I didn’t notice thatRizu’s health was deteriorating day by day.He couldn’t complain about the pain in his joints, he couldn’t complain about having a headache andhe couldn’t complain of having sore throat. He just sat there, near the window on the bed, sometimesdrawing or sometimes just staring at the void. He stopped making noises altogether.We thought it was something to do with the fact that his cousins didn’t include him in their littlegames. But he seemed so uninterested in everything. When his cousins came to play, he seemed soaloof of them. This concerned Urshula a little. She thought that it is something to do with hisdisability. He was not feeling connected with his cousins.We consoled each other hoping that it was just a phase and it would pass away soon.It was approximately four weeks after that incident that when I came back home, I found Rizu burningin fever. He was crying and his eyes were red.“Urshula what happened?” I said.“High fever since morning. Temperature is not coming down.”I touched his forehead. It was burning with fever. The wet cloth over his head was not helping at all.“We have to take him to the hospital. Wait, I am a calling Tonga.” I said, as I rushed outside to get aone.I remember that it was very cold that day. A dense mist had settled down on the road like a blanket.The road was deserted; there was not a single sign of life. My heart was thumping hard against my ribcage as my feet dragged me to the end of the cul-de-sac in search of a tonga that will take my Rizu tothe hospital.I was relieved to see a solitary Tonga, and its old driver sleeping peacefully near it.“Kaka, please take us to the hospital, I will pay you 5 Anna.” I screamed at the top of my voice.The old driver stirred into life and looked at me like I was from a different planet.“No, I won’t go. It is very cold.”“Please. My son is very ill; I have to take him to the hospital.”“10 Anna nebo!” (I will take 10 Anna).“Okay!! Please make it fast.”The Tonga pulled outside our house, I could hear Urshula crying from inside. I rushed, and the sightnearly made me faint. My knees gave under my weight and my hands searched for a support.Rizu’s mouth was foaming. He had stopped crying but his mouth was foaming. His pupils’ had dilatedand his body was cold as a stone. He was making a gurgling noise from his mouth.He had rabbis. It dawned to me then. All the things that happened since last four weeks were suddenlymaking sense to me.

We rushed him to the government hospital. The journey, it seemed took an eternity. The old driver wastrying very hard to pull the Tonga but his lack of strength betrayed him. Rizu’s body was gettingcolder and colder and the foaming was not stopping.Hospital was filled with ill people. It was what government hospitals were like in those days. Thesituation hasn’t improved yet. I laid Rizu on a newspaper on the floor of the hospital and I rushedinside looking for a doctor.There was no doctor in sight, only ill people moaning at every corner of the dirty government hospital.And the sterile smell hit me hard. I fought with the smell and the sight of the blood, but I couldn’t finda single fucking doctor for my dying little Rizu.It took me more than 30 minutes before I could find a doctor. And after a lot of arguing and heatedexchange of words he agreed to look Rizu.“Rabbis, last stage. Why didn’t you bring him here early?” Doctor said.“We didn’t know that he was bitten by a dog.”“How could you not know that he was bitten by dog?”“He can’t speak.” Urshula interjected. I admired how strong she was. She didn’t shed a tear as we tookRizu to the hospital. She did what was best for the situation. She had nerves of steel.“Yet, you could have at least seen the nature of the bruises! Leave it, what is done is done. The onlyway he can survive is this injection.”He overhanded me a pink slip! It contained a name of a medicine.“It has to be injected before the dawn. Otherwise there is no way we can help him survive!”“Where can I get it, doctor?” I said. My hands folded as if he was a god in disguise.“Sen’s Medico!! It costs 40,000 rupees. Can you afford it?”My feet suddenly went cold and a new layer of sweat covered my forehead. My hands trembled.“I will see what I can do. I will try my best.” I said, my voice shaking.The doctor nodded and he went ahead to see other patients. I looked at Rizu, he was unconscious now.The pain got better of him. The foaming had stopped but the body had become colder. There washardly any sign of life left.Urshula was shedding silent tears but she was strong. She held Rizu strongly. She looked at me, tearsin her eyes. I let her down. If Rizu died today, how can I live up with the guilt? I couldn’t let him die.I went outside the ward and sat on the staircase to think what could be done to save Rizu. There waslot of activities around me. Fresh patients were coming; few were going out, lot of relatives crying andthere was an omnipresent stench of blood and dis-disinfectant. My mind was oblivious to it all that.My hands clutched hard around the pink slip and my mind raced in thought of where I could find40,000 rupees.

It was then, I had an idea. I am not proud of it. If you become a father, and find yourself in a similarsituation, you may one day forgive me for what I did.I walked all the way to my Mr. Ghosh’s home. I knocked at the door hard. It was late so everyone wassleeping. I had to knock couple of more times before anyone answered. Mr. Ghosh responded in asleepy agitated tone.“Who’s there?”“It’s me!”“What are you doing here at this hour?” he recognized my voice.“I need your help. Please help. Little Rizu is dying.”He came of the door, clad in his lungi.“What happened?”“I need your help, dada. Please help me. I need 40,000 rupees any how tonight to save him. Please helpme.”“40,000 rupees is not a matter of joke. From where will I get that sum?”“I know, but I don’t know what else to do!”“Come with me.”I followed him to his back yard. He opened the door of his garage and motioned me to enter. Heentered next and closed the door behind me.It was pitch dark inside once the door was closed. The garage had a musty smell like something wasrotting inside.He ignited the kerosene lamp and the little room was bathed in the yellowish golden glow of the lamp.It was a little room filled with oddities and metal pieces.“It is for your help. Please don’t tell this to anyone.” He said and gave a cold metallic thing in myhand.It was a gun.“No, I can’t do it. I can’t!” I began to cry.“It’s your choice, Rizu or your guilt? You will be guilty all the same.”I held the metallic thing in my hands. It was a cheap gun, which was widely known as katta gun andwas used in the Naxal Rebellion. It was imported from Bangladesh via Assam. It was cheap andillegal. But it worked fine. Well how hard it could be to kill a person?The gun glinted in the yellowish glow of the lamp. When I held it in my hands, I felt a kind of powerflowing through my veins.“Thank you!” it was all I could say.

My head was heavy when I left Mr. Ghosh’s little garage with a gun in my hand. The only thing thatwas going through my mind was that I have to save Rizu. Nothing else mattered much. I couldn’t lethim die. I couldn’t let him just die. He was a piece of my soul and I was afraid that if he dies, thatpiece of the soul will die with him. He made me cute little drawings for the cover of my book. Icouldn’t let him die.I followed the path with my legs chose to walk upon; I didn’t spare a glace behind. I was scared if Ilooked behind once then I will lose all the courage that I had pent up in my mind.I had to do it before it was too late. I was selfish, I know. But in a world where we have to struggleeveryday for our very existence, it was a small price to pay.As I made my way in the fog, I spotted three figures coming from the opposite direction. One was atall man and another little short. There was a female in between them. No wait, I remember now, therewere four figures. There was little child in the lap of the taller man.My hands trembled as I made my way towards them. I was saying sorry to them a hundred times in mymind. Hope they had forgiven me by now but I think that isn’t possible.“Give me your wallet and anything valuable you have, if you want to spare your lives!” I said. I wascareful to wear a black mask so as to hide my identity.The little shorter man was calm. He did what I told him to do. He took his wallet. But he first took outthe cards he had in is wallet and then threw the wallet towards me. I caught it and put that inside myheavy shawl.The taller man seemed to be rather hesitant. He fumbled with his wallet but in the end he was able togive it to me.I knew it was far from being enough. There would be hardly 1000 rupees in the two wallets. It wasthen something caught my eyes. It was a golden chain.It will go a long way, solving my problems.I pointed the gun towards the women. She understood what I meant.“Hey, give me your golden chain!” I said and my revolver glinted in the street lamps like the goldenchain in her neck.“Take it easy!” the taller man said, moving an inch closer to me. My hands trembled a lot.“You move back, I am serious, I will shoot.” I tried to sound brave.I don’t remember what happened after that. All was a blur of activities and blotches of sound thatpolluted the memory of that night. All I remember was that there was THE SHOT! The shot thatsilenced it all!The girl looked through me, clutching her belly. The red blood spread through her white dress. I amsorry, I shouldn’t have killed her. Even today, I see her face in my dreams. It haunts me; those littletwinkling eyes follow me where ever I go.

She fell on the cold pavement with a thud, and the child was crying nearby. I robbed her of her mother.The god won’t ever forgive me. I don’t deserve to be forgiven.I ran away from there as fast as I could with her blood stained golden chain in my bloody hands.I was able to save Rizu but then it came with the guilt of killing someone. I never told Urshula or asingle other soul about what happened that night.Now, it feels good to get it all out of my mind. I am free tonight. I am free.Act VCarnivore (Aftermath and death)(The typist narrates…)The stars greeted us like little UFOs in the burnt black night sky. As I stared at the stars, my visionsplayed tricks with my mind. A blue spot in the fore, diluted in the sea of yellow colour as everythingaround me turned into a void of nothingness.The weed was really working.He was silent, may be experiencing the same limbo as mine. He was blowing rings into the air likeclouds on a sunny day. They looked very soft and cosy. I wanted to fall asleep on them. I wanted toleave behind everything of my past and sleep on those clouds.“Won’t you say anything?” I asked.“As we promised each other before, we won’t judge.” He said.The darkness engulfed us in a blanket with holes. Those holes were the stars. I closed my eyes. I wasfeeling free that night. I felt like I could fly.I guess he was also feeling free.Varanasi had heard our secrets with a promise to keep it with her forever. It was the magic ofVaranasi, it cleans the soul and gives a fresh start in the life.“I must leave now, it is getting cold.” He said and stood up from the concrete floor of the ghat.“We must. Thank you for the delightful company.” I said.“How kind” He said, and then hesitated before adding. “I don’t think we shall meet again.”I was shocked.“Why not?”“I don’t know, I just have this weird feeling that we won’t ever meet again. And I don’t want to meetagain with you.”He released my hand, turned, and shuffled back into the shadows of the dark alleys of Varanasi.

I read his obituary in THE TIMES OF INDIA once again, as well as the headlines that mourned thedeath of a talented rock star. His songs were played in the radio. I didn’t like them much; they were toomuch rock for my own taste. But I liked him as a person.I wonder when a person is dead, how people start listening.He was right, we never met again.Act VICarnivore (The lightening thief)The room was packed as it was expected.He stood in front of the mike, the spot lights burning his eyes. He felt nervous.“Today my friends, I am singing you a song that was never heard before nor will be ever heard. This isa song that I wrote in the journey back from India.”An audible grasp went through the crowd. Roul, the drummer looked at me, amazed. Brad smiled atme. He was kind, he understood people.“Brad, please, play the strings. This is a dedication to a wonderful friend whose name I don’t knowand to my band members who have to tolerate my insanity.”Brad started with the strings and melody filled the closed room. It was a simple A major composition.Sometimes, the most beautiful things are simple.A brief silence!He started singing.“Piya toh jetan more, gir gir jayo;laaj jatan mohe na hi chupayu;sirgar karo, intezzar karu;toshe pyaar main lut lut jayu.”(I wait for my lover with my beating heart;I can’t help but blush at the thought of him;I put vermallian in my head and wear good cloths, and wait for him;I can’t wait for him to come back home, I am dying to meet him.)“Piya toh magan more, itni is baat;Laaj nayan more, tham liyo haat;tasbhir toshe, more man ka chan;thame rahu kaye kaye raat.”(Oh my dear lover, understand this little thing,When you hold my hand, I feel shy and I can’t my eyes off you;Your picture in my head is a solace for me,I keep it close to me every night.)

“Piya na tole mohe, maan ka prem;tui jo ruth jaye, jaye man ka chan;tham liyo more haat, dekho mere laaj nayan;tui jo dekhi unme, bus prem tohar liyan!!”(Oh lover, don’t question the love in my heart for you,if you get angry at me, I lose the bliss of my mind.hold my hands and look into my eyes,all you will see, is love for you and nothing else.)Most of the people didn’t understand what the lyrics meant, but those few who understood wereamazed.He looked at Brad, and Brad looked back. They smiled. Isn’t it amazing that few people do the rightthings at the right moment? Brad was one of them.He went over to him, hugged him and whispered a silent “thank you” in his ears. He was crying. It wasthe first time he cried on the stage.Roul and the bassist joined them in the group hug. For a moment, the audiences were stupefied,watching four grown up men crying in front of everyone.When he left the stage that night, he just had a single wish in his mind. He really wished that Anitacould watch him perform for the very last time on stage.It was the last time they ever performed together.He died few weeks later, inside the studio. When Brad found him, the guitar has already fallen on thefloor with a thud that no one heard.“Love me when I least deserve it,Because it is when I really need it.”The End.

Photograph by Sanuj Goswami

Poets’ CornerInnovate Update #5 features poems by the following writers:-Jay WolfeSwaroop AcharjeeLaura CracknellGrey WolfBrian Davies

Jay WolfePOEMS OF A NONNY EWOLFDance aloneOr don't dance at allYour only hopeOr your only dreamUsher inWhat's new and freshA time to danceNo time to dream.This world of oursThis sodden frameOf desperate hopeBeside the stream.Usher inIntensive streamsLike a mountain goatDare to dance and dreamA time to singSing a song of hopeNo more the darkOr a dim-light sparkWe try to dreamMake a world of lightA world of hopeNo more the dark.I chase the lightTo see it shine brightDays of new dreamsOnly what it seemsEach to their ownShine a light on usNo more the darkThe dim-lit spark.Have a new startA day in the lifeVicarious sparkEach to their own vice.The day dawns brightOnly shines the lightBright shines the lightEnd times are in sight.A dance of despairSome days to careNo shadows cast brightOnly shines the light.We can sink downMake doom-laden groansA testamentNot our testament.

The Lighting thief (Carnivore)So them stare;Fragile compute of flickering vision!!Sometimes for and against this democratic reason.The clocks of hands moves so slow;Questions of the answers which they don't know.Blood did flow with bickering tendencies;Of the reasons and answers of un-holy tenancies..Of the reason whom they choose.Arms and men held too close,because all they are, are afraid to lose.Swaroop AcharjeeIf there is a place where no war has touched,So the let the merry come and clean away,the blood and disparities of men behaving like Nomads.Those and them cry;The leader screams and condemns belief.Drowning in the sorrows of deepest grief,Bearers of light, turns out to the lighting thief..He held the phone and cried for his dad,as the line went dead.He waits as the clouds descent..and it rains.No matter how he cries, there is no reply..and the lines are still dead..He waits and troops descent..and it pains..It has been the ruin of many a boy!!

Laura CracknellLaura is a writer from in Cambridge, UK and holds a BA Hons in Writing and English. She enjoyswriting short fiction & poetry and writing freelance reviews on alternative music and social events, aswell as practising her copyediting and proofreading skills.Her love for writing spawned from the age of 9, when she started writing a daily diary. Intrigued bythings around her she wanted to record memories, events and general musings and, as she blossomedfrom child to adolescent, found that it help to nurture a natural talent and passion for the written word.Her love affair with words, etymology and use of the English language lead her to first achieve an A-Level in English Language and then a Writing and English degree from Anglia Ruskin University,Cambridge in 2010.Her inspiration comes from a range of sources. From personal experiences to conversations overheardon public transport as well as common myths (Loreley in Siren) and general experimentation.Her currents projects include proofreading a vampire novel for a close friend (soon to be published), aswell as working on a collection of twisted faerytales and her Gothic novella, The cult of Castle Hill.When she isn’t writing, Laura can be found socialising with friends, practising her poi, enjoying thecabaret scene and expanding her music collection.

Domestic Sheople by Laura CracknellWatching people can be addictive, like TV.Brains become surplus, you grip your chair.You sit, like at the dinner table,eating carrots and peas.Open your mouth, flick your tonguelet them roll in, chew and tap your fingers.They try to escape, but your fingerssave them. A victory at the dinner table.Swallow and breathe. You move your chairback and it grates. Dinner-time is over, your tonguelicks your lips. It’s time to watch TV,An advert for peasplays to itself. Your plate lets peasslide in the bin. Rest the plate on the table.In the lounge your favourite chairwaits in front of the TV.Arms to the side and a tongueof material hangs from the middle. Fingersof tassels droop. Much like the fingerswhich cascade from the table.A gift from a partner, with eyes like peassogreen and marbled. Her sharp tonguedoes not distract you, but the TVdoes. It shows you another man in a chair.He shares an addiction in this chair;a respite from the real world, he sucks his fingersat night. An obsession shy of embarrassment. His tonguedrools over them. Smears spit on the table.He doesn’t care. He’s on TVnd he’s cool because he listens to the black-eyed peas.Boredom ensues. Turn off the TV, concentrate with your tongueThe peas in her eyes roll again, they focus on the table.A command for you to leave your chair, she wants you to use your fingers.

The pages of the seaLike the waves of the sea,I let the words engulf me, carry me.With each tide that rolls, each page turns.The briny rhymes and stirring words;not a sound is heard, but my imagination.A ship sailing through each chapter.A quest, a rapture, an enchantment, adventure.It all unfolds and sways to me.I smell the pages, the musty old sea.Engrossed in the voyage;Knowledge and fantasy-Animated, amalgamated with binding; the shipA leather-bound fortress of dreams.And when my sea legs become wobbly,I simply raise the mast; bookmark the page and rest.For tomorrow is another day to dream.By Laura Cracknell © 2014

Grey WolfDumornia (The Last Sanctuary)The fire in the hearthBurns slow , emitting a soft and gentle glow .The outer door is open , guardedAgainst the dark of night outside .Upon the now-deserted table-topLie maps and plans a-strewn ,With books of history opened upAnd manuscripts a-scattered .The window in this silent roomLooks out upon the daunting forestNow in its shroud of night .This is the final sanctuary ,The last bolt-hole in this land of Life ,Wherein this fortress old and crumblingThe king has come to gather a forceFrom those few who still remain .Around this crumbling fortress oldThe warriors of The Last - the one remaining Guard Squadron -Do stand alert and ready .Fluttering from a flagpole new-erectedThe royal banner flies beneath a starless sky ,Tattered , torn and somewhat faded ,It is the only one there is .Inside this ancient stone-built fortressThe few nobles are asleep ;The duke of Hope , the earl of BeliefAre old men now and dying .The lord of Faith was the first to goHe perished in the Winter snow .Now all that are left are the pitiful remnantsOf a once strong and gloriful inheritance .

The king sits alone before the burning hearth ,He is still young yet ,Has brought all this upon himself .The black hordes of Despair now roamAmongst his shattered towns ;The minions of Death will soon be besiegingThis final , one last sanctuary .The king knows that time is short ,His council has worked franticallyBut no solution offers itself ;From history or strategic worksNo help is now a-coming .The king knows he has no army ,Knows his foes are huge ,He knows that anything he doesIs small beneath this threat .As Gods dwarf menSo Death does Life ,And the temples of the land are gutted ,And the images thrown down .“Where is the hope now ?”The king mumbles to the fire ,Knowing even as he asksThat there is none , no one remainsAnd all that is left will soon be goneAs the last defenders of the realmFall one-by-one beneath the swordsOf Death’s foul horde of vermin .

Brian G. DaviesPRETENDI don’t like to climb those stairsWhen Dad says “Time for bed”.And so, to stall, I pretend my bearsAre waiting to be fed.I hesitate, procrastinate,Until my Mum sees red,And then I’m off to say my prayersBut, when they’re safely saidI pretend I’m down a coal mineAnd cover up my head.Or conquering jungle islandsFrom which savages have fled.I sail across the seven seas –Well, the Channel and the MedAre really all I’ve learned aboutFrom what my teacher said.I walk the scorching desertsWhere only camels tread,And here and there see skeletonsFrom which the blood has bled.Sometimes I am a milkmanWith a peaked cap on my head,Or bake a bakers dozenOf my favourite crusty bread.But when morning comes, and Mummy cries“Come on then, sleepyhead”Then that’s the time, as sure as eggs,I’d rather be in bed.

Photograph by Sanuj Goswami

On board United American Flight 817 by Jim SmithNovember 29 2011For the crew and passengers of Flight 817 thought this was going to be a simple flight from Dulles Internationalto Los Angeles International. They had no idea how wrong they were, and how they would totally change historyin ways they wouldn’t understand or even believe if you told to them at the moment.For Captain Steve Kelly and his co-pilot Taylor Reagan this flight was just like any others they had been on thepast few months. Then Steve looked out at his 10 o'clock and saw something. It looked like a blue sphere ofenergy and then it started to move at the Boeing 777 at a fast rate of speed, faster than anything he had everseen before. Steve spoke up, "What the fuck is that?" Then seconds later the blue sphere hit United AmericanFlight 817.Date UnknownEverybody on the flight saw the blight blue flash and they were beginning to wonder what had just happened totheir airplane they were on. Then seconds later they notice that it was quiet, too quiet. Then someone had thatlight bulb moment, and started to scream. The other passengers within a split second joined who ever startedthe scream of outright horror.On the flight deck, Captain Kelly was trying to get the engines to restart. He began to yell into his head set, "Thisis United American Flight 817, I’m declaring an in-flight emergency. I have lost all power to both engines; I'mgoing for a windmill restart." A windmill restart is where you trade altitude for speed. Steve was too busy gettingready to perform the windmill restart that he didn't notice there was no answer to his calls on the head set.He looked over to Taylor and saw she was totally out of it. "Fuck!" Then Steve pointed the nose of the 777downward and watching the compressor speed. At the 45 degree angle one of the flight attendants, who hadfailed to get to her seat in time, fell forward and smacked into the flight deck door. She could feel the pain fromthe impact within seconds of landing.Steve started calling out compressor speeds, as he had been trained to do in his time in the air force, "N240...50...60...restarting!" With the press of the button the big GE90 turbo fan engine roared back to life. Then theSteve started watching N1 as power started to return to the aircraft, "35...50.... 60...restarting!" Again the engineroared back to life.At that Steve started to pull the aircraft level. He got back on the radio, "This is United American 817, I need avector steer to the nearest airport."Silence; total silence on the radio not even static on the radio net. For Steve, in his 25 years of flying thewindmill restart was one of the scariest thing he had even been though, but this was even scarier. Someoneshould have answered, but all he had was total silence. Steve then got on the intercom, "Ladies and Gentlemen,I'm sorry about what had just happened back there. But the good news is we have power back in both enginesagain. I'm currently working on getting us down to Mother Earth."In the first class area Dr. Victoria Stone didn't wait for the captain to turn off the fasten seat belt sign. She sawthe flight attendant crash into the door, and she was going to help her. It took Victoria only a few seconds toreach the flight attendant, and she could see that she was in pain. Her left leg was snapped judging by the 45degree angle. "Ma'am I'm a doctor, tell me where it hurts."The flight attendant turned her head to see Victoria, "It hurts to breathe."Victoria knew she had to have at least one rib that was at least cracked if not outright broken. It could bepossibly more. She yelled out, "Does anyone have an ACE bandage?"A tall well-built man, well dressed to boot in what looked like a 3,000 dollar suit, stood up and got something outof his bag and walked over to Victoria. It was then Victoria noticed something about this man, he had aprosthesis leg, from her guess it was one given to a combat veteran who had lost limbs in combat. The manhanded her the ACE bandage and spoke up, "Ma'am here you go.""Help me move her." said Victoria. Victoria knew she needed help to move the flight attendant, because Victoriastood at just over 5’2” and 100 pounds dripping wet she knew she could not do it by herself. The man picked upthe flight attendant and carried her to the area where the flight attendants get the food ready. Victoria cleared off

an area and the man put the flight attendant down. Then Victoria started to work on the flight attendant and themen returned to his seat.Back on the flight deck, Steve could see that whatever had happened it had messed with Taylor bad. She wascatatonic and nothing was going to change that anytime soon. But the thing that was causing Steve to worryeven more than the fact his co-pilot was catatonic was the fact the radio wasn't picking up anything. The boardwas green but it wasn't picking up the first signal.It had been over an hour since whatever the orb was had hit the plane, and he going figure out what was goingon. It was at that point he called Linda the head flight attendant for the first time since the event. Over the pasthour he had been too worried about getting in contact with air traffic control. Steve was shocked to find outLinda was hurt and one of the old passengers had a heart attack. Both Linda and the passenger were beingtreated by a doctor who happened to be on the flight. He was told Linda could wait for a hospital but the doctorsaid the old passenger needed to get to a hospital within the next hour if he was to stay in the land of the living.Steve brought up the navigation systems. He knew that the GPS was out, but the Boeing 777 had backups. Helooked at the screen and saw he was 15 minutes outside Edwards Air Force Base. He knew that wasimpossible. If he was that close to Edwards AFB he would have been met by a pair of F-16 or some other fighteraircraft that would have been based out Edwards. But instead he had nothing. This was getting odder by themoment.Then Steve dropped his aircraft to 10,000 feet and started to blast the air waves on the high frequencywavelengths and hope someone would answer him. "This is United American Flight 817, is anyone out there?"That wasn't by the book, but Steve was way off the book at this point. He had passengers who needed medicalhelp and his radio was totally blank, he had to get down on the ground.Then to Steve’s relief someone finally answered, "What flight did you say this was?""This is UA Flight 817, I have a passenger who needs medical help, can you give me radar vector to LAX?""A what? To where?" The man on the other end of the radio sounded confused by simple terms that were usedevery day by air traffic control."Don't kid with me! I have a passenger who had a heart attack and needs medical help. I need radar vector toLAX, hell I will take a radar vector to Edwards AFB at this point just give me the damn vector I need so I canland!""Listen, I have no idea who you are, I had never heard of this radar or LAX or Edwards whatever. This is MurocArmy Air Field. If you have a passenger who needs medical help we can clear you to land, but I don't know howmuch good we can do for your passenger." The person in the tower took a second to check the wind reading,"Wind is coming out of South-South East at 3 knots."Steve had been stationed at Edwards AFB when he was in the air force and knew it hadn't been called MurocArmy Air Field for a long time, longer than he had been alive. Something was very wrong. "Tower what istoday's date?""Is this some kind of joke?""Tower can you tell me the date, I think something very odd happen on this flight.""The date is September 3 1939."Steve was shocked by that, but it made sense as he thought about it. Nobody was on the frequencies he wastrying to use earlier, because they didn't know about them. There was no GPS in 1939. Everything just fell intoplace for Steve. "Thank you tower. Have a truck ready for us, I have a doctor onboard who can help out. Clearthe sky around me because I’m the biggest thing flying right now."The tower didn't even argue the point. They had finally picked up the Boeing 777 on visual and saw the size ofthe monster. They got the trucks ready, and cleared the skies.The passengers on UA 817 didn't understand why they were landing where they were. For most of them theysaw nothing that made sense. But one man, the one who helped Victoria saw something he knew and did adouble take on it. He then turned to his longtime girlfriend, "Jessica I don't think we are in Kansas anymore."

As soon as Steve landed the Boeing 777 and powered it down, he left the flight deck and headed to the areawhere the doctor was using as an office. As he passed a flight attendant he told her to open the door and popthe slide for life.It took Steve a second to reach Victoria, "Ma'am there is something you need to know. We were sent back intime by that flash."Victoria looked up at the Captain, "Sir this is not a good time for a joke. I have a patient who needs help andmay not live.""I'm not joking we are in 1939.You are mostly likely the most trained medical person on this flight, so it will beout to you to help these people."Victoria could see in his eyes he wasn't joking or drunk. "Holy shit, you aren't joking are you?""No I am not. You are going to need some help moving your patients." Steve looked around and saw a Marinein service uniform. Steve pointed at him, "Marine what is your name?""Sir I'm Gunner McCallister.""McCallister I need for you to help the doctor here move her patients. I also want you to guard them."That last part cause McCallister to raise an eye brow, but being a Marine he just said, "Yes Sir." He could tellthat Kelly had been an officer at some point in the past so he decided to trust him.Over the next few moments Victoria, Steve, McCallister and a flight attendant got all both people off the aircraftwho needed medical help. Then Steve told the flight attendant to check the passengers to see if any of themhad a modern history degree. Again this caused another raised eye brow, but she did what was asked of her.Normally it was to ask if anyone had any flight training. But she never heard anything about asking this questionbefore.A few minutes later, the flight attendant brought up one man. He looked well dressed and had come out of theFirst Class area, so he might not be able to take the news well. But the man spoke first out first, "So captainwould you care to tell me what year we are in?" Jim said.Steve was taken aback by that, "How did you know?""Sir, when I saw a number B-10 bombers lined up wing tip to wing tip I knew we weren't in 2011 anymore. Iwould take a guess we are in sometime in the late 30s. I need the date because there are a lot of screw ups thatwe can stop or at least soften the blow of.""The date is September 3 1939.""Shit World War 2 just kicked off."Elsewhere on Muroc Army Air Corp Base, Second Lieutenant Paul Tibbets was being ordered to meet with thepilot of the plane that was sitting on the runway. Tibbets had been in the admin office when the plane landedand knew there was something special about this plane.A staff car drove Lt Tibbets out to runway. As Tibbets got out of the staff car he was in awe at what he waslooking at. This was a twin jet aircraft and it put the XB-15 to shame. As he walked up to the yellow slide thatwas coming out of the plane he saw a man come down the slide.He got up and turned to Tibbets and gave a good salute. Then he began to speak, "I'm Colonel Steve KellyUnited States Air Force, retired, and captain of this aircraft. What can I do for you Lieutenant?"Tibbets was a little taken back by what the man had said, but began to ask some questions. He was shocked bysome of the answers this former colonel gave him. After speaking for five minutes both men agreed to someterms. Tibbets would be allowed to come aboard and ask the passengers some questions. In return theywouldn't try to force segregation on the passengers or use raciest terms in front of them. Then Tibbets wentback to report to his commanding officer and Steve when back up the slide which wasn’t as easy it sounded.Once he was back in the plane he got on the intercom, "Ladies and Gentlemen this is your captain. You may bewondering what is going on and what has happened. I can't believe what I'm about to say, but in some fashion

in ways modern science could only guess at that orb that impacted our aircraft has sent us back in time. Thecurrent date is September 3 1939." Steve could hear people talking to each other in disbelief. There were otherswho screamed in disbelief as well. "As far as I know there is no way for us to get home and currently the officialsin the here and now have no place to put us. So flight attendants go ahead and pass out what food and drinkswe have left for dinner. I ask you to remain calm in the coming hours and days ahead. Thank you."Lt Tibbets reported to his commander about the deal he made to get on the plane. He wasn't happy about it butit needed to be down. After listening to the brief that Tibbets gave, his commander told him to return to the planeand find out what he could. Then the commander started to make phone calls.It took the commander of Muroc Army Air Field about an hour to get a hold of Major General Henry "Hap" Arnoldwho was the commanding general of the US Army Air Corp. Arnold was dinning with President Roosevelt, alongwith the chiefs of staff of the army and navy and the Commandant of the Marine Corp. They were talking aboutthe German attack on Poland when the phone call came.At first Arnold believed the officer on the other end of the line was drunk. It took a few minutes to make it clearthat he wasn't drunk, at that point Arnold brought the president over to the phone to speak to this major.Roosevelt's eyes became as big as silver dollars when he heard the news of what had happened out at Muroc.He ordered the major in charge to respect the norms of the people on the plane and try to get them to give upas much information as they could.At the same time this was happing Lt Tibbets was making the rounds on this jet aircraft. Tibbets couldn’t believeit was a jet. As far as he knew there had never been a jet powered aircraft in the air before and here he was inone bigger than anything he had even seen before. He asked the passengers a number of basic questions andtook down everything they said. Then he made his way to the clinic to ask the few there the same questions.There he saw Victoria coming out surgery covered in blood and madder than hell. She did answer the questionsbut she was rude and short with him. The other two living patients were unable to answer the questions. Thenhe asked Gunner McCallister the questions, and then went back to his office. There he came up with this list.Washington DC September 4 1939Bill Donovan was walking into the White House as he was wondering what was so important. Last nightPresident Roosevelt had called him and told him that it was important, but he didn't say what it was. AsDonovan thought, about the only thing he could think of was it had something to do with what was going onEurope. Then he entered the Oval Office and saw the president along with, General George Marshall andAdmiral Harold Stark.President Roosevelt was the first to speak, "Bill thank you for coming here on such short notice. Please take aseat, Bill."Donovan took a seat where he could see both the president and both general officers. "Sir, it is no problem.""That is good to hear Bill, because I have a tough job for you. Trust me it is most likely to be the most importantjob in the nation and possibly in the history of this nation, and most likely the world. Do you want the job?"That got Donovan to raise an eye brow. But he didn’t come this far to turn down his friend. "Sir I will take the job.What is the job?""Bill you will be reporting to only me on this one." Donovan gave Roosevelt a nod. "Yesterday a plane landedout at Muroc Army Air Field, the catch is this plane was from the year 2011. One of the passengers has sincedied and two more are in the hospital. You need to get the passengers to talk so we can learn what they know.I'm recalling you do active duty for this." Roosevelt pulled out a small case and tossed it to Donovan.Donovan opened the case and he saw the stars of a major general. Donovan was at a loss for words. He knewRoosevelt liked jokes, but he would never take something this far. But a plane from the future was a bit much.After taking a second to get his thoughts together Bill began to speak, "Sir how much do we know?""Not much Bill. Once we figured out how important this could be, we ordered that it was not to be talked abouton the phones."Over the next hour the four men talked about what the plan of action was. But without knowing what the peopleon the plane knew they could only plan for so much. They agreed that Roosevelt would come out within twoweeks. But they agreed that they would place Donovan on the fastest train in the country to get him out toMuroc as fast as possible.

Remembering The Fallen of World War OneJune 28th 2014 was the centennial anniversary of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary a hundred years before. That event in Sarajevo was to lead, just over a month later, to the outbreak ofthe First World War.Both sides entered this conflict with great confidence and popular enthusiasm, decades of relative peace havingimmunised them to the true horrors of war. At first, the combat was waged between armies consisting ofprofessional soldiers and reserves, who had been called up, but as the months dragged on and there was noend in sight, Britain began a recruiting campaign to increase its army, now bogged down in trench warfare onthe Western Front.For the first couple of years of war there was a reluctance in Westminster to introduce conscription, orcompulsory military service, and it was therefore important to convince young men to sign up. Recruitingcampaigns therefore toured the country, recruiting offices set up in major towns, and the support of localcouncils, churches and businesses was encouraged.Every town and community across Britain was soon affected by the ongoing conflict. Of course, it was not justthe trenches of the Western Front, the war was not called a 'world' war without reason. Troops were thus alsoassigned to units heading for Aden, at the end of the Red Sea, and for the conflict against the Ottoman Empirein Mesopotamia, now Iraq. Before long, local newspapers were reporting on the fallen of the locality, listing suchseemingly exotic places as Kut and Aden as locations of their death.In the South Wales valleys the fallen are remembered on local memorials, placed in chapels and welfare halls,as well as eulogies in the newspaper. The official war memorial for the towns would come later, after the war,usually as a result of community collections.One project, commemorating the centenary of the outbreak of the First World War is the Wargraves andRemembrance Graves of Ystradgynlais and Ystalyfera, towns which at the time were thriving industrial andmining communities in the Swansea Valley. This project is a not-for-profit venture and its websites can be foundatwww.ystradgynlais-wargraves.co.ukandwww.ystradgynlais-fallen.co.ukIt is an ongoing project, seeking to create a comprehensive database of the local memorials, cemeteries andnewspaper reports of the fallen from the two towns, and their surrounding villages. Many of the memorials nolonger exist either in their original form, or in their original location, especially if the latter were one of the onceubiquitous independent chapels of the valley, a lot of which have been sold off and demolished in recentdecades. In addition, cemetery records vary in their completeness, so a lot of original research has beenneeded to bring this information to the public.A more surprising problem has been the identification of some of the individuals named on the memorials.Although the Commonwealth War Graves Commission lists all of the recorded fallen from the First World War,and later conflicts, many of the individuals with a local tie did not originally come from the area. The CWGCtends to record places of origin more than work, so many labourers who came to live and work in Ystradgynlaisor Ystalyfera, and who were treated by the newspapers as local men, and mourned by their friends as localmen, originally came from elsewhere.Over the years of the project, a large number of these men have been identified, but a few remain uncertain, oreven completely unknown. Where there is no local family tradition, and where the only thing that remains is thename upon a wall, and a place upon the memorial, local newspaper archives of the time have proven invaluablein tracking down reports on the individuals' death, and thus on establishing identity.We hope that this project brings to life the men, and occasionally women, who gave their lives for their country.We have included photographs, reports and where we can locate it family data to round them off as people, andhope that in this new digital era it provides of itself a fitting memorial to the fallen of the two towns, and theircommunities.Grey Wolf and Val Trevallion

Photograph by Sanuj Goswami

ReviewsThe Lost City of Solomon and Sheba - by Robin Brown-LoweA review by Grey Wolf of the historical investigative work 'The Lost City of Solomon and Sheba' byRobin Brown-Lowe, looking at the zimbabwes (stone ruins) of modern Zimbabwe, South Africa andMozambique, and especially at Great Zimbabwe, and the lost gold-mining industryWhen Cecil Rhodes pushed his expansionist British South Africa Company into what soon becameknown as Rhodesia, and is today modern Zimbabwe, he did so primarily for one reason - the allure ofgold. But what the prospectors found was that all the mines had already been largely worked out, thatfew undiscovered veins remained, and that whilst a lot of gold residue could be found in the site ofruined workings, this type of scavenging off history was to be the most profitable, and the shortestlivedway of making money. What they also found was that the local inhabitants neither knewanything about gold mining, nor about the numerous stone ruins all around them, and that gold to themwas no more precious than shells, or copper. To all intents and purposes it appeared that somebodylong, long in the past had mined out all of the gold, and only a tiny shadow of that age remained in themodern Zimbabwe.From this it was an easy to step for Victorian romanticists to suppose that they had quite literally foundKing Solomon's mines, and that the largest of all these stone ruins, the city of Great Zimbabwecontained within it the temple that the Queen of Sheba is mentioned in the Bible as commanding built.The name of Ophir stirred that mix of history and mythology that the romantic historian thrives on,though it is in no way clear from ancient writings whether Ophir was where the gold was mined, orsimply where it was sold to the ancient traders, including those of Solomon and the Phoenician Hiramof Tyre.Soon enough of course there was a backlash against this romanticism, from those who saw themselvesas fundamentally evidence-based, refusing to accept ancient texts as being anything more than hearsay,and demanding evidence in the workings to date them, evidence which was by and large notforthcoming, certainly not in the early decades of the twentieth century. There were no writteninscriptions at all in any of the zimbabwes, the tens of thousands of stone ruins dotting this area ofAfrica, and what evidence there was was often confusing.Most striking of all the finds at Great Zimbabwe had been the figures of carved stone birds, embeddedinto plinths, but the evidence did not argue conclusively as to whether these were based on their nearsymboliccousins, the ancient Egyptian Horus bird, or were a local representation that was onlysimiliar in effect because birds on a column are birds on a column.Datable evidence was thought to be the holy grail, but when it was found it was too sparse and toovague to be of help. The discovery of medieval venetian beads, or chinese trading beads, proves onlythat the buildings were operational in a contemporary period; it would be like finding a Victorian coinin London. All you can deduce is that however old the place is, and whatever its origins, it wasoperational at the time that these trade goods were in use.Radio carbon dating when it was discovered was not much more help. A timber used in the foundationof part of Great Zimbabwe dated somewhere between 700 AD and 1200 AD. By this time the reactionagainst the romanticist ancient view had become so extreme that a purely native origin for the workswas being put forward, a theory that said that the Bantu developed them themselves, and as there werefew Bantu before the medieval period, scholars saw fit to accept the later dating, and even to argue thatthe wood was already old when used, and thus push the date even further forward.

But Great Zimbabwe is plainly the peak of a long civilisation in this area, it was the last to beconstructed, not the first, and its dating would merely confirm when the late period of the miningculture and its associated building works was. True, fragment kingdoms still using some of thezimbabwes continued into recorded history, encountered and named by the Portuguese in the 16thcentury, but that these fragment kingdoms were using buildings nearer the coast does not inferanything other than that here was the place best suited to anchor what by then was a collapsingcivilisation.What 'The Lost City of Solomon and Sheba' does, and does well, is to ask all the right questions, andto provide obvious rebuttals to incorrect, misrepresented or out-of-context information often presentedas gospel. What it does not do is provide an answer.The two biggest questions are:-1:- What happened to all the gold?2:- Where did all the gold in the ancient world come from?The second is not necessarily the answer to the first, but it is provocative.

Rocket Ship XMBelow is a review by Grey Wolf of the 1950 black-and-white film Rocket Ship XM, starring LloydBridges, something of a trail-blazer for the science fiction to come in that decade, and beyond. Allstatements and impressions are entirely the opinion of the author.This film, made in 1950 and starring Lloyd Bridges, more or less made sense. Much of what modernaudiences might question in the science probably wasn't known too well back then - for example whilewe see a cute bit of weightlessness with the floating flying jacket, it seems to have been assumed thatif you had the will to remain weighted down, you would.There is a woman in the crew, an excellent far-sighted development that real life America would notduplicate until the 1980s. She is not a foil, and is shown as an intelligent character who has deservedher place there. Of course you get the idiots at the start who say space is no place for a woman, why onEarth is a woman going and so on, but they are well beaten down by showing that she is an importantand necessary member of the crew. And of course, later she plays something of the stereotypicalmaiden in distress, but as with Uhura a decade and a half later, that is not all she is displayed as, and amodern audience can overlook it well enough because of what else she does.Distances in space, and the necessary speeds to travel them were not as well known then, as now, buteven now most people you would ask would not realise that going from Earth to Mars is not simply amatter of some extra days, or perhaps just about weeks, on top of going from Earth to the Moon, but isactually many months longer in duration. If we suspend our disbelief here, midway between anunderstanding that this was not understood then, and that some kind of super speed effect IS actingupon the ship, then their arrival on Mars is not a belief-killer in the film.Mars, is in fact, a key lesson in the film, probably what one would call the moral lesson of the film.There the crew discover a breathable atmosphere, and the ruins of a great civilisation, that at firstappearances resembles ancient civilisations on Earth but on closer inspection proves to be that of anadvanced scientific people. But they are gone. Initially, the crew assume that the planet is deserted butthen the mutated savages who will be such a staple of post-apocalyptic science fiction for the nextseveral decades make an appearance. Mars' societies destroyed themselves in nuclear war, and this isall that is left.Unfortunately for the crew, it is a lesson that is learnt the hard way with deaths and severe industriesbeing taken at the hands of these barbarians. A few do make it back to the ship and take off, but thejourney back is a lot less easy than the journey there was. Things then go from bad to worse, andwhilst the audience always has hope, they cannot but feel that chances are running out for the crew tomake it back.As with much 1950s era science fiction, both written or filmed, the characters continue to wear Earthclothes throughout, albeit with a nod to flying jackets etc. But as we all have seen from the Shuttlemissions from the 1980s onwards, as long as the atmosphere remains sealed, it does not actually matterwhat you wear within it, and the heavy spacesuits of the first astronauts, whilst an excellent safetyprecaution, probably were not ultimately necessary until they attempted to walk in space, or land onthe Moon.I like this film, and will definitely be watching it again. No doubt, when I do I will find much morethat I like, and some more that is dubious, but the balance will not change.

Photograph by Grey WolfFlowers for my MumR.I.P Mum, died 28 th April 2014

The Library by Grey Wolf – Parts 1 to 5Chapter OneBeing from a relatively poor background, I easily secured a place in halls for the first year of mydegree studies. Halls in this case was a glowering edifice of neo-Gothic construction, rising severalstoreys at the ends, and a full eight at the tower, which was where I had my room. It should not bethought too glamorous, a tower room for the elevator was small, and often out of order, and those sixflights of stairs to my eyrie could really wear one down, especially if in a hurry for class, or after onetoo many at the local pub. But the room was mine alone, and whilst not large was certainly big enoughfor me and the few things I had brought from home - mainly books, and a small collection of CDs, forI had yet to make the jump to a computerised world.The first weeks were something of a blur, vaguely getting to know the post-graduates who were theother occupants of the tower's upper levels, and making firmer friends in the history classes I attended.Lectures were optional, as long as one filed one's papers on time, and after experimenting with a direthree or four I soon gave up. You couldn't ask questions of a lecture - well, I did try but the professor atthe lectern looked down his nose at me and snapped "Not now!". When, then, I thought, and gave upbothering. On a whim I went down to the library, inconveniently situated in a great modern blocksome ten minutes walk away, and nosed around the journals for articles that would answer thequestions that the recalcitrant academic had refused to.I found a few things, but the collections did not seem to go back far enough. On asking the harassedlibrarian, I was curtly informed that the older stock was in storage, or in the "Old Library" and that Icould request something specific, but could by no means browse the entire collection. Since I didn'tknow what I wanted - and to me that was the point of the library, to look through the collections to findwhat it was you needed - I could only mutter an irritated thanks and head back to the Gothic pile that Icalled home. A search for the Old Library found a vaulted room at the opposite end to my eyrie,locked and dark, with a notice on the door that all enquiries should be directed to the librarian in thenew building, and that volunteers for cataloguing were wanted for weekends. I almost took the bait,but then realised it would be of no use to me - I would simply have to log what I was told, where I wastold and how I was told. There would be no chance to explore the collection.I think it was the beginning of the third week that a door I had but scarcely noticed on the secondlanding of the tower stairway was for once opened. Until now, I think, it had always been closed as Ihad raced past, either up or down, and I had evinced no curiosity as to what was within. This day,though, I caught a brief glance of an old-fashioned library, wooden shelves, wooden tables, and thesort of diffused orange lighting I had always imagined went with them. As I hesitated at this vision thedoor was closed, and when I tentatively tried the handle, I found it locked. Probably a post-graduatesonly sort of thing, I thought, and hurried up the stairs to deposit my books and collect my card fordinner.Over the next week I watched the doorway every time I passed it, and took to returning to my roommore often, sometimes on silly little errands, just to see if I could catch a glimpse of the contents. Onceor twice I saw a man enter or leave, always a man, never a woman, dressed in rather dowdy clothes,and carrying some sort of satchel as they crossed the landing. Always these men closed the door, eitherright behind them on entry, or right behind them on departure. I didn't recognise them, but that washardly a surprise, I sometimes barely even recognised my neighbours when I bumped into them in thecanteen or down the student union building.I know it was a Saturday the next time. I had just had an argument with Louise, a girl in my

philosophy class whom I had met up with the previous night at the band, and then gone back to herroom with. On waking she was moody and miserable, demanding I look away, that I don't sayanything, that I better not think it had meant anything. I snapped at her that if she was that ashamed ofme why had she slept with me, and she looked me in the eye with her blue orbs and said "That is whatI am wondering". I had slammed the door and crossed the rain-soaked car park back to the tower door,hardly seeing those few people whom I passed, and having to be roused by an "Oi!" by the fellow wholived above me when I would have walked straight past him without a greeting. I mumbled an apologyand checked my post, in the pigeon hole in the entrance way. There was a card from my cousin, askingme when I was intending to come down and see her again. With the previous night's events starkly inmy mind I would have sent her back an immediate reply, if I had had writing material and stamps onmy person, but of course I did not - one did not take that sort of thing out with you when you went tosee a band.As I stepped onto the second floor landing, one of the men I think I had vaguely seen before crossed infront of me and opened the door to the library. I remember thinking how did he do that, no key orknock, just pressing down the handle that had always been locked when I had tried, and steppingthrough. I jumped forward and followed in his footsteps, presumably going so fast that I lost myfooting as I crossed the threshold and fell in a tangle at his feet.He looked down at me"Watch the doorway, old man" he said in a peculiarly expressionless voice, and closed the door behindhim, heading across to one of the tables where he set his satchel upon it and drew out a sheaf of notesthat he began to spread upon the wood.I rose slowly to my feet and looked around. One or two other men were sat at tables, some of themsurprisingly distant, considering that I had thought this to be a room simply the size of the commonroom above. But it stretched out far ahead, and must take up a lot of the second floor, though I foundmyself wondering exactly how that could be so. But rooms in houses always seemed larger than thespace they occupied otherwise would have. I remember seeing a newbuild going up next door to wherewe lived, and the plot had seemed tiny, the rooms incredibly so, but when it was finished and the newoccupants had a house-warming party, the rooms had seemed a fair size, and easily accommodated thedozen or so guests they had that night.Nobody was paying me the slightest bit of attention and I decided to look for the journals I needed,even though the paper that they would have been useful for was now written and marked, a B+ whichseemed alright to me, but had got a sneer from the public school boy seated to my left as we got themback in class. I'd sneaked a peak at his, A- and asked what was the great difference between the twogrades, and he had laughed and said simply "Yours has a B in it". Well, I didn't like him much anyway,but I did wonder what extra information or insights he had been able to bring to the paper that hadbeen denied me. So, if I could find the journals and relevant articles, maybe I would write the paperagain and resubmit it - we had been told we could do that if we wanted, but it was supposed to be if wehad a less than average mark, say a C- or even, embarrassment of embarrassments a D+. We weregiven to understand that anything less than a D+ would be marked a fail and would come with anofficial warning. So far even my worst paper had garnered a B- and I fully knew I didn't need the extrapoints that pushing a good grade up a single notch would bring. But in this case, it would be theprinciple of the thing.Slowly, I gained an idea of the organisation of this library. It seemed to only have sections for History,Philosophy, Classics, Geography and Music. Art was relegated to a sub-section of History, as 'Historyof Art' whilst Sociology or Social Studies did not feature at all. For what I wanted, it was good enough.The offending paper had been on the 1848 Revolution in Hungary, and my interjection in the lecturehad been to question the assertion from the professor that they were doomed to failure from the start.The standard line seemed to be that the Hungarians had lost even before the Russians had invaded, and

that it was the Habsburg recovery which had decided their fate, but I had argued also against that, onlysomewhat successfully it seemed. Doctor Hart who ran the classes had said that it was not the rights orwrongs of an essay that he would grade, but the arguments within, the breadth of study, and the use ofsource materials in a coherent and focused fashion. The worse mark on that paper had been a straightC given to a girl with pince-nez glasses and a severe dress sense. Eleanor I knew her name to be, butthat was about it - apparently she had used only those sources which had supported her argument andignored the many which did not, some of which were more famous than those she had referenced. AsDr Hart said, that was the way of a politician and not a historian.The History section of the library was by far the largest, but was easily navigable, being divided intocenturies. I walked swiftly, and rather blindly, past the 17th and 18th centuries, and came to the start ofthe 19th. Books were on the upper shelves, relevant journals and publications on the lower, and forthose which spanned the centuries, there were indices in each century referencing to the particularjournal in their separate shelving. I bent down to thumb through these, as I did so knocking my headon a large tome bound in black leather with embossed gold writing on the cover. "The Reign of LouisXX" it was called.Thumbing through the first of the indices, I began to feel a slight disorientation. There was a lot onHungary, but nothing on what I needed. Some of it was so obscure I didn't even recognise what itmeant, and surely 'Palatine Hungary in the 1850s" had to be wrong, they were under militaryoccupation then, but perhaps that was what it meant. I slid that index back, and opened the next,beginning to turn the pages over until a sudden title caught my eye and brought me up sharp. It wasunder Battles, a fairly long catalogue entry and whilst I knew that I did not know the names of all thebattles of the 19th century, and certainly not those fought in Africa or India or Afghanistan, I waspretty sure I knew most of those upon the European continent. "Battle of Moscow, 1864" wasdefinitely not one of these!I looked more closely under Battles, and soon began to see more anomalies. Maybe the Battle ofWarsaw 1863 referred to the Polish Uprising of that year, but what was the Battle of Kiev of the sameyear, or the Battle of Archangel 1865?I sat back on my haunches and cast the index aside. Maybe it was somebody's idea of a joke. I reachedforward for the next of the indices, and my arm brushed the book overhanging them. My mind nowfinally registered what it said...King Louis XX? I pulled it down and opened it at random, reading"Louis was only to be Dauphin for 8 years, before the death of his beloved father elevated him to theglory of kingship in the Spring of 1844, but those eight years were to his later memory the happiest ofhis life"I did some quick calculations, European genealogy, at least of the middle decades of the 19th century,having been something of a hobby of mine. Eight years before 1844 would have been 1836, and whilstI knew that Charles X had been overthrown in 1830, I was pretty sure he had lived another half dozenyears before dying in exile. He had two sons, one Louis, Duke of Angouleme who had not had anychildren, and the other the ill-fated Charles, Duke of Berry who had been assassinated in 1820 andwhose only son Henri was the Comte de Chambord who had after the Franco-Prussian War doomedthe hopes of royalists by refusing the crown if the flag was the Tricolor.Even though I knew that exiles counted their regnal numbers even when not upon the throne, I was atsomething of a loss here. The Duke of Angouleme had been considered Louis XIX by legitimists, evenwhilst the Duke of Orleans sat the throne as Louis Philippe I. It was true that Louis Philippe's heir hadbeen another Louis, his grandson, son of the lamented Ferdinand who had died in a carriage accident.But none of these facts tallied with the few I had read in the book. Maybe it was some sort of historicalromance, I thought?I leafed back to the flysheet, Printed in London and Paris in 1895, chronicling the reign of His Majesty

Louis XX, 1844-1888, and with a foreword by his royal cousin the Duke of Berry. I rubbed my eyes -Chambord of course had been the legitimate heir to the Dukedom of Berry but I knew he had died inthe early 1880s, childless and dooming the legitimist cause. Henceforth it was split between theOrleanists and the Spanish royal family, the direct line of Louis XV having run to an end with hisdeath. I was pretty sure that whilst Louis Philippe had had several sons all of whom had been dukes,that none of them had been accorded the title of Duke of Berry. Even that avenue seemed closed to mehere.Leaving the book on the floor, I rose and let my eyes wander over the other titles in this section of thelibrary. 19th century history was my forte, hopefully it would become my speciality and I ought tohave recognised the events and personages before me, even if I did not yet know the books. But whilsta few names were familiar, I began to sense a disorder even amongst them. "Tsar Nicholas II 1865-1900" I opened and was not too surprised by now to see that it was Alexander II's eldest son Nicholas,whom I knew had died young before his father, who was being referenced here. And that date again -1865, what did it signify?I picked out a book at random, "Earl Spencer, Prime Minister Meritus, 1894-1906" - well, I knew thatwas wrong! Rosebery, Salisbury, Balfour should be in those years. I knew something of Spencer,leading the Lords, having some role in government that I could not for the moment recall, but neverPrime Minister, though there had been that funny episode with King Edward VII in 1906 when theking had asked who on Earth had told Spencer he was going to be asked to form a government,because HE certainly had not... But how even did that tie in? It looked from the dates as if 1906 wasthe year in which Spencer had stepped down from the office of Prime Minister... Hadn't he had astroke or something in that year? There was something like that, which was why the king would noteven consider him... But this was all backwards?"The Great War 1862-1866", the title leapt out at me from a dozen volumes balanced on the top shelf. Idragged over a small wooden stepladder and reached up towards one of the centremost books, pullingit down. Balancing it now on the steps before me, I opened it somewhere in the middle and read thefirst sentence that came into view"The treacherous actions of the upstart Egyptian government in the Summer of 1864 almost brought ahalt to operations, but Louis XX convinced his British allies to hold firm, the meanwhile reining backaid to the Confederacy as his warships were needed elsewhere, to bombard Alexandria""Hmm..." I said, and flicked back to the index for that volume. "1864 - The Year of Decision" and ithad chapters such as "The Ohio Campaign", "The Second Battle of Annapolis", "Revolution andDisorder in Cairo", "The Moscow Campaign", "The Battle of the Keys", and "Nikolai's Defence of theCrimea"Unhappily everything seemed to reinforce what the other books were telling me. Could there be somesort of secret conspiracy to keep the real history away from the people, and replace it with a differentnarrative? I supposed that it was possible, but how could it be done? Wouldn't everybody have to be apart of it, the Chinese, the Russians? But then again perhaps we only had our own government's wordfor what those countries were saying. I certainly didn't know anybody who had ever been to Russia,and certainly nobody who had ever discoursed on Russian history with a Russian native. Maybe it wasall a lie?"Put the books away when you have finished, why don't you" an irritated voice said to me frombehind.I almost leapt out of my skin and turned slowly, to find a grey-suited man in his late twenties frowningdown at the still-open volume of Louis XX's life."I um, wanted to compare sources" I said"Take the books to the tables to do that, don't you think" he said, with less irritation than before"Yes of course, sorry"

He nodded and moved back to the 17th century shelves, where I could see him rummaging amongstthe older manuscripts looking for something.I picked up Louis XX and "The Year of Decision" and took them to a vacant table at one end of therow of shelves, then returned to have a look for more. More what, I did not know, but there wasdefinitely more, of that I was sure. But where to start? I turned to look at the other man, but he washeading away, a bundle of papers under his arm, primary sources for his studies I had little doubt.Were there any here for me to find? I turned back to the shelves and saw that a little way along, on thenext set of shelves, the lower area was not full of journals but of bundled papers. Hurriedly, with heartpounding in my mouth, I knelt down to these and lifted a set at random."General Nicholson's Reports from the Arctic 1864-1869"Again that tied in with the dates of the rest of what I had seen so far.The Arctic? The Battle of Archangel 1865, I remembered from the index, and indeed when I untied thestring around the bundle and leafed through I soon found the general's report on the storming ofArchangel, an action where the British lost over two thousand men, but displaced an army of overtwenty thousand, mainly through the use of naval bombardment, and specialised landing craft that hadbeen constructed in Norway after the debacle of the previous year's attempted descent on Murmanskna-Romanov,a fishing village that had been targeted as the advanced base for British forces but wherea force of a bare two thousand Russians had repulsed an attempted landing inflicting high casualties onthe attacking force.I flicked forward through the bundle, wondering how it went on to 1869 if the Great War had ended in1866, as the volumes above me proclaimed."June 14th 1866", I read, "Respectfully refuse to withdraw until treaty is ratified by all sides"Nicholson had dared to defy London and disobeyed orders to withdraw from Archangel. No doubt hewas so far away, and after the Murmansk disaster the naval forces in the North had been subordinatedto his command. A small thought stirred at the back of my mind, and I wondered if this was theNicholson that I knew had died during the storming of Delhi during the Indian Mutiny? Of course, if itwas, how come he was still alive, but then if this was the true history, maybe there had never been anIndian Mutiny at all? But why make it up?"October 19th 1866", I had flicked forward to an impressive looking document, "General Order byGeneral Nicholson for the Government of HM Enclave, Archangel""Wow..." I breathed, what had I missed? I leafed back and found that over the Summer, the Russianduma, newly elected and meeting in Nizhny Novgorod had refused to ratify the treaty, signed byAlexander II in the last days before his abdication. The Armistice still held, but the Coalition commandhad decided to hold onto what they held, and try to force the Russians to give in."November 1st 1866 Disgraceful events in Warsaw, condemn utterly these traitors"It was a dispatch that Nicholson had sent to the General commanding the British station at Narvik,something of a personal letter sent aboard one of the many vessels plying the trade between the twoholdings."November 11th 1866 Hear reports of assassination of Poniatowski, confirmation required""December 9th 1866 Confirmation by railroad from Saint Petersburg"No doubt Archangel was completely iced in by then. The mention of the railroad was confusing, butpresumably if the Russian duma was having to meet in Nizhny Novgorod, the capital on the Nevaremained in Coalition hands - the French maybe, or perhaps the Swedes, if I read the British base atNarvik correctly to mean that Norway was friendly territory."You must like squatting on the floor", the speaker this time was an older man, bearded and wearingsome sort of fedora upon his head"I, um"

"You are comparing sources" the man said, with a twinkle in his eye, "Let me see"I could not very well resist and let him lift the Nicholson papers out of my hands."Ah, Nicholson" he smiled, "A true rogue, but what we needed back then.""I always had that impression" I managed, thinking of the Nicholson I knew leading the Delhi FieldForce during the Indian Mutiny"Being Governor did not come easy to him", the man picked out a communication from 1868 and read,"Once again I must protest at the diminution of the allowance for my men, and the reduction in trafficupon the Saint Petersburg line now that it has been handed back to Russian control. Urgently rectifythe situation, by cutter if necessary, but do not think we will be silent in our Fate""Mmm" I said, since something needed to be said"Of course, six months later he was relieved of command and replaced by the Duke of Devonshire""Military or civilian?" I asked what I hoped sounded like a neutral question"Both", the old man smiled, "But you are quite correct, Cavendish held the Governorship direct fromParliament whereas Nicholson had appropriated it as a result of his military endeavours""How long was Devonshire there?" I asked, wondering at how I could say such things when I knewfull well that Archangel had never been in British hands."Let me see", he folded the papers up and retied the string around them, "If memory serves me rightCavendish served as Governor a full ten years before being invalided home. He died soon after ofpneumonia, I seem to recall""What happened then?""Hmmm?" the fellow had reached down to return the papers to their correct shelf, "Then? Oh you mustmean in Archangel... Now you are asking.."He was quiet for a moment, head titled to one side as if accessing an internal data bank by this method"I know that Gordon was Governor in the 1880s, but who replaced Cavendish until then, I cannot quiterecall""I suppose it is quite obscure" I said, in what I hoped was a kind fashion"He probably was" the fellow agreed, "Sometimes non-entities get appointed to these important posts,do their stint then get replaced by the truly great."Important post, I thought, so Archangel was not just a leftover from some Russian war, as Nicholson'slater communiqués had appeared to suggest, but had been valued for itself."I trust you will not spread any more of the collection upon the floor?" he said, twinkle gone from hiseye"No of course" I stammered, "I will carry them to the table before opening them""Very well" he looked as if he was going to say something else, then nodded, "So be it" he said, andwalked offI stared after him. So be it? What was that supposed to mean ?

The Library – Chapter TwoI carried a couple of additional books across to the table, then decided I would be less conspicuous if Iactually sat and did some reading. I had of course no writing implements upon my person, and theredid not seem the likelihood of borrowing or buying any from here, so I tried to commit what I could tomemory. I attempted to read something of Germany, but the closest I had been able to find had been abiography of "King Frederick William V of Prussia". Similarly, I had looked for something onVictorian Britain, but had ended up carrying to the table the curiously titled "Deeds of The Magi -British Politicians of the Golden Era".The world I read about became increasingly strange the more I read. Roundell Palmer had been PrimeMinister of Great Britain in the 1870s, and it was his government which had finally ended the so-calledArctic Freeze with Russia and brought Tsar Nicholas II's government to the table. The original treatyfrom 1865 had long since been torn up, and a new one was hammered out in London to reflect currentrealities. Louis XX's France had taken some persuading but had eventually signed up to it, and afterthat it was not long before even the Ottoman Empire had agreed to waive the lost clauses from 1865and make the best of the present.Palmer had been created in quick succession earl, and then Duke of Selborne...by a grateful KingFrederick I of Great Britain"Who?" I said aloud, then swallowed the question. Who on Earth was King Frederick I?I found something of an answer in the biography of Louis XX - Frederick I had succeeded his uncleGeorge IV as monarch of Great Britain in 1830... The Duke of York had been called Frederick, and thenon-accession of William IV appeared indeed to indicate that this king was in fact York's son. I knewwell that he had never had a son, or a daughter for that matter, but what I knew was no longer relevant,or important. In fact what I knew seemed merely to be a counterpoint to what I was finding out,something for me to hang the names on, to form an idea in my mind of what things meant.My watch beeped and I looked down at it in surprise. One o'clock! I had been so absorbed in what Iwas doing that I had almost missed lunch! On a weekend, the canteen stopped serving at half past, andI had set this little alarm for myself after missing dinner the previous week, although that had been theresult of an alcoholic haze and not detailed study of impossible history. I realised that I was starving,Louise not having provided anything other than harsh words and bad feeling for breakfast, and quicklystood to return the books to their shelves.I was about to head back towards the door, when I realised that if the library stretched along the lengthof the second floor then exiting by the door at the far end would bring me out nearer to the canteenbelow, and stop me having to either walk out into the rain, or downstairs through the administrativecorridors to get there. I could see a door in the distance, beyond the Classics section, where a few moretables were scattered about with one or two men hunched in their reading, sat in straight-backed chairs.I looked briefly at the books as I passed - Plato, Euripides, Aeschylus, all seemed normal there.Passing through the door I found myself not on another landing, but in a small room, darkened with nowindows, doors off it to either side, and one at the far end ajar and showing light. I was about to headin that direction when an elderly woman opened one of the side doors and came in. She started slightlyat the sight of me, then smiled in a business-like fashion"My boys, always creeping around" she said."Um", my brain reeled, "Please can you tell me the way to the canteen?" I asked"To where?" she reached down and switched on a standard lamp, casting a pale light into the room. Icould see now that the walls were hung with prints of famous paintings, and that there were chairsaround the outside as if it were some kind of waiting room"Er, the dining room?" I tried again

"Ah, why did you not say!" she laughed, and again it sounded more like something that was expectedfrom her, rather than true geniality, "Down the Grand Staircase", I could hear the capital letters, "andthen to the left. It lies just beyond""Thank you"It had been a needless question on my part - where else would the canteen be but downstairs and to theleft? But I had had to say something when I had startled her."You Oxford boys always getting lost" she said with another false laugh, then headed back the way shehad come.Oxford boy? Did she think I did not belong here, in the outskirts of London? I felt somehow cheated,but then decided she was probably just some mad old biddy that they used for caretaking or cleaning orsomething, and was hardly connected with the reality around her. I mean, not even knowing what thecanteen was!I hurried out of the exit, and found myself indeed upon a very grand staircase. What the Hell? Well, Isupposed that I did not know this part of halls very well, but it seemed rather inappropriate to me, toowide, and too gaudy, and surely it must take up a lot of space at this end of the building? I looked up atthe paintings on the wall - more prints, or were these the real thing? No, that one was a Rembrandt!They had to be prints, but then why display them so ostentatiously? Maybe they were copies, perhapsby a donor to the university?The staircase disgorged me in a hallway that again seemed rather too grand for the building I knew. Ihad often meant to explore the further reaches of the Gothic pile, but had always been goingsomewhere or doing something. I had hardly dreamt that a hallway with a marbled floor, and gold leafupon the wall existed, certainly not this close to the canteen, for even now I could hear the usual clatterof plates, and the raising of voices from that room beyond. Glancing at my watch I saw that I hadfifteen minutes, but on a bad day it could take almost that long to queue for dinner. I should just aboutmake it!I hurried down the corridor and into the dining room, and stopped dead. Was this Fancy DressSaturday or something? I looked around in confusion. The men were all dressed up in suits and tails,the women in elaborate dresses. Some even wore hats! Looking around for a familiar face, I could findnone, and walked slowly to the back of the queue. The man in front of me looked me up and downwith a sneer, made to say something then decided against it. I frowned, and looked past him at theservers - even they were dressed up to the nines, black jackets and trousers, for the men, silly littleFrench aprons for the women.A movement at the far end caught my eye. People were paying in cash! Was the food card system notworking today, or was that part of the Fancy Dress just taken to extremes? I felt a hand on my elbowand whirled around to find a man in top hat and breeches staring down at me. What was mostnoticeable was the silver-topped cane in his hand,"Where have you come from laddy?" he growled at me."The library" I said, stupidly even to my ears.Like the other before he me, he looked me up and down. Sure, my trainers, jeans and hooded fleecewere hardly sartorial elegance, but they had been perfect attire for the band the night before, andhardly out of place on any university campus."You are expected to dress for dinner" he said, though now he sounded a little less certain of himself.I looked around and could not deny that today this did indeed seem to be the requirement, but it neverusually was, so how was I supposed to know that ? With my background, and on a full grant, I didn'tmix with the smart set, merely acknowledging them as they went by, all Hooray Henry and RoeburneRachel, but this seemed to be taking it to ridiculous extremes, and who on Earth was this guy dressedup in such a ridiculous fashion?

oute, I crossed the too-grand hallway and stepped out into the watery light of Midday."What the Hell...?"I almost dropped the carton in surprise. Perhaps shock would be more appropriate, but I realised howconfused my geography had become. Instead of exiting into the main carpark, I was in some smallersuch space, trees all along the distance, and a clutch of vintage vehicles all parked in rows before me.Of course! It struck me now that the dining hall must have been rented by some external organisation,perhaps for their annual dinner, and that regular students from the university had not been expected toattend. No doubt there was a poster up on some wall that I had not bothered to read, or flyer stuckunder my door that I had dumped straight into the recycling bin.I tried to work out where I was and supposed I must be at the South end of the building. The North endwas where the access to the main road was, whilst the East had the main carpark, and the West theinternal quadrangles which I had crossed on my way to the Old Library that time. I wished now that Ihad paid more attention to those parts of the campus that I had not had cause to go to, but it was a nullquestion really - I had not bothered because I had not gone there, and only a few weeks into the firstterm of my time here how could I be expected to have taken time off from study, drink or bands towander like a romantic poet looking up at the architecture?Those cars really were amazing! I knew that the carton would keep the food warm for far longer thanone might expect, so didn't worry about dawdling on my way back to my room. I walked across to thecars, making sure first that there was no old man in funny clothes and silver-tipped cane to ask mewhat I was doing. Presumably there was CCTV somewhere, but all I was doing was having a look, andthe tapes usually only got watched if some crime was committed - a fight in the main carpark theprevious week had been the last time. The rest of the time, some old geezer sitting in reception mightlook up at the camera feed once in a while, but would hardly stir himself unless he had a need to callSecurity."Hmm..." I thought I knew a lot about old cars. My father and his father, now sadly deceased these lastfew years, had been avid fans of veteran racing, and had gone out of their way to take me to museums,point out old cars to me in the street, and to announce, or often denounce, the makes of old cars used inreproduction dramas upon the television. A favourite theme of theirs had been that there were toomany posh cars in these shows, that the common, ordinary car that most people had owned, had beenbadly constructed and most had rotted away so that only the more sturdy higher class models remainedin the collections for use on the filmset. I smiled fondly at the memory of my grandpa saying that, thenlooked back to the vehicles in front of me.They were undutiably old, and in good condition, and if my father and grandfather's reasoning held outthey ought to be among those higher class vehicles that I had seen so much on television, and whichthe museums were full of. But they weren't"What's a Hooter?" I looked at the bulbous wings of the black car before me in confusion, "And aPhoenix?"It was painted red and gold, a garish choice perhaps but it worked on its fine trim lines, and oversizedheadlights. To my mind it ought to have been a Rolls Royce or perhaps a Napier, but it proudlyannounced that it was a Phoenix Imperator..."And a PIC ?" I said the initials, then tried "Pic?" but nothing stirred in my memory. This latter vehiclewas smaller, more of a runabout than a beast of power, and inside I could see on the back seat an openbook. I peeked in, hoping the old geezer was not paying especial attention to me on his cameras rightnow."The Age of Aggression by A E P Voigt" meant nothing to me, but was clearly a new book, the flycover resplendent in a picture of what seemed to be an uhlan, lancer at the ready, plumed helmet on hishead as he faced down a machine gun.

"Oops", I had leant so far in that my dinner was now pushing at the edge of the carton, leaking throughthe side as I forgot about it.It reminded me that I had better things to do than sneak around a carpark, and that I was probablypushing my luck with the CCTV. If I didn't move the old geezer would probably call Security on mejust to be on the safe side. With a final backwards glance at the vintage cars, I turned to the left andwhat my sense of direction told me must be the direction of the main carpark.Sense of direction be damned, I was thinking a couple of minutes later. This was nuts! I mustsomehow be around the back of the building, across the quadrangles and out the other side, the Westside of halls where I had never yet bothered to go. How I had got there from the dining room I did notknow, but maybe the library had stretched not along the main body of my side, but across the middle. Icould not see quite how, but if I had entered the dining room from the Western side, that would explainwhy I had not seen the grand staircase or the hallway before, and why now I found myself standing inan ornamental garden when I had been expecting to walk into the main carpark. Something wasnagging at the back of my mind, even so, but I decided to head up to the main entrance and...Oh, that was it! I leant back against a tree and considered my position. If I was on the Western side,then the main entrance ought to be to my left, but it was clearly to my right... If I was on the Westernside, to my right ought to be the South end, where I had just come from, but that was on my left? Hadsomebody given me some magic mushrooms or something the night before? I didn't think so, butperhaps if they had, maybe that was why Louise was so moody. Hell, a shiver went down my back -maybe she even thought I had plied her with them to get her into bed, though I sort of remembered ithad been her who was taking the lead on that. But would even magic mushrooms cause me this muchdisorientation? I had to be on the West side, nothing else was logical, but then why did the mainentrance seem to be to my right?"Oh to Hell with directions" I said. If I was disorientated then it was not going to solve itself bythinking about it. I stood up and headed down the quartz-strewn path towards the main entrance. Ipassed a tower set into the building that had to be the twin of my own. Presumably they had one oneach side to even out the building, though I knew that in some things the architect had been curiouslyasymmetrical. Not in this, though, it seemed.I rounded the corner, my brain telling me I was turning left, my mind telling me I must bedisorientated and really turning right from the West side into the main entrance... But what the Hellwas this?!"I think I'll eat this here" I said to myself.It must be the lack of food, some sort of light headedness. I sat upon a bench that I had never seenbefore and opened the carton, using my fingers to pick up the meat and vegetables, appalling tablemanners but who was looking. I drained the casserole by drinking from the carton, then placed it in anornate black and gold litter bin to the side, wondering what the initials F III R on its side might mean.Wiping my mouth on a handkerchief, I looked ahead of me and frowned. Alright, if this was the mainentrance and it seemed to be, then how had these ornate little lawns got here, why was the roadway sonarrow and curving out into the trees instead of the carpark that.....that ought to lie there, and why werethe golden gates up ahead open when everyone knew they had been closed for twenty years and themain egress was now the roadway through the wall...that was not now there...?"Oh.." it seemed appropriate to say it aloud.Was this what the university had looked like some many years ago? Had I somehow gained a vision ofit in the past? I didn't like to ask the other question, but it sat at the back of my mind mocking me - hadI somehow gone into the past, and was now sitting on a bench in the 1930s...maybe?A car swung off the main road, pulling in through the gates and slowing down as it made the turn intothe curving roadway.

"That has to be a PIC" I said, as it seemed to be the twin of the little runabout I had looked at in thecarparkI had noticed its driver, a young man with a scarf around his neck, as if his vehicle was an open-top,when it was quite clearly not, the roof having been on as firmly as on the Phoenix or the...what was it?That other make which I had not heard of, whose name now escaped me in all this confusionA young couple rounded the corner from the West side...the side that I had not come from, the sidethat I now believed that I had never seen. Arm in arm they did not see me at first but strolled happilyalong engrossed in their own conversation. Then the woman started"Oh!" she gasped staring at me"Good afternoon" I said, all politeness"Stay away from me!" squawked the man, and to my amazed eyes, pushed the woman behind him anddrew a gun from a shoulder holster"What the Hell?" I demanded, leaping to my feet"Away I say!" he almost screamed, "Or I will shoot"I did not like the emphasis on "will" and took a step backwards, watching the barrel of the gun waveup and down in the young fellow's panic. It seemed as likely to shoot out one of the stained glasswindows of the chapel behind my head, than to shoot me, but if it was an even bet I did not wish forhim to fire at all"You will stand right there" he saidI shrugged; never argue with a madman with a gun."Come along honey, he's not going to get you" the man said, with a strange mixture of terror andbravado.Pushing her along in front of him, he walked in an awkward backwards-facing movement until he wasaround the corner, back where my memory told me the main carpark ought to be, but recent experiencetold me there was an ornamental garden."Right..." I said, dragging the word out. I had no wish to tangle with that madman again any time soon,so headed up to the golden gates to see what the main road might have to offer

The Library – Chapter ThreeThe main road was a revelation. If this was a busy thoroughfare in whatever decade I found myself in,the 1930s, or 40s, then truly it was a golden age of motoring, especially for the pedestrian! Only anoccasional vehicle passed, all of them to my mind vintage and none of them familiar, except for theoccasional PIC runabout that was only familiar due to my having seen one in the carpark. None of themakes and models that my father and grandfather had painstakingly taught me about seemed to pass,but then the volume of traffic was so low that it would not hold up in any sort of statistical survey. Avan passed, painted maroon with the words "Hart's Butchers" stencilled on the side. For a moment Ithought of my teacher, Dr Hart and whether the owner of that company, maybe even the driver of thatvan, could be a relative, maybe an ancestor, of his, but it was a pointless thought, and I banished it.I stood some several minutes beside the golden gates, just watching the traffic before I came back tomyself. Somebody would start to get suspicious if I just stood there, and I had no reasonable answer toany questions that they might ask. I could see the sign of a pub down the hill in the distance and it wasluring me on with the enticing idea of a nice cold pint of lager... But this was the past - didn't theydrink warm beer here, or had John Major just been an arse? More to the point I now realised why mymoney had caused such consternation in the dining room! If this was the past, then my coins with theearliest date on them being the 1980s must have come as a serious shock! All the coins in my backpocket were worthless here, I could not go to the pub even if I wanted to drink warm beer...But I could not just stand here, that was for sure. I decided that a walk was always good for thesynapses, and headed off in the direction of the pub, down the hill away from the golden gates. Therewas enough pleasant warmth from the sun on my face to begin to revive my thought processes. Thelibrary had gone completely out of my head with my experiences in the dining room, and then theconfusion as to where, and latterly when, I was around the university building. But if the library wasentered into the equation...then at what point had the past been rewritten? Had the true vintage vehiclesof the past been somehow replaced with convincing replicas under other names, other marques? Didany of that even make the slightest bit of sense?I was now level with the pub and was not too shocked to discover it was called "The Frederick II". Ifthere had been one King Frederick of Great Britain, then it was no great surprise if there had beenanother...and the bin! It came back to me now, F III R, Frederick III Rex or whatever Frederick was inLatin. So there had been three King Fredericks...at least, my brain added as a counterpoise.If it was the 1940s, then the enumeration would probably work. If George IV's brother, the Duke ofYork, had had a son it was probably in the 1790s, maybe the early 1800s but certainly no later given hewas born, I thought, in the 1760s, his wife not that much younger than he. King Frederick I hadapparently been old enough to inherit the crown in his own right at his uncle, George IV's, death in1830. Well, that made sense - he would have been at least in his mid twenties, maybe even his midthirties by that date. A King Frederick II would presumably have been born in the period somewherebetween the 1820s and the 1840s, a King Frederick III again somewhere between the 1850s and the1870s... If this was the 1940s, King Frederick III could indeed still be alive, if this was the 1930salmost certainly he could be, even if born at the earlier end of the spectrum. He might not be, but if nothe would be recently dead, the bins on the campus from his recent reign.But was I making the right deductions from the bin? There was nothing to say that there was anunbroken line of Fredericks, without monarchs of another name occurring in between. The availableevidence seemed to point to that, but what if, say, Frederick II only had a daughter, Queen whoevershe would be, and that it was her son who was now Frederick III, a relatively young man in the gloryyears of his reign?"Or what if this is all complete bullshit!" I said aloud

It was good as a mental exercise, but could I really envision a world where at some point, presumablyafter the 1940s they had rewritten history, writing in George V, George VI, the German Empire, Hitler,Pearl Harbour? Could all of that really not have happened? It seemed an insane idea except for theevidence of my own eyes..."Randolph!" a man staggered out of the pub and into the road, gesticulating at me"Shit..." I headed towards him, to lead him back to the pavement in case one of the infrequent carsshould choose this moment to barrel down the hill and knock him over."What..." he allowed himself to be led, the while frowning, "You're not Randolph...""I'm Luke" I said, wincing as I revealed my real name, "His cousin""Aha!" the man grinned, then bent over to throw up into a drain"Great..." I said, watching this performanceHe straightened and wiped his mouth on his sleeve"How about a drink, Lukey boy?""If you're buying" I said, making a show of my empty front pockets"Of course! Anything for Randolph's cousin"He seemed genuine, and I was tired, thirsty, and in need of a destination so I smiled and let him leadme inside the Frederick IIThere was sawdust on the floor, globules of something unthinkable all about the place, rolled upthankfully into the sawdust, presumably why it was there."Stout!" hollered my new friend, "And what do you want Lukey boy?"I stared at the unfamiliar bar, the pump handles thrusting into the air,"Porter" I hazarded, remembering the word from my studies of 19th century London"Porter for the lad!" the fellow yelled"I'm only here for fuck's sake Mick" said the barman, probably the landlord from his demeanour, "Youdon't have to yell to Algiers for me!""Never fucking catch you in Algiers" a man smoking a pipe by the blazing fire ground out, to muchhilarity"Watch that mouth of yours, Laurie West""Yeah yeah" the man blew out a perfect ring of smoke, "You're all fight in here, Toms""I fucking better be" the man growled, slamming two pints down in front of usMick, true to his word, handed over a slew of coins, and then counted back his change in ashortsighted pedantic way"Never be careless" he said, shaking his head, "I mean, you got to be careful""I know what you mean" I said, gaining a scowl from the landlordWe carried our drinks across to an empty table by the front window, myself just catching a glimpse ofa gigantic car trundling slowly past as we settled in the threadbare upholstery."To Randolph!" said my drunken host"Randolph" I echoed, raising my glass and wondering who the hell Randolph might beThe porter was strong and thick, but good. I had often wondered what people in the past had seen inother drinks than lager or pilsner, but I began to get a feel for it as the liquid washed welcome downmy throat"Funny get up", Mick waved a wobbly hand at my clothes, "What's it for?""Er, sport" I said, thinking quickly, "I was supposed to be playing but they cancelled""Oh...sport" he nodded wisely and guzzled at his warm beer, "You one of those professionals?"He pronounced the latter word as if it was synonymous with AIDS sufferer or leper. I laughed as wellas I could"Hell no, just for fun at the university""Ah", he nodded wisely once more, "You're at the university"

I would have said more but just then there was an almighty thunder from outside. A few of the menfaned indifference, and I noticed for the first time that crowded though the pub was, they were all men.Others though were on their feet, rushing to the door, and in a half movement I was with them,standing a moment later in the forecourt of the pub as a military convoy rumbled past upon the road."Six" said Laurie of the pipe"Nah, seven mate" the speaker was a tall thin man in worn leathers, looking like he had just come outof some workshop or other"I counted six" Laurie said, offended"Then you missed one", the speaker this time was older, fedora upon his head and strangely familiarI could see what they were arguing about. A half dozen - or more - tanks had just gone down the road,enormous beasts, surely bigger than anything that the history of the 1930s or 1940s that I knew of hadconstructed. True there was the Maus in Nazi Germany, but though it could turn on its own axis, it wassaid by modern historians to have been a white elephant, too heavy for the terrain it was supposed tobe used in. But how did that argument stand up against modern main battle tanks which wereenormous compared to their World War Two counterparts, and were intended to contest that veryenvironment?"Fucking Plummers" said the man next to me"Plumbers?" I asked confused, wondering if he were thinking of some domestic situation even as hewatched the military convoy, now comprised of troop lorries, rumble past."The battlewagons, man" he growled at me, "I would have thought a young man like yourself wouldhave read the newspapers - the Plummer V, best battlewagon we've ever had""Ah..." I remembered the name Plummer from somewhere, but where?At length the military convoy came to an end, the lorries being followed by a parade of armoured cars,then some small military vehicles that looked like souped-up PIC runabouts. I must have said thisaloud, for the man in the fedora was now alongside me"Precisely what they are" he said, "Plummer Industrial Concerns builds both the 'runabouts' and these'scouts' ", he waved at the last departing vehicle as it played tail end charlie to the convoy,disappearing into the town below."You were in the library" I saidHe nodded at me,"That is supposed to be my line" he commentedI waited, and after a moment he nodded"So be it" he said - again - and headed back inside the pub with the crowd now thinning once the showwas overI returned to my seat beside Mick, but he was onto his second pint of beer, and hardly noticed me.I drained the rest of my porter and waved the empty glass at him. He fixed me with an unsteady frown"I'll buy you one drink for Randolph, but not two" he said, blurrily"Fair enough" I said, rising to my feet, "Thanks Mick""S'alright" he mumbled and let out a suffocating fartI was glad to escape into the forecourt outside, breathing in deeply of the Spring airWhere now though? I could head back to the university and the confusion in my mind that the veryidea evoked, or I could head, penniless, into town and see what was to be found there. The man in thefedora exited behind me"Keep moving" he said, as he turned sharply to his right, and began the walk back up the hill towardsthe golden gates.Keep moving... I could agree with that, although I could find little logic in why he was telling me so. Iturned left and strode down the hill towards the town.

The town of course was not as I knew it. In fact, although I had only lived there for a few weeks, I feltthat I had known both it as it was now, and as it had been in the past quite well. The old cinema was aWaterstones. An old bank was a pub. The old post office was a furniture store. One of the old pubswas now a clothes shop. All of this had been quite evident in the brickwork, the floorwork, thearchitecture. But none of this matched what I now found as I wandered the streets in growingconsternationWhere a thriving, or at least surviving, cinema ought to be was a liquor store. I would have said "offlicense" but the words on the black wooden board above the door quite clearly called it a "liquorstore". Where the Post Office really ought to have been in all its grandeur was an automobileshowroom, all brick and glass, displaying the newest in Phoenix Motors and Endymion Automobiles,for all that my memory had no inkling of either my father or grandfather mentioning such makes.Where the bank was supposed to be was the Post Office, but not the same building by any standard.This one was huge, F III R carved into every cornerstone, a queue of people even on a Saturdaywaiting outside to get in.Only the old pub was where it was supposed to be, The Nag's Head in the centre of town, lookingancient and downtrodden, a few disreputable characters standing around outside. I had often, in theweeks I had been at university, fantasised about what the disappeared pub must have been like, butnow passing in front of it I had no wish to enter, even if I had had money older than the 1980sBut the layout of the town was more or less as I knew it. Apart from the one-way loop that had beenintroduced in the 1970s and was absent here, this was the same town that I knew, but it was all sodifferent. I began to hunt for similarities, looking not for the disappeared buildings, but thoseestablishments which I knew had always been there. I found The Lion Hotel, old grandeur fading evenat this period, in mine it had been a dive, a rough pub underneath what was at best second staraccommodation. It didn't look much better here.But of the other pubs I found little sign, the war memorial that stated it had been built in 1919 wasmissing completely, and even the medieval church was gone, replaced by some Gothic constructionsomewhat in the style of the university..."Oh shit..." I said, and sat down on the benchReality warped itself around me one more time, and I realised where I was, or rather how I was. Suchdescriptive terms did not give easily to translation, but the best one could muster was a how, ratherthan a where, or a when."This is a fucking alternate reality!" I yelledThankfully nobody noticed, or if they did nobody did anything.I rose quickly and crossed to a newsagent I had seen earlier, but barely noticed. Inside, by the door wasa pile of newspapers. I picked one up "The Britannic" it was called, the front page full of news of thefighting in Algiers, the date at the top... May 20th 2000....."I'm in the fucking present..." I said"Mind your language son", the man was hard but smartly dressed, holding a little girl who seemed tobe all curls, by the hand"Sorry" I muttered"Make sure you remember in future" he said, still staring at me, or perhaps at my clothes"Sorry", I said again, "I will""Very well" he nodded and was off, the little girl turning round to stare at me as they went until heyanked her round."2000 AD" I muttered dropping the newspaper and walking back onto the streetIt made sense of so much, except for the fundamental reality of how I came to be where I was, and

how it came to exist at all... but perhaps those were questions for someone far more intelligent than I..."So be it" I said, and thought fleetingly of the man in the fedoraWhat did he know? Could I ask him?"Going to the show, pal?"A faun coloured car had pulled in front of me, the driver dressed in an outrageous pink shirt andfeathered hat, two young women giggling in the back, dressed in short-sleeved dresses and enormoushats."Yes" I said, since the man in the fedora had told me to not stop moving"Excellent, get in" he opened the far door, "The more the merrier""The less the toll" giggled one of the girls behindI climbed in and nodded my thanks"Got to get you a hat" the man saidI pulled the hood of my fleece up over my head and looked at him. He stared for a moment thenlaughed"Damn me, but that's a clever one!"With that he stepped on the accelerator and the little automobile shot away from the kerb.Where-ever we were going, I thought, it had to be better than standing still...

The Library - Chapter FourI soon learnt what the cryptic comment of the young woman in the back had meant. As we left thetown we pulled onto what I would have said was the motorway, except that traffic was minimal, andwhat there was seemed to be comprised of these old-fashioned looking cars. A moment later we cameto a system of barriers across the roadway and an officious prat in bright blue pantaloons crossed to thecar and peered inside"Two crowns for the car" he said, "Four passengers, that's a 75% discount on the surcharge, so fourcrowns in all"Our driver paid up in reasonable grace, and the barrier was lifted. He gunned the little faun-colouredautomobile through..."What's your name?", it was one of the girls from behind, not I thought the one who had made the quipabout the toll"Luke" I said, then added, "You may know my cousin Randolph""Don't think so" said the driver after a moment of confused silence, "I'm Sid""Thea" said one of the women"Lara" said the other"Nice short names" I commented"You're one to speak" Sid pointed out, to much general hilarityWe pulled out to overtake a boxy vehicle that reminded me of a Tin Lizzy, but which instead bore theemblazon "Potter" upon the rear"Crappy old heap" one of the girls said - Thea, I thought, the one who had not made the commentabout the toll"All some people can afford" Sid said, as if reminding herShe harrumphed and we coasted on, coming up to a queue of slow-moving traffic as we tried to leavethe motorway on the left."S'always like this" Sid sighed"But bloody worth it when we get there!", that was definitely Lara, and I filed her away now as beingthe one who had made the comment about the tollWe drove in silence for another five minutes as vehicles slowly left the carriageway, winding down theslipway, and onto a wide access road, that I saw led up towards a country house."Balthazar's Gate" Sid said, as if showing off his knowledge for me, or maybe for the girls, "Built bythe Duke of Sussex in 1900""It looks older" I said, staring up the tremendous driveway towards the building in the distance"Artifice" Sid said, "He wanted to be old money, old lineage, so he built it looking old""But he was son of the king" I said, too quickly and without thinking"Hmm" Sid looked sideways at me for a moment"Queen" said Lara perking up and looming over my shoulder, "Queen Catherine, only child of KingFrederick II""Ah", it was ironically as I had surmised it might be, then had forgotten my intellectual exercise in theshock of reality, "I drank there" I said lamelyThe girls laughed, and at length Sid relented on my stupidity"Queen Catherine married a parvenu aristocrat" he said, "The Duke of Sussex as her second sonneeded to make his own mark in the clay, so to say""And this is it?" I waved at the gigantic pile which was now almost upon us as we followed the cars infront up the roadway"This and Saint Sebastian's" said SidI looked blank"The hospital for fuck's sake!"

"Oh yes..." I muttered"Mind your fucking language" Thea reminded him, to an outburst of hilarityWe drove slowly into the circular courtyard before the house, and a mustachioed fellow dressed intuxedo and wide-brimmed hat came up to the driver's side"First time?" he asked"Hell no!" snapped Sid, offended"Good, then park around the back, you know the drill""Yeah"We followed a half dozen other vehicles, a Phoenix Newminsters I read on the back of one, a PICrunabout I recognised another, the rest as vague to me as if I had never studied vintage cars with myfather or grandfatherAround the back, one of the kitchen gardens had been opened up as a carpark and we parked alongsidethe Phoenix. As we climbed out, I watched carefully who came out of the larger, posher car, seeing anolder woman and a teenage girl who gaped open-mouthed at us, then moved hurriedly on.Sid bent down to look at the half-obscured numberplate of our neighbour"NTN 1" he said"The Duchess of Netherton!" Lara gasped"That would be Lady Eliza" Thea looked after the teenage girl, "Only child of Lord Harold, killed lastyear at Oran""So glad you read the newspapers" snapped Sid annoyed, "Maybe we can make our own entrance"He led and we followed, Thea catching up with him, but Lara hanging back to walk by my side. Shewas an attractive young woman, blonde hair escaping in little tufts from her hat, belly running to apleasing plumpness underneath her dress."How many years have you been here?" I asked, trying for conversation, but never that good without adrink where a beautiful woman was concerned"Three" she said, "Thea's been coming since she was a kid, and Sid...well, I don't know, Sid acts likehe owns the place!""Be nice to own the place" I gazed appreciatively around"You can dream" she said, and laughedWe caught up with the others at the gates to another field, a half dozen men in camouflage outfitsmanning a gate and ticking off entries"I paid for us all" Sid said as we gained on himHe entered, Thea on his arm, and I made to do the same with Lara but found myself staring down thebarrel of a rifle"Where's your hat?!" a husky voiced female demandedIf I had not heard her voice, I would not have known that it was a woman underneath all that gear. Ipulled my hood up from my fleece and stood feeling foolish with it over my ears. There was a pause,then she snorted"I suppose so"And the rifle was lowered, allowing me and Lara to enter, her arm gripped tightly in mineThe field was far more than we could see from outside of the gate. As we entered it became clear thatthere were marquees and stalls all along the far edge, toilets in log cabins in the corners, and a giganticstage at the far end, obscured by the milling crowd but the sound becoming louder as we approached"The Bunny Moulds!" Thea cried out excitedly, and as we came to the edge of the crowd we couldnow see a foursome leaping about upon the stage, guitars akimbo, lyrics blasting from their throats asan unseen drummer beat out a pulsating vibe. To me it felt like the worst kind of student band,incoherent and without a melody, but everybody around me seemed to be loving it. I tried my best tojoin in

"Ladies and gentlemen, please give a tremendous hand to the Earl of Leicester!"The booming tannoy caught me by surprise and even as everyone roared their approval and clappedloudly, the applause rippling up to the stage itself, I wondered at those words - the Earl of Leicester?A fair-headed lad, maybe my age, possibly a bit older, came on with a guitar in his hand, and a backinggroup skulking in the shadows"Hi there, you all" he said, and the crowd cheered back"This is a little number I spun up whilst touring the Confederacy last year"At that the drum behind him began to boom, an instrument I could not identify began to tinkle, and hestrummed a chord on his guitar before embarking upon the most divine lyrical ensemble I had heard inmany a year. He truly had a voice like an angel and the way he held a melody was fantastic. There wasmuch swooning in the crowd and I felt Lara clutching hard onto my arm. I put a tentative hand aroundher waist, and she leant heavily into me as the set continued. Every song was an astonishment and theapplause grew to a crescendo."I just gotta sing this one last number" the earl said to a mixture of cheers and cries of despair that itwas his final songThe song rang out, "Happy Valley" and tears ran down my eyes before I even knew what washappening. Lara's eyes were locked on mine"I know where nobody is" she saidI must have looked dumb, for she added"As the Pope would say, let us procreate"We did it several times, though I never knew whether or not my seed had caught. The next time I sawher she was drained and tired, but not pregnant, but that is for the future. For the moment, we rejoinedthe throng, stepping over copulating couples, just in time for the headline act to make their way ontothe stage"Ladies and gentlemen, from the good ole CS of A, The Deusy Brothers!"They were fantastic, to my mind mixing Johnny Cash with Motley Crue and creating somethingunique. The people of this world certainly thought so, and the noise of the crowd grew to a fantasticthrobbing as night fell and the Deusy set went on and on.For a while I lost sight of Sid, though Thea remained, dancing haphazardly and snorting at somethingin her hand. Lara held my hand, I held her waist and we danced with growing abandon, but I couldn'thelp but wonder where Sid had got to. He reappeared, looking pensive, at the closing song of thedouble encore and clapped as wildly as any fan who had stood worshipful throughout the whole set."Ladies and gentlemen, there will be a break before the night's performance continues" the announcersaid"I got to get back" Sid said, unexpectedly, and what was clearly a shock for the girls"But.." muttered Thea, "The Clits are on next!""What about Alison Hayes and the Blow ?!" demanded Lara, sounding less devastated but more angry"I got to get back" Sid repeated, "You can probably find a lift in the morning, if you want to""Yeah, at what cost" Lara snorted"I'm not going" said Thea, "I gotta see the Clits""You ?" Sid demanded of Lara and me"Very well", Lara puffed out her not inconsiderable chest, "Just you remember what you've done" shesaid"You coming?" Sid asked me"Yeah" I shrugged, following in Lara's footstepsGetting out was a lot easier than getting in, there were few cars heading down the roadway at this time,and the sliproad up to the toll-way was empty. We screamed down the lanes until the toll barriers came

into sight where Sid pulled over and waited for the current pantalooned idiot to come across andcharge us"Six crowns" he said, "You only get a 50% discount for three, why didn't you pick up another?""Didn't think of it" muttered Sid, and I heard genuine annoyance there as he handed over more coinsthan he would have wished"Have a good night" the idiot smiled and lifted the barrierThe little automobile roared through and back onto the road to the town"Drop you at The Lion" Sid muttered"What?" Lara snapped, "At this time, are you mad?""Whatever", but he was not to be dissuaded and just after ten o'clock he deposited us both before TheLion Hotel, before roaring off into the distance"What the Hell is wrong with him?!" Lara growledI shrugged and indicated the hotel"Want to go in?"She rummaged through her pockets and drew out a much-folded and faded note"Ah, old friend, your time has come" she said to it, then looked at me, "I don't suppose you have anymoney?""Not a thing" I said, sort of truthfully."Then it is time for Betty to spend herself"She pushed open the door and strode in, myself quickly at her heels as she pushed between sweaty,stinking bodies towards the bar"Two of your finest ales, and none of that piss" she demandedThe barman looked at her, snorted then did a double-take"Oh..." he said, and headed across to where a black-handled pump was situated all alone."You got influence?" I said, or rather yelled in Lara's ear."My family" she shot back and accepted the first of the brimming pints, sipping at the head and sighingin satisfaction.I took the other as she paid with what proved to be a 20-crown note, and as she pocketed the changeshe led me to a table by the fire, empty apart from a slumbering red-haired young man.She poked him in the ribs"Wake up you ass" she said, irritation in her voice, and I wondered if I heard what our days togetherwould be like if she and I would become an item"Whut...?!" the youth clambered slowly into wakefulness, "Oh Lara, hi there bunny!""Knock it off" she slapped down his questing hands, "Why are you still here?" she asked."Still here?" he seemed barely capable of coherent thought."Its almost half past ten" she said, pointedly."Oh my God!" he sat up, "The gates...""Close at eleven, dear cousin""But", he wobbled even as he sat up, "I gotta, gotta get there....""Luke will take you" she said.There was silence for a moment as I stared at her. I thought we were heading somewhere, but now shewas dumping her drunken cousin on me? Or was this a test? Family was clearly important to her, so ifI failed this test...?"Sure" I said, downing the rest of my drink, "You ready?""Leo" Lara said, "You'll probably need to remind him of his name""Great", I rose to my feet and steadied the unstable youth on my shoulder, "How will I get in touchwith you?" I asked her.She frowned,"I will get in touch with you" she said.

"How?" I pressed, knowing more than she did how hard that might prove to be"I have my ways"I left it at that, no kisses, no fond goodbyes, just a "Get him back in time" from the woman I had beenscrewing repeatedly but hours before. Women were strange, and I was beginning to think that thosewho agreed to go with me were especially so, not because of their agreement, but because of how theyacted afterwards.We made it back through the gates with five minutes to spare, the beadles looking disapprovingly at usbut not uttering a word as I guided the somnolent Leo round into what I still thought would be acarpark but what turned out to be, as before, an ornamental garden."What the Hell's your room number?" I hissed at him."What...?" he muttered, then dug a hand into his pocket, "Key..."I took it and to my surprise found it engraved with a number - 411. As long as the building in thisreality had the same configuration of residentials as that which I knew, I could find my way there. Thetower was locked up, but the main entrance open. As I guided Leo through, an elderly gentlemenlooked up, not from a bank of cameras but from the crossword page of the newspaper."Key?" he said, disinterestedly.I waved it at him"Four eleven" I said, but he had already returned to his puzzle and waved us through.To my surprise the main elevator was working, and it was but a moment before I was able to manoevreLeo into it, up to the fourth floor, and along the darkened corridor to a door bearing the numerals 411in distressed brass. I slipped the key into the lock and pushed it open.Once more I was surprised - it was a double room, one half clearly Leo's, from the clutter, clothesthrown around, and unmade bed, the other half apparently deserted, no clothes in the wardrobe, nopiles of books, the bed made but undisturbed."This will do" I said, as Leo hobbled for the bathroom, at last able to function now that he was onhome turf, and letting out a huge fountain of piss as he wobbled uncertainly against the wall.I waited until he was in bed, then saw to my own ablutions, and finally as a distant clock struckMidnight decided to go to sleep. The bed was cool and comfortable, the sheets clean, and the hour late.I slept like a babe...

The Library - Chapter FiveI awoke to a scream and the sight of Leo hefting a heavy brass candlestick in my direction."What the fuck, Leo?" I yelled and rolled over as the offending object slammed rather weakly intowhere I had been lying. Weak or not, it would have left a severe dent in my head if I had not movedout the way.He was staring at me with confusion."How you know my name?" he asked, thick-tongued and puzzled."Lara told me to bring you home" I said."She did?", he slumped to the floor, sitting up against his bed, "I hate waking up" he said."I can see why", I said, "if you always try to kill your guests""Why would Lara tell you?" he said, frowning up at me."We went to Balthazar's Gate together...""Oh God, there!" he shivered, "I wish she wouldn't, it could bring dishonour on us all!""What?", I struggled out from beneath the bedclothes and sat on the edge looking down at him, "Its theDuke of Sussex's mansion""So?" he rubbed at his eyes, "No one in good society goes there""The Earl of Leicester sang there" I said, but he seemed uninterested, "The Duchess of Netherton wasthere with her grand-daughter""Hell" he said.A few minutes later, after neither of us had spoken, he rose to his feet and crossed to the far cornerwhere his bureau was. Reaching in he ripped off a poster and strode over to me,"Burn this" he said.It was a photograph of Lady Eliza, the young heir of the Duchess of Netherton."I can't burn her" I protested."I was going to ask her to marry me" he said, sounding to my ears drunken and pathetic, "Not now, butwhen I graduated, our family connections would have got me an introduction, but if she dances to theDevil's tune...""What on Earth are you on about?!" I snapped.He sat back on his bed and eyed me, probably seeing me for the first time in any detail."I don't like the way you look" he said."You don't look much good yourself" I snapped back at him."You are still dancing the Devil's tune" he said, as if the phrase had recently appealed to him."I think you're hungover" I said"Get out" he said, rising to his feet and crossing to the door, "I didn't invite you in here...GET OUT!"I was not about to argue with a shrieking idiot, and got out as he demanded. He slammed the doorbehind me, leaving me marooned in the corridor. A passing youth raised his eyebrow."Seems he is not as happy about his cousin's intervention in the morning as he is at night" I said, inwhat I hoped was a cryptic manner."Oh Lara" the fellow laughed, "He can only stand her when he's drunk""That's not all the time?" I asked cattily."Not all the time" the fellow said, "He can be quite sober by mid-week"He looked down at his towel and toilet bag."See you again?" he said."I doubt it" I replied and he laughed.I made my way slowly down the stairs.Intending to head for the dining room, I was brought up short by the memory of not having the right

money. I found myself on the grand staircase, passing the second level when I realised where I was.The library was just off to the side. I traversed the darkened room without bumping into any crazywoman and opened the door to the library. The same orange glow greeted me as before, and as Islipped inside, I saw a man seated nearby, reading from a pile of Plato in the original Greek. I knewthe letters well enough to decipher a word, a name, but not to read the language. Days of yore spentbeside my uncle's pool as my cousins frolicked in the water came back to me. I had read books fromthe British Museum for fun, and my cousins had thought me nuts. That was them, but later me andSophie.... But that was something for the real world, not for where I found myself now, not for thelibrary with all of its impossibilities."Do not spread the collections upon the floor, I trust you do remember"It was the young man who had gone on to pick up source material from the seventeenth century, if Iremembered that rightly. I nodded politely."I will use the table" I promised.He nodded, and was gone.I turned in at the relevant shelves and made my way back to the 19th century stacks. Somewhere inthis, surely, was an explanation for where I now found myself...

Contributor BiographiesAlec HawkesAn ordinary bloke, just like many others in England. This one is rather fed up with politicians of allpersuasions who are a little less than honest with how they treat us pawns in their power games. Alechas done ordinary jobs all his working life; postman, delivery driver, box stacker, and currently amilkman - endangered species! He has a well developed sense of humour/irony/satire, bordering oncynicism and even sarcasm. A love of reading and writing has led him to write, so far, two books.Described most accurately as 'ripping politicians to shreds', these witty little reads will have youchuckling to yourself, guffawing loudly, and frequently raising eyebrows and nodding in agreement ashe dissects the 'crooks and idiots' who continue to make a mess of running the country at the same timeas they make a pot of money for themselves. Recently having released a third book - Arse About Face- on the same theme, which was published in May 2014. This time, though, it's international. America,or it's leaders to be more accurate, comes in for a lot of stick!Alec enjoys walking in the hills and mountains of Britain, recently completing The 'Coast to Coast'walk in the North of England, as well as completing John O'Groats to Lands End in July 2013, raisingmoney for charity in the process.http://www.amazon.com/Alec-Hawkes/e/B00FLY9DP8/

Elizabeth Audrey MillsLiz Mills was born of gentle, loving parents in Southend-on-Sea in the county of Essex, England,famous for its pier, shingle beaches and seaweed. She now lives in the euphemistically named ThreeBridges, in West Sussex, with her writer fiancée. Her childhood was undistinguished: expelled fromposh school, she found her level in the state secondary education system, emerging with just enoughbasic skills to enable her to get a job ... then another job ... then another ... and so on. Along the way,she married and divorced a few times, producing two children, who are now adults and whom sheloves. Writing was always a hobby, followed intermittently, until she shook off the shackles of thecapitalist slavery system and gratefully accepted retirement. Since then, she has produced two fulllengthadult novels: 'A Song For Joey' and 'Natalie Tereshchenko, Lady In Waiting' (with a sequel inhand), and the 'Tapestry Capricorn' science-fiction series for young teens."www.itsliz.net

Grey WolfGrey Wolf is the pen name of a South Wales author, currently living in the Swansea area. He writesmainly Alternate History, shading into Science Fiction, as well as having been a poet for a quarter of acentury. His poetic works are illustrated from his large collection of photographs of the UK, which hehas taken since when in childhood he was first given a box camera to use. Grey Wolf has been writingas long as he has been photographing, with his first full length stories written in the early 1980sheyday of the SDP, later developing into a series of (presumed lost) fantasy novels, written at age of18.At university, Grey Wolf developed as a poet, and the collection of works compiled then form the coreof an ever-increasing body of writing, recently releasing his fourth collection “Farflame” in Spring2014, featuring a unique cover by South Wales artist Hilary Bryanston.During 2013, Grey Wolf discovered the world of independent publishing and has published, inaddition to the poetry, a couple of novellas, a collection of How To articles on Alternate History andfour novels with the release of The Slayer on 22nd November 2013. A sequel to The Slayer and a newAlternate History work are also in the works.You can find Grey Wolf at:http://www.alternate-history-fiction.comhttps://www.facebook.com.greywolfauthor

K D RoseK.D. Rose is an author and poet. Her poetry has been published in Candlelit Journal, the VoicesProject, and showcased in the Tophat Raven Art and Literary Magazine. KD has three books of poetrypublished on Amazon: "Heavy Bags of Soul", "Inside Sorrow" and “I AM (Poetry in Motion)”. KD isalso an author with Lycaon Press and recently published "Erasing: Shadows" the first of a seven bookseries for New Adults in the Fantasy/Paranormal Genre.K.D. has an eclectic mind and loves language, physics, philosophy, photography, design, art, writing,symbolism, semiotics, spirituality, and Dr. Who. K.D. is an avid supporter of music, the arts, cuttingedge science, technology, and creativity in all forms that encourage us to expand and explore past theartificial limits we often set for ourselves in order to see the everyday connections that exist among allthings.Join K. D. Rose on the following social media sites:Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00830RFC0Twitter: @kdrose1Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/K.D.RoseWriterWebsite for the Erasing Series: http://kdroseworld.com/Blog: http://www.kdroseauthortales.comEmail: kd.rose@aol.comLycaon Press: http://www.lycaonpress.com/Goodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6038789.K_D_Rose

Mark FlemingMark Fleming grew up in Southport, in the Northwest of England, before moving to London in themid 1980s where he lived until the early 2000s. Mark published his first book, Firework Art,in 2005.He published his first novel, Challerton, in 2012. In June 2013, he published another non-fiction title,Fascination, Firework and Festival. In October 2013, Mark's second novel came out. Titled The Call ofthe Siren, it is the first in a trilogy of Siren books.Mark’s website can be found atwww.rumblebook.co.ukand his Amazon page atwww.amazon.co.uk/Mark-Fleming/e/B007JTVY5KYou can read samples at ReadWave:www.readwave.com/mark.fleming.Rumblebook

Advertshttp://kdroseworld.com/www.itsliz.nethttp://www.amazon.com/Alec-Hawkes/e/B00FLY9DP8/http://www.amazon.co.uk/Million-Miles-Away-Swaroop-Acharjee/dp/1494758873

www.rumblebook.co.ukThe main purpose of Ystradgynlais Wargraves and Ystalyfera Fallen is to present a detailed memorialpage for each of the fallen from both world wars. These are indexed on the World War One and WorldWar Two pages. Initial identification comes from the war memorial, basic information from theCommonwealth War Graves Commission and detailed information from the Llais newspaper archive,local memorials, cemeteries and family contacts with the researcher.www.ystradgynlais-wargraves.co.ukwww.ystalyfera-fallen.co.ukwww.greywolfauthor.com

www.titanpublishinghouse.comTo advertise please see www.innovate-emagazine.com/advertise-in-innovate.htmlPlease email enquiries and adverts toadverts@innovate-emagazine.com