Dark Earth: Never Had it So Good

Never Had it So Good Part 4

Sam walked out into the hallway and stood on the thick Persian carpet, trying to get to his bearings. Bailey did have a very nice house, he had to admit. A bit too Downton Abbey for his tastes, but still quite attractive. The gilt windows had attractive stained glass designs around the clear centre, providing a kaleidoscope of early morning light. The walls were covered in a warm cream wallpaper topped with ornamental plaster cornices and a variety of floral designs. Several other doors lay along the hall interspersed with oil paintings, more medieval tapestries, chairs and a full suit of plate armour. Green crystal lamps set in brass hung from the tall ceiling and the enticing smell of bacon came wafting from the far end of the hall. Following it, he came to a wide oaken staircase and descended it quickly, coming out in a broad landing dominated by a huge grandfather clock. The sound of voices came from around the corner and within an instant, he had found his way into an elegant dining room. The happily chatting children were seated around a long oak table set with shining cutlery and several bowls of colourful fruit. At the head of the table was his erstwhile host and next to him, young George was ensconced in a high chair, having a whale of a time pontificating with various goos and gaas.

Simon looked up from his fresh copy of The Times and grinned broadly at the sight of Sam, his bright blue eyes twinkling in amusement. He was dressed in a grey three-piece tweed suit with a red tie and looked fresh faced and ruddy as if he’d already been up for hours. The children turned to see who their father was smiling at and, seeing their new guest, erupted into a chorus of welcomes and good mornings in a manner that Sam couldn’t help but find charming.

“Ah, the kraken awakes!” Simon exclaimed, gesturing Sam to take a seat next to him. “Did you sleep well? Tea?” Sam nodded and Bailey got up to fetch the silver pot and a fine porcelain cup from the sideboard.

“Yes, thanks. Milk and sugar. And like a log. Cheers for all the reading material.”

“There you go. I thought it might be useful to help you find your feet, as it were.”

Sam nodded his thanks and sipped his strong, sweet tea. Like the rest of the house he had seen thus far, the dining room was extremely well appointed and brightly lit from the large windows flanking Simon’s chair. The furniture was intricately carved out of a light coloured wood and a huge bookcase was packed with delicate china, strange paraphernalia, some sort of stuffed animal and half a dozen assorted knick-knacks. A large family photograph hung over the sideboard next to a picture of Bailey in scarlet full dress uniform that was festooned with gold braid and more than a few medals including…

“A VC?!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You won the VC?”

“Oh, that. Yes. That came from back in the war. Berlin.”

“Wasn’t that the Russians?”

“No, they only got as far as Poland. We took Berlin and Father got that for catching H-“ Peter interjected excitedly, eager to be part of the grown up conversation.

“Peter.” Simon’s eyebrow raised ever so slightly. It was apparently enough.

“Sorry Father.”

“Anyway, that isn’t why I got it. We’ll get to that story at another time, Sam. Anyway, the Imperial Almanac should have come in handy.” Bailey was trying to get at something, but Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“It posed as many questions as it asked and the numbers were quite surprising. I can’t quite figure out how surprising; well, not without some sort of point of reference, that is.”

Bailey nodded thoughtfully. “I wager there is a way to resolve that. Comparative prices of common goods, aircraft and ships. Vulcan for Vulcan, as it were. ”

Sam nodded slowly as he thought. “You know, that just might work, Simon. Even without the specifics, it seems as if it is a much wealthier country than, ahem, my old home.”

“It is going well at the moment. We’re growing at the fastest rate this century, every year there are more and more new goods and gadgets, food is cheap, energy is cheap and jobs are plentiful. We’ve never had it so good.”

“I’ve heard that line before.” smiled Sam.

“You’ve probably heard of a few things before. All part and parcel of being the most interesting man in the world.”

“That’s a bit rich. We’ve only just met.”

“That wasn’t quite my meaning. Let’s just say your area of academic expertise is quite fascinating, to put it mildly. We’ll head out for a bit of a stroll in the country after breakfast and talk it through. It’ll be nice and quiet.”

“Saturday today, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Some rather good bits and pieces on the old television tonight. You watch television in your place, Sam?”

“Of course. It is the foundation of our culture.”

The door through to the kitchen opened and a tall, statuesque blonde woman walked in, momentarily mesmerizing Sam. She had long, flowing hair and wore a blue and pink silk dress that was at once both practical and stunning. Turning to look at Sam, she smiled warmly and spoke in a musical voice.

“You must be Sam. I’m Victoria. Simon’s told me all about you. It is so wonderful to have you here.” She managed to convey her two levels of meaning quite effortlessly.

“Er, thank you. Thank you very much, Victoria. The pleasure is all mine.” Sam recovered swiftly enough to turn on the charm. Her eyes were very blue indeed. Or was it grey?

“How lovely. Now, if we’re all ready, I’ll go and help Mrs. Beaton bring everything in. And Sam?”

“Yes?”

“No need to worry, I’ll keep the cats and dogs safely in the kitchen. We don’t want you feeling faint.” Victoria laughed as she left the room, leaving a blushing Sam and her chuckling husband to digest her remark.

“Sorry about that, Sam old boy. Couldn’t resist telling her that bit.”

“Thanks.”

Victoria and a middle aged woman who he presumed must be Mrs. Beaton hustled back and forth from the kitchen several times, laying down several large silver chafing dishes each on the sideboard on their first journey, followed by a hefty tureen, a toast rack groaning with two dozen thick, golden slices, more chafing dishes and pitchers of milk and fresh orange juice that were clearly icy cold. Simon got up to help his wife to serve the smaller children, beginning with large bowls of porridge with cream, berries and lashings of honey.

“Help yourself, Sam.”

He walked over to see what was on offer and found it was certainly more than his usual coffee and toast. A small mountain of buttery scrambled eggs lay in the centre of the sideboard, surrounded by dishes of crispy rashers of bacon, slices of black pudding, broiled gammon, deep bronze sausages, golden fried potatoes, roasted tomatoes and mushrooms and a dozen triangles of fried bread. A vast glazed ham lay in the back corner next to two cold roast chickens, a pressed tongue and a plate of breaded cutlets. Conscious of how ravenously hungry he was, Sam loaded his plate with a bit of everything and then added in a few pieces of toast for good measure before returning to his seat and preparing to tuck in. He caught himself at the last moment as he noticed Simon, Victoria and the children bowing their heads in preparation for grace.

“We give thanks to thee, Lord of Hosts, for this food to sustain our lives and make our hearts glad; Amen.” Simon’s words were quiet yet reverent.

“Amen.” chorused the family and Sam, not wanting to go against their custom. He reasoned that it wasn’t that surprising that they were a bit more religious in the past.

He soon discovered that his previous estimation of his voracious appetite had, if anything, been somewhat short of the mark and he surmised that travel through time and space beyond the walls of the known universe could make someone a tad peckish. The quality of the provender was a most pleasant surprise as every mouthful burst with deep, rich flavour. It was a bit different, but in a good way. He returned for a second helping and finished off with several pieces of toast spread thickly with butter and marmalade.

“I never thought I’d see someone who could give Simon a run for his money as a trencherman, Sam, but this might be the day.” Victoria laughed as he polished off his last cutlet.

“I say, dear! The poor lad has come a long way, after all.”

“Of course, darling. I was only teasing.”

“Where in Australia do you come from, Sam?” piped Elizabeth.

“Uh…Sydney.”

“That’s strange. Daddy said you were from Melbourne.” Simon winced slightly as Sam blinked in surprise.

“I was born in Melbourne, but grew up in Sydney. It was a long trip over here.” Sam decided that the best thing was to change the subject.

“I can’t imagine being on an airship for two days. What was it like?” asked Peter eagerly.

“Tiring.” Sam thought quickly. Airships? In the 60s? Seeing the look on his face, Simon came to the rescue.

“It’ll be a bit different in a few years when Hawker-Siddeley and Vickers get their supersonic jetliners in the air. You’ll be able to hop on in Sydney after breakfast and be here in time for tea.”

“That sounds super! Can we go on one, Daddy? We must, we simply must!” Richard seemed quite taken by the notion of crossing the world in half a day.

“Of course we can. But only if you help your mother with the dishes now.”

“Oh, must we?!” the children chorused in overstated disappointment.

“Yes, you must. Dishes and then you are free, my most overworked children. Now be quick about it. Sam and I are going to go for a little walk. We’ll be back a bit later on, darling.”

“Alright dear. Do have a nice walk, Sam.” Victoria stood up, gathered baby George in her arms and moved into the kitchen.

As they filed from the room loaded down with dishes, he rose from his chair and walked over to a crowded hatstand in the corner. He selected a natty trilby and tossed it to Sam, nodding appreciatively when he donned it with an appropriately jaunty angle. Bailey picked out a flat cap and headed out into the hallway. Opening the back door, he strode down a set of white steps out into the bright sunlight, Sam following behind, narrowing his eyes against the glare. As he stepped out onto the porch, he stopped.

The Baileys’ garden was a gloriously rambling panoply of brilliant colour bursting with hundred different hues. The controlled chaos was surrounded on two sides by soaring trees and masses of bushes and a winding cobblestone path lined with flowers lead down towards a gentle slope far off at the bottom of the lush lawn. Through the trees, Sam could see a tall ivy laden stone wall winding away into the shadows and a charming summer house underneath the boughs a mighty drooping willow. A single lamppost stood a little off to their right next to a row of immaculately manicured roses. Another path lead down to a curiously arrayed washing line that seemed to be made of…

“Is that a Czech hedgehog?”

“What? That? Not Czech at all, my dear fellow. It’s German.”

“But it is made out of an anti-tank obstacle, surely.”

“Yes. A bit of a souvenir from the war. That comes from the Siegfried Line, right where we crossed it. I had it bought back here afterwards so I’d be able to-“

“Hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line?”

“Got it in one! Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll go out through the back gate.”

They walked down the pathway towards the slope. Sam glanced behind briefly and saw that the exterior of the house was just as fetching as inside, with its rustic stone walls reaching a neat red tiled roof dotted with several puffing chimneys. The low roof of a garage lay off to the left and beyond it, a glasshouse scintillated in the morning sunshine. Crenellated balconies lined with flowers opened up from several second storey windows and the sound of splashing and laughing voices drifted out through the open kitchen window. Bailey turned to see what was keeping him and allowed himself a brief moment of pride.

“It’s not much, but its home.”

On they went into the thickening trees and wound their way down until they arrived at a gate in a stone wall. Simon produced a key from his pocket, opened it and walked silently together through onto a grassy path that lead off into the woods. Passing through an arch of shady trees that somehow seemed to be looking at them, the path opened up and ran along a quietly burbling stream. They went along for several minutes before Bailey spoke without looking at Sam.

“This path is a good one. Nice and quiet. No one listening.”

“No talking beasts? No walking trees?”

“Not this time of year. The woods can grow larger or smaller, depending on the thaumaturgical season, I’m told. And they don’t walk, thankfully.” Bailey replied.

As they continued onwards to wherever they were going, Sam saw something moving in the grass. As he looked, out hopped what looked to be a fluorescent green reptilian mole. It looked up at him with enormous blue eyes and rolled over onto its back, emitting extremely cute chirping noises. He bent down to have a closer look but froze when he heard a metallic clicking sound behind him.

“Move away from that, Sam. Very slowly.” Simon’s usually merry tones were now cold as ice. Sam backed away and saw that he was pointing a large cocked revolver straight at the creature. It rolled onto its front and then stood up in what seemed to be a fine imitation of a meercat, head cocked in a quizzical manner and a lolling pink tongue half stick out of its mouth. It seemed to be purring.

Two enormously loud gunshots suddenly blasted through the still air, shattering Sam’s hearing and reducing the poor little beast to a twitching, bloody lump of meat.

“What did you do that for?! It did nothing to us!” Sam screamed at Bailey, who was nonchalantly putting his revolver back inside his jacket and kicking the creature’s corpse off the path.

“It would have if you’d got any closer. Bit early for them this year.”

“What…what do you mean? What even was that?”

“Jabberwock hatchling. They fall to earth from the moons once a year. Vicious brutes. They can double in size every two days and eat anything that moves.”

With that, he turned to continue on his walk. Sam trotted along to catch up to him, ears still ringing for the gunshots.

“That was from the moon?’

“Moons.”

Bailey seemed to think that was sufficient explanation. He’d be acting strangely since they’d left the garden. There was nothing else for it. He’d have to broach the unspoken subject.

“You said before that you were interested in my studies.”

“Not just me. What is in your head would make you quite interesting to a load of different people.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think it through, Sam. You have studied defence policy from your past at a fair distance in the future. That means that you know things that would have been secret at some stage.”

“Yes, I guess so.” It suddenly hit him. “James Bond. You reacted very strangely to that name. That must be it.”

“No, it wasn’t really the mention of him that worried me, although it did seal the matter. It was when you were from. Not only are you a traveler from another world, but you have 45 years of events, secrets and scandals in your head. You babbled a few different worlds when we were driving home from the pub. Jigsaw. Turnstile. Backbone.”

“Oh.”

“We are at a funny old time, at the moment, Sam. You said there hadn’t been a Third World War. Is your Cold War still going?”

“No, it finished with the collapse of the Soviet Union.”

“There you go. Just with that tidbit, you’ve made yourself interesting to half a hundred organizations and countries. Our Cold War isn’t finished, you see. At times, it gets very, very hot. We’ve come close to a full war on three separate occasions in the last fifteen years.”

“Proxy wars, you mean?”

“Not just that. Planes shot down, submarines sunk in accidents, people disappearing, rebellions started and ended. It has been relatively peaceful since ’56, apart from the strangeness of last year. No atom bombs going off, no poison gas, no new plagues. It is quieter. Safe, even, or as safe it can be. It is more balanced that at any time since the Second World War. A little knowledge or the perception of knowledge could alter that balance.”

“You mean me.”

“I do. Regardless of whether what you know is applicable to our world or not, it could be perceived as such. None of the powers want the other to get any unknown advantages. You’d be talking to them for a long, long time.”

“But I want to get back home!”

“And so you shall, Sam. I said I’d help you and we are going to do it. I sent a telegram to London yesterday afternoon and my friend will be back in the country in a week.”

“A week? They’ll think something has happened to me!”

“I wouldn’t worry too much. Time tends to flow differently between worlds. You could get back and find you’ve been gone for only a few seconds. Or it could be 10 years. There is no way of knowing until you go. Whatever happens, it is important to keep you here for the next week where it is safe and none of what is inside your head can get out and cause trouble. It is easier to protect you here.”

“You’re saying I’m in danger. From the Russians?”

“From the Russians, Americans, French, Germans, Chinese, Japanese, Italians, Austrians and the Spanish, to name a few.”

“The Spanish? Really?”

“Don’t discount them, Sam. They’d stop at nothing to crack open the secrets you hold up there. You’d break eventually. No one resists the Spanish Inquisition.”

“This is a lot to take in.” Sam said in what was possibly the understatement of the year.

“I know. Stick with me and we’ll see you through alright.”

Sam picked up on his subtle shift of pronouns and turned to face him.

“Who’s we? You work for the government, don’t you? You’re MI5 or MI6!”

“Neither of those, but yes, I do. I’m with SOE. You know what that is?”

Sam nodded.

“Then you’ll know that we do things a bit differently and we don’t share our some of our secrets with the others. There are some elements in the intelligence services that wouldn’t prioritize your expedited return to your own world, Sam. We all bear the same allegiance to Queen and Country and work to defend the Empire, but there are many different positions as to the best way of doing that and some think that the same ends justify different means.”

Sam fell quiet. Things had got very serious, very quickly.

“It is a good thing you found me, then, instead of the others. I wouldn’t want them finding out about me.”

“Whoever said we haven’t?” said a new voice from behind him.

The new voice may or may not be what it seems...

The Jabberwock falls have been handled like many other monstrous challenges - with steel and fire. They are being addressed at their source since 1920, but it is a long term project not expected to be completed before the 70s.

There are long range jet aircraft such as the Comet, the VC-7 and the Boeing 707, but for the longest range air routes, such as the Britain to Australia one, airships still play a role.

You are quite welcome and happy reading. Plenty more where that came from.

Never Had it So Good Part 5

Sam turned around to see a tall, mustachioed man in a black hat standing in the deep shadows of a large tree. An angry looking scar marred his left cheek, turning up the corner of his mouth in a cruel scowl and giving him a twisted and sinister visage. His hands were pointedly shoved in the pockets of his overcoat and he stared directly at Sam. His heart skipped a beat in fear and he backed away, stumbling into Bailey, who reacted quite differently to seeing the strange man.

“Fred! How are you, my dear fellow?” Simon’s cheerful tone belied Sam’s confused dread and trepidation. Did he know this menacing guy?

The man’s scowl slipped into a broad grin. “Absolutely tickety-boo. Always pleasant to take the morning train up to the country.” He stepped forward through the brush and pumped Bailey’s hand vigorously. Thus dispensing with traditional formalities, he moved directly on with the purpose of his presence.

“No need to worry about squabbles and squalls between the gentlemen and the players anymore, Simon. The Prince sat down with the Professor, Sir Charles and the Admiral and smoothed things over between your people, my people and Curzon Street.”

“Really? That is a lot faster than our lot usually move.”

“The Americans were sniffing around. Picked up something rather temporally significant with their Super Arcanometer and started raising all manner of a ruckus, but Intrepid managed to fob them off with a yarn about a naval cloaking experiment gone haywire. Long story short, we sunk an old corvette off the Isle of Wight to make things look good and we’ve got some breathing space.”

“The Russians?”

“We slipped a rather large dose of aleph into the food at an Embassy reception last night. Most of their legals are still stumbling about Hampstead Heath looking for a naughty goblin.”

“What about the illegals?”

“I bought two squads of Section D chaps up from London with me. For the next week, there are going to be an awfully large number of travelling salesmen, temperamental artists, lovelorn composers and realistic-looking scarecrows around here. That will put paid to any of the other Continental types to boot and the Orientals will stick out like a rather sore thumb that has accidentally turned up to a pancreatic sundowner.”

“Yes, that should do the trick. The lads should like a bit of field time. Been awfully stuffy since Bongo fixed the Tharsian gambit.”

“Rather.” Both men smiled thoughtfully at the memory of that truly wizard prang.

Sam, following roughly one word in ten, gathered that his impending sense of doom was somewhat misplaced and that this chap was not a threat. Thus relieved, he ventured an interjection.

“Um…I’d appreciate it if someone could tell me what is going on. Greatly.”

Bailey and the mysterious Fred turned towards him in a somewhat bashful fashion, having momentarily forgotten their subject in their enthusiastic service gossip.

“Terribly sorry, Sam. This is Fred Courtenay, one of my opposite numbers from Century House. He and I used to give the Reds a lovely old time in Constantinople and Baghdad back in the Fifties before he got kicked upstairs to a comfortable desk.”

“Century House? Why is the SIS involved in a home operation?”

“You were right, Simon. He doesn’t miss a thing.” observed Courtenay drily. He turned to address Sam for the first time. “Usually, we’d leave matters to Five or Special Branch, but yours is a case slightly out of the ordinary. There’s been one heck of a bunfight over who would get you and the credit for taking care of you, but none of us want to see the Yanks, the Reds or some other Johnny Foreigner get in on the hunt. As my rather more noble colleague here observed, we’re all soldiers of the Queen.”

Sam nodded, starting to get his head around the convoluted internecine logic. “You don’t seem to be very fond of the Americans. I guess the special relationship isn’t quite as special as in my world.”

“Special relationship?!” scoffed Courtenay “Special rivals would be more accurate. The wartime alliance is a thing of the past. We need each other, we generally like each other, but our interests and their interests are different in so many areas. They don’t like the Empire, want to be the top dog on their terms and view the worlds through their own prism. Washington sold us short in ’56, but we showed them that we would keep buggering on regardless.”

“Whereas of course, our motivations are the epitome of magnanimity, freedom and light! You see, Sam, Fred’s lot tends to be rather more cool on the cousins across the Atlantic compared with my firm. We’d prefer to have the Yanks onside with the Empire, on our terms. Their new President is a bit keener on Atlanticism than Taft, but it keeps coming back to Africa, India, the Middle East and oil, among other things. Anyway, it is still a bit early in the morning for Mackinder and Mahan.”

“Right. So you’re still going to get me home?”

“You can bet on it, young man. An Englishman’s word is his bond and all that.” Courtenay waved his hand airily, as if physically dismissing the very possibility of doubt. There was something about him that seemed to grate on Sam, despite Bailey seeming to like and trust him. However, beggars couldn’t be choosers, particularly universe-hopping, time-shifting beggars.

“When have they decided to shift him?” asked Bailey.

“Next Friday, as previously planned. We’ll get you down to London under the cover of a military exercise we’ve bought forward. That will conceal your current thaumaturgical signature and give us an excuse for watertight security. In the meantime, Ashford and its surrounds are sufficiently safe, given that no-one has cottoned on to your presence here yet. This little gem will take care of that.” Courtenay reached into his pocket and passed a small, bright crystal to Sam. It felt cool to the touch and tiny motes of blue light seemed to flash deep within it.

“Is…is this magic?”

“Yes, of a sort. With that in your possession, it will be very difficult indeed for anyone to locate you through sorcerous means.”

“Not even you?”

Fred grimaced and nodded. “I would request that you don’t disappear into thin air, as there are a lot of people who have a lot riding on your case.”

“It would probably be best if you did stay with us for the duration, Sam. We’re trusting you and you need to trust us.” Simon looked similarly thoughtful.

“Alright, sounds fair. When do your people want to interview me?”

“I think we can squeeze something in when you’re in London. We have ways of making you talk quite quickly. I’ve been told by our boffins that we should be able to get you back to your exact time, give or take a few minutes, so there is no fear of your family thinking you’ve been missing for a week.”

“Super.”

“Indeed. As I see it, Mr. Johnson, your main enemies will be boredom and culture shock, but I’m sure the Baileys will be more than willing to help you out. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I must now dramatically fade back into the shadows and disappear off to do my dark and nefarious deeds. Simon, next time you’re in London, I’ll stand you dinner at my club. We’ll have a lot of talk about over a few bottles of absinthe, I wager.”

With a polite dip of his hat to them both, Courtenay whirled about and disappeared into the trees with almost supernatural grace, the undergrowth seeming to close in about him as if it had a mind of his own. It was yet another reminder of the alien nature of even such a familiar environment.

Bailey, seeing his momentary confusion, clapped him over the shoulder good naturedly. “Never mind that. The woods around here have always been a bit more lively than most. Goes back to the time of the elves, according to my dear old grandmother. Don’t pay them much attention and they’ll eventually stop trying to play with your mind.”

He headed off at a brisk pace and Sam trotted to catch up. The green path soon turned away from the stream and the trees began to gradually thin out, revealing lush, rolling emerald meadows and gentle hillsides dotted with brilliant wildflowers. The morning sun shone down warmly from the cloudless azure sky and the pleasant breeze rustled the leaves of the tall oaks around them. Slowly, the fields began to give way to more ordered gardens and orchards. As they wound their way along a narrow lane back towards Ashford, Sam began to raise a few of the other questions that had been bouncing around his head since this crazy journey had begun.

“Simon?”

“Yes, Sam?”

“The whole idea of Empire…it seems to be a bit too uncontroversial to be realistic.”

“That’s because it is, old boy. Now, who doesn’t like it? The Radicals, certainly. The English Socialists have some rather novel views. Then you’ve got various factions of Labour and the Liberals in the larger cities, but overall, the big three parliamentary parties are all staunch imperialists. Not so much as the official Imperialist Party, mind you. They’ve had a bee in their bonnet over Indian responsible government since the Twenties, but that ship has well and truly sailed. To be honest, there isn’t a lot left of the formal British Empire outside of Africa and a few islands. Malaya, the West Indies and Ceylon are well on the way to becoming Dominions and we’ve got to stick around in the remaining colonies until the people are ready for independence.”

“Isn’t that more than a little racist?”

“Racist?!” Bailey’s eyes widened in shock. “What?! Some of my best friends are dwarves and halflings!” He looked as if Sam had accused him of being a witch, a spy or perhaps even a spy for witches.

“Not dwarves, elves, fairies or dragons. People. Human beings. Thinking they’re inferior and incapable of ruling themselves because they are brown.”

“Oh. Oh, I see. We’re divided by a common language again. Here, that word refers literally to other intelligent races. The other concept you’re talking about is known as aethnism and it is about as obsolete as miasma theory, at least as a broadly accepted ideology. Fighting the Nazis was the last nail in its coffin, after decades of administering multi-race empires on other planets, smashing the slave trade and seeing what the Indians did in the Great War. I won’t say things are perfect, but each subject of the Crown is equal under the law. Black, brown, red, purple or blue, we all bleed red. Or green.”

At that, he waved merrily at what Sam had presumed was a stone statue of a garden gnome, which returned his greeting with a stately bow. Although some of the wind had been taken out of his sails, he went on.

“Then why is someone in Nigeria or Uganda not ready to rule themselves?”

“Because we haven’t finished preparing them yet. We owe them proper education, a modern life, developed infrastructure, British administration and Christian civilization. And then there’s the matter of keeping out the Russians and the Chinese. We don’t want our colonies to end up a hellish mess like the Congo.” Bailey spoke with evident passion.

“I can see I’m not going to change your mind, Simon, but where I come from, people think very differently.”

“Don’t write us off as irredeemable stick in the muds on your second day here, Sam. We’re not all rapacious imperialist robber barons. At least not on weekends.”

They soon reached the outskirts of the town. By the position of the sun in the sky, Sam guessed that they had been gone for almost two hours, although it had seemed a far shorter journey. The grass gave way to gravel and cobblestones as they entered the village, passing by neat rows of cottages framed by immaculately trimmed hedges and rambling gardens. Bailey doffed his hat and called out cheerful greetings to several men and women as they went along through the leafy streets until they reached the town square. There were rather more old men, women and children milling around than when he had arrived yesterday morning, all bustling along deep in conversation, work or various domestic urgencies. Several boys ran past at full pelt, laughing and shrieking at each other in some sort of nameless and timeless childish game. It was hard not to like the place.

Simon steered them towards the grandly named Victoria Tearoom and secured a table outside in the glorious sunshine, next to a tall flagpole with a Union Jack fluttering proudly from it. He ordered a pot of tea and it was delivered in moments by an elderly, dignified waiter who respectfully tugged his forelock at Bailey. As the wrinkled retainer left, they sat back, watching the peaceful parade of village life and enjoying the pleasant aroma and exquisite taste of the one national beverage that transcended dimensions.

“Simon?”

“Yes?”

“Where are the young people?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know I haven’t been around for long, and this is only my second time in town, but I’m yet to see anyone around my age or any teenagers.”

“Simple enough, Sam. I presume by ‘teen-ager’, you mean those between thirteen and nineteen?”

“Yes, round about.”

“We don’t really use the term, though I’ve come across it in some American magazines from the 1940s. We have boys and girls - children in general - and then we have youths, who for all intents and purposes are adults. As to where they are on a Saturday morning, in most cases the children would be at home or out playing and the others would be busy at their jobs, wherever those may be. Not that you’re likely to see many young men around at those, either.”

“Why?”

“They’ve virtually all been called up for National Service at 17 or 18. There are only very few exceptions, for Quakers and the like mainly, who end up working on farms, in the forests or down the mines. We even find places for the crippled.” Bailey spoke with some pride.

“What about conscientious objectors?”

“Draft dodgers? They don’t get any shrift. We’ve been partly mobilised in one way or another for over twenty years and have had conscription since the 1890s. Most of them end up in the RAF or the Army Reserve for three years after their basic training, then spend a dozen years on the reserve list. You have to volunteer to get an active service deployment to a combat theatre these days. It’s all very fair, really.”

“They miss out on years of their lives. They could be working, getting ahead for the future, studying at university, having fun…” Sam petered out halfway through his explanation. He thought of rhapsodizing on the inherent value of individual freedom, but he didn’t think it would cut the mustard in this place, with its cheerfully benevolent paternalism, its fist of velvet in an iron glove.

“It isn’t slavery, my dear chap. They get paid well, fed well and get to see the world. Those that want to go to universities afterwards get it for free. But most of all, they are doing their duty for God, Queen and the Empire. It is simply part of being British.”

“A warfare state rather than a welfare state.” he said, remembering one of the books on his shelf at home.

“We’re aren’t at war officially at the moment and I dare say that you wouldn’t find anyone who is entirely opposed to looking after the poor and wretched. Anyway, there you go. The young people you asked about are either in the Queen’s colours, at home, or, if they had any sense, lining up to get into the pictures. They are playing The Dambusters again today, according to Peter.”

“Is that a popular film around here?”

“Yes. They filmed some of it at RAF High Wycombe nearby. We get the occasional plane flying over here from Fairford as well.”

“That must break up the quiet monotony of country life a bit.”

At that moment, the low rumbling thunder of multiple jet engines began to approach from the west, shaking the ground and making conversation next to impossible. The gaggle of running boys stopped in their tracks, their game forgotten as they gazed up in excited wonder, women put their hands to their mouths and old men pointed up in pride. High above in the brilliant morning sky, a huge white delta-wing aircraft roared over them, trailing eight fluffy contrails of vapour stretching far out behind. It’s wingspan was impossibly large, stretching well over two hundred feet and emblazoned with familiar red, white and blue roundels. It looked to be heavily laden with a dozen long missiles that looked different from any Blue Steels Sam had seen before in his books. A reverberating, spine-tingling howl echoed as it screamed past miles above them, followed by cheers and delighted applause at the awesome sight of the Vulcan as it soared off into the sky.

“Just a bit.”

Thanks Steve. Mars is a very complex environment in every sense of the word.

My thinking on race is that having non-human intelligent species on Earth and the other planets would result in a gradual lessening of perceptions of racial difference among humans. This isn't a panacea, but combines with a few other events and drivers to make for a more racially equal Empire.

Africa was just going independent in 1961 on Earth, with 17 countries achieving it in 1960 alone. That is not the case on Dark Earth, without any of the winds of change. Madagascar, Ethiopia, Libya, Tunisia and Morocco are independent, Liberia being a de facto US protectorate. This will lead to problems and opportunities.

Both Rhodesia and South Africa are Dominions. South Africa is very different, having a small white majority, largely made up of Anglo-South Africans. Rhodesia has a larger white population (32%) and encompasses North Rhodesia, South Rhodesia, Nyasaland, Katanga, the Tete province of Mozambique and a few slivers of Angola. Kenya has a sizeable white minority of 19-20% and is progressing towards Dominion status by 1970.

Conscription is for men only in peacetime.


Social differences will become increasingly apparent to Sam, with a lack of the satire boom, irreverent films, a loosening of moral standards, less American cultural influence, migration patterns, a lack of jazz and rock music, far more religious influence and the big impact of ongoing National Service.

There simply isn't the same mass of teenagers and young men around for what Sam would consider as youth or teenage culture and rebellion; out of 1 million young men coming of age annually, virtually all are in the military, Imperial Police or the Colonial Service.

The annual call up is substantially greater than the average and lasts 2.5 active years are followed by 12 years in the reserve. The historical average was 6000 men twice/month and once in December, rising to 10,000 in the Korean War; here, it is 50,000 men twice/month, or 4 times as great.

Army: 1,132,872
RAF: 483,087
RN: 44000

1,659,959 (1947-1960) at an average of 138,239/year

Army: 8,438,769
RAF: 3,256,932
Royal Navy: 1,587,243
Royal Marines: 894,376

14,177,320 over 15 years (1945- 1960) at an average of 945,155/year

The confluence of youth, music, anti-nuclear and peace movements, the commercial mass media, social permissiveness and liberalism simply doesn't occur in the same way, which is not to say they are entirely absent. The very basis for a lot of 'youth culture' isn't there. It is a very different cultural atmosphere, combining technology and great affluence with traditional attitudes, beliefs and customs.

Established culture is overwhelmingly conformist in response to the ongoing threats of the Cold War and the brushfire wars of Empire, but has a great sense of optimism and positive hope for the future. There is a consumer boom, but hedonism is frowned upon as barbaric and un-Christian. Deference to authority is the general order of the day, but in the context of a traditional individualism.

It is the cultural side that will make Sam think he is on the dark side of the moon moreso than the magic and cats.

Now that is a train i would love to see and ride in.

Both characters are trenchermen; Sam's appetite is increased by the nature of his travels, in addition to the impact of magic on the physical environment and cultural norms.

Britain is more conformist, which is a function of different conflicts, social developments and experiences. The social changes in 1945-1960 are not completely butterflied away, but Sam is seeing that it is a considerably different Britain to what he is accustomed to.

The annual National Service call up is equivalent to 0.7% of the total population, which is high, but in line with the other Western states. University education is only taken up by a quarter or so of conscripts, with others going directly into trades and manufacturing. Overall, it is a burden upon the British economy, albeit not as great a one as historical.

The anti-Italian riots are based on some historical events and a rather effective sequence in an early episode of Foyle's War; there is still a fair bit of bad feeling towards the Germans and Italians, with the latter being a partial function of improved Italian military performance.

Magical rail would work more optimally with diesel and electric, but neither has made much of an inroad into Britain, where there is a fair bit of inertia towards steam because of the existing infrastructure, substantial domestic coal and by timing.

The railways are broad gauge, coming from different development of earlier wagonways and the need to accomodate somewhat larger creatures and loads. The size of most early tanks is fairly conventional; the longer lasting pursuit of the huge and unwieldy landships is an example of friction at play, as not every development in Dark Earth is sensible or successful.

A few notes from the last few chapters:


- The references that Sam babbled in his semi-drunk stupor were JIGSAW (Joint Intelligence Global Studies on Atomic War on Dark Earth, but known to our Earthling as the Joint Interservice Group for the Study of All-out War), Turnstile (one of the codenames for the Central Government War Headquarters bunker in Corsham) and Backbone (GPO microwave relay network for dual use). Any one of these would have been interesting, but the three in combination as well as the public identification of a secret agent makes Sam a very special case. As alluded to in the text, he has a general knowledge of strategic weapons performance, deployment, strengths, weaknesses and doctrine, not to mention potential future pivotal events in domestic and international politics. A lot will be obsolete or inapplicable, but what is good intelligence and what is not is unclear.

What Sam doesn't know is that the strategic situation is very different in ways both beneficial and detrimental to Britain. As well as the greater threat of the Soviet Union, it is a Cold War with many different 'sides':

- The United States wants to see the end of the European empires as rivals. The big enemy is the Soviet Union, followed by Imperial China. It has bases in Italy and Spain, but regards Europe as a mess, a mess it would like to clean up and get onside; hence the Kennedy Administration's participation in the Stockholm talks.
- The Soviet Union is in a position of great economic, industrial, scientific and military growth. Red Plenty is seen as a realistic goal by the more idealistic elements and great projects in the interior take up a lot of focus. It supports various independence and anti-colonial movements and has a growing, powerful fleet. It's strategic rocket force can't quite threaten Western Europe to the same extent or with the same impunity, given a combination of greater distance, a slight lag in development due to not getting any Germans and some problems in the mid 1950s, but is still formidable.
- Britain is the third superpower, but is falling behind as the Soviet Union recovers from the war. China, Japan and Indonesia are worries in the Far East and the Middle East takes up a lot of her strength, money and attention. The United States is a semi-cordial rival in some contexts and cooperative partner in others. Her European allies consist of Belgium, the Netherlands, Portugal and Scandinavia and they are incorporated into a free trade pact. Economically, it is in its best shape in a century.
- France is an order of magnitude below the top ranked powers, but punches above her weight. It is bogged down in Algeria and the nominal ceasefire in Indochina, but is the most powerful state on the continent. It has a strong nuclear force and a clear policy of using it should an enemy cross the Rhine. It is cultivating Austria-Hungary and is on good terms with Yugoslavia.
- Both Britain and France are on very cold terms with Germany and Italy and are rivals with each other in Europe and around the world.
- Germany is still constrained by various treaty terms, but her economy is booming and her industrial sector extremely powerful. It fears and hates the Soviet Union, regards Austria-Hungary as a traitorous brother and has a profound dislike of Britain and France, but wants friends and atomic weapons.
- Italy dislikes Austria-Hungary and France, has a cordial disdain of Spain and Greece and would like a piece of Yugoslavia. It wants Britain as an ally, but to no avail; it is being driven towards Germany.
- Spain looks enviously on Portugal, doesn't get on with Italy and France and has bad memories of the German invasion. Britain is regarded in mixed terms, due to the issues of Gibraltar, Minorca and the Canary Islands.
- Austria-Hungary is extremely embittered with Germany, dislikes Italy, hates Yugoslavia, but would like Britain or France to become their special friend. Spain and Austria-Hungary have been driven towards each other in an unlikely friendship.
- Japan is emerging in the Far East, but has nowhere to go and no-one to dance with. Imperial China is a strange enigma to West and East alike.
- India is transitioning to full independence and has the makings of a Great Power in its own right, as well as being part of the British Empire. The full history of India will come out in a 1946 or 1947 article.
- Indonesia is a growing power with a red nationalist government. This creates issues for Australia, Britain, New Zealand, Malaya and the independent states of Thailand and Cambodia.
- There are strange rumblings in Brazil and South America in general, as the continent starts to stretch its muscles.
- Britain never having it so good is supported by Sam's impressions from the Imperial Almanac; I'm actually in the process of writing it up as a companion piece/factfile. The economy has grown at an average rate of 6.5% since 1950, there is a positive balance of trade, inflation is at 1.8%, unemployment at 0.4% and only 3.7% of the population is below the poverty line. Food and energy are cheap and there has been a considerable rise in expenditure on consumer goods. National confidence is quite high in what is termed the new Elizabethan Age. However, the next few installments will hopefully convey Sam's impression of how very different British society and culture are compared to what he knows of the 1960s, particularly in regards to music, film, food, popular culture, politics, public beliefs and morality and social attitudes.
- The Vickers and Hawker-Siddeley supersonic airliners will join the de Havilland Comet and Avro Super Jetliner in a rather different market.
- The Vulcan is a 'bloody paralyser of an aeroplane', developed as a successor to the 125t Avro York very heavy bomber, just as the Valiant replaced the Lancaster. The timeline of the Vulcan development cycle is as follows: Air Ministry Specification B.12/45 was issued in June 1945, first flight was in May 1948 and initial entry into service was in January 1952. 526 are in Royal Air Force service as of 1960, with each costing ‎£2.5 million ($80 million in 1990 USD). It has a B.2 shaped wing, eight reheat Rolls Royce Olympus (24,000lbf/32,000lbf) and a top speed of ~ Mach 1.25. Combat range is 5250 miles, maximum altitude is over 64,000ft, maximum internal bombload of 80,000lb and a defensive armament of four 25mm autocannon and sixteen Firebolt AAM in the tail mount; there are some secret raygun tests underway.
- Global RAF Vulcan deployments as of 1961, a time of reduced tensions compared to the previous year, usually consist of 4 aircraft in Aus/NZ, 8 in India, 8 in Singapore, 4 in Malta, 8 in Egypt, 4 in Canada/Newfoundland and 12 airborne in the Norwegian Sea.
- Vietnam is in a very interesting situation. The French remain in the south, the Viet Minh hold the north and the 1956 ceasefire is starting to break down. The Americans, British, Australians and Canadians have advisors present, but the French are the main Western force. Laos and Cambodia are nominally independent with French aid that is heavily backed by the United States.
- Indonesia is a nationalist Red-leaning state with growing confrontation against the British in Borneo, Australia around New Guinea and Timor and the Dutch in the North Moluccas.
- The Congo is an increasing mess, with Britain, France, the USA, Portugal, Spain, Belgium, the USSR and China all involved, along with German exiles...
- German rearmament is continuing, with some elements of the programme being seen as disquieting in Britain, but the Soviet threat is seen as the bigger one.
- British Restaurants didn't get the boot in 1947 and the Ministry of Food is still going strong.
- Culinary tastes don't take the same Mediterranean/European turn for a variety of reasons, including a quicker end to rationing. The fate of the Italian restaurants is a sad one, with the result that spaghetti bolognese, pizza, espresso etc won't be widely known in Britain in the 1960s.