Dark Earth: Never Had it So Good

Never Had it So Good Part 9

Sam was being chased down a long, dark corridor. His breath came out in front of him in visible puffs of ice. Now it wasn’t a corridor, but that pathway in the woods. He could hear the birds all around him, ravens and crows carking in a chilling chorus. The running footsteps of his pursuers grew closer and closer now until they seemed to be right on top of him. He tripped and fell heavily to the ground, his ankle flaring up in agony as he twisted it on a root. He turned around in terror and gazed upon the face of the robed creature that now had him in its grasp. The dark cowl drew back from its face with excruciating slowness, revealing…

He awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and his heart racing. It was already light out and the room was pleasantly warm. Sam glanced at the clock. Twenty four minutes to 8:00. It had been an uncharacteristically fitful night after his initial post-televisual snooze, which surprised him. Usually sleeping came so naturally to him, he could do it with his eyes closed. The nightmare was a similarly new development, but that was something he could quite understand, as he hadn’t made a definitive habit of universe-hopping until quite recently, he thought with a wry smile. Despite the disruption, he didn’t feel particularly tired, which he put down to his extraordinarily comfortable bed.

Yesterday evening’s films had given him some food for thought during the dark hours of tossing and turning. Whilst both versions he was familiar with from his world had emphasized the British role above those of the other Allies, neither had been quite so patronizing towards the French, Americans and Soviets, while making vigorous efforts to highlight the use of forces from all across the British Empire. The nonplussed approach to the use of gas had been something of a shock, the scale of forces was much larger and the sheer size of some of the battleships was difficult to comprehend. The grand spectacle of the station shutdown that followed just before he toddled off to bed had been impressive, cutting between martial and industrial scenes of Britain and the aerial shots of the Empire concluding as it did with a choir over 10,000 strong singing God Save the Queen, but the ultra-royalist and imperialist glorification left him feeling a bit left out. He didn’t quite know what to make of the large television screen and infrared remote control that seemed very advanced for the time, even here.

The sounds of morning activity and muffled voices drifted up from downstairs as he stretched languidly and laid back, grudgingly deciding that he may as well get up. He had never been an early riser at home, but somehow seemed driven to do so here, as if there was something in the air. It was the little differences and the strange similarities that were so striking, with the former jumping up out of the latter to slap him out of any pretence of comfortable adjustment. It honestly seemed as if his senses were heightened here, which would play in with what Simon had alluded to regarding all that magical business. The pleasant smell of frying bacon began to waft through the air, providing Sam with the final motivation he needed to haul himself out of bed and get ready to face another day of his strange journey.

It was just past seven when a fresh faced Sam trotted into the kitchen, sporting what he considered to be a rather dashing charcoal suit and black tie; he’d never been one for overdressing before, but when in Rome, one might as well indulge in the fashions of the locals. Bailey sat at the table, flipping through the last pages of the Sunday Times and sipping tea from a delicately painted china cup in his usual imperturbable fashion/

“Morning Sam. Sleep alright?”

“Yes and no. Must have been all that wandering about we did yesterday.” Sam assiduously avoided mention of his real concerns.

“Could be, could be. Have a gander at the paper if you like. Tea?”

Sam nodded in appreciation as Simon poured him a cup. The headlines were uniformly positive, full of praise for the recent diplomatic agreements at the Stockholm Conference and hopeful that it signaled a path to a lasting settlement in Europe. Prime Minister Eden was to visit Washington in two weeks ahead of the first large scale joint army exercises between the United States and Britain in Europe since 1955, French jets had launched a series of air and missile strikes against communist rebels in South Vietnam and Laos and the Viceroy of Egypt had opened a new high dam of the Nile amid great pageantry. The Indian aircraft carrier HMIS Vikrant had arrived at Pusan in the latest sign of increasing Sino-Indian tensions, while Brazil had announced it possessed an atomic bomb, joining the USA, Soviet Union, Britain, France, China, Canada, Australia, Sweden, Spain and Italy as known nuclear powers. A group of U.S. scientists had proposed the erection of a giant net along the Panama Canal to stop the migration of South American killer bees, a Cambridge professor had reported successful human communication with and through plants, and the largest dragon in the Byzantine Empire had taken to his bed with a cold, potentially upsetting the precarious balance of power in Western Anatolia.

Just another ordinary day.

By the time he had finished this brief browsing of the first few pages the children had piled headlong into the room in a whirl of enthusiastic conversation and excited chatter, making any concentration impossible. He put down the paper with a sigh and exchanged a knowing look with Bailey, who let the tiniest hint of a grin briefly pass over his face before he turned to quiet the ravening mob.

“Now then, hush up a bit! We want normal conversation to be possible in Lyonesse.”

The good natured rebuke seemed to do the trick long enough for Victoria to emerge from the kitchen and smile radiantly at Sam as she took her place opposite Bailey. Mrs. Beaton and young Jenny proceeded to hustle through the door and lay the breakfast dishes on the sideboard and table.

“I’m afraid it is only a light one this morning, Sam. We’ve got the Sunday banquet later on, after all.”

Sam looked at the heaps of bacon, sausages, kippers, fried eggs, beefsteak, hashed potatoes, mushrooms and fried apples that were visible behind the stacks of glistening buttered toast, pots of strawberry jam, tureen of porridge and pitchers of milk and orange juice. This was a light meal?

She seemed to read his mind and laughed merrily. “It isn’t always this big, but with the children back from school, we like to make an effort. Growing bodies need good food, after all.”

The children resumed their chatter after grace was said and Sam tried vainly to snatch a few more glimpses at the paper whilst he made steady progress through the imposing provender before the ringing of a telephone pealed from a nearby room. Shortly after it ceased, Mrs. Beaton carried in an ornate telephone set and laid it before Bailey.

“A gentleman from London calling for you, sir.”

Simon nodded his thanks and lifted the receiver.

“Bailey here. Yes, yes. No, no. Yes, no. I see. Yes, I know. No, yes. We should be fine with that. Yes, send them through when they come. Very good. Toodle pip.” He looked up and smiled blandly. “Office stuff. Rather mundane.”

Sam thought that the real substance was most likely anything but mundane, but let the matter slide for now. There would be time enough later for more expansive questions.

“Well, it looks to be another fine day out.” Bailey began as he rose from his seat at last and glanced at the intricately carved clock that stood on the far mantelpiece. “We’d best get a move on, though. Can’t be late for church.”

“No, my dear. We’ve never been delayed by any of your work, reading or hobbies before at all, have we?” Victoria’s sweet smile somehow accentuated the barbed daggers in her gentle teasing. “Come along, children. We mustn’t let you loose on the public looking like a gaggle of taterdemalions. Sunday means Sunday best.”

She shepherded her flock from the room without more than a few dozen chirps and exclamations of protest, leaving Sam and Simon alone momentarily. Bailey walked over to the bay windows and looked out over the garden, awash as it was with the morning’s dazzling golden sunlight. The rainbow riot of flowers stretched back from the neat lawn and paths to the more untracked regions of the bushes and the dark verge of the trees, glistening with the last few drops of the morning dew. Nothing seemed to disturb the silent sylvan vista for a long heartbeat until, heralded by a rustle amid the ferns, a white rabbit dressed in a blue jacket and sensible brown shoes hopped tentatively out from its concealing cover and nervously sniffed the air with its twitching nose. This apparently assuaged any internal misgivings on behalf of the rabbit as to the wisdom of its emergence and it made its way happily across to the other side of the garden, turning briefly as it went to nod and raise a paw at the watching Bailey.

He turned to see a quizzical look on Sam’s face. “That’s just Peter. Lives down the lane in a rather jolly little hole with the rest of his family. They moved down here from Scotland a few years back after some sort of trouble with a pie and a Panzerfaust, I believe.”

“Right. I believe I’ve seen everything now.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t wager on it, Sam. Ashford’s probably got a few more surprises yet to come.”

“You mentioned a parade on Monday for D-Day.”

“Yes, it’s one of our biggest commemorations. Quite fitting, really; Normandy was one of the most important victories of the whole jolly war, right up there in the Big Five.”

“Big Five?”

“Sorry, bit of military history slang. The others are the Battle of Britain, the Atlantic, South-East Asia and North Africa. I’m looking at it in my next book.”

“You were there on D-Day, weren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I was.” Simon seemed somewhat subdued suddenly.

“What was it like?”

Bailey paused and looked ready to say a thousand things as he stared off into the past. None of them seemed to suffice.

“It was the greatest and longest day of my life.” He was silent for a long while before stirring once again. “Anyway, grab a hat and we’ll be off. The hour draws nigh, as they would say.”

“Of course. We don’t want the Church Police to be after us.”

“Oh, you’ve got them as well? Jolly good! You’re quite right of course; Brother Restraint can lack his namesake when it comes to slack attendance.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, I can’t. Restraint Brackley is the verger, not any sort of Templar. They’re mostly in Yorkshire.” Bailey turned to make his way towards the hallway, intent on selecting an apposite hat from the rack, but paused as he saw Sam’s somewhat pensive look. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well…I’m not really a church-goer back home, to be honest. I haven’t really been since I was a kid.”

“I see. Tell you what – if you stand up and sit down in time with the rest of us and stay suitably quiet at the right times, you should be fine. We’ll handle the theological implications later.”

They walked out the front door into the bright morning, wound their way up the garden path and set off down the leafy lane, the sound of Victoria and the children following close behind. The cobbled road was shaded by tall trees on both sides that stretched above the neat whitewashed picket fences and trimmed hedges that bordered the exquisite front gardens. As they approached the next gate, two large goldcrests swooped past Bailey and alighted in an ash tree, chirping in joyous song as he paused to look appreciatively at them. The sight of the birds tickled something lurking in the back of Sam’s subconsciousness, but it faded away before he could grasp it.

“More friends of yours?”

“Not quite, but that particular family of birds has been around since my grandfather’s time. You can’t really go wrong with them; they’re good neighbours. Very important to have them. One should avoid several things in life at all costs - bad neighbours, overdone steak, pork pie hats and the French.”

“There you go again.”

“Whatever do you mean, Sam?”

“Just something that struck me about here – your Britain doesn’t seem to get on with the rest of Europe that well.”

“I see. Quite natural, really. Even if we set aside the Empire for the moment, we’re still an island power looking outwards rather than a continental state. A matter of national interests, my dear boy. And of course, we can’t really set the Empire and Commonwealth aside. It is one of the major factors that separates us from the rest; we’re a bit more than a big Belgium with the bomb.”

“It can’t last forever.”

“No, it can’t, although it has been going strong for over five centuries. Our relations with the Continent are important, but they aren’t the be all and end all for us.”

”I didn’t mean just politics or strategy. From the newspapers, the radio and the television, I get the impression that it is more than just a difference of outlook, but more of an active dislike.”

“Well, Sam, that may be taking it a bit far. It is more of a heady brew of distaste born of the World Wars and good old fashioned chauvinism. Most of Europe has similar attitudes towards each other. Different languages, different cultures, different religions. We don’t have much in common from the point of view of the average chap on the street. Damn shame, really, but such is life.”

“I take it you think differently?”

“Yes and no. I’m not one of those idealistic Monnetists who dream of a united continent, but with the Reds out east, it would make more sense for use to work together more, at least in terms of defence and trade. It will be extremely difficult, though. Italy and Austria have been kept at arm’s length since the war, despite their increasingly desperate attempts at mending fences and Spain still holds a grudge over how it was treated during their Axis period. We’re not alone in Europe, though. Scandinavia is very close to us, as is the Benelux Union, the Balkan states and of course the Portuguese. The smaller states around the edges tend to prefer us to the other options.”

Sam paused thoughtfully. “You mean Germany and France.”

“Ah, Germany. Very difficult one. There is still a lot of bad blood on both sides, but we’ve started to loosen up on the trade barriers and export restrictions put in place in the late forties. There are new generations in both countries that have grown up since the war and the German economy keeps growing stronger, but there is a lot to live down. Give it another five years or so and things could change. France? They’ve been our traditional adversaries since the Middle Ages, some elements in their government still haven’t forgiven us or the Americans for liberating them and they are our only real rival as the dominant power of Western Europe. Goodness knows what will happen there.”

“You’re not talking politics again, Simon? Do you never tire of it?” Victoria asked in mild exasperation, having caught up with the pair, the children marching along closely beside her and George eagerly spluttering along in his steam-powered perambulator.

“Now and then, my dear wife. Mainly when there is history to discuss. Or cricket.”

“You’re very, very silly sometimes, my dear husband. And now, unless I’m very much mistaken, here come the Cavendishes.”

Sam glanced to his right to see a tall, well-built brown haired man in a black three piece suit and matching trilby strolling towards them hand in hand with a tall blonde lady in a flowing dark blue dress, followed by a procession of five children. He raised a hand in merry greeting.

“What ho, Bailey! Could this be the famed Australian we’ve all heard so much about?”

“Yes, it is. Sam Johnson, this is James and Sarah Cavendish and their brood. James runs the village bookshop these days, but we went through France and Germany together back in the war.”

“Very pleased to meet you, sir.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Johnson. Enjoying your time over here?”

“It has been like a whole new world, to be honest.”

“I can imagine. Your accent isn’t like many Australian ones I’ve heard before.”

Sam, having previously countenanced this line of inquiry, had a ready answer. “Oh, yes. I went to school here.”

“Marvelous. You can’t beat a good British education. Now, Simon, I want to bend your ear about some of the arrangements for tomorrow.” The two men strolled forward purposefully as they fell into deep conversation, leaving Sam lagging slightly behind the women and children.

The eldest Cavendish boy, a small blond lad who had been tailing the procession, walked up alongside Sam, fixing him with an intense look from his strange, knowing eyes. It was more than a little discomforting.

“It must be very hard for you, Mr. Johnson”

“What do you mean?”

“Being so far from home.” The boy’s words struck him with an almost physical impact and Sam couldn’t help but flinch slightly. Did he know? How?

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Don’t worry, sir. Even when you are lost, you never know what is going to end up helping you find the road home.” He smiled enigmatically, seeming to be somehow much older than his apparent years.

“Matthew! There you are!” Richard’s voice broke through the mysterious moment, having trotted back from the pack in front of them. “D’you still want to ride in the tank with me tomorrow?”

“Sure! That’ll be absolutely wizard!” They ran off laughing and excitedly discussing the prospects of the morrow, now apparently two completely conventional boys. Sam paused for a second, then shrugged and followed along, oblivious of the silent black crow who sat in an alder tree on the side of the road.

A few minutes later, they emerged once again in the village square, which was now the scene of considerable pedestrian traffic as the good folk of Ashford arrived for their Sunday observances. A large equestrian statue of an armoured knight stood in the centre of the square, looking ceaselessly out over the river, woods and fields into the distance. The village oak spread its bows and cool shadow over the town hall and the Lion and Unicorn. The many shops and public buildings that had so hummed with life on the previous morn were now all firmly shut and even the old mill and duck pond sat still and reverent. The church itself was a venerable, grey stone building with a slate roof and a tall Gothic bell tower that looked several hundred years old. The tower walls were covered in elaborate carvings traced in shining silver and topped with intricate crenellations that gave the distinct impression of a castle. A single golden cross sat above the broad wooden doors and the large, brilliantly coloured stained glass windows glittered in the sunshine.

The other villagers themselves were dressed much in the same formal fashion as the Baileys and Cavendishes, all black, grey and dark blue suits, frock coats and long dresses. For the first time, Sam was able to take a good look at a reasonable sized group and he was struck by their uniformly upright bearing, the large number of children, the marked prevalence of light-coloured hair and the noticeably tall average height of young and old humans alike; the dwarves and halflings were obvious exceptions to the latter. Almost every man he could see was wearing a hat of some description, which seemed rather jarring when paired with the long flowing robes of what could only be a magician of some sort. Three men in long brown leather coats and mottled green cloaks sidled quietly up from amongst the trees and waited patiently for the rest of the crowd to enter. It was difficult to focus on them for some reason and it took a deliberate effort to keep his eye on them.

“Rangers.” Bailey’s voice startled Sam back to reality. “They must be passing through on their way to Bernwood Forest.”

“Rangers? Like Robin Hood or something?”

“Yes, a bit like that. They’ll be checking on the old dungeon ruins up there. The kingdom has many defenders and some still keep to the old ways.”’

This didn’t make a lot of sense to Sam’s mind, but he put his question aside for a more fitting time when he could get a proper explanation; in any case, they were now entering the church, being greeted by a kindly bearded priest dressed in green and white vestments and a gold and lace cope. The interior was adorning with more fine carvings and a dazzling array of colourful tapestries and wall paintings were awash with a warm rainbow-tinted glow from the tall leaded windows. Rows of ancient oaken pews and a red velvet carpet lead up to the simply adorned altar. The deep, sonorous hum of the massive organ echoed around the church, filling the air with a resonant, sweeping melody.

The service that followed was like nothing he had experienced before or even imagined. It was filled with redolent references to honour, obligation and muscular Christianity and punctuated with martial hymns; even in his limited experience, Sam had never heard Onward Christian Soldiers sound quite so warlike. Reverend Williamson’s sermon declaimed sin and preached vigilance against the temptations of laziness and evil in no uncertain terms, whilst emphasizing the importance of charity, duty and forgiveness. There were plentiful prayers for the health and success of the Queen and Royal Family, for the Empire and the welfare of its people, for the enemies of the Crown to be scattered and vanquished and for the glorious victory of the armed forces in their struggles against the enemies of freedom. The language was very old fashioned but seemed to flow with a poetry of its own. Despite the occasional hard edges of the message, the passion of belief shone through palpably from priest and congregation alike and Sam felt himself caught up in the final hymn, even though it was completely new to him. At the conclusion, the congregation repaired to the village hall where sufficient long tables and comfortable chairs had been drawn up to accommodate the buzzing crowd.

“What happens now?” he asked Bailey.

“Ah, what follows is an old accustomed tradition and an eminently civilized one at that in my view. Every fourth Sunday when there isn’t a specific holy day, other than Lent of course, there is a great feast for the whole village. It has been going on across England since the Middle Ages and apparently hearkens back to the old Anglo-Saxon days of regular feasting in the mead hall, according to an elven chap I once bumped into in Harrods.”

At that, the doors at the back were thrown open and a host of groaning platters were borne into the hall by a procession of women and laid upon the crisp white table cloths before the crowd. They were loaded with large tureens of mushroom soup, enormous hams, steaming steak and kidney puddings, pewter plates piled with chops and sausages, several great sizzling barons of roast beef surrounded by crisp Yorkshire puddings, huge trays of roast potatoes, honeyed parnsips and red cabbage, hefty plates of buttered carrots, peas and turnips and half a dozen other enticing dishes. The sight was greeted by great applause and cheers of welcome and, after a swift benediction, the banquet began, all washed down with tea, milk, fruit juices and lashings of ginger beer. It was undoubtably the most imposing Sunday lunch that Sam had ever encountered and, as with dinner the night before, soon became too much for him. He waived the pudding course with a weak flutter of his napkin and was approaching something of a somniferous state when Bailey nudged him back to reality and steered him back on the path towards home.

The walk through the cool noontide air quickly restored his wits and he returned to puzzling over the latest twists in his time in Ashford, particularly the strange encounter with the Cavendish boy. Victoria and the children had already disappeared inside the house before them by the time Simon exchanged a cool nod with his estranged tomte on the doorstep and gestured Sam towards the right side of the hallway.

“Follow me through to my study, Sam. I’ve just got to check on something from this morning.”

After a typically circuitous route through the corridors of the Bailey residence, Sam found himself in a tall ceilinged room with packed bookshelves lining each wall and a single oaken desk set before a wide window. It was strewn with piles of papers, a battered hourglass, a dozen assorted books and magazines, pens, gewgaws, rings and things and all the miscellaneous paraphernalia that adorn the desks of writers and magpies across all the known and unknown worlds. His eye was caught by one particular and rather familiar object located in the centre of the collected flotsam and jetsam.

It couldn’t be…

His jaw fell.

“You have a computer?!”

Sam does forget he is using 2015 eyes, but he does have a lot to take in; there is a bit of an elven influence as well as Nordic blood involved in the English mix. He is more agnostic than atheist, but doesn't want to stand out, so goes along with the flow.

The Cavendish boy is a very interesting sort. I do have a pair of Christmas stories written in 2015 and 2016 that expand upon his adventures; I didn't do one last Yuletide, but still have the notes for it and it is on my list.

The Rangers are closer to the LOTR version; full details will be forthcoming in due course.

The phonecall is important, but Bailey does know how to hide what he is saying on the telephone extremely well.

Sam may be very mistaken as to what exactly Bailey has...

   sdarkshade

Think of guns the size of Project Babylon, essentially built into the side of mountains in Wales. They aren't a very efficient technology.

Further notes/explanations:

- Sam's musings on the wartime propaganda films are an interesting way to highlight the different power dynamic of the Second World War compared to @. There isn't the same hagiography of the Soviets and the widespread admiration for the Red Army as could be seen in Britain historically and France continuing to fight from North Africa alters some other inter-Allied relationships and perceptions. The emphasis on the contributions of the different parts of the British Empire and their value is quite deliberate, as the wartime British government could quite clearly see the consequences of the United States and Soviet Union growing in strength
- The reference to talking to plants was one of two pieces of news that were inspired by episodes from the first series of the nice 70s television show In Search Of... presented by Leonard Nimoy, the other being the proposal to stop the march of South American killer bees with a net across the Panama Canal.
- There is something about the place and the air that is heightening Sam's senses
- The Stockholm Conference and apparent Anglo-American rapprochment have their roots in the events of The Red Shadow (the novel set in 1960), as well as some policy and personnel changes in Washington and on Capitol Hill. The Atlantic Treaty isn't as extensive as the North Atlantic Treaty, though, nor does it extend to the same number of European states.
- The French maintain a substantial force in South Vietnam, in addition to American, British and Canadian advisors. This is becoming increasingly difficult for them and there are domestic and economic pressures to reduce their presence East of Suez, particularly in light of the gradually deteriorating situation in Algeria.
- Egypt's status is rather different, as is implied by the notion of a Viceroy. This isn't a popular state of affairs or viable in the longer term.
- India and China are butting heads over Burma and Tibet, particularly since de-facto Indian independence in 1956. A high profile port visit by a major warship of the Royal Indian Navy to Korea is meant as a demonstration of Indian strength on China's other flank.
- There are 11 declared nuclear powers, one undeclared but tacitly acknowledged (Switzerland) and several other states are suspected of having active nuclear programmes, including the Benelux states, Turkey, Greece, Yugoslavia, Germany, Japan, Austria-Hungary, Indonesia, Argentina; most will stay serene and calm until Alabama gets the bomb.
- The mention of rabbits and Panzerfausts is a reference to that well known cross-over by Beatrix Potter and Sven Hassel, Peter Rabbit Tank Killer.
- The 'Big Five' British campaigns of the Second World War is a somewhat contentious label and Bailey is in a minority regarding the campaigns he includes. A large number of others prefer to substitute the strategic bombing campaign against Germany for the South-East Asian campaign (Burma, Malaya, Siam and Indochina) and include the Battle of North Africa in a broader view of the Mediterranean theatre (the Trident strategy).
- The use of peculiar Puritan Christian names is quite uncommon, but not unknown in some parts of England.
- British relations with Europe are complex, as Bailey suggests. It is strong around the edges of the Continent, but not at its heart. The current balance between France, Germany, Italy, Spain and Austria-Hungary is a tenuous one.
- The Monnetists are a term used for those who hold to the views of Jean Monnet and Robert Schumann, among others. There hasn't been much progress after the stillbirth of the concepts of European Defence and Political Communities, which in turn was influenced by Franco-German enmity and disputes over the annexation of the Saar and de Gaulle's ongoing grip on power between 1945 and 1960.
- The church and service reflects the different nature of the Church of England, which is rather more High church, traditionalist and steeped in Muscular Christianity. The influence of the Church is still very strong.
- The Initel system is very much a niche toy as of 1961. A full commercial roll out will take the rest of the decade. The British Telecom Oracle is the brand name, rather than an indication of powers of divination.
- Turing's situation is somewhat different due to a lack of the tightening of gross indecency laws in the Victorian period to the same degree. He is also involved in very important secret work, which affects how he is viewed as an important asset. Certainly not a sunshine and flowers solution.
- The tracking ball was developed from the DATAR program.
- For Your Eyes Only is a reference to Fleming, who has an interesting career.
- The Defence White Paper is of course conveniently available for readers for no extra cost upon request
- Victoria Bailey's cousins are descended from that Mr. Darcy.
- Polaris/Solaris and Skybolt are both a tad more advanced weapons systems and actual British interest is a bit warmer than Bailey characterises; the RN's current SLBM isn't half bad, though.
- Strategic artillery is another example of money and time wasted on a rather less useful technological cul de sac.
- The Soviets currently don't have a gun or missile that can penetrate the Chieftain's composite armour beyond very short range. This will change in 4-5 years, but even then, the British are inside the Soviet reaction cycle for the immediate future. Quantity still has a quality all of its own.
- Bailey's books are a bit of a teaser; more on cavalry will come in the next chapter.
- As well as the previously discussed impacts of Jutland, Jellicoe gets quite a lot of clout postwar, which leads to an adoption of large parts of his report on Imperial defence. The importance of the dreadnought is greatly emphasised, influencing national perspectives in naval limitation talks post WW1. Finally, it gives the RN a big prestige and morale boost that carries over into the Second World War, where it has some rather more interesting results.
- Heligoland is kept by the British between the wars and then annexed post WW2.
- The reference to Crusaders will be explained in a later chapter.
- Flying Spitfires to Other Planets is an evocatively named chapter title in a nice book I have on the history of the British boffin.
- Cross country hopping is a reference to Ripping Yarns.
- This version of 'The Lobgest Day' is a bit different, as will be shown when I get around to Overlord.
- The Madeleine section is a Proust pastiche/homage.
- Kennedy actually did pay a visit to Britain on June 4-5 1961; here it is slightly later and a full blown state visit. He also has a quite different SecDef.
- A plot to kill De Gaulle is not motivated by Algeria here, as that had yet to fully boil over, for a variety of reasons.
- Coventry Cathedral has a far more traditional architectural style.
- Argentina and Brazil are getting into another arms race and will coincidentally be looking to replace some of their oldest battleships with new capital ships (potentially including carriers) or missile cruisers of some sort.
- BMC expanding internationally is one part of a British motor industry that isn't in its Indian summer.


The marriage between the King of Belgium and the Dutch heir to the throne is a potential gamechanger, as it creates the opportunity for a personal union between two states that already have an economic union, a unified legal system, unified defence policies and military command and an extremely high degree of political union. They have been growing close together since 1945, something that has been exacerbated by the lack of a Western European Union or European Economic Community. Should the marriage go ahead, and it will, then it paves the path for a unified Dutch-Belgian state along the lines of Sweden-Norway.

The name would be, once again, the United Kingdom of the Netherlands, or, for short, the United Kingdom. It would be in the top 10 economies in the world and be the third or fourth largest colonial power by virtue of the Congo and the remaining Dutch territories. This would majorly alter the European balance of power, particularly as the British see it as being manouevered by the French in order to gain a decisive edge over Germany. This in turn provides part of the motivation for Britain to get off the fence and try and rebuild a Western alliance.

And having multiple languages (German, French, Italian and Romansh) it looks like Belgium, but with nuclear weapons then.