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Post by simon darkshade on Aug 12, 2018 6:29:03 GMT
Never Had it So Good Part 17
Sam looked up to the younger Bailey boy looking at him with a broad grin.
“Oh, hello Richard. Just browsing through a few things while your father writes some things down for work.”
“I like that book. It has great pictures of the Zulus. They’re so wizard! Did you know they are the finest of the Empire’s forces in Africa. I want to join them one day.”
“I thought you wanted to be a crusader.”
“Gosh, that was days ago, silly. When you’re in the Zulu Regiments, you get to have your own spear, go through the deepest jungles and get to run with the war lions. That’s much better than being a knight.”
“Sounds tremendous. The Zulus did have a great military history after all. They were one of the few native forces to beat the British.”
“What?!” Richard looked up at him in a mixture of shock and outrage.
“At Isandlwhana.”
“They did not! We beat them there! Great-great Grandfather fought there with the cavalry and Rhodes and they definitely won. What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry, Richard, I must have been mistaken. It has been a few years since I did that period of history at school.” This seemed to slightly mollify his interlocutor, who could relate to forgetting things from school; in all of the excitement of the extended special holiday, he had clean forgotten about his mathematics assignment. Completely.
“Hmph. Right. Anyway, that one is a much better book than the one on Indonesia, but you’re probably more interested in them because it’s next to your home. It must be very worrying, having Communists right next door to you.”
Sam picked up on a few snippets he’d heard from Simon and tried to run with it. “Yes, we’ve had to do all sorts of things – buy new weapons, build new ships and start new factories.”
“Oh, I see. Father says I need to pay more attention to those type of things. Losgistix, he calls it. Sounds like one of the characters from my Asterix comics.”
“Ah, there you are! That was quicker than I thought it would be.” A beaming Bailey walked into the library, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction at a job well done. “Now, Richard, if you’ll excuse us, Sam and I have got to pop out for a few things.”
“Very well, Father. I was just talking to Sam about that Gaullish chap you want me to read. And about the Zulus, though I knew more than he did.”
Simon chuckled good-naturedly and ruffled his son’s hair as he left the room, somewhat disgruntled at getting such juvenile treatment in front of their Australian guest.
“I hope that your work gets you appropriate tanks.”
“Very droll, Sam. Avail yourself of one of m’hats, old boy. It is a bit bright out.”
“It does seem rather warmer than I’m used to for this time of year.”
“Really? This is fairly normal for a nice June day; they tend to top out at 75 or so. It used to be a bit hotter before the war, but the weather has evened out a bit since ’47. The Sunstone saw to that.”
“Sunstone?”
“Rather bang-on bit of magic that the wizardly types cooked up during the war. I’m not really an expert on that type of thing, but it was bally powerful. It was used in the Great Winter of 46/47 and knocked it for six overnight. Even fifteen years down the line, we still get extremely decent weather – warm summers with plenty of rain at the right time, cold winters that never get intolerable and brilliant springs and autumns in between. I even read somewhere that it has somehow affected crop yields, but that might be something to do with other weather control experiments. Nothing like they’ve achieved out in the Middle East, though.”
“What have they done there?” This was something entirely new for Sam and his interest was well and truly piqued.
“They’ve made the desert bloom, like in Isaiah. It started off in Egypt and Palestine, before the Great War, where they combined the best of modern science and advanced weather sorcery to achieve dramatic results. New fertilisers and hardy crops, soil conversion, mass tree planting and rain spells were the main part of it, all gradually building up to transform the climate and very nature of small areas, then expanding into larger ones. That expanded into Transjordan and Syria and then into Mesopotamia after the war and in Egypt they started to really get the full benefit of the Qattara Dam. Still far too early to see anything large scale in them, but they’ve already managed to push the desert back by miles and increased grain production in Iraq six fold.”
“Wow. That would have a lot of implications on the whole region.”
“I believe that is why we started to push it heavily postwar. Good opportunity to keep things steady.”
They trotted off out the front door into the garden and Sam was instantly grateful for heeding the advice regarding a hat. It was a warm, bright morning flush with brilliant colours seeming to blare forth from the trees, bushes and flowers, while bees and small birds buzzed and flittered about them, full of life and energy. The air was still fresh and cool and the overhanging boughs of trees gave them welcome shade as they walked down the quiet streets towards the town square. A few older men pottered about in their gardens and Simon politely doffed his trilby to a pair of old ladies taking tea underneath the drooping fronds of an old willow tree.
“So what do you think will be the response to those new bits and pieces from Russia?” Sam broke the silence with a question that had been rolling about his head since their dwarven visitor a short time before.
“Well, I can quite say in too much detail – security and all that, dear boy. But generally, there might be some tweaks to the Chieftains, some oblique approaches and a bit of a revisiting of the Conqueror.”
“I saw those in your tank book. Aren’t they too big to be practical?”
“For some circumstances, definitely. A few new roles may be opening up with the shifts in grand strategy that could well be filled by a few upgraded superheavies. There were some elementary plans considered in 1956 for a follow-on heavy tank to the Conqueror, so we wouldn’t really be reinventing the wheel. Or the tank, as it may be.”
There was a brief moment of silence as they made their way through the leafy streets. Sam was finally able to verbalise what had been preying on his mind.
“I think I dodged a bit of a bullet back there with the Zulus.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Simon raised an eyebrow slightly as he considered how unlikely it was that an ibutho had been loose in his library and he hadn’t even noticed.
“Back in my place, Isandlwhana was a catastrophic British defeat, one of the worse ones of the century. By the way Richard reacted, it was quite different here.”
“Indeed. One of the more renowned victories, even though we probably had the edge in weapons and could see a lot more of the battlefield than the Zulus. Old Cecil Raleigh fought there as well, you know. He often used to tell us about it when we were younger and would pester him enough. The first part of the campaign was under Chelmsford, who invaded with three columns. He went off hunting the main impi with most of his brigade, leaving a single battalion of the 24th Foot at Isandlwhana, along with assorted native forces, two squadrons of horse and two batteries of guns, 12pdrs, as I recall.”
“That all sounds broadly similar.”
“A mounted patrol lead by a chap named Maryon found the main Zulu force lying in wait only 5 miles away, so they dashed back and alerted the camp. They sent up an observer craft quickly and saw the scale of the attack. Our infantry formed up in line with four of the Gatlings, with one battery behind and one divided between the cavalry on the flanks, along with Durnford’s native horse. The Zulus came charging down and took fearful damage from the artillery and the pair of wizards attached to the 1st/24th, while their flankers copped it from the guns and the pairs of Gatlings with each cavalry squadron. Even the Zulus, the best warriors in African, couldn’t break through the crossfire without bleeding and bled them we did. It got pretty hairy for a while as they pushed closer, but then the heavy cavalry came down on their right, followed by the rest of Chelmsford’s horse. The Zulus never liked cavalry, according to Cecil.”
“I guess that makes sense, but there is the bigger issue. I was supposed to know that, but didn’t. Is there anything else like that I should know?”
“Quite a bit, I would think; I don’t know what you don’t know, Sam. I would only suggest that if you find yourself in conversation that takes that awkward turn, try to agree as much as possible, change the subject to something firm or feign sickness. Those strategies have always served me well. And you, finding yourself in a nice, out-of-the-way village, should be able carry on.”
“Is that why you’ve decided to keep me here?”
“Yes and no. I think it is time to be a bit more honest with you, Sam. Since your arrival, there have been a lot of people looking into what on earth happened to cause an enormous spike of energy in a quiet corner of the Home Counties, both here and abroad. That energy seems to have tied itself into you somehow. By keeping you out here, we keep that energy signature from moving around, which would set off a great number of alarms. Both the Yanks and the Russians seem to be buying that it was a magic experiment gone awry. We can keep them thinking that whilst we work out how to smuggle you down to London at the end of the week, with no other senior government or intelligence types coming up to see you in a manner that could be noticed. The asfohrt you were given keeps you nominally hidden, as well as some other side effects.”
“Such as?”
“You not being able to repeat anything secret that has been said to you in our little discussions, for one. It really is quite a complicated geas and cloaking spell and is tying down three of our top wizards to maintain.”
“So you are trying to hide me in plain sight. Why take the risk of telling me a lot of things that I don’t need to know?”
“You’re a smart lad, Sam. Why do you think?”
“…To find out what I do know about my history, so you can focus your questioning.”
“Exactly.”
Soon enough, they came to the centre of Ashford, which was already busy for this time of the morning, with two dozen people criss-crossing it, going about their business, reading newspapers at the tea rooms or sitting on the bench beneath the trees. Over on the village green, spaces were being cleared for the fair on the morrow by two men pushing an old fashioned mower, although the main carnival train was apparently not due until this evening according to the carefully chalked message fastened to the signpost.
As they walked into the square, Sam took note once again of the little differences that made these people stand out from what he was used to at home. Both men and women were taller and fitter, but seemed to have only a few noticeable variations of appearence. There barely seemed to be any substantial obesity and hairstyles were very short and strict. From what he could pick up, their manner of speech was noticeably dissimilar in vocabulary and style to the English of his time, with their accents far more pronounced and lacking in flatness. He had not heard anyone swear in public yet, at least not worse than a minced oath, but their humour was still earthy and full of cheek, if Simon and Victoria were anything to go by. The streets were extremely clean, lacking litter, mess or any hint of graffiti. As they passed each other by, they would exchange polite greetings or acknowledgement and good manners were the order of the day. Their dress was far more formal than he was accustomed to for a simple quick trip down to the shops, even compared to Earth in the 1950s and 60s. The people seemed to be more affluent by several orders of magnitude, even accounting for the fact that Ashford was a well-to-do rural village populated by the middle classes and the landed gentry. From what he had seen in the Librarium, even the everyday life and living conditions of the working classes were considerably better than his 1961.
“Where to first?”
“Cartwright General Merchandise and Stores Emporium, of course. I have quite a list to fill for my dearly beloved.”
This turned out to be a small building adjacent to the WI with a simple wooden veneer. Its large windows were covered with neatly painted slogans promising home delivery and offering a full array of groceries, hardware, provisions, sundries and declaring that it was ‘open all hours’. Piled around the outside of the shop were tables covered with tins, tools, knick-knacks and bric-a-brac, bottles, baskets, tools, spools and large crates of fresh fruits and vegetables.
“There isn’t really much one can’t get here, Sam. One of the vital hearts of our village, along with the pub, the post office, the church, the hall and probably more…that may make us something of an earthworm, though. Anyway, in we go.”
As they opened the door, a bell rang cheerily and a stout old man with neat white hair and a bristling moustache looked up from behind the counter and rubbed his hands together vigorously
“Mr. Bailey! What a pleasure it is to have your p..p..p..presence once again!” His effusive greeting was delivered with a slight stammer and a noticeable Yorkshire accent.
“Good morning, Mr. Cartwright! It is equally pleasant to patronize this most excellent of establishments. Now, my good man, I have my orders from Victoria to pass along to you.” Bailey handed over a long scroll of paper covered in neat cursive writing.
“Very good, Mr. Bailey, sir. Let’s see about this…Two jars of Colman’s Mustard, two ounces of Shropshire blue truffles, a York ham, squid ink, Blue Vinney, a tin of lacquer, soap, soda and four candles…we should be able to fill that f…f…f…for you today, sir. Grenville!” Cartwright shouted out over his shoulder.
A kindly yet harried looking small creature hurried out of the backroom. He was just over three feet tall and his head was covered with a shock of curly brown hair that mirrored that on the tops of his broad, bare feet. Clad in a white apron and a woolen Fair Isle vest several sizes too big for him, Grenville was a young-looking halfling possessed a beaming, gap-toothed grin.
“Yes, Mr. Cartwright?”
“F…f…f…fetch these items from the back, and be quick smart about it!”
“Oh, certainly Mr. Cartwright, with all haste and vigour!” replied the halfling sarcastically, putting down his cloth that he had been using to polish something and clambering down into the storage cellar.
The bell above the door rang as another customer entered and was greeted effusively once again by the delighted shopkeeper, who seemed to welcome every prospective sale with a very visual expression of pleasure.
“Ah, C…C…C…Curate McGuire! How may we service your requirements on this lovely day?”
“Good morning, Mr. Cartwright!” began the cheerful priest in a gentle Irish lilt, who seemed to be stuck in a state of perplexed wonder. “I’m here to pick up the vicarage order for Reverend Williamson, only he didn’t give me a list.”
“Never you mind, Curate. I’ve got it all here as usual. Have a g…g…g, have a g…g…g…, have a g…g…g…, enjoy the rest of your morning.”
Grenville came out of the cellar with a large brown paper bag for Simon, who nodded in thanks as they left the shop to the sound of Cartwright instructing his assistant to fetch his cloth to clean up some ginger cake.
“Righto, if you hang onto these, I’ll just nip into the newsagent to grab a few magazines.” Simon deftly passed the bag to Sam and left him to juggle his burden to the nearby bench, which he did successfully. Within a minute, he had returned, clutching a bundle of papers and periodicals.
“A little light reading to fill you in on what you should know.” he murmured with a wink. “Now, home to the palace to prepare.”
“Funny that you have an Irish priest here.”
“Not really; they’ve always been a rather large presence across Britain and through the Empire with the missions. Lots of monasteries across the water as well.”
“Aren’t most of them Catholic?”
“Catholics? They’re a reasonable sized minority out on the West Coast, but most of the country is solid Church of Ireland; fewer than one in five would be Catholics, if I remember right. It has been ever since the Tudors.”
“That sounds like quite the opposite to my Ireland. It would have caused fewer troubles over the years.”
“Most probably. The last time there was any rebellion or trouble over there was in the days of William and Mary. It simply isn’t something that would happen in modern Britain. Anyway, I thought you might like this one. Plenty of reading material.”
Simon passed over a bright, glossy, thick magazine with a photograph of a large white bomber on the cover. The title Aerospace World was emblazoned across the top of the page in large silver letters, along with a number of smaller feature titles along the sides. The bottom of the page was dominated by the main story, whose huge headline stood out in clear red, white and blue: TSR-2 – The Empire Strikes Back.
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lordroel
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Post by lordroel on Aug 12, 2018 8:57:56 GMT
Never Had it So Good Part 17“I thought you wanted to be a crusader.” “Gosh, that was days ago, silly. When you’re in the Zulu Regiments, you get to have your own spear, go through the deepest jungles and get to run with the war lions. That’s much better than being a knight.” So crusaders still exist, what are their function and are they like the orders that whe have in OTL. |
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Post by simon darkshade on Aug 12, 2018 10:01:19 GMT
The Templars or Hospitallers still exist as international military orders with some private forces in Jerusalem, but their general function is as a combination of paramilitary, intelligence services and special investigation.
Richard's desire to be a crusader is more based on television than reality.
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stevep
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Post by stevep on Aug 12, 2018 12:45:49 GMT
So your a Barker fan.  I got the 4 candles joke then noticed the name and stammer of the store-owner. [For anyone not familiar with it googling "four candles' gets you four candles, which hopefully works OK.] The other bit is from another commody series Ronnie Barker starred in, called Open All Hours - see Open_All_Hours.
Also the church of Ireland is dominant in Ireland, which would make it somewhat more stable. You did comment a while back that the church of England is somewhat less Protestant than OTL and rather occupies an half way place between the Protestant churches and Catholicism. [Although I think that's a bit the case nowadays as well but probably less than in the darkverse.
There was that last line as well. Does this refer to the suggested power and efficiency of the TSR-2 or has it actually seen action somewhere against so foe/problem?
Steve
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Post by simon darkshade on Aug 12, 2018 13:12:44 GMT
Here follows the TSR-2 article that Sam will soon be reading. It is from a rather partisan magazine that caters to an audience made up of young male aircraft aficionados and what we might term as armchair enthusiasts. I tried to reach for a tone that was a mixture of late 40s/early 50s Popular Mechanics with a bit of general sensationalism. Some of the information being leaked out through this article is deliberate misinformation aimed at confusing the Soviets.
TSR-2: The Empire Strikes Back
Britain’s most famed aircraft are known simply by their manufacturer and their name – the Avro Lancaster, the Hawker Hurricane, the English Electric Canberra, the Fairey Delta and of course the Supermarine Spitfire. These names conjure up images of daring and glory, of high flight in the blue skies above wartorn lands and of bold deeds that paved the path for the victory of the forces of good and right in the two World Wars. Now, the attentions of the world turn to England’s latest plane and talk of it in different terms. It has a name redolent of past glory, the Supermarine Eagle, last born by a famed naval fighter that was the scourge of Italy, Germany and Japan.
Most of the world knows it by a shorter name – TSR-2.
Those three letters refer to its expansive role, tactical strike and reconaissance. This belies its versatile capabilities and potential for new missions in the future, as the cutting edge aircraft of the Space Age. Already in service with the Royal Air Force and a number of Commonwealth air fleets, the TSR-2 has attracted substantial interest from a number of powers around the world, including Japan, Brazil and even the United States. Like all of the successful aircraft of our troubled times, it has the capacity to perform both hot and cold war missions; indeed, this dual capacity is a hallmark of the aircraft – low and high altitude, conventional and nuclear payload, strategic and tactical roles. It comes with a hefty price tag, with each aeroplane costing the British taxpayer over £2.5 million, but this princely sum buys a lot of aircraft.
First flying in November 1956 and entering service in 1959, the Supermarine Eagle TSR-2 is a twin engine all-weather strike bomber designed to penetrate enemy airspace at supersonic speeds and very low altitudes while carrying a heavy nuclear or conventional warload. It is the first major aircraft to employ Professor Barnes Wallis’s variable-sweep wing and carrys a full range of state of the art electronics and advanced radar, including what some have described as the most accurate bombing radar in service today. These combine to allow it to bridge the gap between strategic and tactical roles in a manner that no other aircraft has seemingly yet accomplished. It first saw active service during last year’s crisis and has since been used for long range bombing missions in Burma, the Congo and South America. Highly skilled workers and cutting edge industrial automatons work day and night in several highly secret manufacturing plants across Britain and the Commonwealth to build the TSR-2, but even this superpriority production rate of multiple planes rolling off the assembly line every week can barely keep pace with the considerable demand for the plane.
The operational requirement that lead to the TSR-2 was originally intended to replace the venerable Canberra light jet bombers of the Royal Air Force in the tactical strike role alone, but soon grew and evolved into a more ambitious design, capable of tactical and strategic reconaissance, pathfinding, ground attack and long range battlefield interdiction. In this manner, it is very much an air to that most versatile of aircraft of the Second World War, the Mosquito. Precise performance details on the TSR-2 are quite rightly closely held secrets, but what is openly acknowledged is the basic parameters of its role: a maximum speed of Mach 2.5 or greater, a combat range of over 2500 miles and a maximum bombload of more than 20 tons. Each bomber can cruise up in the stratosphere above 60,000ft or scream along at treetop level well above the speed of sound. It is designed to carry a range of new long range guided weapons, including the revolutionary Grand Slam missile, as well as what has been described as unique self-defence capabilities.
Looking to the future, the TSR-2 has the growth potential to carry out multiple other missions. Its combination of long range and precision bombing make it ideal for the long range maritime strike role as the the Royal Naval Air Service looks to replace its Vickers Valiants. With additional aerial refueling tanks, it could perform strategic atomic strike missions to pave the way for the main V-Force in the event of a general war. Designers have already considered the novel idea of a very long range fighter and air defence aircraft, taking advantage of the flexibility provided by the TSR-2s four-man crew, substantial size and lengthy loiter capacity. A specialized electronic warfare variant is said to be under serious consideration by the Air Ministry, providing a unique capacity that has attracted interest from a number of foreign quarters. The powerful radar and detection suite fitted on the current bombers has a number of applications to airborne surveillance missions.
Combining these capabilities in a single airframe has been a difficult task, but it has been a successful one to date and presents the opportunity for one of Britain’s greatest commercial military aircraft success story in a decade. Since the end of the Korean War, an increasing number of international aviation sales have gone to U.S. aerospace companies. In Japan, Germany, Italy and Turkey, major contracts have gone to Boeing, Republic, North American and Lockheed rather than Hawker-Siddeley, Vickers, de Havilland and Supermarine. The outstanding numbers of orders for the Fairey Rotodyne have represented a substantial success for British aviation and the Fairey Delta and de Havilland Spectre continue to record solid foreign sales in South America and around the world. Yet in the TSR-2, Britain has the opportunity to regain its position at the forefront of international aviation. Comparatively few countries have the capacity and the requirement for an aircraft such as the Supermarine Eagle, but those that do could result in orders of several hundred aircraft.
The Royal Navy’s Supermarine Eagle of World War Two flew high over the seven seas in the 1940s to win glory and fame. The Royal Air Force’s Supermarine Eagle TSR-2 looks well set to do so in the 1960s and beyond.
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Post by simon darkshade on Aug 12, 2018 13:16:04 GMT
So your a Barker fan. I got the 4 candles joke then noticed the name and stammer of the store-owner. [For anyone not familiar with it googling "four candles' gets you four candles, which hopefully works OK.] The other bit is from another commody series Ronnie Barker starred in, called Open All Hours - see Open_All_Hours.
Also the church of Ireland is dominant in Ireland, which would make it somewhat more stable. You did comment a while back that the church of England is somewhat less Protestant than OTL and rather occupies an half way place between the Protestant churches and Catholicism. [Although I think that's a bit the case nowadays as well but probably less than in the darkverse.
There was that last line as well. Does this refer to the suggested power and efficiency of the TSR-2 or has it actually seen action somewhere against so foe/problem?
Steve
Guilty as charged! Very much raised on The Two Ronnies and Open All Hours. Ireland is majority "Protestant"; your characterisation of the position of the Church of England is quite accurate. The last line, as can be seen from the article, refers more to the power and capability than any large scale use. |
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stevep
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Post by stevep on Aug 12, 2018 16:39:26 GMT
Sdarkshade By the way. Forgot to ask. Is that prolonged good weather due to the sun stone being used in 46/47 as Simon suggests or is it at least partly early signs of global warming. Since there seems to be much larger populations and a hell of a lot of fossil fuels being used in the darkverse Earth.
Steve
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Post by simon darkshade on Aug 12, 2018 22:07:16 GMT
It is the impact of the Sunstone. There is going to be an increasing move towards nuclear in much of the West and East, reducing the role of coal and oil for power generation.
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Post by simon darkshade on Aug 13, 2018 11:11:14 GMT
Never Had it So Good Part 18
Sam finished browsing through the magazine and looked up at the expectant Simon, who walked alongside him with a lopsided grin. The trees overhanging the road let through just enough sunlight to make reading easy without being overly bright.
"What did you think?"
"Quite impressive, but it seems a tad exaggerated."
"Of course it is exaggerated! It is Aerospace World after all. If there is a magazine that waves the Union Jack with more enthusiasm, I haven't come across it. To call them slightly biased is like saying China and India have a minor rivalry or that young Stalin has a little chip on his shoulder."
"How do you think it holds up to the F-111, then? Back in my place, the TSR-2 was cancelled in favour of buying the American planes. Which were then cancelled."
"I say! You aren't having me on, are you, Sam? Good gracious. Cancelling ours for theirs...simply incredible... Don't get me wrong, my dear fellow. The F-111 is a lovely bomber and one of the best in the world, but it is in a different class to the Eagle - it is half the size to begin with. There are some rumblings about a stretched version for SAC to replace the B-58 in due course, but they are as distinctly different as a Lanc and a Wellington; same number of engines, but clearly different."
"Hang on, the Vickers Wellington. Four engines?"
"Yes, four Rolls Royce Merlins. The Wimpy was the best of our prewar heavies, without a doubt, but by '42, the Lancasters had taken the starring role. They still use a few in South America and Africa, come to think of it. Now, you said they cancelled the F-111s as well. Don’t tell me they went and bought… a French plane… in your neck of the woods?” Simon looked quite horrified at the prospect.
“No, there was a multinational strike plane developed – the Tornado. You mentioned it yesterday, although if it is anything like the TSR-2, then it is probably very different.”
“Righto. Our Tornadoes are part of the plan to replace the Hunters and other fighter-bombers. From what I’ve seen, it is a very handy strike fighter, but a bit of a step down from the F-111; our equivalent to that would probably be the Vickers Thunderbolt, which will allow us to finally retire the Canberras from the bomber role. I don’t know if they’ll have to change the name of the children’s show when it comes in.”
“Children’s show?”
“Canberra Pilot. A popular BBC cartoon for the youngsters that plays on Saturday mornings. My boys used to be absolute fanatics for it and always begged for all the toys. If I were a little cynical, I’d say it was one of the best recruitment tools that the Air Force have come up with over the years. Very clever.”
“I can’t really get my head around television here. On the one hand, you’ve got propaganda and militarist stuff, even for children, and on the other, it is so straight-laced on language, violence and sex that it would make Mary Whitehouse happy.”
“Not altogether sure who the lady in question is, Sam, but the BBC’s approach isn’t a defect, but an intentional feature. There are women and children watching the box, after all, not Tommies in Port Said. The real world out there is nasty enough that we don’t need every grimy aspect of it blared forth into the family sitting room.”
“I’m not saying it is wrong, just jarring.”
“Indeed. If it is anything as jarring as your account of that dashed Cuckoo business was to my delicate sensibilities, then I can understand it. Still, it is just a child’s show after all. What passes for entertainment for the youngsters in your neck of the woods then.”
Sam paused for thought. It had been a few years… "Sesame Street.”
“Some sort of Arabian Nights wheeze is it? That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“No, it is an American programme set in a city neighbourhood in New York, where there are children, talking puppets, a grouch who lives in a rubbish bin, cute fuzzy monsters, a vampire count and a furry elephant creature that no one can see. Except a 7ft tall canary.”
Bailey stopped in his tracks and stared at him, utterly aghast. “…They broadcast that type of thing for little kids? Mammoths and mutant birds are bad enough, but any type of monsters have no place around children, believe you me! And vampires! That is the most horrid thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Then I shan’t bother asking you how to get to Sesame Street.”
“I wouldn’t tell you, even if I knew the way. Sounds like it needs a visit from the Spanish Inquisition.”
“That would be a bit unexpected.”
“I’m not joking, Sam. Vampires are no laughing matter, particularly when we bring children into it. Those beasts among the most revolting specimens of wickedness found on this or any other world…There was an…incident…a few years back, when I was still travelling with a few old friends and my doctor chum. We were briefly back in England, when we got wind of some strange goings on at a place called St. Trinian’s, a girls’ boarding school up in Barchester. There was a vampire involved. Rather stick business.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t to know, old boy, and it is all in the past now, thankfully, and none too worse the wear for it; they were tough girls, alright. We set things right with the help of five local children and a quite marvellous old lady. I’m more cross at those dashed Yanks back in your place, making kid’s shows out of that type of thing.”
“I haven’t seen any American programmes on at all so far.”
“That would be a combination of the law and Lord Reith. The Yanks get enough influence in through the pictures and music; we can’t go giving them the television and the wireless as well. Simply wouldn’t do.”
“Another shock of sorts is seeing all the veterans of both World Wars looking so young. And in colour.”
“I should hope so; I rather think I’ve a while until I reach my dotage! But I can see your point. There should be some fairly interesting stuff coming up for the 50th anniversary of the beginning of the Great War in '64. The BBC has apparently been working on a rather spiffing television series for the last two years building up to it. They've done illusory reenactments of some of the major battles and interviews with all the major figures still popping around - Haig, Beatty, Trenchard, Lawrence, Gough and Blackadder. And Churchill, of course."
"Blackadder? Was he known for his cunning plans?"
"Well, yes he is, actually. Moreso in the Second World War, when he was an army commander in Greece and the Balkan Front, but he did have some rather interesting tactical approaches as a colonel at Passchendaele if I remember rightly. They'll probably have him talking about conditions at the front and how we won; I do hope they have the Canadian PM, Richardson, on as well. He can tell a battle story or two."
"That's another thing I was wondering about. How on earth has he stayed Prime Minister since 1925? Surely the people would be ready for a change."
"I dare say they might be, but not until he's retired. The man is respected Sam, loved and respected across more than just Canada. He's got them through the Depression, World War 2 and the turbulence since. It plays a bit into how their identity has been forged, lying between us and the Americans - they like to think of themselves as peacemakers, in all meanings of the word."
Sam flipped open the magazine to another page he had noticed and held it forth under Bailey’s eyes. It was a glossy full-page colour recruitment advertisement for the British Army, showing two heroic Tommies firing a huge autocannon from behind a hastily assembled barrier of sandbags against a charging horde of what appeared to be swarthy Middle Eastern tribesmen lead by a Red Army officer. The exhortation above and beneath it was simple – Defend the Honour and Glory of the British Empire! Join the Royal Machine Gun Corps.
“This really caught me out as well.”
“Of course. An Army ad in an aircraft magazine.”
“No, not the picture itself, but what is in it. Why do they still have a Machine Gun Corps? I can’t see the need for it after World War One, really, let alone now when there are general purpose machine guns.”
“Hmm. There were some voices to that effect in the 20s, but they found their niche with the Maxims and other heavy guns whilst the lighter Vickers and Brens went to the infantry. They earned their keep in the war and Korea to boot and the new Gatling types coming out of America look to be tailor-made for them.”
“Maxim guns? Wouldn’t they be a bit long in the tooth by now?”
“Ah, I see your confusion. These are Maxim guns, not Maxim guns. Back after the Great War, the Army were looking for something to help police the new colonies and territories in the Middle East. Vickers came up with a new 1” automatic cannon based on the QF 1pdr and several other weapons; they later changed the nomenclature to metric to try and sell it to the French. The name was something of a sales pitch, I believe. Dashed handy things, mark my words, on sea, air and land. 500 rounds a minute out to 4500 yards and each one powerful enough to knock through a wall or an armoured personnel carrier.”
Before he could think of another question, they reached the front gate of the Bailey residence, which Simon navigated carefully, aiming not to drop any of his morning purchases. A scuffling sound from the flowerbed caught Sam’s attention and he saw what seemed to be two tiny phalanxes of pixies charging towards each other beneath the daisies. They met with a sharp crash and the high pitched sound of battle cries could be heard drifting up from the grass.
“Nils! Tend to the pixies, will you? They look to be in fairy high sprites.”
Sam groaned.
“Had to be done, old boy. Opportunities like that don’t come along every day.”
Bailey painstakingly opened the front door around his parcels, which he deposited on the hallway table. He doffed his hat and placed it smoothly on the hat rack.
“We are returned from our dangerous supply run, my dearest!”
Victoria popped her head around the corner from the dining room. “I trust you didn’t pick up too many extras along your way, Simon?”
“Only a little material for our future erudition, sweetest.”
“At least we won’t lack for paper to start the fire when winter comes, then.” Her sweet smile contrasted with her acerbic tone. “I’m just finishing off putting together a few things for you to take out to the hunt picnic, so if you go into the sitting room, I’ll bring you some tea.”
When it came to the offer of tea, Simon didn’t seem to need a second thought and within a moment, they were seated in the warm sunlight shining in through the sitting room window, waiting for the tea to steep
“Do you want Aerospace World again, The War Illustrated or The New Elizabethan?”
“The War Illustrated? So that didn’t that wind up after the Second World War?”
“For about six months before it started anew for Korea and everything since. As I’ve said, we’ve kept a little busy over the last dozen years.”
“I might as well have a look at that one then; it will be interesting to pick up on the developments.”
Bailey handed over the brightly coloured picture paper, leaned over to switch on the wireless on the sideboard and flipped open the aircraft magazine as he settled down in his chair.
“ -ramme. Here is the news. President Kennedy has departed Britain for the United States, with Foreign Secretary Lord Wooster describing his visit as ‘jolly successful’. The Prime Ministers of Iraq, Syria, Jordan, Yemen and Arabia have announced that an agreement in principle has been reached regarding the formation of an Arab Union in a statement in Baghdad today. An announcement by the Belgian government that it will withdraw 10,000 troops from the Congo over the next two months has been met with cautious approval at the League of Nations in Geneva. Colombian police and soldiers conducted a number of raids across Bogota overnight that have apparently failed in their objective of capturing the notorious Argentine commander of the International Revolutionary Army, the elusive Ernesto Guevara. Imperial mandarins in Peking have proclaimed that the forthcoming Imperial Chinese Navy exercises in the West Pacific will incontrovertibly demonstrate its superiority for all the peoples of the world. The Great European Sausage Dispute has now entered its fifth week with no sign of resolution. French oceanic explorer Jacques Cousteau has discovered the sunken remains of one of Cheng Ho’s giant treasure ships off the coast of Burma. Legendary American General George Custer has died at his home in Ohio at the age of 121. A slight chance of rain over Wales and Cornwall this afternoon, clearing to a cool and mild night.”
Bailey’s brow furrowed slightly. “Curious…very curious…”
“What do you mean?”
“The Belgians, Sam. They have been absolutely stonewalling any suggestion of change to their Congo policy for years and now this. Something is afoot. Anyway, shall I be mother?”
“Thanks. Have they been after that Guevara guy for long?”
“A few years now. The I.R.A. are one of the nastier surprises cooked up by the Kremlin after 1956.”
Somehow, Sam resisted the urge to comment and buried himself in an article that proclaimed it would tell him all he needed to know about new developments in artillery. Apparently, field tests of a new 125mm field gun in the Far East had been wildly successful, breaking previous records for range and accuracy, although the self-propelled mount was being delayed for unspecified reasons. The casual mention of substantial success in the highlands of Borneo set him to wondering. The rest of the articles were of a similar bent, giving details of various units and operations from Africa to the Amazon. He found himself starting to drift as he started on a discussion on the tactical use of lion cavalry…
“I said, are you ready?”
“What? Ready for what?”
“We’ve got the hunt to get to. They should be coming in about now.”
“To tell the truth, Simon, I can’t say I much approve of or fancy the idea of hunting. It seems rather perverse, dressing up and riding after poor defenceless animals before having them torn to death by ravening dogs.”
“I say, old boy, that’s a bit rough. They’re only going after foxes, not Italians; come to think of it, the foxes would probably provide more sport. A bit of fresh air never hurt anyone and, more importantly, we’re keeping up appearances and behaving just as we normally would on a hunt day; to do otherwise might draw unwanted attention. Just remember, when they’re all going after the poor blasted fox, it’s safer to be dressed like a hound.”
“We don’t have to wear dog costumes, do we?”
“No, we don’t. It isn’t St. Leonard’s Day.”
………………………………………………………………………………………………
Much to Sam’s relief, neither eccentric dress nor active participation in the hunt was required, but rather a general reception of the successful hunters on the village green, in line with village tradition.
“It is simply a matter of how things are done around here, Sam. The Village Council provides the Hunt with a good picnic lunch and, in return, they pass on game for the feasts or dinners.” Victoria explained patiently as she walked next to him, shifting her heavy picnic basket from one arm to the other and keeping a weather eye out on her scampering children.
“Well put, oh lava of my rather volcanic life. Such are the responsibilities of being on the council, even if I am a rather neglectful one at that, given the calls of work. It is also a good opportunity to meet the other village notables before dinner on Thursday night. I say, Victoria, do you think we packed enough nosh?”
Mrs. Bailey looked at him with a single arched eyebrow. “Yes, dear. I do think that two roast chickens, a pork pie, two dozen eggs, a side of smoked salmon, sausage rolls, that bit of pressed tongue, bread, cheese, butter, Battenberg, fruit cake and my salad will suffice to fulfill our duties.” She paused to sigh inwardly at her husband’s still expectant gaze. “And your jolly shooter’s sandwiches, of course.”
“Super! Marvellous things, shooter’s sandwiches. If they were good enough for the first man in space, they’re good enough for me.”
“Simon Bailey, you are as bad as Jack Aubrey sometimes! Oh, I do hope he isn’t coming to dinner anytime soon.” She delivered the last sentence sotto voce, not daring to tempt fate too much.
“Guilty as charged, darling. You still seem rather nonplussed, Sam.”
“The prospect of picnicking with a bunch of fancily dressed upper class twits with more money than sense prancing around on horseback brandishing whips doesn’t fill me with too much excitement.”
“I had no idea you’d met Victoria’s relatives.”
“Simon!”
“Sorry, darling, you know I’m jesting. Although he does have your cousin Freddy down to a T…” Bailey saw his wife look at him and smile sweetly and he paled rapidly. “Righto, righto. I think that you’re being a bit hasty, there, Sam. These aren’t some caricatures out of Erewhon, but our friends from around the area and good sterling folk to boot. In any case, we’ve got to keep the local farms safe from foxes and they only go after dumb animals, not talking beasts.”
Reaching the village green, they sat beneath the spreading bows of the great oak on the comfortable bench and watched the children running about to greet their fellows and engage in their customary light-hearted play. Several other families had spread themselves out in the shade, laying tartan rugs on the ground and juggling glasses of cordial, fruit and sandwiches. Only a few minutes passed before the sounding of a horn and the clatter of hooves was heard, followed by the barking of hounds. Riding in across the green came a party of a dozen laughing horsemen in red livery, accompanied by a pack of eagerly gamboling foxhounds.
“Ah, excellent. There is Sir Roger Montgomery, the Lord of the Manor, and next to him are Doctor Hawkins, who is also our magistrate, Major Berkeley and Captain Ascelin. That just leaves…” Simon looked out, trying to find someone, an imperceptible look on his face.
“What ho, Bailey!” A bluff, red-faced young man who appeared to be the epitome of good-natured foppishness doffed his hat and waved it vigorously at Simon, almost falling off his horse in the process. He recovered his equilibrium, albeit barely, before dismounting with a bare modicum of grace.
“The Honourable George Colhurst Pontefract, MP. Our local chap in Westminster.”
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lordroel
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Post by lordroel on Aug 13, 2018 14:03:13 GMT
“I should hope so; I rather think I’ve a while until I reach my dotage! But I can see your point. There should be some fairly interesting stuff coming up for the 50th anniversary of the beginning of the Great War in '64. The BBC has apparently been working on a rather spiffing television series for the last two years building up to it. They've done illusory reenactments of some of the major battles and interviews with all the major figures still popping around - Haig, Beatty, Trenchard, Lawrence, Gough and Blackadder. And Churchill, of course." "Blackadder? Was he known for his cunning plans?" "Well, yes he is, actually. Moreso in the Second World War, when he was an army commander in Greece and the Balkan Front, but he did have some rather interesting tactical approaches as a colonel at Passchendaele if I remember rightly. They'll probably have him talking about conditions at the front and how we won; I do hope they have the Canadian PM, Richardson, on as well. He can tell a battle story or two." Did this Blackadder also have a Baldrick as his servant and sidekick. Also, wonder how OTL BBC would react to see the Darkearth verse version of BBC. |
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Post by simon darkshade on Aug 13, 2018 18:39:09 GMT
He did have a batman named Baldrick in the Great War, but cast him aside when it was convenient.
I'd imagine the modern BBC of Earth would regard that of Dark Earth in 1961 with utter horror.
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lordroel
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Post by lordroel on Aug 17, 2018 12:37:16 GMT
Sesame Street.” “Some sort of Arabian Nights wheeze is it? That doesn’t sound too bad.” “No, it is an American programme set in a city neighbourhood in New York, where there are children, talking puppets, a grouch who lives in a rubbish bin, cute fuzzy monsters, a vampire count and a furry elephant creature that no one can see. Except a 7ft tall canary.” Bailey stopped in his tracks and stared at him, utterly aghast. “…They broadcast that type of thing for little kids? Mammoths and mutant birds are bad enough, but any type of monsters have no place around children, believe you me! And vampires! That is the most horrid thing I’ve ever heard.” “Then I shan’t bother asking you how to get to Sesame Street.” “I wouldn’t tell you, even if I knew the way. Sounds like it needs a visit from the Spanish Inquisition.” “That would be a bit unexpected.” “I’m not joking, Sam. Vampires are no laughing matter, particularly when we bring children into it. Those beasts among the most revolting specimens of wickedness found on this or any other world…There was an…incident…a few years back, when I was still travelling with a few old friends and my doctor chum. We were briefly back in England, when we got wind of some strange goings on at a place called St. Trinian’s, a girls’ boarding school up in Barchester. There was a vampire involved. Rather stick business.” Funny to sea that Sesame Street is not something that children will watch in the Darkearth verse. |
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Post by simon darkshade on Aug 18, 2018 17:20:09 GMT
Sam's description did shock Bailey, but it left out all the positive aspects and original idea of Sesame Street. Even then, Simon's reaction indicates that vampires are taken very seriously.
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Post by simon darkshade on Aug 18, 2018 17:20:36 GMT
Never Had it So Good Part 19
“I say, that was a jolly good wheeze, what! I had clear forgotten how much I enjoyed the old canter after all that bally boring time cooped up in Westminster, dealing with the affairs of the realm. Shame it was just a few foxes. Bilkins! Bilkins! What d’you say we were going after next time?”
One of the older, gruffer members of the hunt stared across at Pontefract with scowl.
“Herd of deer, George.”
“Heard of deer? Heard of ‘em? ‘Course I’ve dem well heard of them. They’re like horses with a sort of hatrack on their foreheads!”
Sam couldn’t quite tell if the foppish fellow was being flippant or not, so decided to give a non-committal chuckle rather than full-hearted guffaw in order to avoid any unnecessary social faux-pas. Pontefract grinned boyishly.
“Do excuse the bon mot; I seem to take after Papa and Uncle Bertie in that regard. And who might you be, young man?” He fixed Sam with a quizzical look that belied his earlier gormlessness.
“This is Sam Johnson, the son of a friend of mine from Australia.” Bailey stepped forward with a smooth introduction, seeming to intimate some extra details with his steady gaze.
“Ah, an Aussie. Marvelous. Hope you are enjoying it here. Simon, you simply must drop by one of these days. It will be interesting to bend your ear about some of these most recent goings on; some of the other chaps are getting a bit worried about the implications of the Army business.”
“We shall see what can be done. I’m a little busy at the moment.”
“Aren’t we all, aren’t we all. Well, I’m famished after all that riding. Victoria, utterly spiffing to see you, my dear lady, like the first crocus of springtime.”
“George, if only you’d use some of that turn of phrase in the House…” Mrs. Bailey smiled radiantly.
“What, and have them take me for more than just a bumbling bluff backbench buffoon? I’d never get to hear half as much juicy stuff as I do at the moment! Toodle-oo, Baileys!” He strode off towards a gaggle of other hunters, raising his arms in a loud, brash greeting.
Bailey looked at him in bemusement and then turned to Sam. “Never let first appearances deceive you, old boy. George is a good fellow to have representing us, what with his uncle being Foreign Secretary and all that, and is something of an up-and-comer.”
“Weren’t you saying the other day that he was one of the fellows who came up with the new escort ship rating system, darling?”
“It isn’t an official one, but, yes, he was involved in that little thought experiment a while back with a few others from the Buckingham set. Makes a great deal of sense when you think about it. The word about Westminster is that he’s going to be made Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for the Commonwealth; he’ll certainly learn a bit from Powell.”
Their political natter was interrupted by Richard, who ran up and immediately adopted his very best begging face.
“And what sugary concoction do you want now?” Victoria cut to the chase with the world-weary knowing tone of a mother who had been down this path many, many times before.
“Oh, nothing like that, Mother, I promise! I was just over there exploring with Matthew and William and thought you might like this flower I found.” He held out a bruised and twisted daisy that seemed to have lost most of its petals in the journey and then went in for the kill with tilted head and wide, imploring eyes. “And can I please, please, please have fourpence to buy a Ribena and an Aero bar?”
“I think I might be moved to granting such a boon for a gift of this magnificence. Come along and I’ll get some for your sisters as well.”
“Oh Mother, you don’t need to bother yourself so! If you give me the money, I can manage.” Richard’s protestations were in vain, as Victoria got up and strolled over towards the children on the other side of the green, although at least she didn’t take him by the hand and walk him over like a baby.
Bailey looked on at the spectacle and smiled fondly. “I remember what it was like to be a boy of his age with chocolate on the brain. I went off it, somewhat, in the war, after a little incident.”
“Why? What happened?” Sam couldn’t imagine the circumstances that could turn someone away from chocolate.
“It was when we were in camp before Normandy. The Catering Corps had been experimenting with a few new arcanely-adjusted foodstuffs that the boffins had come up with, including an enriched chocolate sauce for special long-range puddings for use by the French Resistance; don’t ask why – I tried once, but couldn’t make head nor tail of it. Something about gateaus and chateaus. To cut a long story short, some of them were carrying a portable cauldron of the stuff, slipped over on a bit of loose carpet and managed to go rolling down a flight of stairs and crashed through a landing window, depositing their lovely stuff all over a young lieutenant who just got back from a two day field exercise. Took me two hours to get all of it off and, so, quite naturally, I couldn’t stand the stuff for a few years afterwards and went off most sweets; that only changed when I got a taste for jelly babies off a very nice fellow I met in Singers.”
“Sounds like it wasn’t the sweetest of experiences.”
“You’re learning, Sam, you’re learning.”
“What was that about naval ratings?”
“It's a reasonably sensible system of categorisation, providing a scale of ratings for the escort fleet, at least for the frigates. There are the first, second, third, fourth and fifth rate frigates, all of which have slightly different roles.”
“There is still the Type system, though, isn’t there?”
“Of course and it makes perfect sense to chaps like us who are familiar with it all. The ratings label is purely a tool for Parliament and the broader public, but useful as a means of linking the current force with that from the golden years of the Age of Sail, Pax Britannica and all that. It get the most important of outcomes.”
“More attention and more money.”
“Clever boy! The Andrew simply calls them all frigates as part of the broader escort fleet along with the destroyers, corvettes, and sloops and divides them by types and roles, but it is running out of names for different categories. Why, they're even thinking of calling their new large destroyers 'super destroyers', presumably so anyone confused by their size doesn't take them for a cruiser!”
“They wouldn't be Type 82s by any chance, would they?
No, Type 42, although that could change as it is still fairly early days. Good general purpose ships against the air, surface and submarine threats, just like the Tribal missile frigates, the Type 41s. The 10s are anti-submarine, running into the 20s now presumably, and the 30s are anti-aircraft. Quite a straightforward mix and both the destroyers and frigates will be carrying a few of the new weapons, like the Blue Falcon anti-submarine missile. The Japanese are actually interested in that one, to replace some of the mortars on their escort fleet.”
“Perhaps you can work out some sort of trade with them for car designs. They could come in handy from what I know about British car history back home.”
“Japanese cars?! Pigs might fly. They’re making a fair few, but nothing that can break into the big markets; we still don’t let them or the Germans export cars into the Imperial Common Market, among other commodities.”
“That struck me as very strange.”
“You’re not the only one. Initially after the war, it had been intended as a means of stopping the defeated enemy rising again as the Jerries did after the Great War, but as our erstwhile foes recovered, it rapidly shifted to something a bit more protective. It is well above my pay grade, but I wager London to a brick it is one of the cards being played at the top table talks with the Americans and the European states.”
Bailey paused and looked up. All around the green, small groups of lunching people similarly took leave from their conversations and convivial grazing and turned to the sky. The faint roar of jet engines drifted down as a dozen large white bombers flew far, far overhead in a stately formation in a south-easterly direction. Vickers Valiants, Sam thought, although they looked decidedly different from what he had seen on old black and white clips on YouTube. Men, women and children kept their eyes on them for several heartbeats, before returning to their everyday mundanity.
“Now where would they be heading?” Sam wondered aloud.
“Israel, I’d say. There is a fairly large Commonwealth exercise going on around there at the moment, with both sides basing their heavies out of area; the Red Force here and in Azure Islands and the Blue Force in India and Rhodesia.”
“Do they have the range for that? They’d have to be using some sort of refueling planes for that, surely.”
“RAF and Commonwealth Bristol Skytankers, naturally. That part is more of a direct message of our capabilities than how we’d actually do it in wartime; back in ’56, the Valiants staged out of Malta, Cyprus and Corfu against Egypt, which let them carry a more useful bombload.”
“Using heavy bombers over a contested battlefield against the Soviets or another foe more sophisticated than the Egyptians would be a rather difficult endeavour, I would think.”
“Perhaps, but Bomber Command have not been treading water since the last war. Whilst I can’t go into too much operational detail, they have the planes, they have the tactics and they certainly have the weapons to fight their way through to a target as necessary. Anyway, in any real wartime scenario, the strike fighters and pathfinder bombers would pave the way for them and they’d have Arrows escorting them. The colonial bombing role is a bit different, but that uses older Valiants in any case.”
“That really reminds me of the interwar RAF back in my place, promising to handle colonial disputes and rebellions with bombers.”
“They did that here as well, but have had rather more success since 1945. With less than a dozen medium and heavy squadrons detached from the groups in Blighty at any one time, we’ve covered Malaya and Kenya as major conflicts, kept matters shipshape in Africa, the Far East and the Northwest Frontier, knocked three shades of Hades out of whatever communist rebel groups have cropped up and done so with far less manpower on the ground than the Belgians, French or Portuguese.”
“Winning hearts and minds through 2000lb bombs, eh?”
“Not as such. When I was in Malaya, there was a whole lot more of the former – the solid, boring stuff of successful Imperial soldiering – and only the occasional application of the latter. There aren’t many targets that merit a sledgehammer, but we have made a point of ensuring that each one gets a jolly big one.”
“Shame I couldn’t see any of the exercise; it would be interesting to pick out the differences and similarities.”
“Not a problem. I’ll make a telephone call when we get home and they’ll fly in some of the film overnight.”
“Really?”
“No, not really; we’re not Americans with bottomless pockets. But there will be newsreel footage of it on the news and tomorrow at the fair.”
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The rest of the afternoon passed in pleasant quotidian business made all the more relaxing by the warm sun and gentle breeze that combined with each other in a thoroughly agreeable fashion; Simon described them as being the best partnership since Hobbs and Sutcliffe, which rather went over Sam’s head. He couldn’t help but notice that there were a few younger men hanging back away from the crowd whilst not quite standing out from it. Out in the fields stood several new scarecrows, as promised, and he could have sworn that he saw a couple of other distant shadows flickering in and out of sight in the trees and undergrowth far beyond Ashford. Maybe he was just mistaken.
Bailey excused himself to take care of some further paperwork when they returned home and Sam found himself drifting off over an illuminating text entitled Naval Warfare in the 1960s in an easy chair in the sun-drenched study. In the far corner, Sebastian batted lazily at a ball of yarn and was muttering something about him looking nice. One moment, he was struggling to focus on the prospective solutions to the problems of the Anglo-American anti-submarine frigate programme and the next he was drifting off, falling very, very slowly down a grey tunnel.
He was in the woods, on the path they had taken behind the house the other day. The dark trees loomed up above him, obscuring any thought of light, but not in a threatening or fearful manner. Sam tried to move forward, but the air was like treacle and slowed him to a veritable crawl. The leaves rustled and he knew that something was behind him, yet up ahead was an opening in the trees and a glowing blue light. Onward he struggled, keeping bare inches ahead of whatever was pursuing him, not daring to look back. He could almost see it now, through the circle of standing stones, a deeper blue shape in the light shimmering azure glow. Just one step mo –
“Honestly, Sam, you fall asleep as easily as a schoolboy in mathematics! Shake a leg now, or we’ll miss it!” Bailey shook him again firmly on the shoulder.
“Wha? Miss what?” He struggled to recall the details of the dream that even now slipped away from him like sands through an hour glass; it had seemed so tangible.
“Honestly old boy. The interview! Stanley Barton is on Tea Time with Trecandrius in a minute or so. You know, I think it’s the first time he’s ever had a Leader of the Opposition on there. Come along, come along!” Simon shepherded Sam through the hallway into the sitting room, where the television had already been switched on.
“Trecandrius?” He asked, settling down in one of the leather chairs, just as the opening sequence of the programme began, with the shot of St. Pauls and Parliament from the Thames looking vaguely familiar for some reason.
“He’s the best interviewer going around, you can’t beat him. Of all the dragons with current affairs programmes on television I’ve seen, his is the most…human…”
Saint-Saëns’ Organ Symphony faded away and the set lightened, revealing a most curious sight. Seated on a large Chesterfield lounge was a slightly larger than man-sized dragon in a lounge suit and smoking jacket, holding an elaborate meerschaum pipe. Perched on his scaly snout was a pair of spectacles worn quite far down, giving him the appearance of a disapproving schoolmaster. Opposite him on a simple chair was a plain, middle-aged man with receding black hair streaked with grey, deep blue eyes, a heavy brow and a stern visage that did not slip. He held himself up with ramrod stiffness and still managed to look imposing even as he was perched uncomfortably in the overly large seat. His stare was even and hard, but not cruel.
"Tonight we speak with the Leader of Her Majesty's Opposition, a man regarded by many as the next Prime Minister of this country. Mr. Stanley Barton, good evening."
"Good evening to you, Trecandrius."
"Mr Barton, many former members of the Labour Party have said that you have taken it away from its roots. How do you respond to this?"
"They are dwelling in the past, trying to fight battles that are long gone. The Labour Party stands for the good of the working man and the commonwealth. We do not have any truck with Moscow or its wicked ways. Communists, Marxists, Bevanites, they are all the same. They do not want to better our society, but to overthrow it. That is why they are against our Empire Socialism."
"Your use of that term is well known. Is it merely a rhetorical slogan, as some have put it, designed to gild the yoke of socialism?"
"No, it is not." Barton said tersely.
"There are many who claim that a Barton Labour Government would mean a wave of nationalisations of industries."
"They are wrong. Our position is plain and clear. The sole object of our plans of nationalisation is power generation, which will allow our industries and people to achieve their full potential of prosperity. Nothing further. We will seek to ensure that there is full accord and cooperation between Labour and management in the key industries that support the sinews of our strength, but we will not engage in the type of Communist nonsense you speak of."
"So that will be a firm manifesto commitment at the next election?"
"Do you doubt my word?"
"No, Mr. Barton, I do not think there is anyone in the Empire who would do that. One of the key sinews of strength, as you put it, is transport. What difference would a Labour government make to the condition of the British transport network?"
"A great one. Not only will we expand British Rail freight heavy freight lines to cope with the expanding needs of industry, particularly in Scotland, but we will reinvigorate our canals and put in place our strategy for port modernisation. We shall not fall behind. You see, Trecandrius, transport is at the heart of our National Industrial Plan, as smoothly functioning and fully modern transport of goods and people will be a key in reaching our ambitious goals for growth."
"Can you really guarantee the levels you have forecast?"
"We will achieve our goal of 5% or more and we will achieve them every year that we are in government. Our national plans will coordinate all our key industries, maximise our many exports, eliminate disruption and increase our productivity twofold. Britain stands at a crossroads, where we can use our prosperity not just for the present, but to cement our needs well into the future. With the expanded revenues from oil and gas in the North Sea and from increased national wealth, we can provide funds for pensions, the NHS, the welfare of the poor and needy in our society and even the elimination of our national debt."
"Most illuminating, Mr. Baton. Now, there has been substantial debate on Labour's colonial policy over the last year. Have any conclusions been reached that you can share with us?"
"We are in full support of the timetable for the Dominion status of Kenya, Malaya and Ceylon. The rest of the African colonies will not reach that stage for some time yet. When they are ready, all of those states will be equal members of the Empire; that is our greatest source of power and defence in this world."
"How would you respond to those who say that your defence programme is not economically sustainable or viable?"
Barton ground his teeth. "They're wrong."
"Would you care to expand on your reasoning for that contention, sir?"
"We do support rebuilding the fleet and properly investing in the Army and Royal Air Force, but this is no flippant, profligate gesture. It is based on solid military realities and our global defence commitments. In order to maintain our commitments to our kin and allies in the Mediterranean and the East, we need four more capital ships and their escorts; to keep control of the Atlantic, we must have more submarines and escorts and the modern light carriers that the Royal Navy has urgently needed for years. Our initial funding increase will allow the most urgent of these priorities to be addressed as quickly as possible. We simply cannot afford to fall behind the Soviets at sea."
"These come at great cost."
"All of our public spending on defence will further benefit our industries and the growth of the British economy. These ships will be built in Scotland, in Ireland and in Northern England, providing tens of thousands of jobs for years into the future."
"Your policy seems to borrow much from Lord Keynes, if you forgive my expression. Can a Labour government be trusted with the nation’s finances, or will the voices calling for profligate spending win the day?"
"Of course we can be trusted. The Labour position is threefold: Firstly, we will use the current surplus to work towards our goal of eliminating the National Debt; Secondly, we will redirect spending to fund the necessary increases in the size and equipment of the Armed Forces; and thirdly, the country and Empire will reap the benefits of industrial production through growth of the national wealth and the revenue. We are not the Labour of old, but the Labour of today and tomorrow."
"Moving back to foreign affairs, do you think your approach could be perceived by the Soviets as confrontational?"
"Yes, of course. That is because it is. We reject the notion that Moscow's armament is peaceful and ours is not. Labour believes in peace through strength. By being prepared, we deter the Soviets and other would-be aggressors. I love peace, as much as any man, but not at any price. "
“Your policies on law and order have been quite popular, but some have argued that under your leadership, Labour has been perhaps moving too close to the Conservatives.”
“To put it plainly, they do not know the people, the ordinary, everyday people of the working classes and middle classes of Britain. They want a safe and secure life for their families and their children and we will continue to provide it by being hard against crime and wickedness.”
“What of the question of individual rights?”
“Of criminals? Of those who break the Queen’s peace? I think you and all other Britons know where I stand.”
"Finally, Mr. Barton, what would you say your foremost priority would be in government?"
"Prime Minister Eden and the Conservatives are wont to say that we've never had it so good. That may be the case for much of the country, but I aim to see all enjoy their deserved share. To this end, we will increase pensions to the old, the sick and widows and we will increase our spending on education to provide all children with the best opportunities for their bright futures. We will build more hospitals and provide what is necessary for medical research to end disease. We will build more houses and provide assistance for people to buy their own homes and flats. A Labour government will ensure that all are supported equally should they need the assistance of society, through aid and through work. All of these priorities come down to one thing, Trecandrius - we can do more. I want to see this country and our Empire reach ever forward and upward, not rest on our laurels. We have prospered and now is the time for all to share in that. We are mighty, and, God willing, we will be mightier yet."
“Mr. Barton, thank you for that brief but most illuminating interview. Until next time, I am Trecandrius Titanius and I bid you a good afternoon and, of course, a tasty tea time.”
The music swelled once again, the lights dimmed and the host could be seen leaning forward to talk amiably with Barton, raising up a china tea cup and sipping from it, one claw extended in a delicately crooked fashion.
“I told you he was a bit different.”
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lordroel
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Post by lordroel on Aug 18, 2018 17:22:22 GMT
Sam's description did shock Bailey, but it left out all the positive aspects and original idea of Sesame Street. Even then, Simon's reaction indicates that vampires are taken very seriously. Should we know these five local children and a quite marvellous old lady from somewhere. |
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I got the 4 candles joke then noticed the name and stammer of the store-owner. [For anyone not familiar with it googling "four candles' gets you