Steam!

I had a dream yesterday, about a man getting off a steam train. He was dressed in Victorian

style clothing, and was on an important journey. I don't remember much else, but I started typing

 it and to my surprise, a story began to take shape. Now I wouldn't pretend that it's a great work

 of fiction, but it really was a shock to find a story unfold, and once again I have a small cast of

characters who seem to be taking on a life of thier own.

I have no idea where the story is leading, but so far I have about 4,500 words of it, and I feel that there is more to come.

I used to hate writing in the past, and would find it a struggle to write a letter home when I was

at sea. Now it seems that the words are pouring out and I don't even have to think about wha

 to say.

If you are interested, read on for the first two chapters of the work, and keep checking back for

 more.


Steam!

The doors hissed open and a fine mist of steam and water drops entered the carriage, Horis was stood by the door, ready to disembark and the spray from a poorly maintained seal soaked his trouser leg and made it stick to his calf. Muttering to himself he jostled his way onto the platform, dragging his cases and Ministry bag through the unyielding throng. The air smelt of coal dust and unwashed humanity, a different smell to the well-scrubbed human odour of the capital. But the coal smelt the same, and the steam was the same, and the sun shone more strongly through the clearer sky. And where he normally shrank from large crowds, due to his small stature; the urgency of his mission made him bolder as he elbowed his way to the exit.

Reaching the barrier, Horis showed his Ministry pass to the collector, who touched his grimy cap with a set of tobacco stained fingers and waved him through. There was a queue for the omnibus, but Horis made his way to the mobile stand and soon found himself settling into the velvet seats of a steam-mobile. The machine vibrated with an alarming motion as the pressure was vented from the boiler, ready as a racehorse to do his bidding. The driver, masked and leathered sat outside holding the controls; he turned to Horis and grinned, showing a set of metal teeth that shone, “Where to Guvnor?”

“Provincial Hotel Good Sir” Horis answered, and was immediately swept back into the deep cushions of the seat as the machine accelerated away, scattering the begging children that always waited around Rail-Ryde termini.

Out of the window, Horis could see the mountains that encircled the town of Aserol, mountains that were covered with tall trees, and which contained the reason for his visit. The summons had come the day before, and as the most junior in the Ministry of Coal, he had been singled out for the job. In truth it was close to a public holiday, and none of the others had wanted the disruption, as Horis was single he had been everyone else’s choice for the journey.

As he was carried along the cobbles, the mobile bucked and rattled and Horis thought of his breakfast, Haddock and boiled potatoes, and he silently prayed that it would not make a re-appearance. After what felt like an hour, although it can only have been a few minutes the mobile wheezed to a halt outside a somewhat faded building that was barely clinging onto past grandeur.

“Provincial Hotel, Hope you enjoyed the ryde, the old girl does her best, but spares is hard to come by”

It was fine”, gulped Horis, still fighting gravity for control of his Haddock, he looked at the clockwork and rummaged in his pocket.  Handing the driver half a Sol, he muttered “Keep it” and started to drag his belongings from the mobile onto the pavement. The mobile shuddered and spluttered, dripping steaming water into the drain ditch.

“Bal blesses you Sir, and I hope you enjoy it here in Aserol”.

“I’m on Ministry business”, he replied, but the machine had gone; only a wisp of steam remained.

Close up, the buildings were grey and dust stained, with pock marks in the brickwork, Horis knew that the coal dust and water made an acid that ate bricks, it was a constant job to repair in the cities, there were gangs of convicts out continuously with their buckets and trowels, here it seemed that the job had not been done for a long time.

A porter, in a tired uniform, came slowly toward him, the man had one arm missing, the sleeve of his jacket pinned to his chest. He had a row of medal ribbons over his heart, all faded and greased stained, but he held himself tall and there was life in his eyes.

“Good Morrow Sir, and Welcome, let me help you with those”. He hefted one case and jammed the other under his arm, “This way” he led Horis into the Hotel.

The corridors were lit by Coal gas lanterns, the wicks needed trimming and the glasses were covered with oily stains. The whole effect was to throw shadows and leave the corners in darkness, although the room was in general well-appointed.

A stern looking woman manned the reception desk; she eyed Horis as all large women do when faced with a small man. “How may we help you?” Her voice rose at the end of the sentence, as did her eyebrows. “I have a room booked by the Ministry of Coal” Horis squeaked “in the name of Strongman”.

She grinned, trying to associate him with the name and deciding that it was Bal’s joke on the poor wretch. Consulting her ledger she made a note and reached for a key.

“It's the garret room, “Malony will take you”, clearly the choice of room revealed to her his importance, if only she knew the truth of it.

“Thank you madam”, meekly he followed the one-armed man toward the lift.

The room was simple and clean, if a little threadbare, and Malony put Horis’s cases gently down in the corner, “Will that be all?” He raised an eyebrow.

Horis passed him a tenth Sol, “Tell me Malony, How do I get to the Mines of Waster from here?”

“You can take the Omnibus Sir; it passes right in front of the hotel twice an hour, but why would one such as you wish to go there?”

“Ministry business”, he answered, keeping his expression bland. 

“There's been rumours Sir”, said the porter, “about unnatural things found at the mine”

“Really, what sort of things?”

Well I call them kids stories, flying things and strange beasts, I don’t take no notice myself, but Mrs Malony she gets into one of her states Sir”

“Nonsense man, I’m here from the ministry for an inspection, purely routine, now please excuse me whilst I sort myself out, twice an hour you say”.

When Horis left his room to return to the lift, his appearance had changed completely. Gone was the smart suit with the woollen waistcoat and gold chain, replaced by workmanlike overalls of brown cotton, clean and pressed but obviously well used. His feet were encased in sturdy boots, shined to a mirror polish and he had a pair of stout gauntlets tucked into his belt.

The water powered lift deposited him in the reception area, where the stern woman had been replaced by a younger, friendlier faced woman of perhaps twenty-five years. Her Green eyes surveyed Horis beneath a tumble of reddish curls, escaping from a bone ornament on one side of her head.

“Good afternoon madam, may I use your speaker?” he enquired, she passed him the instrument on its long wire.

Horis cranked the gearing furiously for a few seconds, lifted the handpiece and waited:

“Exchange” came the crackling voice.

“Waster Mine please, Mr Obley”

“One Moment”. Horis looked up from the speaker, to find himself the subject of scrutiny. Blushing he looked away, but could feel the green eyes burning into his very being. The Speaker squawked again “Obley” came a voice.

“Mr Obley, I am Horis Strongman from the Ministry, I have arrived in Aserol and would like to come down to the mine as soon as possible”.

“Very well, I am glad that our pleas have been so quickly answered, we are at a loss how to proceed and will be grateful for official guidance” Obley sounded relieved at the possibility of being able to pass responsibility to another. “Do you wish us to send a mobile for you?”

“That won’t be necessary sir; I can get the omnibus directly”

“Very well, we will expect you” The line went dead and Horis replaced the handset. “Thank you” he said to the woman. 

“I’m Grace, Sir, and if there's anything (she emphasised the word) that you need, you just ask”.

Horis could feel himself flush, people here were different to those in the city, he could tell that much, even though he had been told that he was bad at reading emotions her meaning was clear.

The omnibus was steam powered and ran on tracks laid over the cobbles. It was crowded with children, all in uniform, attended by several teachers as part of some sort of educational trip. The teachers were explaining the structure and workings of the various machines that they passed; all were variants on the steam generator that had been common in Norlandia for several generations. Fuelled by the plentiful coal deposits that were the basis of the country’s wealth, the power of boiling water had been harnessed for many purposes. Mechanical devices almost beyond counting used the power; either from their own generators, or by piped supply, enabling ever more complex applications. Coupled with the gas lighting of towns, society had advanced quickly, with smaller and more efficient generators being developed in quick succession. Apart from the need to add coal and water at intervals, a lot of manual labour had been removed from man’s daily struggle.

There were only two things, Horis thought, that still needed to be achieved, to make society perfect, one was to remove the steam from the system, to find some way of getting the power to the devices without the bulky generators and the constant wetness, and the second was ……………… well maybe the second would be solved by what he expected to find at the Waster Mine.

The omnibus deposited Horis at the entrance to the Waster mine, a set of imposing wrought iron gates on stone columns. A dun coloured brick wall extended away in both directions, topped with rusty wire. There was a guard post beside the entrance, manned by a one-legged man in miners overalls, Horis suspected that he had probably given the job after an accident. On the road a steady stream of Lorries thundered by, laden with coal.

“I’m Strongman, from the Ministry, to see Mr Obley” Horis announced. The miner consulted a stack of flimsy papers on his desk. “Ah yes you are expected. It’s a bit of a step up to the office, mind the road, it gets wet and slippery”. He moved a lever and to the sound of clockwork the gates opened.

Horis trudged up the slope toward the office buildings, which he could see in the distance. If he had known there would be a long, uphill walk, he would have accepted the offer of a mobile. Behind the buildings he could make out several large holes in the sides of the mountain, they must be the mine entrances, somehow he had imagined there to be holes in the flat ground, with lifts and winding gear, but there was none. Off to one side were rows of cheap looking houses and everywhere the boiler rooms that fed from the mine and returned power to it.  A river ran by the side of the road, which would be the water supply for the boilers.

The day was bright and warm, with a few clouds scudding across the sky, driven by the brisk, Northerly wind. Leaves were starting to fall, a sign of summers end and a prelude to the cold snows of winter. But even though it hadn’t rained for many a day the road was wet, as the guard had warned him, it was unpaved, which seemed a little strange, as it must be busy, and was festooned with lumps of coal of all sizes, from fist to boulder and he had to pick his way carefully. There was enough coal here to last a family for days, and he wondered at the waste of it all. Then as he rounded a bend and passed through a grove of stunted trees, he saw women, breaking up then picking up the lumps of coal further up the road. They must be scavenging for their houses, he decided, maybe that was a right of the workers, a sort of extra on the wages. With winter approaching it would help them keep warm, for snow was a regular thing in this part of Norlandia.

As he approached the boiler sheds the vibration from the equipment could be felt in his feet, and the puddles of dirty water shimmered with patches of coal dust sparkling in the sunlight. Pylons strode across the yard, holding up rubber conveyor belts which carried coal to large openings in the roofs of the sheds, where it fell into hoppers. Clouds of steam billowed from the doors and windows, around the openings stood groups of workers, stripped to shorts and perspiring freely, streaked with dust in bizarre patterns on their torsos and legs. They wore gloves, goggles and thick boots to the knee, many also had leather caps and all of them showed scars and scalds. Most were smoking nicoweed tubes, a mild and semi-illegal narcotic which probably helped them cope with the rigours of the work.

Stokers, thought Horis, what a job, as he passed a hooter sounded and the men dropped the tubes, turned and moved back inside the buildings, seconds later a second group emerged for their break and stood, a copy of the first. 

Through the clouds of vapour, Horis could see steam hoses coming from the walls and fanning out in every direction, throbbing and shaking under the pressure, joints whistling and dripping. He knew that these were the portable hoses, used for small appliances, safely underground lay the permanent pipes, huge metal things a foot across, pressurised to enormous levels.

The sign said “Office” and he entered a different vision of disorder. Leading from the hallway was a series of smaller rooms, all of which appeared to have been vacated in a rush.

Papers were strewn over every horizontal surface, including the floors, and there was the click of clockwork from adding engines, still working even though every room he passed was empty of human presence. Horis moved through the building and eventually came to a room from which a low muttering and rustling could be heard, putting his head round the door frame he could see a tall thin man, dressed in a frock coat, bent over and searching through a stack of papers on his desk.

He cleared his throat, “Hello, I’m looking for Mr Obley”.

“Are you the man from the Ministry, please say that you are and that I can hand all this over to you”, the man rose up and turned, his face pale. On seeing Horis he sighed” Oh they’ve sent the junior, the most important thing has happened and they’ve sent the junior”. He shook his head several times.

Horis felt slighted, the man knew nothing of him, apart from that he was small, “That’s as maybe sir, but as I am the man from the ministry, perhaps you had better explain to me what's happening here that’s so special.”

“Well look up man, and tell me what you see” the tall man, who Horis presumed to be Obley was so tall that his head nearly touched the ceiling.  His movements were jerky, as if controlled by strings, and his gaze bolt eyed and maniacal. Horis followed his pointing fingers and saw what looked like several dark lumps on the ceiling, almost as if someone had taken sticky mud and flung it upwards.

Obley was gesturing wildly “Look at them, we found the first of these two days ago, what are we to do? You're the expert, the saviour of Waster mine, what are we to do.”  The last words were more an anguished howl than a question, as if the fate of the whole world depended on Horis’s answer.

Taking a deep breath, and trying to see the significance of the situation, Horis hoped that by remaining silent and appearing confident he could calm this individual, his presence was making Horis feel nervous. He would not have been in the least surprised if Obley had vanished, or turned into some creature and flown away.

“I don’t follow” began Horis, but Obley reached up and scooped one of the lumps from the ceiling. ”Watch” he advised and threw the lump toward Horis. He moved to catch it, expecting it to fall, but to his amazement it ROSE, and stuck again to the ceiling.

“And what does the ministry think of that?”

It's finished. (Well sort of)

Part One of the book is finished and off to my reviewer. I’m not sure if it’s really finished but I could keep on putting extra bits in it forever thus avoiding having to admit that it’s done.

I’m a bit concerned because it only came in at 13,500 words, when I started I visualised it as having about 25,000, that based on it being about a quarter of the book. I thought I would need 100,000 words to tell the story so either I’m being to brief and need to develop the plot/characters (pad it out) or I was optimistic. Or there’s more that I haven’t thought of yet, which is unlikely because I think that I’ve worked out the whole tale. Maybe part three or four will extend, because part two is just about done as well.

I’m looking at it being ready for either Kindle or submission to an editor in about a year, so you can put it on your “to read list” for summer 2014. Then I guess I’ll just have to start on the sequel (or prequel) I have ideas for both.

In case you missed it, here is the sample again, it’s from part two, at the point where our hero and his trusty spaceship are under attack by pirates, whilst guarding planetary surveyors. (Makes it sound awful)

Right now we had more important things to think of. The proximity alarm had sounded, we both ran to the control room. I settled into the pilot chair and took manual control. Elana took the second chair, and set up the weapons screens.

“Pirates,” She called, after a short pause, “three of them in speeders, there must be a mother ship around somewhere, they’re too small for interplanetary work”

I was pleased now that we had upgraded the ships systems, being an ex-Federation vessel it had been easy to refit all the things that had been removed when it was decommissioned. We were now more than a match for speeders, and they wouldn’t be expecting that.

“Warn the lifters”

“We can’t, they are in re-entry, we will have no contact for a couple of minutes,” replied Elana, her eyes focused on the screen, hands flying over the holopad, hovering in mid-air in front of her.

“Looks like there are two more, following them down, these three are going to try and keep us busy.”

I smiled, “Bet they don’t know about our extra toys”

“Well they’re about to find out, I’m locking on the nearest”, as she spoke there was a succession of bleeps, rising in pitch as the targeting computer worked out ranges and relative motion, whilst on the outside of the hull, our pulse cannon rotated and tracked the nearest speeder. The bleep became a steady note; “Locked on” said Elana, “OK” I said, grimly conscious of the decision to end a life, ”let them know we mean business”, she nodded, “firing.”

A beam of deep blue light shot out from our cannon, converged on the leading speeder and flashed over the small hull. It glowed cherry red, and exploded. Instantly, the other two speeders broke off from us and headed into the moons shadow. They were running back to the mother ship. It would be much better defended, probably too much for us, and anyway I needed to protect the lifters.

 “Elana, get on the comm to Urssa, tell ‘em what’s goin on, I’m following the lifters down.” She swung her chair to the comm panel, fingers busy on the holopad.

“All done”, she called as we entered atmo, “they got a cruiser on the way, they said good luck and try to salvage what you can.”

Pirates were an occupational hazard, they wouldn’t try and shoot down the lifters, just capture them: people, samples or maps were good bargaining tools, ransom was easier than digging holes. They hadn’t reckoned on us being armed, and because of the re-entry blackout the two speeders heading down would not be aware of us yet.

“Can we jam the pirate’s comms? “

“Yes but we can’t be selective, so that will mean that we can’t talk to our lifters either.” There were advantages in keeping the mother ship out of the loop, and if the lifters were following orders they would eventually spot the speeders on their displays. If they then tried to speak to each other and got static they would guess that we were on the case. The miners had instruction in procedure for attack. They would try and land in cover, under cliffs or in valleys, go silent and listen out for the call from the victors. If they were caught, they were to be passive.

We came clear of the radio blackout and started jamming. The scanner picture was confused anyway, from the violent atmosphere, so we would not have been able to see the lifters until we got close. That meant that neither could the pirates. I made a decision:

“We’ll have to get below the cloud layer to get a visual on the speeders”.

“Then we can be seen”

“They won’t be looking behind them, they will think that their friends in orbit have us cornered, and even if they did, they can’t tell anyone”

I spotted the two speeders, heading fast and low to the ground. They were clearly in pursuit of our lifters, but we couldn’t see where they were in the atmospheric soup, visibility was patchy, and we kept losing sight of them. The scanner was useless in the charged air, lightening flashed repeatedly, and the smoke and flame from numerous volcanic vents filled the sky.

We gradually closed on the speeders and could see that they had split up and were trying to block the lifters escape, marshalling them toward a piece of flat ground. There was no cover for the lifters, and no way for them to break out of the view of the circling speeders. I reduced speed and hung off, in range but hiding in the clouds.

“What are they doing?”

“They will round them up and call the mother ship. It will clamp the pods on its hull, like we do for transport, and then ransom the crews and equipment. The lift bodies will just get dumped or maybe raided for spares.”

“But the mother ship won’t be coming,”

“They don’t know that yet.”

As we closed the range, we saw the lifters land, on a flat plateau, one speeder touched down beside them, the other stayed hovering above, to prevent escape.

“Elana, can we hit either one?”  I needed to take out one speeder quickly, the one in the sky would be easiest, but I didn’t want to risk damage to the lifters. Added to this smoke from the volcanic eruptions was billowing around the plateau, obscuring our view of the scene below.

“No, they are too close to the lifters.” with the buffeting we were taking and the static interference from the storms the targeting couldn’t get a lock.

“How about if you take manual control of the cannon?” for all I knew she was a lousy shot, but based on the way she did everything else I was ready to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“If you can move it I might be able to risk a shot, but I don’t want it to fall on the lifters”, that would be ironic, but her comment had given me an idea. 

 “I’m going to try and push the hovering one away, keep it in your sight and wait for my signal.”

 I piled on the power and aimed for a spot just above the hovering speeder. The collision alarm sounded as the speed built up and I raised the nose slightly. The pilot of the speeder must have wondered, in his last seconds of life, what had hit him. I passed about a metre over his craft, and as I did, I hit the reburn. This caused a large displacement of atmosphere right where he was. The shockwave hit his craft and swung it sideways, clear of the lifters below. “Now”, I shouted and Elana fired, as I had suspected she wasn’t a bad shot, and hit one of the speeders stub wings, tearing it from the frame. The remains of the craft went into a spin and drove into the ground at high speed, well clear of the lifters, but close to the second speeder, showering it with wreckage as the remaining engine exploded.

 Elana cheered, “Stop the jamming” I said “and open the lifters frequency”,

“Lifter one” I called, “standby”

“What took you Dave” came the voice of Danja, the pilot on one

“Are you all OK and ready to fly?”

“Yes Dave we’re all fine here, I haven’t closed down, and the ground feels unstable”

“Nor me”, I recognised Olya, the pilot of lifter two; “we are ready also”.

Now I only had one enemy to deal with and they were on the ground and a sitting target.

“Calling the speeder, this is Urssa mining guard ship. Do not operate your craft”.

Silence, just the hiss of static, and the crackle of interference from the lightening.

I tried again, “Speeder, we will not hesitate to fire if you obstruct us, I turned the transmitter off, “Elana, keep your cannon on them”. I had been flying by instinct, keeping the sprite level and concentrating on the lifters, Elena’s voice made me glance sideways.

“Dave, you should see this, by the wreck”, I looked down, the crashed speeder had broken the thin crust of a magma vent, which was widening quickly, and molten rock was flowing slowly toward the three craft. It would reach the silent speeder first. Now we needed to get everyone out of there.

“Both Lifters take off now” I called, “and stay in formation with me. We’re not going into orbit until I check for the mother ship”. I was pleased to see them both leave the ground and hover, thrusters angling to hold position in the turbulent air. The magma was causing updrafts, and the speeder on the ground was tilting as the plateau collapsed.

“Speeder, take off now, I will not fire unless you make a hostile move”. But it didn’t. “Speeder, are you disabled?”

A small voice, seeming to come from miles away answered, “I have no computer controls, and my fuel lines are broken”. The speeder started sliding across the ground toward the open vent.

“Stand by”, I swung the ship around and triggered the belly cameras. Flipping switches I lowered the lift magnet and swung it to land on the speeders hull with a clang. Elana looked worried as the sprite tilted and the engine noise rose as I put the power on. Slowly we took the weight of the speeder. All the alarms were sounding as we inched into the air; the cable and the magnet were not designed for this sort of weight, but I just wanted to reduce the friction between the speeder and the surface. As I tilted the controls, the speeder stopped its slide toward the vent, and slowly started moving away, I was dragging it across the ground away from the vent and the spreading magma. I moved the speeder sideways to a piece of clear ground and lowered it.

“Speeder, you will be safe there until your mother ship can get you.” The comm crackled,

“They won’t bother with me, you should have left me there to die, I’m expendable to them.”  There was a calm resignation in the voice.  Elana and I exchanged a glance; surely the pirate’s wouldn’t just leave her there. And even if they would, I couldn’t. I pressed the transmit:

“Are you suited?”

“Yes”

“Well get out then, I’m coming back for you.” Elana shot me a look that said, are you crazy, well maybe I was, but I couldn’t leave them there, I know they had tried to kidnap my customers, but it was different to killing in the heat of the moment.

Hope you enjoyed that, comments welcomed.

Its not Easy

 It’s not easy creating a world. I realise that may sound obvious, but when it comes to writing fiction, the gap between short stories and longer pieces really is immense. In a short story, you don’t really need to develop your backdrop that much, the size of the piece allows you a certain freedom in continuity and explanation; but when it comes to a bigger story, well let’s just say that the problems multiply.

I’m about 14000 words into my novel, and I’m really coming up against some major obstacles. Firstly, I can’t remember who half the people are, and what they’ve done, even what they are called causes me difficulties. Then there’s the backdrop, the “World” if you like, it has to be believable, and sound possible; given that its science fiction I guess you are allowed a certain license but the technology has to at least sound possible, and mustn’t overshadow the plot or characters.

Also I don’t really find it easy naming places, people or things; it must have been the reason that Victorian explorers always called the places they found after the Royal Family, or home. Again they have to sound believable. Trouble is, it would be so easy to start obsessing about the detail without seeing the bigger picture, which is to get the plot right, and the rest will follow.

So at the moment, I’m reading the story every time I make a new piece of dialogue, or situation, just to make sure it fits. I suppose the alternative would be to write resumes of all the characters and places, but that would end up longer than the book. Or I could just finish the story and rewrite it from the back.

When the Wave Comes.

Here’s my next offering, a story that I first had an idea for in 1979, I had a dream of the wave and the beach and the people, and it all fitted together, as if I had lived it somewhere. I didn’t do anything about it for years, but it kept nagging away at my mind, every now and again I would have the dream, and mean to write it down, but somehow life got in the way. Eventually, I got around to putting it on paper and realised that, although the basic idea was interesting, I needed something, apart from just the wave, so I tried to construct a bit of a relationship around it. I think it got a bit rushed at the end, probably because it was my original intention to have it as a descriptive piece.

It’s called When the Wave Comes.

 

When the Wave Comes.

Rik was scared, he told his mother:

“Mother I’m scared” he said,

Why? She asked,

“When the wave comes, I’m scared that I’ll run, and then I’ll be a Keldav and I wont have a  family or a future and I will have to slave all my life” the words came out in a rush.

His mother put her arm around him, he was small for his age, and it was true that he was not physically imposing, like his father or brothers, even the younger ones. But he was her favourite for his quiet intelligence and willingness to help.

“Now then:” she told him, “it’s natural to be scared, everyone is and the wave will prove that you’re an adult and then you won’t be a Keldav.”

“But Dror says that I will run, or that I wont even dare to turn up at the Ancestors wall,” Dror was of an age with Rik but large, loud and outwardly confident, everything that Rik was not, naturally he was looking forward to the wave, to prove his manhood, no-one doubted that Dror would not run.

“After the wave you will be able to choose a second name” said his mother ” everyone will know that you faced the wave and did not run, I will be even more proud of you, and your father will take you into the craftsmen’s guild. Take no notice of Dror and be strong in yourself”.

Rik left his dwelling and walked through the city streets, unconsciously heading towards the wall of ancestors that lay at the eastern edge of the island city of Keth. Three moons were in the sky, Rik knew that once a cycle, when the four moons were in a line with the sun, a larger than usual tide was generated, running around the planet and sweeping all the island cities with a wave of portent and passage. All those males approaching adulthood stood outside the wall, on the sandy beach and let the wave wash over them. Those who remained after its passage were acclaimed as adult and could marry and take second names. Those who would not stand were Keldav- cowards, and were fit only for servitude and ridicule.

There were three days to the wave, already the wall was thronged with people, scraps of parchment had been pushed into the cracks in its brickwork, prayers for those who would take the wave, and some for those who had vanished or failed in previous years.

Dror pushed his way through the crowds until he stood in front of Rik “hello small one” he grinned, “You’re early, there’s three days to go yet, or are you just working out which way you will run?”

“I’m not frightened of the wave or of you” said Rik, but his expression gave away his real thoughts.

Larris, the daughter of his neighbour joined them before Dror could reply “Hello you two” she said “are you excited yet?” She looked at Rik with interest, they had grown up together and it was expected by there families that they would eventually marry, Dror however had other ideas, “Hello Larris, you wont be quite so interested in him when he runs, you would be better off with me than that Keldav”.

Larris sprung to Rik’s defence, “Well I think that he will stand, and when he does, it will prove him worthy, you will have to stop teasing him then”.

Dror’s gaze narrowed, “You don’t think that he would be man enough for you do you?” he sneered, “You would be far better off with me, he will never stand.” There was contempt in his voice.

Rik felt tears welling up in his eyes, he turned and ran away, Dror’s jeers ringing in his ears, “look at him its not even here and he’s off”.

That night, Rik lay in his bed listening to his parents talking, “I worry for him” said his father “For I don’t think he will be strong enough to stand, he is too small, look at his brothers, they were bigger and yet they could not survive”

“Be still, said his mother, There is a strength in him, It’s is just that he doesn’t realise it yet” Rik felt comforted by her words and slept, his dreams filled with waves and taunts.

Rik kept away from Dror and Larris for the next two days, it wasn’t fair, Dror had everything and made him feel small by his presence, and he knew that Dror thought that he was just not up to the challenge of adulthood.

It started in the ocean deeps, halfway around the world, the moons alignment pulled the oceans up and the spin of the planet sent the wave racing around the world.

The first the inhabitants of Keth knew was the lowering of the tide, instead of its usual ebb, the water level sank lower than it had been for a full cycle, and the Ancients watching signalled the arrival of the wave, the chance for all those brave enough to prove their manhood.

Rik was awoken from sleep by his father, “Come now son its time to go to the wall”, his father had had six sons, four had already stood for the wave, only two had returned.              

Rik roused himself and prepared for his ordeal, he dressed simply, nothing was allowed that would help him stand, except a staff of green wood. Rik had cut and trimmed his own, as was the custom, if he survived it would form part of his proof that he had stood.

As he made his way to the wall the crowds thronged around him, he hadn’t realised that there were so many people in the city.

The City Elder started the ceremony as the water level started to rise, standing on top of the wall, he called down the spirits of the Ancients to bless the passing of boys into men, and prayers for those who would not return.

Next he called a list of all those who were of age to stand, Rik and Dror answered there names but there were several who were not present. At the end of the calling the Elder Declared “All those who have not answered are now Keldav, I declare them slaves to those who stand and return”. He gestured to the horizon, a faint dark line was visible on top of the sea, “Take your places as boys, return as Men” he chanted, and the crowd began to repeat the call, there voices swelling in the morning light.

Rik and Dror were side by side on the beach, there green wood staffs dug into the soft golden sand, angled toward the horizon whilst the crowd chanted at there backs “Go as Boys, Return as Men, Go as Boys, Return as Men, Go as Boys, Return as Men”,

Over there chant a soft hum could be heard, growing louder as the wave neared, the water level was rising fast now, it lapped around the feet of the group of boys, now around there ankles. As a group they lent forward into the face of the onrushing wall of green water, backlit by the sun.

Suddenly to the left of the group three boys turned and ran, dropping there staffs they fled up the beach and into the safety of the city behind the wall. The crowds chant changed “Keldav, Keldav” they cried, the chant of the coward, these were as bad as the ones that had not arrived, they had failed to become men.

Dror turned to Rik “About time you ran isn’t it” he said, his voice faint over the roar of the wave, it was slowing now in the shallows, but it was rising, now it towered above them, and started to break.

“I’m not going anywhere” replied Rik, and the wave hit the group.

It felt to Rik as if all the air was knocked out of his body, he was pushed backward, his staff was almost torn from his grip and he felt himself tumbling head over heels. He felt another body bump into him and he clutched at it, whilst trying to anchor the staff back into the sand

The water was filled with swirling sand, blinding him, but he could make out the sun above him and could feel the force of the wave weakening as he managed to push the staff into the sand, holding the limp body with his other hand.

His head broke the surface and he sucked in a deep breath, the wave had passed and he was alive, he had stood. He could hear cheering and crying from the top of the wall as the water level dropped. Looking around him, he made out a small group of men, not boys now, but very few of them. He realised he was still holding a body and looked down, it was Dror and he was unconscious, he shook him “come on Dror, wake up”, but the boy didn’t move.

Larris came running down the beach toward him, “Rik” she called” I’m so proud of you, Dror was lost but you held him”, she flung her arms around him. Beside them Dror jerked, coughed and spluttered and moaned weakly. Kneeling; Rik and Larris helped him to sit up. His hair and face were covered with sand, but his eyes focused on them as he regained his senses. “Thank you Rik” he whispered” I will never doubt you after that, I thought I was gone but you saved me”.

On top of the wall Rik’s mother and father gazed down on the scene below, “I told you” said his mother “He was as brave and strong as any, he only needed to find it for himself.

Something to think about

A bit of a rant follows, you may not agree with me, and have your own views, well that’s fine,  I am setting out on this site to provoke thought, rattle cages and generally say what I think. I respect all opinions, and their right to be heard. So roll up your sleeves, put your typing fingers on and join in. I just hope we can still be friends afterwards.

I’ve been thinking about the story I put up last time, and although it was written 5 years ago, I think the implied criticism of the whole system is still valid. If you haven’t read it, perhaps you might like to before you read this.

Personally, I have a lot of admiration for teachers, I couldn’t do the job, but I wonder if they are not being let down by society, both parental and governmental. I guess that the problem is very large and complex, and has been a long time getting to the state that we are in today.

At the risk of sounding terribly right wing (which I’m not), I wonder if two events aren’t connected.

First, is the reason that private schools have more exam success and a higher proportion of “high achievers” the fact that they are “Posh” and elite, or is it that the rest of the system is being left behind. Do teachers inspire as well in both systems and is there a desire to learn in both? Is it easier to teach children who want to learn, who are prepared for learning and who have back up in their lives? I’m not a fan of private education, but for it to consistently outperform suggests something is wrong with the whole system.

Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I often wonder if the cure for all the worlds problems is latent in a brain somewhere, destined never to be brought out because of apathy, or lack of resources.

The Soviet Union may have had its faults, but they were relentless in their development of talent in every field, identifying potential and refining it.

And you have to wonder, in a time of financial constraints, or at any time, isn’t the most important thing the education of the next generation?

I have to be honest, I am a product of the 11+ system, but I don’t consider myself privileged in any way because I passed and went to a Technical School. Just as it's wrong to label anyone as a “Failure”, because they don’t achieve what you think they should. Everyone has their own particular strength and the system should be designed to determine what it is and develop it. My life would have been just as valid had I failed my 11+, and I’m sure that in general the selection system worked as well as any such system could. And I still think that selection by ability is the best ways to raise standards, if it isn’t then why do so many other countries still do it?

Back to me, maybe I shouldn’t have gone on as a pass because I failed nearly all my O Levels and had to do year 11 (or the fifth year as it was then) again. It was only then that I got the motivation to succeed, coupled with some brilliant teachers, and the realisation that life was not easy, everyone did not win prizes, and that failure was no-ones fault but mine.

Like I said, I’m not really political, I was once but age has given me a much wider view of things, in fact I get exasperated with all politicians, particularly the ones that have never had to make a profit, or run a business, or live in the real world. It often seems that politics is more important to them than the people who put them where they are. And you shouldn’t really play point-scoring politics with peoples lives. Nor should you automatically do the opposite of whatever the other lot spent five years doing, just because “they” did it.

Maybe that’s part of the answer to my first point; state education seems to change its plans every few years, instead of continuing with a long term strategy that leaves everyone knowing what’s likely to be going on in 10 or more years, whereas the private sector has been happily pursuing the same route forever.

Whew! That’s got that out of the way, I hope I don’t sound too rabid. Lighter things next time.

Welcome to the site, here I will be posting the occasional piece of creative writing for honest comment.

First the legal bit.

All work on here is my own and is copyright to me.

No Cut and Paste (I flatter myself to assume that)

Everything is Fiction (unless stated) and no reference is intended to any person or place.

Now that’s out of the way, we can get on with the serious stuff.

To start the ball rolling, here is a short story that I wrote in 2007, for a competition. The brief was 1200 words about school. I didn’t get any feedback, but think I may have interpreted the subject in an unsuitable manner. I wasn’t trying to make any sort of point, although it now seems that I might have been. If I were writing it today, it may have been quite a different piece.

 

School.

            The applause swelled as I walked slowly toward the podium, my progress halted by the throng around me. As I passed every row, the people on the end, and those further in, stood up and reached across to shake my hand, pat me on the back, touching me almost reverently. The Chairman of the Award Committee continued speaking above the din of applause, I could make out a word here and there……….. “Youngest ever Nobel Prize-winner”…….. “Important breakthrough”………….. “Real end in sight for this disease”…….

            Now I had climbed the steps and crossed to the dais, more handshaking, turning to face the sea of faces with the applause slowly dying away, the chairman again, now that he could be heard was saying my name and repeating my achievements….. “Winner of the Nobel Prize for Medicine, for his work on the synthesis of a genetically engineered treatment for Cancers……. Doctor Daniel Chimba”

           

            The hall was hushed, I cleared my throat,

“Ladies and Gentlemen, colleagues…………….Thank you for the honour you do me today, I would like with your permission to take you back to where this all started. To Davis Lane Technology College in Deptford, This was where I first developed an interest in Human Biology, where I first realised that I wanted to be a doctor.”

             As I spoke the words I could still see it in my mind, my first day at secondary school. Autumn had come early that year, and all summer the builders had been busy at the Davis Lane School. It had been decided by the council, with the aid of a large Government grant, that the old secondary modern was to be upgraded to a technology college, new classrooms had been built, a new science block equipped, and new teachers employed. Not without local problems, the project had been seen as a source of free building materials and a private security company had to be based on site to stop the steady stream of pilfering that had threatened to stall the work. I had spent a large part of the summer holidays borrowing tools and equipment, good sellers around the estate.

            But now the place was open, and this was my first day, at 13 I hadn’t really decided what to do with my life, as most 13 year olds Football was the only important thing in my life, coming from Woolwich it was Charlton Athletic and I was one of the most ardent supporters, never afraid to fight for my teams honour.

            My first Human Biology lesson was a real eye-opener, the teacher, Mr Weston, was so enthusiastic about his subject, and made it so interesting that I found it impossible not to be swept up and soon found myself top of the class in the subject. It was funny, until now I had never been academic at school, in fact I preferred to play around, and was always in trouble for disruptive behaviour. But now, with my interest developing, I found myself moving away from my old cronies, as my knowledge increased I needed more

mental stimulation, as if a dam to learning had been removed, even joining the group of students that last year I would have despised as Geeks.

                       

In turn my old friends lost interest in me and I even stopped going to football. I certainly stopped fighting about it. In most of my classes was Sally, a Ghanaian like me, I had known her for years, she lived in the next street, but I had never really paid her much attention. But now I sat next to her at as many lessons as possible, and although I didn’t realise it yet she would be my wife and colleague through all that was to follow. She told me that I had always seemed crude and slightly frightening; I had never considered that others thought of me in that way.

            And after not knowing what I wanted to do, I was going to be a Doctor. It was not a question of maybe, I was straight A material and medical schools fought over my application.

            My parents noticed the change in me and initially viewed it with some suspicion, my mother was a cleaner and my father worked in a local factory, unskilled immigrants they may have been but they encouraged me to stay on for Sixth form and University, somehow I managed to survive financially, and after the hell of being a junior doctor, I knew that I wanted to spend my career in research.

             All these thoughts were in my head as I continued to speak…………..  “Mr Brian Weston, who awoke my interest in Human Biology, if it hadn’t have been for him I would not be standing here today. Also all the staff at my research laboratory in Cambridge, they deserve this as much as I do.”

           

            Cambridge, where I ended up working as a research doctor for a large multi-national drug company was such a change from my home in Woolwich, I had chosen to train in London, and had been a junior doctor in city hospitals, so moving to the county had been a real eye opener, had thought that the air smelt “Funny” for ages, not immediately realising that it was the lack of pollution that made it seem so fresh. The relaxed atmosphere in our lab, and the team of young, enthusiastic researchers had made progress easy, we were trying to augment plant compounds that were thought to help reduce tumour development, many of them were based on African Tribal remedies and my family background helped in my field trips, it gave me an affinity with tribal healers and leaders. Our Big breakthrough came with a combination of herbal medicines from several West African tribes and the cellular structure of the HIV virus, we used its ability to enter and corrupt healthy cells to deliver the herbal extracts, and destroy the cells ability for disorganised division. In effect, stopping any mutation in its tracks.

             I had just about finished my speech,     “So once again thank you, and I feel proud to have been able to help in the fight against disease” I turned to leave the stage.

            I could hear my mothers voice above all the renewed applause         “Daniel….. Daniel…. Are you going to stay in bed all day or have you forgotten, school starts today?

            As I walked along Davis Lane toward the school, talking with my mates about football on Saturday, my dream was almost forgotten, by tomorrow it would be replaced with one that had me scoring for Charlton at Wembley. I idly kicked at an old newspaper blowing in the autumn breeze; the headline looked up at me.

“SCHOOL DEVELOPMENT PLAN ABANDONED AS CASH RUNS OUT”