Thursday

by David Ridgway

  Monday – Ten Days to Go

  Out in the Pacific Ocean, the weather systems had been affected by the El Nino effect. The warm water on the surface of the sea had been blown far to the west by the trade winds and the subsequent La Nina had then reversed that process. The warm water had now reached the American western seaboard and weather systems had subsequently built up bringing high winds and heavy rain to San Francisco, Los Angeles and as far north as Seattle, Vancouver and Alaska.

  “Come on, David,” shouted Sarah. “You’ll be late for school.”

  As always, Sarah was in charge of getting the breakfast and ensuring that Michael, her husband, and David, her son, would leave on time for David to get to school and Michael to get to work. It always seemed that bit more difficult on Mondays, but it had been this way since she had given up work to look after her baby, some 17 years earlier. An elegant woman, good looking and just starting to show some signs of grey in her hair, Sarah had never regretted her decision to become a housewife and mother. When David was old enough to go to nursery and then to school, Sarah found that she now had the time to join her local gym in order to keep fit. She had kept her figure and maintained her good looks with regular massage and facials. She maintained her sanity by volunteering in the local library.

  It was the same every weekday morning. Michael and Sarah would always be up, eating breakfast and ready to start the day, but not David. David had other agendas. Clever in class, he was able to indulge himself in thinking his own thoughts, to the extent that he was often mistaken as lazy. He appeared to be a dreamer but was always the first in line when things needed to be done. Many did not understand him, despite his ability to demonstrate an extraordinary loyalty to those who gained his respect or interest.

  David Varley was seventeen and well on schedule for passing his ‘A’ levels, but whether or not with distinction remained to be seen. He was certainly capable of achieving exceptional grades and university entrance, but his real interests lay in other directions, and he was clever enough to do sufficient work to keep his teachers off his back, but not necessarily to achieve his full potential. Jack Smith, his science teacher, was the only one who recognised this lack of focus and despaired that David’s refusal to engage a determined concentration would see life’s opportunities slip wastefully away.

  All his life, David has been able to absorb knowledge, especially in subjects that interested him. He only needed to read or hear a fact once and it was stored forever. He learned at an early age, however, that no one likes a wise guy. That had been a salutary lesson. Years before, when still at Preparatory School, one of his classmates, John Dickinson, was asked in History which wife Henry VIII had beheaded. It was part of the homework reading from the week before but, as usual, Dickinson hadn’t done the reading and didn’t know. When the rest of the class was asked, David’s hand went up and the teacher pointed to him.

  “Anne Boleyn, sir,” came the prompt reply.

  “Clever clogs,” whispered Dickinson. “Showing me up again. I’ll see to you at break.”

  And he did. David’s knuckles were bruised, his knees and shoes were scuffed from falling and his blazer was torn. He vowed never to be beaten up again and ever afterwards kept his knowledge well under control. He learned to avoid confrontation but was always ready to help a pal and to right a wrong. Strangely, this incident was also the start of a very close friendship with John Dickinson.

  On the rugby field, however, it was a different story. All the pent-up emotions from the classroom were released and David was developing into an accomplished full back, with that rare ability to combine strength with courage, enhanced by exceptional strategic thinking. He was always in the right place at the right time and seemed to know when he should run or just rely on his kicking. But he remained modest about his skills, preferring others to take the accolades. And it was the same on the cricket field in summer. David was a reliable fast bowler, regularly tying up the opposing batsmen, as well as scoring sufficient runs to support the team.

  In short, David was a team player, a good lieutenant rather than a leader, reliable and loyal. Indeed, his closest friend, John Dickinson, who had become a natural leader and excellent sportsman, regularly relied on David to help him through his classwork. In return, he pushed and encouraged David on the rugby field not only to enhance his skills but also to build up his physique.

  At age 13, both David and John had passed the Common Entrance to Richmond School, which was reasonably convenient for both their families. Now both were 17, facing their ‘A’ levels and a planned move to university.

  The autumn term was pretty intensive, with the school year being focussed on the exams scheduled for the coming spring. As soon as the term started, however, the weather turned cold and wet. In class, David continued to coast through his work, gaining sufficient grades to avoid any unnecessary attention from his teachers but leaving enough time to help his pal Dickinson. The rugby matches started with quite decent pitches, but as the weeks passed, these became more and more waterlogged and match after match was cancelled. To keep fit, the boys went running, but the rain doggedly kept falling and the water table kept rising, until local rivers burst their banks and flooded the low-lying fields.

  David asked Mr Smith, the science teacher, what was causing the rain to persist for so long and this opened up a new interest – meteorology. The weather, what causes it and why. Mr Smith took the enquiry seriously and suggested that David do some additional work, looking into the phenomenon of the El Nino and how it affected weather creation and whether global warming accentuated or diminished its power.

  “Do me a four-side essay, showing what you’ve discovered. Bring it in on Monday and we’ll look at what you’ve written.”

  So, as his parents were shouting for him to come to breakfast, David’s thoughts were far away in the Pacific, wondering why the movement of the sea currents on the west coast of South America should cause the rain to keep falling in England.

  “I’m coming,” he called, grabbing his jacket and running down the stairs.

  “What were you up to yesterday evening?” his father asked, after breakfast, as they got into the car. “You missed the rugby on TV.”

  "Mr Smith’s given me this assignment. To look into reasons why the weather has been so awful. I was researching the El Nino current and seeing whether there is any connection between it and the rain we’ve been having.

  “Did you know,” he continued, “that the melting Antarctic ice could have an effect on sea levels and that could change our weather patterns forever?”

  “I hope this has something to do with your ‘A’ levels, David. You should be concentrating on your grades, rather than wasting your time on matters outside the curriculum.”

  “Well, I’m hoping to put it all into some form of presentation and see if I can get it included in the General Studies paper. Mr Smith asked for a 4-side essay, but I’ve already written 25 pages. It’s really fascinating!”

  “Mm!” His father wasn’t really convinced but knew better than to argue, because David would only withdraw into a place where he could sustain a polite though disinterested level of conversation, while giving full rein to his thoughts.

  Michael dropped David off at the corner of the road near the school. As he drove away, he saw David meet up with John Dickinson and walk, together, towards the school gates.

  “Have you done your revision?” John asked.

  “Not really. I thought the assignment was pretty simple, so I expect I’ll be able to blag it. I was spending a lot of time on an assignment that Maquis gave me.” Maquis was the school’s nickname for Mr Smith because in each boy’s first year, he would be taught about electric current and resistance. The Maquis had been the French Resistance in France in the 1940s and Mr Smith was married to a delightful, dark-haired Parisienne.

  “What about?”

  “The weather and the possible links to the El Nino effect in the Pacific.”

  “What’s
that then?”

  “Have you ever wondered why the weather seems to be getting more and more difficult this winter?”

  “Not really,” replied John. “All I know is that it’s causing too many cancellations of school matches. The pitches are so waterlogged that it’ll be weeks before we can play again. And for that to happen, it’s got to stop raining today.”

  They both looked up to the west, where the rain clouds were heralding yet another day of rain.

  “And it’s windy as well,” he muttered.

  David knew better than to start explaining his research to his pal and they both wandered off to Assembly.

  As the head teacher was announcing the additional programme of the day, including running for all the senior school, David was beginning to wonder what might happen if the rain never stopped.

  Well, he thought, ‘never’ is pretty endless, so it’s bound to stop at some time. Little did he know that Mother Nature had a real event up her sleeve.

  Chapter 2

  Tuesday – Nine Days to Go

  Five thousand miles to the west of Great Britain, in the Gulf of Mexico to be exact, a new weather system was being created. Back in the autumn, the trade winds had reversed and La Nina had pushed the warm Pacific water back towards the coast of South America. The subsequent weather systems had brought flooding to the west coast of the United States and the prevailing winds seemed to be even more intense than normal.

  These systems had now passed across North America, bringing very heavy snowfall in Canada and the northern states, plus tornados and heavy rain in Texas, Arkansas and Florida.

  A new system, spawning in the Gulf of Mexico, was accentuated by very warm air moving from the Atlantic along the northern Brazilian coast before turning northwards into the Gulf. Here it encountered the cooler air over the North American landmass, making the wind speeds rise and the rainfall increase.

  “And now over to Jon Mitchell for the local weather forecast.” The news presenter faded and Jon’s cheery face came on screen with a weather map of Yorkshire and Humberside behind him.

  “The only forecast I can promise is that there will be rain and then more rain,” he smiled. "There’s no let-up in the string of low-pressure systems moving across the Atlantic and, one after the other, these are either moving up the west of Ireland and over Scotland bringing rain, with snow over the hills, or they are taking a southerly route up the English Channel, bringing rain and high winds to southern England.

  "The upland Pennines are already waterlogged and further rain could cause local flooding along the river valleys. The Environment Agency has issued flood alerts for the Aire Valley, the Calder Valley and the Don Valley.

  “With the spring tides coming early this year, the City of York is under considerable threat and the City Council has advised people, living in areas prone to flooding, to take valuables upstairs.”

  Robert and Christine Sykes were only paying scant attention, while Robert was serving up the evening meal. Christine was reading the local paper and finding precious little of interest.

  “Anything interesting?” asked Robert.

  “Don’t know why I buy it,” grumbled Christine. “There’s a bit here suggesting we should take our furniture upstairs.”

  “Jon Mitchell has just been saying the same thing on the telly,” said Robert.

  “Well, thank God, we live on a hillside. Not much chance of flooding here.”

  “I’m glad we don’t live in Marsden, though. Just think what damage would happen if Butterley Reservoir overflowed.”

  “There’s no real chance of that happening,” stated Robert. Despite an intense public campaign back in 2015 to save the iconic Victorian, stone-built spillway, Yorkshire Water plc had built a new concrete spillway. It had seemed to the campaigners that Yorkshire Water’s sole motive was to remove a popular local tourist attraction that had received very indifferent maintenance over too many years and was in need of considerable renovation. The new concrete spillway was a scar on the countryside. But, to date, there had not been any intense rainfall to test the new concrete structure.

  “Why should a ‘once in 50,000 years flood’ happen now? It’s rained before and it’ll rain again,” he continued.

  “But the land is so waterlogged,” said Christine, “All over the country. Even where Sarah and Michael live down in Richmond, the river’s swollen and travelling in and out of London is getting worse.”

  “Mm! Serves the buggers right for living down there!” muttered Robert. Louder, he said, “I was never happy for our lass to be persuaded to live down there. It might be well and nice to visit, but I’m always happy to get back home, where people are real and there’s a decent fire to welcome you.”

  Robert put a plate of beef stew, boiled potatoes, carrots and broccoli in front of Christine. She grunted her acknowledgement, reached for the brown sauce and squeezed a goodly portion onto the side of her plate.

  “You know perfectly well that she always wanted to use her degree and she did get a really good job in London with that Advertising Agency. She and Michael have made a good home for David and he’s doing well at school. I don’t know why you’re always complaining about them being so far away. We see them often enough.”

  “After we got married,” Robert replied, “My mum and dad lived in the next village, not 200 bloody miles away. That was good enough for us. Your mum and dad lived in the same street and I agree that was a bit of a pain. Always popping in and telling us what’s what.”

  “You see, you’re never satisfied!” Christine crowed as if she had won this minor skirmish. “My mum and dad were too close, but your daughter is too far away!”

  "Mebbe you’re right! It’s just that they’re not in Yorkshire and our David is turning into a right southern Jessie. Rugby Union, indeed. Why can’t he play League like the rest of the lads in this family?

  “Anyway, she doesn’t work for Saatchi’s anymore. She doesn’t seem to work at all – not since our David was born.” Having eaten the broccoli, Robert put down his knife and mashed the carrots and boiled potatoes into the gravy with his fork.

  “I do wish you wouldn’t do that,” commented Christine. “It’s not really good manners.”

  “Aye – so you say. But there’s no one here but us. So it doesn’t matter.”

  “You’ve done us a good stew this time, love,” Christine commented.

  They continued chatting and eating, going over the same old arguments which had been played many times over the years.

  In London, even following three General Elections, the government was still grappling with the ramifications of leaving the European Union. In the early days following the Referendum, there had been a mood similar to 1940 after Dunkirk when, alone, Britain had faced the Nazi invasion of Western Europe. The spoken mood was of confidence, of blind belief that all would be well, that together we could and would come through. The unspoken mood, however, was very different. At the start, the city had defied all the odds and performed well, creating a false sense of optimism. With David Cameron and Theresa May gone, a brief flirtation with Boris Johnson and, subsequently, the Labour Party, the new Conservative prime minister and his cabinet had courted and gained the support of public opinion. Work was done to broker new economic deals to ensure that the fragile British economy might survive and even grow.

  The extraordinary General Election in 2019 started much of that work, but subsequent elections had placed much of that work in jeopardy. With the passing of time and with a new government problems had inevitably arisen. The rise of a rather ungracious form of socialism initially had gained some favour with the younger voters. However, as the years passed, those supposedly left-wing students, who had been swayed by unsustainable promises of free education, graduated and entered the reality of work. Here they found a very different world where personal responsibilities outweighed political dogma.

  After Boris Johnson, the Labour Party had formed a minority government, which very swiftly fell
to a vote of no confidence. The Liberal Democrats were asked and refused to assist the Conservatives to set up another coalition. The Scots and the Welsh continued to court disaster with their agendas for independence and no one really knew what the Northern Irish wanted. The thorny issue of the hard border between Ulster and Southern Ireland was never really resolved but, despite that, relations with Europe at last started to improve. As the European economy continued to falter, the dream of a United Europe needed close allies if it was to succeed and as an increasing number of member states began to look more seriously at breaking away from Brussels, the hard line with Britain began to soften.

  Although Britain’s borders were now more secure, illegal immigration continued. Police numbers were again increasing in order to combat a growing degree of lawlessness. Seeing some of the criminal immigrants being deported, had originally created a mood of optimism, but slowly, inexorably, signs began to show that all was not well and that such optimism was misplaced. The golden age of continuing low unemployment was slowly coming to a close, demonstrated by the small but steady rise in those looking for work.

  Investment in new public works, hospitals, airports, HS2 never seemed to happen and delivery from the NHS, local government and transport steadily worsened.

  In the Cabinet Room of 10 Downing Street, the cabinet was holding its regular daily briefing.

  “Prime Minister, you will have seen the latest unemployment figures, which will be published tomorrow. No sector of the economy is showing any improvement and, indeed, the growth of unemployment in the north east is now approaching 15%.”

  The Trade and Industry Minister broke down the national figures into the various parts of the United Kingdom. The picture was bleak in every area and the implications for the forthcoming General Election were very serious. The thought of another disastrous left wing government was the only real uniting matter for the Cabinet and each minister would sell his or her soul to avoid that. The Prime Minister had aged. Well, all his colleagues had aged. The responsibilities of running the country were taking their toll. Running the administration by relying on the Nationalists in Scotland and Wales and even those bloody Liberal Democrats who just would not lie down and die. The once elegantly dressed gentleman now looked old and his drive was considerably diminished.