First Person
Page 11
He pushes himself back from the fence and looks at the ground. His hands remain on the spar and he breathes out. “Sometimes you leave things behind for a reason.”
“And sometimes you bring them here for a reason.” I’m watching closely for his reaction.
He looks away, unable to make eye contact. “It’s not that long ago that a girl on her own would be taken up in front of the Kirk Session to explain herself.”
I turn my head away from staring at him, to give him the room to talk, though he says nothing more. Our mother told us about these poor girls, abandoned by men, begging for money from the great and the good of our village, their shame for all to see. I say, “What’s right and what’s wrong.”
My brother relaxes on the fence again. He breathes out in agreement. “And some things are right to do, even when you don’t need to do them.”
We stand silently for a few minutes. The figures on the hill are definitely Jack and his brother. We can make them out now. Each is wearing clothes suitable for the outdoors, flat caps on their heads, balancing their movement downhill with crooks; tall canes with curved handles made from the horn. I scratch my head, “The four musketeers can wet the baby’s head tonight.”
My brother chuckles. “We’re hoping for a boy, you know.”
“Another one? Give me daughters any day.” I can hear a car approaching, recognising the sound as that of the doctor’s.
He laughs again, freely this time, though he steps back from the fence and puts cold hands in his pockets. “We’ll call him after dad.”
I smile and rub his shoulder. “Joshua. Good choice.”
A black car enters the yard and I raise a hand to the driver and point over to the stables. When it comes to a stop, out jumps the doctor and he rushes in through the open door. My brother and I go over to see if there is anything we can do, though I imagine Ethel shooing us away. Up on the hill, our friends come closer and wave at us, completely unaware of what’s been happening as they descend. Jack holds out his arms in greeting, his crook pointing to the sky. I can’t hear what he’s saying but he’s trying to tell us about something he and his brother have seen. James has found a stick and is leaning on it as Katie canters her pony out the yard and onto the bridle path. I hear Mary cry out in pain.
Demolition Squad
“THEY’RE BRINGING THEIR own squad in for Japan,” I explained to them. “Even after all that travel, the tendering process showed it to be the cheapest option.”
My phone rang and I excused myself to Gillian standing just off camera. We had to direct all our conversations to her for reasons I didn’t fully understand; something about how it would look on TV. I turned away to answer the call but the camera guy shifted his position. This call had to be good news. Placing my free hand into the big yellow hi-viz jacket I’m wearing, I was very aware of the camera crew bundled into the site kabin listening to everything. I spoke quietly but there wasn’t too much to say.
I put my phone away and looked at Gillian. The sound guy listened in on headphones to a fluffy microphone he held just under the camera. His eyes were always unfocused, just listening, while he adjusted controls on a box attached to his waist. The camera guy twisted the lens on his shoulder mounted camera. After a pause, Gillian asked, “Did you get it?”
I suddenly felt quite exposed, knowing that moment would be broadcast into homes around the country. “Nah, he said the interview was good but they decided to go another way.”
“Will there be other promotions coming up?” Gillian asked. Her head leaned forward. She knew this was going to be a good moment for them. They followed me through the application process, from applying online to the interview to the disappointment. This was perfect for them, and for her.
At that time, I didn’t know if there would be other supervisor jobs coming up. At that point I didn’t really care. “Time for me to go to work.”
They followed me outside. How the camera guy got down the stairs with his face pressed up against the camera I do not know. The sound guy was just the same, eyes unfocused, listening all the time. They must get taught it in college or something. I took them up to the gate where Harry was directing the traffic. He waved at us but because he hadn’t signed the agreement papers to take part in a reality TV show, he never got to speak.
Gillian said to me, “So tell us about what’s happening.”
“This is the old JEC building, which produced super-conductors up until the end of last year,” I said. “They’re pulling out of this site and a supermarket is moving their operation from across the motorway. Once demolished, a new distribution centre will be built right here. Our job today is to keep everything moving.”
I helped Harry with the trucks until they had all left the site, taking the last of the people and equipment. Once that was done, we close and lock the gate. “It’s all part of a day’s work,” I said to Gillian and we were off again. I led the camera crew back to the kabin, leaving Harry at the gate, and climbed the stairs. There was a small wooden walkway which we would watch the action on. We were outside the so-called ‘Hot Zone’ and everyone organised themselves to get a good look at the plant.
Gillian said me, “You were telling us about the squad from Japan.”
Now prompted, I gathered myself together. “Yes, they’re specialists apparently. The factory is to be flattened to allow the new build to go up.”
We were on eastern edge of the old factory site. It was breezy outside though not cold. I pointed out some of the features of the site. Almost half a mile long, the factory was three blocks on either side of a taller admin block which still contained the company logo: JEC. Addressing Gillian, as I had been instructed, while the camera found its own view, I said, “Our job today is to facilitate the security. They’ll take care of the rest.”
I pointed out that all traffic was being redirected and an exclusion zone set up so the camera crew would be the only and best way to see the action. At the far side of the site, two huge boxes, almost as large as the factory blocks, sat at the ready. The camera guy focused in on them and I went quiet. In the distance, men and women moved about purposefully around the giant boxes. They were dressed in white overalls with the hoods up. Their faces were covered with white surgical masks.
“Is that the Japanese team?” Gillian asked me.
“It’s the support team,” I explained. I flicked a wrist out and squinted at my watch. “And we’re nearly about time.”
From a box on the walkway, I pulled out safety goggles and passed them around. The crew were already wearing their hard hats and hi-viz vests but they needed the eye protection. Once everyone had the glasses on, we waited. I thought about it being a Thursday and how the Evening News would be out soon with that week’s jobs. I needed something which didn’t include standing about outdoors. My mind wandered briefly to what Agnes would think of me stuck on these shifts for a while longer.
“There we are,” I said, hands still deep in coat pockets. Beside me, the camera guy adjusted his stance again. The sound guy listened more than watched which was difficult to get used to.
At the far end of the site, some of the support team began to open one of the boxes. “Huge clasps are operated remotely,” I said and pointed to a small figure with a tablet device in his hands. “Then they just open the doors.”
Sure enough, more support workers pulled at the door until it swung open. Gillian melted back a bit. I bounced on my toes to keep the circulation going. Inside the massive box all you could see was a dark shadow. Something stirred. The support workers stood around for a moment, waiting for something. Despite their distance from us, I could make out one of them checking his watch. One of the others peered inside and impatiently beckoned whatever was inside to come out. A few moments later his voice could be heard, a barked command in Japanese. Then it flew out its box.
“Wingju,” I said. I couldn’t help smile.
Giant wings unfolded and a massive butterfly fluttered out of the enormous box. Waves of thrust rocked a
few of the support workers but they didn’t fall over. The camera guy shuffled his feet as he changed his position and adjusted his lens to get a better view. With a wing span of around ten metres, and a length of twelve, Wingju rose into the air. I spoke quickly, “Essentially, a tullerva species butterfly, much larger of course due to the radiation, her long body and small head, for her size-”
“How do you know so much?” Gillian shouted, sounding panicked.
I frowned and pulled back my chin. “Every schoolboy knows about this.” She looked at me blankly. The camera guy briefly looked away from his lens to frown and shake his head. Even the sound guy focused on me for a moment. I tried again. “Surely? Tokyo 1956?” They shook their heads and I shook mine back.
Overhead, Wingju gently winged over the site. I could see fine detail in the patterns on her wings. She was beautiful, I thought, more so to see her here than on old news footage. Light filtered through her wings. I felt myself in her shadow as she flew overhead, surveying the scene.
“What now?” Gillian was truly panicking. Her voice had lifted in volume. She pointed at the second box. A technician operated the tablet and two massive clasps opened.
I laughed. Had I got that other job, I realised, I would miss days like these. Support workers hauled back the door of the second box, which was much bigger than the last. I tapped the camera guy on the shoulder, pointed to it, and said to Gillian, “Ganjuki.”
She stared at the second box. The support workers stood respectfully back. There was no exhortation from any of the crew, no need to coax this next creature from its box. They waited. From inside the box there was movement. Out of the shadows emerged Ganjuki, a twenty metre tall dinosaur. With slow steps, the giant beast of green skin entered the daylight of Central Scotland. His chunky legs sat atop massive clawed feet. He was balanced by a large tail, which slithered behind him. He stood upright with comical short arms. His head seemed small for his enormous frame. Angry eyes flashed above vicious teeth. Steam vented out nostrils as he snorted forward.
“Oh. My. God.” Gillian stepped forward to see better. The cameraman adjusted his position to see round her. I knew what was going to happen next.
Ganjuki stopped and looked around. If he saw his support workers, he did not acknowledge them. He seemed to crick his neck, as if the long journey had made him stiff and he pulled in a massive breath. The support workers pulled on ear defenders. Ganjuki paused and then bellowed out an almighty roar. It thundered out across the site, shaking the factory buildings. We felt the shockwave as our wooden walkway rattled. It was a shout of rage, free of being imprisoned in ice for millions of years, dislodged by a nuclear test. Ganjuki, the creature who destroyed Tokyo in 1956 then became a hero when he defended it with Wingju against the Terror from a Thousand Fathoms. They saved the whole of Japan that day and became poster images for every school kid on the planet. Ganjuki roared again, and rolled his head on his shoulders, a sound which echoed across millennia, this lost soul, the last of his kind.
As the roar faded, I admit to punching a fist in the air. “Now you’ll see something.” I grabbed the camera guy, bundled him around, and shouted directly into the camera. “Kids! You are about to see something awesome. Hit record. NOW!” I felt triumphant, released from the worry of finding another job, the pressure of being on a stupid reality TV show, and the strain of long shifts. I felt the beating of my heart match the beating of wings in the air as Wingju responded to the call.
The butterfly swopped back overhead. Her massive body swelled with an intake of air. There was a pause and then Wingju breathed out. Fire poured out of her, and dropped onto the factory building, immediately setting it alight. This ignited something within Ganjuki, in the same way it did against the Terror from a Thousand Fathoms, and he stomped towards the building. His clawed feet smashed into the bricks, tearing them apart.
It took them almost a day to destroy Tokyo in 1956, so it took Ganjuki and Wingju a much shorter time to level the old JEC plant. When they were finished, the whole site was flattened. Bulldozers and diggers would only need to prepare foundations for the supermarket distribution centre. Nothing to clear up and a fraction of the cost of a traditional demolition operation meant everyone was happy. Spent from pouring fire upon the land, Wingju floated serenely into her box, ready to sleep again. Ganjuki needed more persuading. A small herd of cows was ushered into the box. The old dinosaur, cut off from its own time, and its own kind, reluctantly entered the box to have its dinner.
I breathed out a huge satisfied sigh. “That was awesome,” I said to Gillian. As a boy I had always dreamed of seeing these creatures, an event like this. Because of a twist of fate, I was able to stand there and watch. An amazing experience, for sure.
She looked at me with nothing but shock on her face. The camera guy stayed looking into his viewfinder and the sound guy just looked into the air and listened. Gillian said nothing. She was unable. Like those people to first spot Ganjuki emerging from Tokyo Bay, she was shocked, traumatised even. It was her job to keep her TV show going. However, I guessed it was up to me and I had just the sort of thing the TV people could use. It would show some drama on their show. “Right, we need to get the night shift covered. I’ll make some calls. Coming?”
A Day: In the Grotto
IT’S NOT ALL JAM, you know, getting up for your work in the morning. My name is Elrood, and I’m an employee at the North Pole.
Day for me begins when the alarm goes off. It’s always set really early, about 09:00/09:30, something like that. By then, Mum has shouted up at me a couple of times but I usually manage to sleep through that. Breakfast could be anything: cereal, a bit of toast, but it always includes a mug of tea. I would be hopeless without it. Tea is the fuel you need to get through until it’s time for cocoa and the sweet release of sleep.
It’s not a big journey from Mum ‘n’ Dad’s chalet to the facility where we make things. The factory is underground, with the entrance being an igloo on the surface. I’ll head to my workstation and fire up the emails. Despite being sent millions of internal emails a day there are only a few types, and I always answer them in the same way: Click Reply; Type standard response; Click Send; Click Delete.
‘Hi Elrood, Would you consider...?’ No thanks.
‘I’m looking for some help.’ Sorry, I’m a bit swamped right now. Try Flemming.
‘Please find attached...’ I couldn’t find the attachment.
This sort of task is best done whilst having a mug of tea, with one afterwards to recover. From there, it’s onto whatever project I’m working on. Our Boss, the guy in the big red suit, will squeeze his chimney challenged frame into your home and deliver the parcels, but it’s us who do the hard work. My career at the North Pole has been, shall we say, colourful. It was hardly my fault the property board game had the wrong currencies in them. Only 85% of the boxes were proved to have been affected. Remaining sets are valued by collectors apparently. You’re welcome.
My latest posting is a secondment to TRED; Testing Research & Engineering Design. My own thoughts when I walk through the door each day is that it should be called The Room of Eternal Despondency. Honestly, it’s so dull. We have to sit and listen to bonkers proposals for process redesign. Everything is acronyms now. TRED you’ve heard of. RS1 is the Reindeer Stables, all one of them. The MO is the Mayor’s Office. Whenever anyone wants me to do something ASAP, it gets done ACOT, After a Cup of Tea.
I thought at first that being on this panel would be interesting, but really it’s just a lot of work. We listen to the proposals, read any supporting documents, and write up a report of our findings. Approval finally rests with the Boss but he usually rubber stamps what we decide. So, my friend Jemima and I sit on the board with Bernard, the committee chair. Jemima has been a pal since school. She’s famous round here for wearing tartan skirts all the time and a leather jacket, where I favour dark green lederhosen. Jemima rarely wears a hat but I couldn’t do without the bell on mine. It’s reassuring.
Our morning session today is to be taken up with a dimbleschpoink this committee knows very well; Horace. Sitting behind our row of tables in the lecture theatre, Jemima puffs out her cheeks and rolls her eyes at me when we realise our favourite inventor is visiting. She says, “I can’t believe he’s had another idea. I wish he would come up with something we could say yes to.”
Bernard sits back in his chair so he can look over his glasses at both of us. His eyes run from side to side. “Now, now. I’m sure Horace has come up with something wonderful. Or at least will at some point.”
Hopefully, but it seems unlikely based on his track record. I keep quiet for a change until the man himself comes in. The door opens and in blunders Horace. The bell on his hat chimes out of tune with the ones on his shoes. That’s a pet hate of mine. He drags in some kind of contraption, along with a football under one arm, and I quickly make over to help him. It’s a mass of metal with plastic tubing. Worryingly, he has also brought a huge glass tube. Annoyingly, I’m carrying the heaviest bits.
“Thanks Elrood,” says Horace, out of breath. “Will you give me a hand to set up?”
I look over to the table. Bernard leans his elbows on the surface and cups his hands together. His expression is perplexed. It is against the rules for us to give assistance, but what can I do? Certainly Bernard is unsure of what to advise if his silence is anything to go by. Sitting on her pink tartan skirt, Jemima is no help. Besides, she can’t stop giggling as I act under instructions from Horace. We get his gadget together which stands about two metres high. It looks like a rocket launcher designed by a disgruntled penguin.