by James Gault
Chapter 4
The best part of a journey is the planning, especially if your trip is to somewhere you’ve never been before. You go down to the library, you borrow some guidebooks and maybe a couple of geography texts, and you spend hundreds of happy hours browsing. Where will you go? What will you see? Does Venice really smell as badly as they say? Should we risk the Ramblas of Barcelona at night? Can you see Naples and survive? You pre-live exciting excursions, satisfying shopping-sprees, romantic encounters. Before you step into the plane you have already had more fun than the trip could possibly give you, and the whole experience is doomed to be bit of an anti-climax. No matter, your pre-travel dreams were well worth the price of the ticket.
Antonia was just at this magical stage of planning her promised journeys through time and space when Ogg interrupted her thinking
“Let’s be off, then!” he said.
“What, right now? What about school? And my breakfast?”
“Oh really, Ant, do try to think straight! Our trip will take some time, of course, but not some of this time. I’ll have you back here before you can wink an eye.”
Antonia wondered if there was some rule that Great Beings had to interrupt and spoil your very best private moments. She had just been walking down a particularly interesting street in a fascinating country she didn’t recognise, and had been standing in front of an especially mysterious door when Ogg brought her back to reality before she could even peep inside.
“Why the hurry?’ she asked, in what was a rather petulant voice.
“I don’t want to waste any time.”
“That is a stupid and totally illogical thing to say, Ogg. Especially after what you have just told me. You have total control of time.”
“I used to have total control of time. Things are changing and we don’t have a moment to lose.”
But Antonia hated going anywhere without at least a town map and a phrase book. Then there was the question of clothes.
“If we have to go right now, we have to. But where and when are we going to? I need to know what to wear?”
“Everything has been taken care of. Let’s go!”
And with that Ogg whisked a truculent Antonia off into another time. It was, to say the least, a disappointing journey. Where were the exotic vehicles, the time-machine, the broomstick? Where were the flashes of lightning and the ominous thunder rolls? There wasn’t even a timid whisper or an apologetic squeak. One second they were in her bedroom. The next second they were in a completely different time and place.
To Antonia’s mind, it was not an appropriate way for a Great Being with unbelievable powers to get about. Whisking people about in time and space with no special effects! It was so minimalist! There should have at least been a whoosh of air, or an eerie whistle, or something. But she had yet to learn that Ogg is not the ostentatious type. He moves not only in mysterious ways, but also in unobtrusive ways. This is a matter for concern among some of his friends and supporters, who are exactly the kind of people who go in for a bit of pomp and circumstance. They often embellish his frequent visits with complicated rites and ceremonies of their own devising. Ogg views such activities with an indulgent smile. He is mysterious and unobtrusive, but he is also tolerant. If they want to dress up, sing, dance and do some play-acting, and they enjoy it, why not let them?
Ogg asked Antonia if she had had a comfortable and pleasant journey.
“Journey? I hardly noticed it,” she told him, rather huffily, her back turned to him.
“Sign of a good journey,” Ogg replied. Antonia left her silence hanging in the air by way of a reply.
“When are we?” she asked, after a suitable and, she hoped, edgy lapse of time.
She knew where they were. They were in a cul-de-sac. It was the street where her school was, or, at the moment, wasn’t. But she recognised some of the buildings, the older ones in her street. At the bottom end, where her school should have been, was an old factory. She supposed it made boots, the street was called ‘Boot Lane’. She also found the frequent gaps in the terraced buildings fascinating. She was used to seeing new, fashionable shops in these gaps. Some had been cleared, but the rest were floored with a layer of dusty rubble. Entrance was prevented by makeshift barbed-wire fences, adorned with signs saying ‘Keep Out’ or ‘Beware’ or ‘Danger’. Some of the signs carried a red skull and crossbones.
Before Ogg could answer her question about when they were, they heard a voice shouting from the entrance to the cul-de-sac. They turned to look. There was a rather odd figure, dressed like a soldier in an army which had run out of money, waving frantically for them to come towards him. He was wearing a tin hat and a rather shabby navy blue greatcoat. He had some kind of armband, but they were too far away to read the writing on it. He couldn’t possibly be a real soldier. Even from a distance she could see that he was an elderly man, much older than her parents. Possibly even as old as her grandfather.
“’Ere you two,” he shouted, “what yer doing down there? Ain’t you ‘eard the siren?”
Antonia ran forward to answer him.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but we haven’t heard anything.”
‘You ain’t from round ‘ere then, miss, are you? You’re from up west, you are! I can tell by the way you talk.”
Antonia wanted to tell him that she was from ‘round ‘ere’ but not from ‘round now’, but she realised rightly that it might be too complicated and incredible a story for him to swallow. She just nodded her head.
“You won’t know where to go then, miss, to hide from them Germans with their bombs.”
Antonia shook her head.
“There ain’t no shelter. Everyone dosses down in the Tube station -just up the road there, on the left.” He pointed up the main street. “Take your grandpa up there, miss. They’ll look after ‘im. Give ‘im a nice cuppa, I should think.”
Antonia was surprised by the reference to her grandfather. Then she suddenly realised she hadn’t looked at Ogg since they had arrived at whenever they were. She had been walking much faster than him, so he was still behind her. She had to turn round to inspect him. He was a man of well over eighty, dressed in worn old clothes, and he was shuffling towards her with the aid of a stick. She hadn’t been expecting him to change his appearance. Did she still look the same herself? She glanced down at her body, and saw she was wearing different clothes. Just as well, it wasn’t polite to talk to strange people in your nightdress. Mind you, if she had been allowed to choose, she wouldn’t have picked this coat. It was a dark blue raincoat, not entirely clean and not in the least fashionable. The dull grey knee-length woollen socks wouldn’t have been her choice either. Nor the shoes, built for service rather than elegance. As for the underwear, well, she couldn’t see it, but it felt awful – heavy, prickly and uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure that Ogg was able to dress her much better than her eccentric mother.
Antonia ran towards the new elderly Ogg.
“When are we?” she asked again.
“Haven’t you worked it out by now, Ant? I’m disappointed in you.”
“History’s not my best subject. During a war?”
“We’re in nineteen-forty.”
“The man said we’ve to go to the Underground station. Something about Germans and bombs.”
“I know. It’s the Blitz. And the Underground station is why we’re here. There’ll be someone important there you have to talk to.”
“One of the non-humans?”
“Yes. Take my arm and help me.”
Antonia put her arm around Ogg and trundled him up the main street. It was hard going. They made very slow progress. It had really been very inconvenient of Ogg to take on the appearance of a decrepit OAP. Too many inherent disadvantages in terms of mobility. Although his ways of
moving were mysterious, there is a good reason for everything that Ogg does, but what it could be in this case she had no idea. So, remembering that Ogg had told her that it was only through questions that the knowledge of man was increased, she decided to ask.
“Can I have a question?”
“Of course you can, Ant. It is only through questions that the knowledge of man is increased.”
(Many of Ogg’s friends derive comfort from the absolute consistency of his opinions, especially those who don’t quite understand them. He has the habit of repeating himself frequently, so even his most dull-witted supporters have ample opportunity to learn his sayings parrot-fashion, and are thus able to expound his ideas without having the faintest idea of what they are talking about. These kinds of people never ask questions, sometimes because they can’t work out what questions to ask, and sometimes because they are afraid they won’t understand the answers. But Antonia had neither of these problems, and she pressed on confidently with her interrogation of the Great Being.)
“Why did you decide to change into an ancient cripple? I hope you won’t get upset by me saying this, but it isn’t very practical, is it? It’s really slowing us down.”
“There is a good reason for everything I do,” Ogg told her, shrugging his shoulders in the exact fashion that most got up Antonia’s nose.
“Well, I can’t imagine what it is this time,” Antonia hissed.
Ogg grimaced silently. They struggled on together in silence into the Underground Station, and Antonia panted and puffed to keep the Old Ogg upright. Was she hearing a cheeky whistle from under Ogg’s scarf? She hoped not.
At the Tube station, what Antonia didn’t need was a handful of tatty old uniforms nagging her to ‘get down the moving stairs and onto the platform in double quick time, miss’. Couldn’t they see that Ogg was almost a cripple? It had taken them forever just to get to the wretched Tube Station. She didn’t know who was making her most angry - Ogg in his stupid impractical disguise - they and their senseless exhortations to ‘move a bit quicker’. She was just preparing a piece of her mind for both of them when the initiative was wrung from her by two able-bodied wardens. They lifted a surprised Ogg clear of the ground and whisked a whinging Ogg down the motionless moving stairs. It was a miracle Antonia didn’t go head-over-heels trying to keep up with them.
Then she was suddenly abandoned again. Everyone else in the crowded tube station knew exactly what had to be done. Families were marking out pitches for themselves with mattresses and picnic hampers. Folding chairs were being erected , cushions were being placed against already crowded walls. Small groups of musicians were tuning up accordions, mouth organs and fiddles. Children were being slid into sleeping bags and told to ‘drop off to sleep and be a nice littl’un’. Beer bottles were emerging from large shopping bags. ‘WVS’ badges were dispensing tea in white mugs and sympathy in clipped consonants. Greetings were being made, gossip was being exchanged, health and family members were being enquired after. There was noise from floor to ceiling – snoring, crying, talking, singing, shouting – and everywhere – on the floor, against the walls, on mattresses, on chairs – were bodies – lying, sitting, standing, eating, sleeping, drinking.
Antonia was desperate. Ogg seemed to have decided to make himself as big a burden as possible.
“Me old bones are so tired, Ant,” he whined in a phoney Cockney accent. Antonia was looking around. Every available space was taken, there was nowhere for him to sit down and rest. Ogg had promised her an adventure. She was having a nightmare. She hoped she wasn’t sobbing.
“Don’t you go crying now, luv. Bring the old ‘un over here! He can squeeze in between my Tommy and my Marfa.”
A plump motherly figure helped Ogg cross the platform and pushed him between two giggling seven or eight year-olds. He propped his back against the platform wall and breathed a rather over-exaggerated sigh.
“Thank you very much for your kindness,” Antonia said.
“Why, you ain’t from round ‘ere, are yer, miss? You’re from up west, ain’t yer? I can tell by the way you talk.”
“No, not exactly,” Antonia answered, not wanting to actually tell a lie.
“Well, miss, yer old un’ll be all right there. Won’t yer, gran’father? You run off and get yerself a nice cup of char! We’ll look arter ‘im, won’t we, young uns?”
Antonia backed away, waving weakly at her ‘grandfather’, and walked up the station platform.
As Antonia was joining the end of the queue at the WVS stall, she wondered if Great Beings drank tea.
“That’s very kind of you but no thanks,” Ogg’s voice rang in her head. But should she get a cup for the friendly lady who had helped them? She was a guest in their time and she was anxious to behave politely and properly. She supposed that etiquette was more important in this time than it was in her own. Her grandmother was always going on about how standards had declined and how people nowadays had no time for each other. What should she do? To tea or not to tea? Fortunately she was rescued from her dilemma by another Ogg intervention informing her that the whole family were even now drinking happily from a large thermos flask. Thank goodness! She was there on a secret mission and she needed to avoid drawing attention to herself by inappropriate behaviour.
She found herself standing at the tail of the queue beside a youth of nineteen or twenty. To her he looked older, with his quaint greasy hair style, wide-collared suit with baggy trousers, over-sized overcoat. He was whistling some tune which Antonia had never heard. From time to time he shuffled his feet as if practising some intricate dance steps. Whenever an attractive young woman passed he would stare at her pointedly. The prettiest were rewarded by a hopeful “Hello sweetheart”; a greeting always totally ignored. Antonia immediately decided he was a frivolous and irresponsible person. He couldn’t possibly be Ogg’s person of particular significance.
Antonia felt his inspecting eyes wandering all over her. She tried hard to ignore him. If she could have, she would have moved to the end of the queue, but it would have attracted a lot of attention. She stared uncomfortably into space, at the roof, around the platform anywhere but at him. From time to time she allowed herself a sideways glance in his direction. She had a strange feeling of half recognition. Odd!
“Hello, sweetheart!” Their eyes had inadvertently crossed. Damn!
How could she have been so stupid? Ignore him! Look around for Ogg’s non-human!
“Hello, sweetheart!” He gave her a playful push on the shoulder.
“I don’t believe I know you!” she said coldly.
“Antonio, sweetheart, but yer c’n call me Ant.”
Antonia found this similarity between their names somewhat disconcerting. And there was something about his eyes that reminded her of her grandfather. Could it be that this unlikely specimen was indeed Ogg’s person of particular significance? She shivered.
“If we have to speak, you may call me Miss Collins.” She certainly wasn’t going to tell him her first name, especially not now, now that she had heard his.
“Bit of a mouthful! Couldn’t I just call yer sweetheart.”
“Certainly not! I’m not in the market for a sweetheart at the moment. But if I were, you wouldn’t be on the short list.”
“Well, we can just be good friends, then.” He offered Antonia his hand. This put her into a bit of dilemma. To refuse to grasp the proffered appendage would have been impolite. She really wasn’t too sure that her new acquaintance was entirely clean, and she would have preferred to avoid all physical contact. Oh well, such are the inconveniences of travelling! She shook his hand somewhat gingerly.
“I can get you a nice pair of nylons, sweetheart. Bargain price.”
What was he talking about? What were these ‘nylons’? And why did he
think she would want buy them from some street hawker?
“Top quality. American airmen.” He winked at her.
Was he selling American airmen? Why would she want to buy American airmen? Did they have Action men dolls in the nineteen forties? Did he think she still played with dolls? Or was he some kind of pervert?
“Did yer say yer name was Collins?” Antonio asked her.
“I said my name was Miss Collins!”
“Me girl friend’s name’s Collins. Madge Collins. Wouldn’t be a relative, would she?”
Her great grandmother’s maiden name had been Madge Collins. Her grandfather, like her father, was called Anton. She really didn’t know what to say. She shook her head and changed the subject.
“Shouldn’t you be in the army?”
“Won’t have me! Me parents are Italian, see! Lucky we ain’t locked up in the Isle of Wight or summat.” Antonia wished he had been.
Ogg suddenly appeared from nowhere and stood beside her. She still wasn’t used to his rather eccentric habit of just materialising in front of her and it gave her a start. He couldn’t see Ogg, of course, but her new companion couldn’t fail to notice Antonia’s reaction.
“You OK, sweetheart?”
Antonia’s eyes narrowed.
“I think I made it quite plain that I am not, never was, and never will be your sweetheart. Please don’t call me that again.”
The nylon salesman shrugged. He amused himself quietly for several minutes by trying to grab the attention of every female passer-bye under forty. Did he imagine himself a young Casanova or did he have a large stock of ‘nylons’ to get rid of? Ogg took the opportunity to have a short private conversation with Antonia.
“It’s O.K., Ant! He can’t see or hear me. He’s one of them.”
‘The non-humans?’ Antonia thought. Her comment was only for Ogg and there was therefore no need to actually speak out loud, particularly as she didn’t want to be overheard.
“It’s going well, Ant. I’m getting most of what he is saying. But remember I can only reach his speech through your thoughts. So you have to concentrate on every word”.
‘O.K., I will. But he’s a pain. Do I really have to talk to him?’
“Yes you do! For two reasons. First of all, we need to know as much as possible about these non-humans. And secondly, you have a personal interest in him. He’s your great grandfather.”
She might have known it.
“The Madge Collins he told you about is your Madge Collins. They’ll have a baby – your grandfather - and he’ll promise to marry her in two years. But then he’ll leave her and go to the U.S.A.”
She had sussed him out right away. He really was a creep. Her great grandmother Collins had been the heroine of her early childhood. A wonderful worshipped woman who had deserved the best. She ought to have had a handsome prince or a noble knight. She certainly didn’t deserve to be abandoned by this!
They were almost at the head of the tea queue by this time, and in front of them everyone was busy serving or being served. They were just about to step forward for their own cups, when an old lady lurched her way into the queue in front of them. Her clothes were torn, dirty and threadbare. Her grey skin and matching hair were streaked with grease. A tattered old tartan shopping bag swung precariously from one arm. She carried around her own private zone of stale alcohol stench, available to be shared by anyone who passed too close. For Antonia she was a sad reject from a heartless society. For her great grandfather, she was a nuisance.
“What d’ya think yer doin’, missus? Yer ain’t jumpin’ in like that, not if I’ve anyfink to do wif it. Bugger off!” He pushed her violently out of the queue. Head drooped, she shuffled slowly down the line, right to the end, maybe a full twenty minutes from the warm cup of tea she needed so badly.
Antonia was fuming. She was fuming as the WVS lady handed her the cup, she was fuming as she marched to the back of the queue and she was still fuming when she handed the hot tea to the old woman. She had hoped that this benelovent act would relieve her furious temper, but her anger was still out of control. She needed something more. So she fumed back up to the head of the queue, where an amazed Antonio was staring at her, his cup in one hand.
“What d’yer do that for? Yer didn’t need to do that.”
“No I didn’t. And I don’t need to do this, either.” And, still fuming, she took the cup from his saucer, and threw the hot tea right in his face. Antonio’s surprised screams finally put a stop to the full intensity of her fuming, but she was still feeling only a little bit less than furious.
Ogg must have thought things were getting out of hand, because, in his usual matter-of-fact and unostentatious way, he whisked both her and himself back to Antonia’s bedroom and her own time.