News from Gardenia

by Robert Llewellyn

  Due to an ever-increasing demand for fuel coupled with an ever-decreasing stock of gas and oil, tensions quickly grew beyond peaceful control. China was the last remaining state run by a government as opposed to a private company. Although relatively self-sufficient in its energy needs, China felt it had a claim to the resources controlled by Moshchnost. It did not recognise the corporation as a state and invaded the territory in 2063.

  Again I let the book drop. Reading this history was very far removed from the experience I had at school learning about the enclosures act or Cavaliers and Roundheads.

  I slowly turned the pages, looking at the photographs of men in suits looking confident, the CEOs of these global giants with their corporate ethos, their energy and focus on planning and strategic conglomerations.

  Strangely all three looked very similar – the Russian, the English guy and the American could almost have been brothers. Men in their late fifties dressed in dull suit and tie.

  How could all that power and control have simply evaporated and left a buried mess, a tiny population and a load of trees?

  I couldn’t read any more; it was making me depressed. It really seemed as if my era was the seeding ground for this 150-year-long disaster as the world lurched from one chaotic attempt at order, or control, or growth, to recession, boom and bust. It seemed no one had the answer. The response, which I could see all around me, was to let it collapse, let it eat itself to death and then potter about in the garden. Ridiculous. There had to be some kind of authority, maybe benign and subtle, but I simply could not believe there was no government of any kind.

  But there was no sign of it; somehow it did all seem to have stopped. It was as if the present generation, the one I seemed to be becoming a part of, was almost waiting, resting and recovering from the turmoil and madness. It was as if they had found peace at last, a way of living together that did not involve the divisive structures that had ruled the world for so long.

  I climbed out of bed and pulled back the large curtains. I was greeted with a view of the orchards below, bathed in bright sunlight. It was an exquisite view: not a telegraph pole, pylon, vapour trail or chimney belching smoke in sight.

  I dressed in my own clothes and made my way to the dining room of Goldacre Hall. On entering I was greeted with the sight of many people talking, laughing and eating breakfast. It was slightly chaotic and very busy, parents feeding young children, groups of teenagers sitting together sharing secrets and laughing, many faces I recognised but no one I had spoken with.

  Although it wasn’t quite like entering a remote rural pub when you’re a stranger and everyone going quiet, I was aware that I was being stared at as I made my way slowly towards the cooking area.

  After my breakfast, a young man approached me, and this time he really was young, only a teenager, but his manner was very confident.

  ‘Good morning, Gavin. I’m Suman. I’ve been told to guide you to the learning hall if you wish to come.’

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ I said and stood up. I was relieved, finally, to be taller than someone. Suman was quite a short young fellow.

  We left through the exterior door and I followed the young man around the house, along a path through a wonderful herb garden, through a gate in an old wall and then into a large hall, built of wood. A solid-looking building, they had actually cut down trees to build this thing, and it didn’t look that old. Again the roof was a huge south sloping sheet of the same grey material they seemed to use for all their roofing. I now assumed it to be some kind of solar power collecting material although I still hadn’t found out quite what.

  Inside the beautiful and spacious interior of the hall were a great many people, mostly children and a handful of adults. There was a great deal of chattering, music and everywhere vibrant life. At the far end of the room some very old people were sitting with a group of small children who I guessed were listening to stories.

  Many children had the transparent books on low tables and seemed to be working them diligently with just their fingertips. At another table teenage children were painting a large picture together, as in they were using paint and paper, I assumed paper made from wood pulp, and I could see in the far corner some were practising fairly impressive acrobatics on an area covered in crash mats and gym equipment.

  I saw Grace sitting with a small group of young children who were reading large letters on their books. As they traced them with their fingers the image changed to something that looked like the marks made by a big, fat crayon.

  ‘History time,’ shouted Suman. ‘The history man is here.’

  I stared in awe as a large percentage of the children stopped what they were doing and gathered around me. No child was ushered by an adult; they just naturally congregated together. Many of them were carrying cushions to sit on and they somehow ordered themselves into a semi-circle around me, staring at me with an attention that could easily have been interpreted as adoration. I didn’t know where to look.

  ‘Um, hi, good morning,’ I said. I’d done a fair amount of public speaking – I’d even given a TED talk in 2010 in California – but this was far more challenging. I just didn’t know where to start.

  ‘So, right, my name is Gavin, I’m, um, I’m staying in Goldacre Hall at the moment, and, um, I’m a historian. So, right, back in the olden days, a long, long time ago, back in 2011, this place where you all live now, this island you live on, it wasn’t called Gardenia, it had a different name. Does anyone know what it was called?’

  Some of the kids smiled at me, and one very young girl, who couldn’t have been more than five or six, spoke up very clearly.

  ‘It was called the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.’

  ‘Okay, yes, so you know all about that. Of course.’ I was flustered now, I was talking to very well informed kids. ‘Well, back then it was very different. For a start there were loads more people living on the Islands, living in Gardenia, like millions more. It’s hard to imagine how many people, but about four times more than there are now. They lived very close to each other, in small houses, all separate houses. They didn’t live together in big halls like you do now, like we do now, but all in their own little houses. They used money all the time, they talked about money, worried about it, saved it up and spent it on things.’

  Now the faces were a little blank. I could sense I wasn’t getting through to them on this tack.

  ‘Money was how people traded, how they swapped things. I had some money, you had an apple, I would give you some money and you’d give me the apple.’

  Still nothing, utter confusion and it was not only the kids, some of the adults looking at me clearly had no idea what I was talking about.

  ‘So that was money,’ I continued. ‘It’s very confusing for us now, but I’ve got something here to show you.’

  I had a ten-pound note in my pocket – I pulled it out and showed them.

  ‘This is what money looked like. This was called a bank note. It’s just a piece of paper with pictures, patterns and writing on it. People would have some of these and give them in exchange for things, like milk and bread, newspapers or a pair of shoes.’

  I handed the ten-pound note to the little girl who had spoken about the United Kingdom. She looked at it carefully and passed it to the young lad sitting next to her.

  ‘So money was really, really important to people back then,’ I said. ‘And because there were so many people, it was all really complicated. Some people had lots and lots of money and they could do anything, go anywhere, buy anything they wanted. But most people didn’t have very much money and they couldn’t do as many things, they couldn’t buy as many things, that’s what swapping money for things was called, buying. Then of course most people had hardly any money at all and they couldn’t do very much, they didn’t have enough to eat and I suppose they were made to feel like they w
eren’t worth anything, like they weren’t special.’

  This description had the effect of captivating my steadily growing audience. They were staring at me; I could see them struggling to imagine what it would be like to have none of this paper stuff when the whole world gravitated around it. I didn’t want to tell them that I had been through the same struggle on many occasions, trying to imagine what it would be like to have no money. I’d always been lucky, my parents were comfortably off, I’d always worked and earned a decent amount. I’d never experienced poverty, but this lot, they didn’t even know what poverty meant.

  ‘And we, they, they also burnt stuff. I’m sure you all know about this, but almost everything people did back then required burning stuff. They burnt wood first off, but then coal, then oil, then gas, then nuclear fuel, everything was burnt and used up and then they went out to search for more stuff to burn. It might seem crazy now, but back then, they didn’t know any other way to get energy and burning stuff seemed completely natural to them.’

  The crowd of children certainly seemed to be taking in what I was saying, I was on a roll. I glanced at Grace at the back of the group; she was smiling, not a big grin, just a quiet, proud smile. She obviously felt confirmed in her conviction that this experience would be good for the kids, and for me. But then something happened that I really didn’t expect.

  ‘This I agree was all bad, but it’s very important to remember that not everything was bad. There were amazing things too. Cars, okay, they were bad and stupid and short sighted, but they had passion. Cars that burnt stuff, they burnt oil, they made smoke and noise and they weren’t efficient, but they had passion. When a powerful engine started up, it was an amazing noise, like the roar of a powerful animal, like something that was living and breathing. The roar of a powerful engine was a thing of great beauty. Planes, not like the one I fly in, huge passenger jets, they were bigger than Goldacre Hall, long sleek tubes made of metal, with enormous wings, like a giant bird, and yes they burnt stuff to move and they were inefficient, but they were also very beautiful, the way they flew was magical. A huge plane with maybe six hundred people inside, flying from one side of the world to the other, way back two hundred years ago. On a clear day you could see the trails from the fuel they were burning high up in the sky, long white lines criss-crossing the blue sky. There were also cities full of people, noise and life, lights, towers, traffic, which is what they called lots and lots of cars all moving along slowly, shops that sold things for money, brightly lit, exciting. There was television and films and music everywhere, there were clubs and pubs and crowded places full of excited people talking and shouting and laughing, sometimes fighting, sometimes drunk and stupid but always exciting and vibrant.’

  I stopped for a moment, I was finding it hard to talk, something felt like it was constricting my throat. I didn’t know what it was but I could hear that my voice had changed pitch and everything I was saying took more physical effort. I took a deep breath and continued.

  ‘Then there was the internet. I know we have the grid now and it’s all very clever, but the internet started back then and it changed everything, people could talk to each other from anywhere in the world, it was still new and exciting and really clever people worked out amazing things, so many really clever, wonderful people who did so much. And now they’re all dead.’

  I stopped at that point. It wasn’t as if I had decided to stop, something stopped me, it was just like walking into a wall in the dark. I didn’t see it coming but I was stopped dead. I shook my head trying to gather my thoughts, I wanted to tell them about the early efforts to change the way we lived, I wanted to give the present world some context, explain that although my era was wasteful, short sighted, greedy and the world seemed to be run by the most stupid and ignorant people rather than the wisest, I wanted them to know that there were amazing people around who did see the big picture.

  It was then I saw Grace making her way toward me through the crowd of seated children, it was then I realised there were tears streaming down my face. The little girl who was sitting in the front row stood up and held onto my trouser leg.

  ‘The history man is crying,’ she said. ‘Don’t cry history man, it’s okay.’

  I’m not sure what happened next. I remember Grace taking my hand and leading me from the hall, I remember feeling very embarrassed and I wanted to explain that I was fine, I didn’t want to upset the children.

  I took a deep breath as soon as I got outside the learning hall and Grace stood a little way from me, almost as if I was toxic.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what happened.’

  ‘Please don’t worry,’ said Grace softly. ‘The children will be fine, it’s all part of their learning, they will understand.’

  I shrugged. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk,’ I said. Grace said nothing, she didn’t try to stop me.

  I started walking down a path away from Goldacre Hall and the learning hall. A slightly winding path through the lovely woodland. I kept taking deep breaths of the slightly damp air, it felt so pure and clean.

  I don’t know how long I walked for, I would guess a few miles. After what may have been hours, I’ve no idea, I noticed a beautiful wooden bench by the side of the path a little way ahead of me, it had a small shingle roof to keep the rain off, a very simple structure which blended with the surrounding woodland in a pleasing way.

  I sat down and tried to relax. It wasn’t possible, my mind was racing, the true weight of what had happened to me seemed to hit me that day. Although I wasn’t technically dead, I might as well have been. It was worse than being a refugee, forced to flee your homeland because of war or famine. Even if it was unlikely, it was still possible to go back home, you knew your home was still there. No such option was open for me.

  I shifted in my seat and remembered I had my Book rolled up in my back pocket. I stood up and extracted it, worrying that I would have put a fold in it and damaged the delicate workings buried somewhere inside. As soon as I released it from the thin sheath of material it was housed in, it unrolled as if brand new.

  I said my name. ‘Gavin Meckler, born April 15th 1979.’

  The image on the screen changed to a kind of Wiki entry about me. My date of birth, my education, my list of companies, all neatly displayed. Then, clearly reported was the date of my death, May 16th 2011. There was a green button beside this piece of information, it was a hyperlink to an article in the Guardian.

  An engineer and scientist with a great career ahead of him has been reported missing in a light aircraft somewhere over Southern England. Gavin Meckler from Kingham in Oxfordshire was last seen taking off from Enstone airfield in an experimental electric monoplane. No wreckage has been found and it is feared he may have ditched at sea. Meckler was part of the Tempus project, a multi-national effort to create large-scale renewable energy projects. Philipe LaRoche, an associate of Meckler’s at Tempus, said: ‘His skills will be badly missed, this is a terrible blow to the project and his family.’

  I let the Book fall on my lap – so they thought I’d died, crashed into the sea and died. In some peculiar way this cheered me up – they didn’t think I’d just done a runner and absconded with millions of dollars of investors’ money.

  I sat back and closed my eyes, allowing the filtered sunlight coming through the trees to tickle my retina. I found the patterns peaceful and I started to relax. Just as I was beginning to nod off, I felt a shock rush through me.

  Beth, whatever happened to Beth?

  ‘Beth Harris, born September 19th, 1979.’

  As I was saying the nineteen, there was a listing for Beth on the screen. Immediately I saw it everything tumbled into chilling focus.

  It told in one simple line that she had married Philipe LaRoche – my mate Philipe, she married him! I sat back and looked up into the canopy of beech trees above me �
�� who’d ever have thought that was even remotely possible, Philipe and Beth? I couldn’t get my head around what must have happened.

  Philipe was quite fat for a start and Beth had always told me she liked me because I was thin. I don’t mean to be cruel about Philipe, he wasn’t like, obese, just well covered, maybe chunky, but he certainly wasn’t remotely thin.

  A little further down the page it stated that Beth had two children, both boys. I shook my head, two boys.

  Beth died in December 2073! Blimey, she made it to 98 years old! But she had two boys. Two people who would have grown up and maybe had children.

  I followed the links for her two boys – the older one was called Patrick Peter LaRoche and had got married in 2041. Beth’s other son was called Rupert Gavin LaRoche. Another chill went through me, Rupert Gavin was born in 2018, so even seven years after I had ‘died’ she remembered me – she used my name as a middle name for her second son.

  I sat back and smiled as a cynical thought passed through my spinning head – she didn’t name her first son after me, she remembered me but only enough to use my name for her second son, for his middle name. For some reason this amused me and made me relax a little. Beth didn’t forget her dead former husband totally.

  Using my finger to follow the links, I found out what happened to these offspring.

  Patrick Peter LaRoche had one child called Bernice Nancy LaRoche who was born in 2052. Rupert Gavin LaRoche also had one daughter, Samina Anne LaRoche, born in 2056.

  Clearly all these people had passed their IQ tests because they must have been allowed to breed. I felt quite proud for them.