by Ken Webster
Later still they admonished me for asking why it was all so secret.
WE REMIND YOU THAT YOU HAVE BEEN HONOURED WITH THIS COMMUNICATION, WE ARE ALLOWED OWN PERSONAL COMMUNICATION WITH GARY WITHOUT QUESTIONS ASKED – YOU EXPECT THINGS, WHY SHOULD IT ALL BE FOR YOUR BENEFIT???!!!
It was now 7 March and Gary had cooled somewhat when we next met him with a message. He gave us one in return addressed to 2109, not, as previously, in an envelope but for public consumption. It read oddly.
GREETINGS
I AM INSTRUCTED TO APOLOGISE BUT IN ANY EVENT I WOULD HAVE DONE SO OF MY OWN VOLITION. THERE WILL BE A LETTER HOPEFULLY THIS WEEKEND. I AM ALSO INSTRUCTED TO APOLOGISE TO KEN AND DEBBIE. I MUST TRY AND ANSWER YOUR LAST LETTER. IT WOULD APPEAR THAT YOU ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN I HAD REALISED IN THE SCHEME OF THINGS.
GARY
This was crazy in two respects. Firstly it reminded us that we were by no means the only ones in touch with 2109, and secondly Mr Rowe was suggesting that they were important but he did not develop the reasons for this. It was no good asking him. Even at a meeting at Peter Trinder’s where we questioned him in detail, and again much later at his house in Rhyl, he would only smile and utter sentences of calm obscurity. It was hopeless.
Meanwhile I was manoeuvring for Tomas’s release. What madness! Suffice to say that there was to be another envelope and another sly comment about it from me:
2109
I WOULD BE GRATEFUL IF YOU WOULD RELEASE TOMAS IN SEVEN DAYS SO THAT WE MAY CONCLUDE OUR COMMUNICATIONS WITH DIGNITY.
KEN.
KEN
THANK YOU, WE DO NOTICE YOUR HARD WORK!. THOMAS WILL BE BACK AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. OUR CONVERSATIONS WITH GARY WILL NOT BE OF INTEREST TO YOU, WE ARN’T PLOTTING ANYTHING AGAINST YOU
12 March
Debbie agreed to try a small test with the latest envelope. With Val Trinder as witness the door from the kitchen to the lounge was padlocked, and with the door to the bathroom lobby already bolted from the kitchen there was a reasonably secure space. Deb was alone as I was away on business in Hertfordshire. Despite the inconvenience and discomfort of walking right round the house to get to the bathroom Deb stuck it out in good spirit for the allocated twenty-four hours. She had the kettle in the living room and some food.
No one was more surprised than Val Trinder to open up the kitchen and find the envelope gone. This disappearance proved nothing but our impotence. We were reduced to the irrelevant, watching envelopes while Gary and 2109 went to it, and as hostage was the communication with Tomas.
HELLO 2109
ANYTHING FOR GARY OR MYSELF?
IS TOMAS ABOUT? KEN
ANOTHER HOUR PLEASE. 2109
Nearly two hours later:
THANK YOU.
MESSAGE FOR GARY ON V. USURAL PROCEDURE PLEASE.
AFTER PRINTING WE SUGGEST YOU LEAVE SOME PAPER OUT!!!.
P.S. AGAIN SEAL IN ENVELOPE WITH “FOR GARYS’ EYES ONLY – READ WHEN ALONE”
WRITTEN ON THE OUTSIDE.
THANK YOU
2109.
Deb asked at one stage whether this communication with Gary would help us. It seemed not.
GREETINGS,
2109, WOULD YOU PLEASE TELL ME WHAT PROGRESS YOUR MAKING WITH GARY AS WE DO NOT LIKE BEING LEFT IN THE DARK THIS WAY, DOES THIS HELP US (LIKE YOU SAID IT WOULD) OR DOES IT HELP YOU?. WHY IS IT THAT GARY, WHO, AS FAR AS WE ARE GIVEN TO UNDERSTAND, NEVER SPOKEN WITH YOU BEFORE CAN HAVE INFORMATION THAT WE ARE RESTRICTED TO HAVE?. IS GARYS INVESTIGATION GOING TO PROVE POSITIVE FOR US?.
DEBBIE.
GREETINGS
THE COMMUNICATION BETWEEN GARY AND 2109 IS NOT OF INTEREST TO YOU. GARY HAS A BETTER UNDERSTANDING OF US THAN YOU DO, HIS EXPERIENCES ARE MOST DEFINATELY AN ADVANTAGE TO THIS. HIS PHYSICAL TESTS WILL PROOVE NEGATIVE, UNFORTUNATELY YOU PUT FAR TOO MUCH CONCERN IN PROOVING THIS TO THE “WORLD” – YOU KNOW THAT THIS IS A WORTHLESS EFFORT, WHY ASK!. YOU MUST NOT BE ‘PUSHY’ WITH GARY, YOU UNDERESTIMATE HIS ABILITIES AND THAT INDIRECTLY IS AN INSULT TO US!. IF YOU HAD OPEND YOUR EYES A BIT WIDER AND READ THE COMMUNICATIONS MORE INTENCLEY YOU WOULD HAVE HAD HALF THE ADVANTAGE THAT GARY HAS.
WE MUST MAKE A MOVE THOMAS HAS FOUR DAYS THEN HE WILL LEAVE WE SHALL FOLLOW. GARY ROWE HAS AND WILL SERVE HIS PURPOSE … 2109
It was all a curious episode overshadowed by Tomas’s return and to whom the story now returns.
At a later meeting Gary would only say that if we were ‘further along the road’, i.e. towards his way of thinking, then he might be able to explain. He was polite but firm. He could not, I think, hide his disappointment. Something in the exchange must have held a fascination for him yet it was not enough, something went wrong. I can only say that I did as I was requested and not a single message that he left for 2109 nor a single word of any message they left for him on my little computer did I see or interfere with. I am proud of this. Gary alone can tell the story of what went on. For all his perfect manners, his esotericism, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He would not agree with me but in a way that does not matter. I am sure we were just looking from very different points of view.
As with SPR no report has ever been submitted to us.
47
15 March
I left a short message to Tomas saying I wished that there was something I could do to keep him there. For a second I succumbed to the desire to try and ‘visit’ him. Reason asserted itself, if somewhat unsteadily at first. There was no time to play games. Every working day began sooner and ended later and every evening after writing a few hurried words I became an outcast, waiting an hour, half an hour, or whatever, to see his words. I did not ask him much more than a few sentimental items: that he and Debbie should perhaps meet in the great garden of Magdalen College, or by the river; that he tell us about his first days in Oxford, where he stayed, what he did.
His sadness, too, was evident and instead of us pushing ahead, gathering a rich harvest of information and recollection, the communications stumbled, clouded by melancholy.
I provided paper but he did not continue. My questions did. I had prepared another sheet of scraggy, block-lettered words in readiness.
I told Tomas of the first days of the adventure, it seemed so long ago, of Nicola Bagguley, Debbie and myself and the ‘comuter’; of how old the computer was (a year or so) what we did and why; and what or who we thought we were talking to. I embroidered a little on this ‘me didst thenk yt was a ghoul or devyl’. I asked again about the ‘antic’ which had first brought sight of the ‘leems’ in his chimney space. I concluded by saying that not all computers bring messages across time! It felt like a legend I was telling: full of mystery, morality and innocent adventurers. It felt pretty good despite or because of this.
The irritating question of who was parson at the church haunted me. It was trivial in a way but I had read in the parish-produced History of Dodleston that Pennant was rector. Tomas had written some weeks before 2109 ‘held up’ communications that Cowlie was the parson. The awareness of the ‘end’ forced us to go over old ground to make sure, even though Tomas was adamant about the facts as he knew them. I was even looking at questions which had been long answered, e.g. the ‘half-witted antic’. There were hundreds of papers and messages bundled carelessly upstairs, I just forgot … so many, many hours were lost in the dogged search for the trivial and obscure.
Debbie said we were acting as though we had all year and more to talk to him. I sensed a truth and still felt we were floundering in a fast ebb tide.
myne brothyr ken
me dost thanke yow for yowrn worden theym han gyfen mynselves goodlie stedde for rekonyn thys leems betir/ forthe wol I tel o thys yow rewarde [?] tan antic/ kathryn wert slepyn yn myn fyr sete yn myn chynmney soe me didst goe to carie hyr thyr bedes wan me syghts a grene lyt ashynyng from thy wals o myne chimnie an from thys lyt steped wot methenkd wert thy devyll hymselvs/ me didst nevyr fere for myn sowle soe moche yn myn lyf but soe aferd wert me th me nold moove wey frome thys unkyndlie messagere/hym seyn fe
re nat goodlie tomas yow art starred tbe a grete man yf me dost na han fere but kepe myne fey stronge/ theyn aft othyr worden whych me dost confess nat lyken to devyl tonge hym didst mispere leevyng thy leems whyche seemth tme tbe model o yowr comutyr/ me dydst thir wt al me wayken kathryn whome dydst nat syghts myn leems nor ere me speke tthy metaphysycalle wyght bot she seyen yow nyce tomas yow wert bot yn mete nowe affraye me nat for yow pathetycale wyts/ soe tmope me dyd for thyr shone leems bot kathryn syghts nat soe me dyd verily care for myn wyts that me dyd reherce myn gode vers alnyght tyd [?] til morrowe but nay would yt goe but sat wyth glee quently prevy talle but mynselve/ then twey daye aft kathryn wert asingen vers yn myn chimney bi my fyr an leems an me see that hyr wordes dyd pere an yt/ soe wan kathryn dyd go walkyng me tryd vers mynnselve an othyr wordes an waxen myn rekonyng fo leems/ dost yow preye mo o leems
Tomas
My brother Ken,
I thank you for your words. They have given me base upon which to understand the ‘leems’. I will now tell you about what you might call an ‘antic’. Kathryn was sleeping in the chimney seat so I went over to pick her up and carry her to her bed when I saw a green light shining from the walls of my chimney and from this light stepped what I thought was the devil himself. I never feared for my soul so much in my life but so afraid was I that I couldn’t move away from this strange messenger. He said, ‘Fear not, good Tomas, you are starred to be a great man, if you do not have fear but keep your faith strong.’ Then after other words which I do confess were not like devil talk he was gone leaving the ‘leems’ which appeared to be the same as your computer. I immediately woke Kathryn but she didn’t see the ‘leems’ nor hear me speak with the metaphysical person but she said, ‘You, silly Tomas, were in your dreams, now don’t frighten me with your disturbed thoughts.’ So to mope I did for there shone the ‘leems’ but Kathryn saw it not. I was so worried for my sanity that I spoke the Lord’s prayer all night but it would not go but sat with glee unseen by all but myself. Then two days afterwards Kathryn was singing in the chimney by the fire and ‘leems’ and I saw that her words appeared on it so when Kathryn went walking I tried verses myself and other words and gained knowledge about the ‘leems’. Do you want more about the ‘leems’?
Tomas
We were suddenly on the right track. More questions. Let’s get the parson business out of the way quickly and move on. I tensed. No matter what, even in those last days I was still trying to prove it all, or at least question, analyse, probe, when a year ago I had resolved to let it run on, to put aside analysis until it was all done. It was a mark of my failure. Parsons and rectors … pah! Ask him something vital or interesting and just for once get the question right. Make it something he will be interested in.
To calm down I took a walk round Chester and ended up on part of the city walls near the racecourse. It was a longish walk, and I stopped every hundred yards and peered out into the distance. I only had two thoughts for my ‘brother’: one was ‘don’t go’ and the other was ‘we all love you’. I was behaving like the hero of a second-rate novel: all moody and terribly serious. This had to stop. I forced my mind to concentrate on the coming days. I determined to ask only that Tomas write more of the ‘leems’ and let him say what he will. The ‘leems’: here was the real mystery. It occurred to me that he was asking nothing much of us. Guilt compounded frustration and sadness.
I walked slowly down to the river and leant over the parapet of the old Dee bridge, watching the surge of phosphorescence as the dark waters played across the weir. Here and there a log was jammed against the stonework. I remembered something: ‘of that which is to be termed “time” we perceive the stepping stones of today and tomorrow but not the vibrant river that runs between our feet.’
I spoke. ‘There you are then,’ I said to the river. ‘These messages have been a few stepping stones.’ I looked across the weir. ‘I’m missing an awful lot of river, aren’t I?’ The river gurgled its agreement beneath the piers. I smiled, then said to the gorged waters, ‘You are my river of lost opportunity.’ The river was blackness and constancy. Cars nosed around like landbound sharks on the narrow roadway at my back. ‘Do you have any questions, river?’ I knew the answer: Why are you looking down on me? The best way to understand is to swim along with me. It is effortless. ‘I know. I tried that but couldn’t let go.’ I spoke softly and held my glasses lest they fall in. The river was full of spring rains.
brothyr ken an beste felawe
me shalt forthe mo o leems as thys be yowr axyng/ me nacan recorde thy naym o vers but twas dytee for a younge chylde an yt were lyght tsynge tho nathelis me nold make tpapyr as nouthe/ yt were somthynge bouten thy stepe starres anyght/ aft me wert famulyer wt the leems me didd impeech yt urn an that be wan thy worden me dyd shewe yow tpapyr cam meethynks nowe fro 2109 tunge/ me wert soe mated by thys ta me dyd include comunyon wyth thy devyl for fere o myn wits an made myn intendment nat tfal bi syk woodniss but nay would yt goe tho non dyd syghts yt/ theyn me wert spyryted yn my slepes by unkowth toys o thy wyts an aldeye wol devylls turn my howes upsoe downe afrayng kathryn soe/ me dydst goe to thy leems an ax why yt dyd ax us o ari sych fere yn myn hows/ then methynks yow wryt an al dyd styl/ yea pennante beest rector tho cowlie beest parsoun/ non me doe favour/ theym han illprys to thir hedes/ me can understand yf wot yow seyn ys trewe ta yow tthynks me devyl als/ bot me nowe know myn felawes to be goode men for methynks yow makest love brothyr tomas an we han trewst preye.
Tomas
Brother Ken and favourite fellow,
I shall tell you more of the ‘leems’ as this is your desire. I cannot remember the name of the verse I received but it was a ditty for a young child and it was easy to sing though I can’t put it to paper. It was something about the high stars at night. After I was familiar with the ‘leems’ I asked why it was there and that was when the words I showed you on paper came, I think now they were from 2109. I was so shocked by this that I thought it was communication with the devil by this device. I made a promise not to allow myself to be damned by such madness but it wouldn’t go away though no one saw it. After this I was haunted in my sleep by strange dreams and all day devils turned my house upside down, scaring Kathryn so. I went to the ‘leems’ and asked it why it wanted to bring such fear into my house. Then I think you wrote and all was still.
Yes, Pennant is rector though Cowlie is parson. I don’t like either … I can understand if what you say is true that you also thought I was the devil but now I know my fellows to be good men, you love brother Tomas and we have trust in one another, don’t you agree?
Tomas
My ignorance and naïvety. Parsons and rectors are not necessarily the same thing. Peter gave Debbie a last message to write up.
19 March
I was still not prepared for his going. I had not written my last words, and I didn’t know when I should have the time or what I should say. Early spring weather, blustery showers, the snowdrops I love so much had come and gone in Broughton churchyard. ‘The sap’s rising,’ my grandmother used to say. ‘The sap’s rising. Another year safe on its way.’
I came back to a verse written by Philip Larkin, from The North Ship that I had left for Tomas some days before.
This is the first thing
I have understood
Time is the echo of an axe
within a wood.
Paradoxically part of me felt that Tomas had already gone. He had become the echo. The burden was now on making something of it as worthy as the man himself, a book to mirror the one he was going to begin at Oxford. It would take more than another crop of snowdrops and another year ‘safe on its way’ to write such a book. Perhaps these books are an attempt to penetrate the wood; to be aware of more than the echo of the axe.
Debbie wrote her message:
Tomas myne goodlie brother, … when do yow thynk yow are to go to Oxanford. We will miss yow very much. How will yow go, will it be on horse or shipp prey ….
… How is yowr cook? Will sh
e go with yow prey? Doe yow have any animals left. Tell more goodlie Tomas
Love Debbie
We will all miss yow Tomas, love Debbie.
20 March
mayde debbie
me wryt amorrow fo grovnor com thys deye
21 March
At about 4.35 P.M. I rang home from work in Manchester. Deb sounded full of a cold and not herself in a way that only people who have lived together for a time understand. Tomas was gone, she seemed to say. I was still in the office world. I joked almost. But she was upset, or at least had been; 2109 had gone as well. Peter’s last message to Tomas didn’t get through in time. I began to get a little confused and my mind was no longer firmly fixed on deadlines in the office but switched between the idea of Tomas going quickly without warning and my being here in Manchester. I wandered to the computer room and tried to finish a section on the Project Newsletter. I succeeded, but my hand was unsteady. I had to go home. I walked slowly, deliberately, from the office, following our secretaries, Nicky and Agnes, out and into the car park. I exchanged a few words with both of them, then Agnes drove off fiercely in an Alpine. I noticed for some reason that it was Scottish registered.