The baby was born and Tom was having another year of success at various races and the inevitable FA Cup Final. He had only one mishap when, without his crib sheet, he could not remember the name of the winner of a race and thought that he could spot it from the list of runners. He made the mistake of picking the horse that would win in its second attempt the following year. Despite this, he was a very rich man and was able to buy a lovely house in Eaton Terrace on a 99 year lease where he and Mary would bring up their son.
Neither Gaskin nor Waverly guessed what was about to be revealed, but Fredericks had already written his prediction in his notebook which he put in front of Morton-Farrell. Tom continued. “So, Mary Gordon gave birth to a fine son, James, on a cold April morning in 1950.” Gaskin coughed, “The Professor is your love child.” Tom smiled, “Yes. I have kept it a secret all of these years, first for my own protection, but then to protect my son. Now my younger self has moved back to 1947 I can reveal myself to James. It has been the one driving ambition that has kept me going all this time.” Tom continued his story…
Tom knew the vicar of Christ Church, opposite his Chelsea house, quite well and when accommodation for the new curate was raised, Tom saw a chance to have the house looked after whilst still in his ownership. He would then move in with Mary, or so he thought. He was loading the first batch of bags and boxes into the back of his little Morris Eight car when a tall and ungainly looking tramp confronted him on the pavement. Tom looked at him, trying to work out why he looked familiar. The unshaven and filthy wretch spoke and Tom rocked back against the door of the car. “Look at me, Shaw, if that’s still your name. You did this to me. I was locked up for 11 months because of you. It has taken me 2 months to get from Liverpool to here and now, I’m go’na get even.” Tom looked for an escape route and went to the other side of the car. “No wait, Baker. I have done nothing to you, why are you after me?” Baker, bereft of dignity and seething with hate, paused to decide whether to go left or right around the car. “My Sergeant Major told me to bring you in. He knew you were on the run. When you got away with it I was in deep shit and he told me my promotion had gone out the door. I had to get that promotion to stop my demob. After I was kicked out of the Army I did a bit of homework on you. Trevor Shaw is dead and buried and you managed to take on his identity. I followed you to Aintree races and planned to confront you there, but I had a little disagreement with a Scouser and got done for it. Now look at me. I’m nothing.” He chose his moment and ran round to the left. “I’m gonna kill you this time, Shaw.”
Tom just had time to grab the heavy metal starting handle for the Morris. Baker lunged at Tom but missed and Tom managed to step back and away from his assailant. Baker made another lunge and caught Tom’s shoulder with his fist, but Tom managed to stay on his feet. Baker’s left hook just missed Tom’s chin and the fury of the failed blow sent Baker forward and off balance. Tom seized his chance and hit Baker squarely on the back of the head with the starting handle which Tom then promptly dropped. The blow sent Baker to the floor and Tom thought that the assault might be over, but the huge man managed to get back on his feet. There was blood running from the wound on Baker’s head and he was just as menacing as ever. Tom had no option now, but to run. He went east along Christchurch Street and then took the right turn down Tite Street. He was on the Chelsea Embankment within seconds. Tom turned to face back up Tite Street with his back to the busy Embankment traffic. Baker was not far behind. Tom looked left and right, but there was no one to help. He looked around for another weapon but nothing was to hand. Instinct, or his rugby training, took over and as Baker took another wild lunge, Tom did a dummy left but moved right and Baker fell headlong in front of a Bedford Tipper lorry and was killed instantly. Tom stared down at Baker’s crushed body, turned and walked slowly back to Christchurch Street.
Tom was still sitting on the running board of his car staring down at the starting handle on the ground, when the policeman arrived. There had been a witness to the fight and the starting handle was already being examined by the constable. “Did you have occasion to hit that gentleman with this, Sir?” he asked. Tom was incensed. “He was a mad man. He tried to kill me and I just grabbed that to defend myself.” The policeman wrote in his notebook. “He won’t be bothering you again now will he? Why did you leave the scene of the gentleman’s death?” Tom struggled to keep cool. “There was nothing I could do to help the situation. I needed to sit down and so here I am.”
Tom was cautioned by the constable who then asked more questions and made copious notes. He was joined by a police Sergeant who asked Tom to produce proof of ID and proof of address. “So this is your house here then, Mr Shaw? Are you moving in or out then?” Tom did not want to give the address of where he was going and so he said, “I’m just having a tidy up, getting rid of some stuff that belonged to my old lodger.” The two policemen appeared content. Tom was told that he was not being arrested, but may be required to help the police inquiry and he would be contacted in due course.
Tom went back into his house; he was still very shaken and so he made some tea. He did not want Mary to know about this business as it was all too dreadful. Whilst he had been talking to the policemen he felt vulnerable and worried about what might happen to Mary and the child if he were hurt or died suddenly. Suppose that Baker had told someone that Trevor Shaw was dead. He decided to arrange for Mary to receive an allowance as a transfer from his bank account to hers. He also wanted the house in Eaton Terrace to be in Mary’s name. He hailed a taxi and went to the Aldwych end of the Strand where his solicitor, Mike Townsend, had his office. Tom explained his predicament and said that he was adamant that the child should never know the identity of his father. The solicitor found it hard to understand why Tom was so keen on hiding his identity from his son. Tom was, of course, unable to tell him that he was a time traveller and that his identity was somewhat fragile or that the child would later become his employer.
He explained that he wanted mechanisms set up to provide support for mother and child that would continue even after his own death. Townsend suggested the creation of Shaw Holdings which would provide the base for his business activities. He also suggested the creation of an escrow account which would provide a route for funds to be transferred anonymously to Mary Gordon and to trades people. The solicitor said that in order to do this properly he would recommend the use of a second solicitor to handle the escrow matters. He suggested Marcus Bridewell who had offices nearby in the Strand. “Bridewell will never know your true identity. You need to choose a name for your escrow matters, any ideas Trevor?” Townsend asked. Tom had no idea and just said, “Lord knows.” The solicitor just said. “That will do, Lord. Now we need to use the letters to identify me, Marcus Bridewell and yourself. Let’s use A, B and C. So as the escrow solicitor, Marcus should be Lord A, I will be Lord B and you can be Lord C. If you hang on, I’ll give Marcus a call and set it all up.” After everything was set up Tom had to visit Marcus Bridewell to provide some more detailed instructions. Bridewell did not know whether Tom was Lord C or a Trusty Servant. Tom felt satisfied that the arrangements would protect Mary and his son even in the event of his death and at the same time, through the escrow mechanism, his identity would be safeguarded.
Tom went straight from The Strand to Christchurch Street in order to take the car to Eaton Terrace. He moved his things from the car to the house and told Mary that he had to meet a friend in the City and would not be back until the following afternoon with the remainder of his possessions from Christchurch Street. He then drove to see Enid Yardley. Tom told her that Baker was dead and that Fred’s murderer was now in Hell where he belonged. They sat for an hour chatting and then Tom left. Within a few minutes of his departure a van drove up outside Enid’s house and a smart young man explained that her “landlord” had instructed that a television be installed. She was delighted. Back in Christchurch Street, Tom had put his few remaining possessions in the car and had just taken a set of house key
s across the street to the Vicar when the police arrived. He greeted them politely as he had expected to be questioned again about the circumstances of Baker’s death. What he had not expected was to be arrested for Baker’s murder. Tom put up no resistance and was taken, in the back of a Wolseley police car, to Chelsea Police Station.
Tom was formally charged with murder, based on a witness statement that he had used the starting handle to hit Baker on the back of the head. The police felt that Baker was unsteady on his feet and could not help himself from falling in front of the truck. Tom mentioned the constant harassment from Baker and his previous attack which they acknowledged. They considered this to be a motive for Tom to kill Baker.
Tom’s case went to trial at The Old Bailey. He faced hanging or a minimum of 30 years in prison if found guilty. His defence barrister put up a reasonable fight and felt greatly relieved when the judge directed the jury to find Tom not guilty on a charge of murder but to produce a verdict on the charge of manslaughter. It would appear that almost every member of the all male jury had military service and had some sympathy for the demobbed Baker. Tom was found guilty of manslaughter and was sentenced to 11 years in prison. Mary had been in court every day of the trial and when the sentence was announced she cried out and made such a fuss that she had to be escorted from the courtroom.
Tom started his prison life in Pentonville Prison in North London. The prison was overcrowded and dirty, and inmates risked assault from fellow prisoners and the prison officers who all seemed, to Tom, to be no better than Baker. It was very tough, but he had managed to keep out of any serious trouble by using his intellect. He helped many of the inmates to learn to read and write and he ran classes in elementary arithmetic which turned out to be popular with both prisoners and one or two of the Prison Officers. He chose betting for examples of multiplication and division. His imaginary race-goers had to do sums, adding up wins and taking away losses. He used Tom as his given name inside and, in his latter year or so, he was known as “Tom to One”, on account of these betting sums.
He was allowed a monthly visit from Mary, but she was not allowed to bring their son James. She had contacted Tom’s solicitor, Mike Townsend, who had instructed a more experienced barrister to organise his appeal. The Home Office were notoriously slow at considering appeals and it was only after a hue and cry in the press, organised by Mary, that the matter was finally aired. A prominent MP had written to the Home Secretary about the case and eventually, after Tom had spent nearly 5 years in prison, his case went to the Appeal Court. The appeal was a blistering success with several inconsistencies in the original trial exposed and new evidence accepted from the police who had investigated Fred Yardley’s murder. Tom walked out of prison on 2nd February 1955. Luckily for him, the wife of Trevor Shaw did not realise that the case highlighted in the press concerned a man pretending to be her husband. Tom did think that there was a chance that she might have died in the war but he never tried to find out.
Tom had missed 5 years of bets on certainties, the coronation of Queen Elizabeth and the end of rationing. He had also missed Mary, but she had grown apart from him and, try as he might, he could not rekindle the love that they once shared. Luckily, Mary wished to remain on good terms with Tom and she occasionally made contact with him to discuss James.
Tom would often try and get a glimpse of his son but he could not risk James seeing him and having any image of him that might prejudice his younger self working for the Professor. Whilst Tom was in prison, Mary had successfully created the story of the death of James’ parents. It worked easily because almost every street had an orphan child being brought up by an aunt or granny; it was just another legacy of war. This story allowed a single woman to avoid the stigma of having a bastard child and also stopped the young James from being placed in an orphanage. There were one or two occasions where the birth certificate was required but Mary brazened her way through this and no substantive damage was done. James would never see his own birth certificate until after his mother’s death.
Gaskin had found the story fascinating but felt that a half hour break was in order. Tom looked at his watch and said how he was looking forward to getting away to see his son and his daughter-in-law. Gaskin sat back down whilst Waverly, Fredericks and Morton-Farrell braced themselves for the news to follow. “Mr Brooker, from what you have told us you have had a very successful time as a result of your propulsion back in time, and we are all looking forward to the rest of your account. After you were accidentally sent away by Professor Gordon, he was full of remorse and he and his wife contrived a scheme to join you. In the end, they agreed that only he would be sent back in time to help you overcome your injury. Your son tricked someone into pressing the button on that Beastly machine, and at the critical moment he stepped inside and vanished.”
Tom could not believe what he had just heard. He sat numbed, unable to speak or move. Slowly, his eyes filled with water and then the tears began to run down his face. For years, he had been planning the moment, after his own departure in the Beast, when he knew that it would be right to introduce the father to his son. All those hopes, all the plans and constant rehearsal of what he would say as they met were destroyed. Destroyed by the sense of duty, and the love of a man so desperate to protect the one person whom he would wish to call his son. That one selfless act had denied a father from kissing his son and telling him that he had come home for good. It had denied him the opportunity to say “I love you, son.”
Nobody spoke. Morton-Farrell had put his arm around the shoulders of the old man who eventually managed to regain his composure. He sobbed as he said, “I never ever thought that this could happen. I should have made that sentry let me onto Larkhill Camp.” He sipped some water. “I knew that you lot would get involved and I thought that there was a chance that you would have brought James back here for a debrief.” He raised his eyes towards the ceiling and cried out. “What a bloody mess. My son, where are you?” He then got a grip and turned to Gaskin. “He’ll turn up. He will come here, through your front door, someday soon. Perhaps he did not go as far back as me.”
Gaskin had scribbled a note which he surreptitiously slid in front of Waverly. “I will tell him,” it read.
Chapter 9 – Tom Continues
Gaskin could see the strain on the old man’s face and to the surprise of the others he reached across the table and held Tom’s hand. “Do you remember digging up a gold charm just before you built the Beast? Well, we have had it analysed by some very clever people. Written on one side of that charm was the word SAFE and on the other side was the number 802701.” Tom looked up with interest. “That was from James, somewhere in the past.” Gaskin kept hold of the old man’s hand. “We have carbon dated the charm and know that the Professor was sent back to about 2000 years BC.” Gaskin could feel the hope drain out of the old man. “What now? All these years I have been kept going by thinking of my boy…” The old man could speak no more. Gaskin gave him a minute and then said. “Before we came down to meet you I sent word for Alison to be brought here by helicopter and we hope that she will be here soon. She has been through similar pain and will be helped enormously by being with you.” The old man asked to use the lavatory again and he came back more composed. He said that he would like to continue his story. He felt that it would help.
Tom had done his best to provide for mother and child and longed to just get a glimpse of his lovely son. One Christmas, when James was probably 7 or 8 years old, he dressed up as Father Christmas and was able to be in the Eaton Terrace house for almost an hour. This was the year that Tom had given his son a compendium of stories by HG Wells, essential reading for any bright child. As James grew older he became quite difficult, a result of no clear father figure in his life and the lack of intellectual stimulation. James had a very high IQ and was always asking questions. He devoured books on every subject and still needed more academic stimulation. Tom had spoken to his escrow solicitor, Marcus Bridewell, about the issue and that r
esulted in young James being put down for Winchester College where Bridewell had been a pupil. Marcus had given Tom a copy of “The Trusty Servant” a recently introduced magazine from the college. Tom was delighted.
Tom managed to visit Winchester without his son’s knowledge, once or twice each year. He would be a bystander at the annual Winchester College Football match final and saw James play twice. There was the Eton match when Eton College would visit to compete in the annual cricket match, although James was only to play once. Tom also saw James in several plays. His young son was making the best of the wonderful opportunities at Winchester and the lack of a father figure in his home life became less of an issue, thanks to the Master in College, the housemaster for the Winchester Scholars.
James had just started a PhD when his mother was taken seriously ill. Tom visited Mary at every opportunity and always ensured that he avoided any contact with his son. When Mary died…The old man took another sip of water as he relived another tragic moment…Tom went into mourning for nearly a year. He considered revealing his identity to his son on more than one occasion, but resisted. He had been to visit the escrow solicitor and reviewed the arrangements now that Mary was gone. They agreed that James should be given his “passport”, the little maroon notebook, together with half a five pound note which he would use to identify himself to the bankers handling his financial affairs. From that point James had greater control of his own finances and was able to sell the Eaton Terrace house and buy a large flat in Drayton Gardens.
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