Three Tales Out of Time Read online

presents a number of difficulties when smoking said cigarette. Talking and gesticulating while smoking is out of the question. Also it must be rolled to the exact tightness. If too lose you take a drag and the whole tube of tobacco is sucked into your mouth causing more exclamations than a lady would normally expect to hear from a man in her presence. Too little tobacco and when you “light up” the whole damn thing bursts into flames singeing severely one's moustache which, fashion dictated, I was growing with some success at the time to impress the fairer sex. If this was not enough one found that sometimes the paper would stick to one’s lips. On trying to remove the abominable thing from one’s mouth for the simple purpose of imparting wisdom or philosophical gems to impress a lady friend the result was the fingers would slide down to the end of the tube pinching off the hot ember, burning your hand and then falling into your beer!

  I remember such an occurrence once while driving after an exceedingly late evening. The ember fell between my legs. Where it disappeared to I know not but it caused me intense panic and a considerable amount of erratic driving before I screeched to a halt, jumped out of the car and spent some considerable time examining the clothing of my nether regions very closely.

  But I digress again. Where was I, Oh yes I remember. Elizabeth had heard what she thought were footsteps outside and action was required. Of course all we had to do was wait until the morning but after hearing such a noise this waiting for the morrow before investigation began seemed an extraordinarily long time for the ladies. Action was required now, they said. Unfortunately Sean whose last rollup had ignited in his face understood from this that the best course of action was to search the whole mill for anything that might contain nicotine. And by the light of candles and oil lamps he opened up any cupboards and boxes he could find until he found two old cigars in a box. They looked like they may have been there since the time of Mr Raleigh, but they were cigars! He was so pleased with this that when he offered me one I accepted. Aah, the pleasure of lighting up! Actually this pleasure lasted about two seconds before I felt my burning lungs collapsing under the foul smoke resulting in a coughing fit in which I thought I was going to breathe my last.

  E.

  I do feel that James is heavily influenced at times by Sean and I hoped his rather prolonged coughing fit on inhaling the smoke from what I can only describe as piece of old hemp would help him to be more reticent in joining in Sean's capers in future.

  After he had recovered I reminded them once again of the footsteps. So staying very close together all four of us carefully explored the mill until it became apparent during our wanderings that the footsteps came not from outside but from behind the two large wooden doors which partitioned our living room from the barn! The Something or Someone was in the house!

  J.

  With a quick drag on our cigars which distinctly began to smell of an old dung heap accompanied by another round of coughing Sean and I decided we must go and look behind the doors. Why? Well, because in all the horror movies that’s what the hero had to do. The ladies immediately grabbed us in a fashion that would have met with the approval of Jane Austen and Jill pleaded, “Please, please don’t go! You don’t know who might be there. We will be all alone and we may be ravished by someone not to our liking!” But we gentlemen knew our duty.

  Sean slowly withdrew the rusty bolt on the barn door and armed only with an oil lamp and two evil smelling cigars I followed him into the unknown. For it is only polite that the eldest should go first. The sound grew closer and then suddenly by the dying light of the lamp we saw what it was. Two great rats were eating the grain. Our courage returned (NOT that it had gone very far away despite what might have been said later by our slanderous companions) and having “slayed the dragon” we retraced our steps slowly back to the mysteriously re-bolted barn door, forgetting that the ladies did not know we were returning. All they heard was the sound of footsteps getting closer and CLOSER!

  After we had apologised for the tenth time and promised to buy them new under garments at the earliest opportunity, they forgave us for scaring the proverbial out of them.

  E.

  So having nearly burnt the place down, frightened ourselves with ghost stories, chased away the rats and opened a window to let out the foul smelling cigar smoke we decided it was time for bed. There was much discussion about which room we should sleep in and who should go first and who should stay in the cosy, warm and well-lit living room. Sean said we should toss a coin for it which unfortunately resulted in James and I being given the “choice” of the bed chamber. I am still convinced Sean had secreted a double headed coin in his trousers.

  The bedroom contained one of those wooden box beds. You know the ones, they are designed to stop rats climbing into bed with you and gorging on your eyeballs while you sleep. As we got in I chanced to look up and saw a picture on the wall. It was Grandma! It was one of those pictures where the eyes follow you around the room. For some reason I felt she was giving us a disapproving look. How she knew we were not yet married I do not know. Worse, I espied a small door in the corner of the room which I could have easily believed in the darkness was a gateway to hell and prayed that it was locked and the key was lost. However, James said he did not trust in prayers and decided to test it himself to allay my fears only to find that on close inspection there was no key, no lock and it opened to the outside of the house! As you can imagine it was a restless night. Every time we awoke, there was Grandma staring at us. If this was not bad enough at one moment James' wits left him completely and suggested that although the bed was very cosy there was still plenty of room for Grandma to climb in!

  J.

  Ah, morning. What a wonderful time it is. Though on this particular morning I felt the large bruise on my arm in response to my little ghostly joke was a little uncalled for.

  The sunlight shining through the morning mist over the mill pond quickly dispersed the ghouls and ghosts of the night. After breakfast the mechanic arrived with the good news that our car was ready. And so with not too much regret we left Grandma’s Mill.

  Until this day I don’t know the location of the place.

  We eventually arrived back in Paris a little later than expected after Sean 'accidently' took a detour through the Bois de Boulogne to view les femmes de la nuit. As we settled down on in our apartment enjoying the comfort of electricity and running hot water Sean said.

  "You know that was a strange old place Jimbo. I kept on drifting in out of sleep all night"

  "Us too. Got woke up by weird noises like rats in the rafters scurrying about"

  "Yea. Mind you one time when I woke up I nearly had the fright of my life when I saw Elizabeth wrapped in an old shawl and funny laced night cap quietly sneaking back into your room from the loo."

  "I can assure you Sean wild horses would not have enticed me out of that bed in the middle of the night... Oh my God! What did you say?"

  "What's the matter?" Said Jill, "You both look like you've seen a ghost!"

  END 

  Northern Nights

  J.

  Hartlepool is a bleak and windswept place lying on a promontory on the north east coast of England. It is battered by freezing winds from the German Sea which come down from the Arctic to chill the bones of anyone who wasn’t born and raised there. When the sun does come out it is immediately followed by sea fog or frets which percolate far in land and can last for weeks while the rest of the country is on the beach soaking up the sun. Its inhabitants are divided by the “Slake”- a natural harbour. Those on the headland are called “Cods Heads” renowned for their fishing abilities and those in the town are known as the “Monkey Hangers.” When they meet the conversation usually begins with a preamble concerning the whereabouts of the other’s father at the time they were born and the number of men of the town their mother or wife are “known” to.

  The “Monkey Hanger” appellate seems to have originated from the Napoleonic wars when a French ship was wrecked off the coast and all we
re drowned save a monkey. Apparently the good and patriotic people of Hartlepool had never seen a Frenchman before and mistaking the monkey for one, hanged it. Most people would have kept this deed quiet for fear of embarrassment. But not the people of Hartlepool. Even today a picture of the hanged monkey is proudly displayed on the ties of the local rugby club and the local football club’s monkey mascot has recently been elected as mayor of the Town!

  E.

  We were travelling up to Hartlepool with Jill to meet her boyfriend Sean for the weekend who had been attending an exposition there. For our stay he had managed to acquire temporary accommodation for all of us at favourable rates in the small fishing village of Season Carew not three miles from the town where we could enjoy the seaside air and regard the clouds of black fumes rising from the steel works and blast furnaces of Redcar.

  I had not seen the great industries of our country before and when I saw the gigantic factories and tall chimneys stretching to the horizon as we passed over the River Tees I realised that much of what I depended on for comfort and enjoyment did not come from the surrounds of my home in Sussex. When we arrived James and Sean after much discussion decided that as it was my