Regent's Interdisciplinary Journal N0 1 | Summer 2020
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The Scribe: Regent’s Interdisciplinary Journal
Regent’s Interdisciplinary Journal N0 1 | Summer 2020
1
Editor: Dr Ana-Maria Pascal
Editorial Panel: Sarah Dhupar
Ray Grewal
Designer: Jorge Pamplona
Cover image: Peace in Regent’s Park, Sarah Dhupar.
The Scribe: Regent’s Interdisciplinary Journal
C
Introduction
ontents
The Choices that We Make
by Dr Ana-Maria Pascal................................3
Poetry
Vacation by Catherine Temma Davidson........ 7
Non-Fiction
Walking the River Between Two Englands
by Catherine Temma Davidson..................41
Learning from Leonardo da Vinci for
Higher Education
by Dr Peter Sharp.......................................45
I Dream of Apocalypses
We had one year by Sarah Dhupar............8 by Irene Stoppoloni................................... 56
Truth by Jaeda Dokes..................................9
Blooming evanescent blossom buds Reviews
by Boris Glick............................................. 40
Writing about Contemporary Art
Lost Life by Boris Glick............................... 11 by Dr Deborah Schultz.............................. 59
Musing by Boris Glick................................ 12 Human emotions through contemporary
A Critic’s View of Cirque du Absurd video: Bill Viola at St Paul’s Cathedral
by John Houghton.......................................13 by Alina Arcari............................................ 60
Trapped in Time: (A pantoum) Is Fons Americanus a critique of slavery
by Damian Kirstein.......................................14 or a reinforcement of racial stereotyping?
by Simon Bond........................................... 63
Daddy by Nia Yasmine Murat.................... 15
Sarah Lightman: Drawing from Life
Elegy for My Promise and Literature
by Nia Yasmine Murat................................. 16 by Anna Maffiuletti..................................... 65
1 by Maia Wagener......................................17
Vada by Maia Wagener.............................. 18
Fiction
Always Remember Your Dreams
by Dean Baker............................................ 21
Sometimes They Are
by Will Gillingham...................................... 26
The Answer by Ray Grewal...................... 29
Going Away by Mike Harding.................. 30
Just Another Monday
by Martin Milton..........................................33
Tapestries and Memories
by Julia Rédei..............................................37
I ntroduction
The Choices that We Make
The choices that we make – the more
decisive ones – stay with us a lifetime, or
always been there, whether acknowledged
or not, in-between my lines of argumentation.
until, eventually, they become irrelevant for Whenever I needed an example of a
practical reasons. situation, or a suggestive turn of phrase, they
We think we leave some things behind always delivered – equally if not more so,
by choosing others, but the former have a than analytical tools.
way of chasing us, insinuating themselves That is why, when I teach rhetoric and
into our lives, surprising us with their argumentation, I prefer to call it critical
presence in places and at times we thought thinking skills, rather than ‘analytical’…
unlikely to find them, getting under our skin Perhaps I am naïve in thinking that we can
with unexpected persistence – as if they integrate literary, non-analytical discourse in
were the chosen ones. Western philosophy (and be taken seriously),
At 17, I had to choose between but I keep trying. And students appreciate
continuing to dance and going to university and are inspired by it.
to study philosophy. I chose the latter. But One more choice – the most important,
the former kept coming back, in different perhaps. Where to live. The obvious choice
hypostases, infiltrating various aspects would have been France, because of blood
of my inner life. In fact, it ended up in my connections on my father’s side. But no – I
philosophy. My interest in metaphysics, had to cross the Channel. My whole life was
for instance, slowly but surely became an waiting for me here. But guess what our
interest in pragmatism. Phenomenology favourite holiday destination is, for me and my
and hermeneutics survived as a constant family…
preoccupation – indeed they became We think we make these choices
ever deeper and more nuanced; but this and stick to them, but often enough, it is
is unsurprising, given that both (taken precisely what we ‘left behind’ that seems to
separately, as well as in their area of overlap) be guiding us. As if to prove that there was
engage the body as much as the mind, and never a real dichotomy of mutually exclusive
at times make room for a third realm – that of alternatives to choose from, in the first
the spirit. place. The ‘choice’ was an imaginary one,
At 21, I had to choose again – this time, sometimes echoing in our mind like an image
between analytic philosophy and a way of enlarged in a mirror game from Borges.
reasoning that was closer to literature. My There was never a need to sacrifice anything.
PhD supervisor asked me to. I chose the We should treasure our inclinations –
former – that’s what you did, if you wanted and assume them as our own, act on them,
to become (read: be recognised as) a and take responsibility for their impact
‘professional philosopher’; but the latter on ‘the rest’ of us… We already know that
stayed with me, following me around, always cross-disciplinary approaches are key to
present in the background of my thinking and building bridges (rather than walls) between
writing. theory and practice, but we should also
Borges, Kafka, Marquez, Kundera, consider the possibility that apparently
Camus, Murdoch and many others have contradictory styles and methods often
3
The Scribe: Regent’s Interdisciplinary Journal
prove complementary; and some of these adopt. When all we should be doing, really,
combinations bear fruit. is just write. Get it done – as it comes, in the
I wonder what it is that I might be first instance; and work on it, sweat while
discarding right now, without even realising improving it, but don’t discard it before it
it. If the conscious ‘choices’ that we make has even seen the light of day, on grounds
prove to be either too feeble because not that it might be too lyrical, or too analytical.
followed through in practice, or unfortunate Don’t waste your time in making
because, by following them through, we unnecessary judgements and illusory
become poorer as human beings, should choices. Just get it done. Let others judge
we not try to investigate some others we you – later, if ever. ■
may be making at a deeper, unspoken
level? Dr Ana-Maria Pascal, Editor
Our writing, for instance. How much Reader in Philosophy and Public Ethics
time or energy is wasted, trying to decide Course Leader, BA (Hons) Philosophy,
which style (or even genre) we should Politics and Economics
4
POETRY
Rachel McClure, 2019. Brooklyn Bridge. Watercolour and ink
CATHERINE TEMMA DAVIDSON
LECTURER IN CREATIVE WRITING
Vacation
On the plane the English baby flirts,
winks over his closed father’s red palms.
We land, sky intimacy disperses into cars,
driving away from the tarmac’s heat haze.
Our kids in the back, an ocean road, dunes,
pines, evokes childhood summers on Cape Cod,
following the chain of villages along Route Six,
Mashpee, Saganaw, Chatham, Harwich. History
as a series of pillages. In France, everything’s old
as the ages, Iron to Enlightenment, from starvation
hovels to bio-nature, roadside stalls, cheeses, now
this fragile epoch of surfboards, bicycles, peaches.
We arrive in a pastel villa by a pool. My children
swim with other miniature European amnesiacs.
I notice turtle doves, tile roofs, sunlit chlorine:
hieroglyphics leading to the land of the dead.
Always this need to read the signs, find
metaphors to link seen world to unseen forces.
I want to pay attention to this here and now,
poet on vacation, surrounded by her family
limbs moving weightlessly through water:
all the geography I understand or could desire.
7
SARAH DHUPAR
SENIOR STUDENT SUPPORT & WELLBEING OFFICER
We had one year
We had one year together, your first, you grew so fast
That one year is over now, that time has nearly passed.
Every moment you were awake, I couldn’t take my eyes from you,
I saw every time you changed, every time you learnt something new.
I heard every new noise you made, every smile, laugh and cry,
Every time you wanted something you couldn’t yet do but gave it your best try.
I thought I knew what love felt like, but this was something new,
As what I felt in my heart every time your hand was in mine showed me I didn’t have a clue
We’ve had so much fun together this year my beautiful baby boy,
I’ve been so very lucky to have spent this time with you, to have been your favourite toy.
Into your second year now, and you are off to nursery.
But I hope in my heart as the years continue to pass that your best times will be spent with me.
8JAEDA DOKES
STUDENT IN BA (HONS) LIBERAL STUDIES
Truth
An unannounced zephyr whispers to
leaves of fire.
as the last leaf falls
I am ready for winter.
The burning red dims to
sombre brown and gently paints the streets.
the naked trees watch their lifeless leaves,
full of untold truths,
crunch into oblivion
I am ready for winter.
I invite you to stay,
how the flowers welcome the gust.
I am ready for winter.
9BORIS GLICK
HEAD OF STUDENT SERVICES
Blooming evanescent
blossom buds
Blooming evanescent blossom buds
Bend in wind and droop in rain
Spots of sparkle, droplets of colored light
Undulating scents reclining on the backs of floating breezes
Shoots in sidewalk crevices
Pitted, potted, planted, tended,
Grafted into ground and garlanded-amended,
Plucked and up-ended
Surrendered then rendered
Adorned and shorn-ed
For leavers, believers, celebratory achievers,
Consolers, condolers, amatory cajolers,
But most of all
For wanderers and observers
who ramble and roam
Without a care in the world
And
Not in a rush, to get home
10BORIS GLICK
HEAD OF STUDENT SERVICES
Lost Life
To re-live your life
Through reflection
To feel the pervasive, nagging pain of the past
To bring back sadness and sorrow
Confused struggles hidden from view
But felt through the chronic current
Of trouble waters within
A slow process of healing
Reclaiming, through steady purpose,
The proper ownership of a life, your own,
Once lost
11BORIS GLICK
HEAD OF STUDENT SERVICES
Musing
Musing on a theme not yet clear or defined
Wandering restless and roaming in mind
Searching and yearning
Seeking to find
Not really knowing
What, where or what kind
Slipping and sliding
Climbing and straining
Hopeless and hopeful
Yet
Ever returning
12JOHN HOUGHTON
SENIOR TEACHER IN ENGLISH AS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE
AND LECTURER IN ENGLISH FOR ACADEMIC PURPOSES
A Critic’s View
of Cirque du Absurd
Outside an Avant-Guarded theatre,
I read a placard that said,
“A Modern Classical Fairy Tale of How to Lure, then Maim and Massacre your Audience:
Without a trace of irony.”
I went in…
At the end of an inspired and passionate performance,
Just before the applause
I saw the pianist smash his head Into the bone hard keys of his Steinway
As the slippery wet tendrils of his hair splattered in a disarranged fan over the keyboard
And a trembling left hand
The last trickled notes reverberated wearily and discordant…
Then silence:
This was the signal that sent the whole of the blubbery brass section
Cowardly clambering into their tubas two-by-two
To escape the anarchy that they knew was about to ensue
And then…
The woodwind flung flutes and oboes into the air like arrows and spears
To pierce the hearts and craniums of patrons and petrified musos
The surviving front row’s curious or those paralysed by fear
Were crushed by metaphored kettle drum boulders
To the sinister, smirky joy of the percussionists
And then
The double bass and cellos were make-shifted into gallows
To hang concert organisers, promoters and sponsors
Whose quivering legs kicked heels on to the stage in unusual syncopation.
And the sad violins mimicked the wails of the painfully dying
With superior artistry and friction-burned horse hair
So that suspicions, alarms and eyebrows, would not be raised
And then… silence…
I left in to a quiet evening street
Amazed to have survived
Nothing was ever revealed
Nothing was ever assumed
Only a mystery left surrounding
Only a surrounding mystery left.
13DAMIAN KIRSTEIN
MEDIA SERVICES PHOTOGRAPHY & STORES TECHNICIAN
Trapped in Time:
(A pantoum)
I keep the camera close at hand,
Pocket-pitched, somewhat square.
This sooty-shaded Apple brand
Serves up snaps I seek to share.
Pocket-pitched, somewhat square,
A two-faced tool that lets in light;
Serves up snaps I seek to share,
Touch-up tweaks make them right.
A two-faced tool that lets in light,
Its techy tricks magic motion.
Touch-up tweaks make them right;
Flaws will fade, a nifty notion.
Its techy tricks magic motion
In bay of black and one of white.
Flaws will fade, a nifty notion,
With second slices, bulb-flash bright.
In bay of black and one of white,
Posing people, products placed.
With second slices bulb flash bright,
Fabrics flourish, forwards-faced.
Posing people, products placed,
Framing finished, shutter snaps;
Fabrics flourish, forwards-faced,
Photos favoured, session wraps.
Framing finished, shutter snaps,
This sooty-shaded, Apple brand;
Photos favoured, session wraps,
I keep the camera close at hand.
14NIA YASMINE MURAT
STUDY ABROAD STUDENT
Daddy
You held my tiny hands,
still supple and new,
as we both cried.
Then, you let me go
before the tears rolling down my face
had even dried.
Now – with callouses
built thick upon my skin –
I miss how that word felt on my tongue
back when I didn’t know
what fathers were supposed to be.
15NIA YASMINE MURAT
STUDY ABROAD STUDENT
Elegy for My Promise
I broke it. That contract you and I signed
with intertwined fingers –
our middle school love affair.
I remember our first kiss, prompted by
heaven and sevens – a clash of teeth that grew
into I love you. I broke that.
I heard its agonized wail – it was bent
with splinters of bone piercing through
and spilling marrow as it bled out.
I held someone else as it died,
my hands the bloodied ones
as our promise hemorrhaged
into me
and you.
16MAIA WAGENER
STUDENT IN BA (HONS) LIBERAL STUDIES
1
walk in the forest in the dark
they said you’ll make friends
with your thoughts as the light
bleeds through the trees it’s leaves
will fall on your head and you
will grow branches and grow
right up to the sky to the sun
you will bask in the heat
and make friends with the
stars that shine at night
i walked in the forest
in the dark and i spoke
to the trees and it’s leaves
to the dew and the moss
the soil under bare feet
i said swallow me up
eat me whole use my limbs
as roots to grow around
my blood as rain my eyes
to see in the dark
i whispered
swallow me up
i’ll be your friend
and it did
17MAIA WAGENER
STUDENT IN BA (HONS) LIBERAL STUDIES
Vada
pour hot oil on your dry hands
and plait my hair tight, pull each
lock to your chest do not caress.
i throw soaked dal into oil hear it
sizzle. puff. crisp. burn. inhale
thin swirls of smoke smell like home.
slap the side of my head with
your palm oiled. not yet.
not yet.
no. not yet.
now.
oil splutters onto my arm
massage it into my veins i can
taste home in my blood.
18FICTION
Ina Maksimova, 2019. Gardens. Digital media
DEAN BAKER
ITS HELPDESK TEAM LEADER
Always Remember Your
Dreams
‘C
areful fool! You’ll tip us over!’ reflected nothing but my blurred, ghostly
said Buffalo Tail. image. How could they give up the old
I’d not sat in a canoe creek for this dead water? In which even the
since I was six years old and reflections looked like ghosts?
it took me several seconds to I looked to the opposite shore for a
gain my balance. place to land, anxious to get across the
‘Take this,’ he said as he shoved a creek, a body of water that almost seemed to
paddle into my hands. wail in the throes of death and decay.
I dipped my paddle into the grey, dirty- We paddled in laboured rhythm as the
looking water and looked about me at the sound of the paddles dipping into the water
creek. ‘It doesn’t look like I remember it,’ I merged with our own breaths until our canoe
said. skimmed the jagged stones of the bottom
Back then the water had been so clear and we came to rest on the shore. We
you could reach down and touch the smooth jumped from the canoe and dragged it up the
pebbles on the creek bed or feel the tails shallow bank, hiding it amongst the bushes.
of fish tickle you. Now, when I looked over ‘Do you think we’ll be able to find Uncle
the side, the water was a foggy grey colour, Running Bear?’ I asked.
strange things floated on the surface, and ‘From what my pa said, we can track him
you couldn’t see the bottom. by the smell.’
‘What happened to the creek?’ I said, ‘But what about the forest demon?’
gingerly paddling to avoid splashing myself Buffalo Tail paused and thought. ‘It’s just
with the filthy water. a story the white men tell to keep us away
‘It’s been like this since the white men from the forest.’
came with their wagons looking for the yellow ‘Little Moonlight said he’d seen it, and it
metal. Ever since, the creek’s been like that, eats the souls of young children.’
filled with the white man’s trash. No fish swim ‘If you believe Little Moonlight then you
in it now,’ said Buffalo Tail as he reached into are a bigger fool than he is,’ said Buffalo Tail.
the sack cloth of provisions, took out some ‘Now come on.’
beef jerky and began to eat. ‘Go and wash in I shrugged and followed.
the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall We had left early in the morning, before
be restored, and you shall be clean,’ said we would be missed in school, to come to
Buffalo Tail, through his mouthful of jerky. the forest. Buffalo Tail had got into some
You could smell the foulness as our trouble with Miss Jackson and was keen to
paddles cut the surface and I tried to recall avoid another licking from the stinging cane.
when as a child the transparent water had I’d taken little convincing to follow him as we
been icy cold to my small fingers when I packed up some provisions and headed for
dangled them over the side of the canoe. the creek. Little Cloud’s Pa had taken me in
I remembered playing by the edge of the since my parents had died of the cholera.
creek and feeling the pebbles, slick and wet We’d not heard of old uncle Running
under my feet, the clear water rippling the Bear for months when Buffalo Tail told
reflection of the sky, the birds and the trees. me one night that he’d been seen back
Now, when I looked down at the water, it on the reservation looking tired and
21Dean Baker: Always Remember Your Dreams
weak. Little Cloud’s Pa said that the gangrene ‘It’s me, Little Cloud!’ I said and raced
in old Uncle Running Bear’s foot had come to him.
back and that the family had sent him across ‘Little Cloud? You’ve grown like a corn
the creek because the stink was so bad. stalk,’ he said ruffling my hair.
Buffalo Tail continued up the bank, ‘We thought you were the forest demon,’
towards the trees and I followed, scanning I said, noting the smell of his rotten foot.
back and forth through the underbrush. It ‘Forest demon? There are only the
didn’t take long for us to run into a small trail spirits of the animals in these woods. I
that followed the waterline, and we took that would have sent one more to the spirit
into the shadowy woods. world if you two mischief-makers hadn’t
‘He must camp around here disturbed my hunting. Have you brought me
somewhere,’ said Buffalo Tail. ‘He can’t move anything to eat?’
much with that foot.’ ‘Yes, Uncle Running Bear,’ said Buffalo
‘So, where is he? I hope the forest Tail, reaching for the bag of provisions – but it
demon hasn’t gotten him.’ was not there. ‘I must have lost it.’
‘Quiet!’ said Buffalo Tail suddenly and ‘Foolish children,’ grumbled Uncle
held a finger to his lips. ‘I hear something.’ Running Bear. ‘Well, now you’re here, pull that
It was a slow, shuffling sound, like an arrow out and follow me.’
injured elk or a lame wolf dragging a leg. Uncle Running Bear limped back
‘I bet it’s Uncle Running Bear!’ said deeper into the forest, and Buffalo Tail
Buffalo Tail and started up the trail. followed, leaving me behind to struggle with
‘Wait!’ I called after him. ‘It might be the the arrow. The tip had buried itself so far in
forest demon!’ and I raced after him, scared the bark it took a fierce effort to dislodge it.
to follow but more afraid to be alone. Soon By the time I had wrenched it free, Buffalo
Buffalo Tail was out of sight and I was aware Tail and Uncle Running Bear were out of
of the shadows of the tall trees, clawing at my sight. I scanned the trail, looking for their
skin like ghosts. A shiver ran down my spine. tracks and saw the marks of shuffling and
‘Buffalo Tail? Where are you?’ ran as quickly as I could to find them.
I stopped, the drumming of my When I caught up, Uncle Running Bear
heartbeat loud in my ears. Then I heard led us to a small cave amongst the trees and
his footfalls to the west and I ran quickly motioned us inside.
between the trees as the light flickered ‘Is this where you live Uncle Running
in the gaps between the branches and Bear?’ I asked.
the sky, every shadow a potential demon ‘Yes, Little Cloud,’ he said, gesturing to
waiting to grab me. I burst through a bush us to sit. ‘When I was your age, and the old
and to my relief found Buffalo Tail. He was people became a burden, folks would bring
stood trembling amongst the trees and in them to the mountains and seal them up in
the distance was a huge silhouette. The caves with just a little opening for food. Every
terrifying stooped figure of a demon. Then day they’d come and leave food, until they
we heard a loud thud, and a trembling knew the old person was dead.’
arrow embedded itself in the trunk of a tree The smell of Uncle Running Bear’s foot
to our left. I turned to look at it and saw a was even more apparent in the confines of
flash of movement as the hind of an elk the cave.
disappeared into the bushes. ‘I’m saving folks the trouble. They won’t
The dark silhouette shifted, looking even have to carry me to the mountains. And
momentarily like a giant black monster before maybe the wolves will eat me when I die?’ He
coming out of the shadows to approach us, laughed and began to light a fire.
grumbling under its breath. ‘You can’t die Uncle Running Bear. You’re
‘Foolish kids! What rights have you to not old,’ I said.
disturb my home?’ ‘Not old? I’ve lived many lives, fought
‘Uncle Running Bear! It’s me, Buffalo Tail!’ many battles, loved many women. I’ve seen
‘What are you doing up here? And who’s the white men come and take our lands and
with you?’ our braves fall under the hooves of their horses
22The Scribe: Regent’s Interdisciplinary Journal
and their long knives and thunder sticks. I am ‘Listen,’ said Uncle Running Bear. ‘You
tired,’ he said, suddenly melancholy. two go out into the woods and fetch my
By now he’d lit the fire and was warming arrows, and I’ll tell you the story. It’s going to
his hands over it. Despite the stink of Uncle take you a while, and since you brought no
Running Bear’s foot, Buffalo Tail and I edged food, I’ll have something ready for you to eat
closer to share the warmth. when you get back.’
‘Now tell me why you came up here? Did ‘’Yes, Uncle Running Bear,’ we said.
your father send you to bring my body back?’ ‘Look to the lower branches. If your eyes
‘No Uncle Running Bear. We…we ran away.’ are good, you should find them. Bring up
‘Run away from that damned some water while you’re at it,’ he said, and
reservation? Sitting in one place all the time threw a leather water bag to Buffalo Tail and
is what a white man does. That’s no life for shooed us off.
our people,’ he said and began to fill a long When we were out of earshot, Buffalo
pipe with some tobacco. ‘No, give me the Tail punched me on the shoulder and said,
sky and the trees and the wind and the ‘Uncle Running Bear’s foot has made him
spirits of my ancestors.’ crazy. It’ll be dark soon. We’ll never find his
He lit the pipe with a flaming stick from darned arrows.’
the fire. Soon there was a cloud of smoke ‘But he can’t hunt without them, and then
in the small cave which made me cough he’ll die.’
but also helped mask the rancid smell of his ‘Pa says he’s halfway to the spirit world
foot. anyway. I’m hungry, let’s just go home.’
‘Is this Yankee pipe weed too harsh for ‘But Uncle Running Bear says he has
you Little Cloud?’ said Uncle Running Bear. food for us.’
‘I took it from a white man who pitched his ‘What food? He hasn’t got any and
tepee by the creek. He was cutting down he’s too sick and drunk to shoot straight,’
trees. I left some bear dung and scraped he shoved the water bag into my belly and
some footprints right by the tepee and sat stalked off down the trail.
in the trees and watched. In the morning he ‘How will I get back if you take the boat?’
took off in a hell of a hurry!’ Uncle Running ‘I’ll come back in the morning. You’re
Bear laughed and slapped his thigh. ‘Got going to be out here all night looking for
me some of his whiskey too,’ his arrows.’
He raised the pipe and took another I watched him disappear into the trees
deep drag, savouring the smoke in his lungs and in a few moments, I could no longer hear
before blowing it in a long plume at his foot, the sound of his footfall. The woods grew so
which he had wrapped in a crude bandage quiet, I remembered the forest demon and
of dry moss and leaves, bound with strips of began to get scared.
dried sinew. ‘Helps with the smell, huh?’ Suspecting a demon lurking behind
Though I was too embarrassed to say, every tree, I searched for arrows. I searched
I could still smell the rancid odour over the until it got so dark, I could no longer
tobacco smoke. distinguish colours in the shadows. I was
Uncle Running Bear gave a slight afraid, yet my fear of the dark forest and the
grimace and reached for the bottle of whiskey. demon was outweighed by my will to find
‘White man may have a black soul, but those arrows. I struggled through tangles
his whiskey is plenty good medicine,’ he said of shrubbery and glimpsed a feather on the
with a smile. other side. Uncle Running Bear’s aim must
‘How did your foot get hurt Uncle have gotten worse, and I found four arrows.
Running Bear?’ I returned to the creek to fill the water
‘That, young braves, is a long story.’ bag. There was no sign of Buffalo Tail, just
‘Pa said you was shot by the poison his tracks running to the water’s edge. The
arrow of the Pawnee,’ said Buffalo Tail. boat was gone.
‘Your Pa talks too much and drinks too ‘You’ve gotten yourself plenty dirty,’
little.’ Uncle Running Bear said when I returned to
We nodded dumbly. his cave with the arrows and the water bag.
23Dean Baker: Always Remember Your Dreams
He had added wood to the fire, and a his eyelids. He sat with his legs crossed, his
couple of crows he had skewered, which bad foot on top, and he told the story as I
were slowly roasting above the flames. The looked into the fire.
moment I smelled the cooking meat my ‘I was coming home from a celebration
mouth filled with saliva. Uncle Running Bear for Old Chief Grey Bear’s fourth wedding. It
took the arrows and the water bag with a nod. was past sunset, and they told me to stay the
‘I could only find four arrows.’ night with them, but I stubbornly refused their
‘A blessed number,’ Uncle Running Bear hospitality and came over the mountain. They
said. ‘The sacred number four, for the four told me not to go that way, warning me of the
winds, and the four celestial rivers watering evil spirits, but I took no heed. The moon was
paradise.’ out, there was enough light to see the trail. I
I nodded. ‘What about the other arrows?’ had feasted well at the celebration and drunk
‘Well, you plucked that other arrow from much whiskey. I wasn’t thinking of demons at
the tree, let’s forget that one. Five is not a all when I first saw the light. It was a strange
good number. It sounds like the sign of the glow in the distance, like a flaming torch in
snake, which is bad medicine.’ the shadows or campfire in the woods.’
He ran each arrow through his fingers, Uncle Running Bear paused, and I felt a
checking the shafts, and their feathers. sudden chill run over me. I shuffled closer to
Satisfied he laid them next to his bow. fire, away from the dark shadows of the cave.
‘I’m hungry. Here, eat,’ Uncle Running ‘I called out, Howisiwapani! Who’s out
Bear said and took the two roasted birds there? No answer came. I shouldn’t have left
from the flames. the trail. But I was drunk and foolish. Before
I sat at the edge of the fire and took the I knew it, I was in the middle of the woods,
spitted bird from Uncle Running Bear. I now and the light suddenly disappeared, and I
realised that he had shot and cooked only was alone in the darkness. Then the light
two birds, and I looked from mine to his. flickered and floated high amongst the trees.
‘What’s the matter? You have the smaller And that’s when I knew it was a spirit. I started
one?’ running back toward the trail, but wherever I
‘No, sir. I was just wondering.’ ran, the light appeared in front of me.
‘If both of you had come back? Well, ‘I lurched blind, in circles. My clothes torn
then, I suppose you’d be fighting over the like rags. I ran until my strength was gone,
one, huh?’ He laughed and tore a piece of and I collapsed against a tree. The light grew
meat from the breast of his crow. ‘Buffalo Tail brighter and brighter until it was a brilliant
takes after his Pa. He never had patience.’ green, blinding light. A beautiful squaw came
I ate too, chewing around the black crow out of the light. It was as if a dream. She was
feathers, the meat tasted magnificent in my dressed in buckskins with tiny silver bells
hunger. Warmed by the fire, I tore the meat along the seams of her leggings. She had
from my bird and sucked the bones until they long black hair and green eyes. She didn’t
were dry. When I was done, Uncle Running speak but she motioned me to come with her.
Bear passed me the water bag to wash down I stood up and followed her into the light, and
the last scraps of crow meat. then I found myself lying naked on a bed of
‘I have not had company at night for furs in a wide tepee, with a fire in the centre,
many moons,’ said Uncle Running Bear. ‘Tell spewing green flames.
me what you’re thinking.’ ‘Pale green smoke rose up to the top of
‘You promised to tell about your foot,’ I the tepee, the woman held up a shining jewel
said. brighter than the sun and then everything
‘Well, there’s a story. But everyone’s life grew dark again and I lost consciousness.
is a story, isn’t it?’ When I woke up the sun was rising. I was
I expected Uncle Running Bear to sitting against the tree and there were two
smoke while he talked, but his foot must have little wounds on my foot. Everyone says it
been hurting him plenty so that he took a was the bite of the rattlesnake, but that’s not
huge swig from the whiskey bottle and just true and no medicine man could ever heal it.
closed his eyes, as if to let the firelight warm Sometimes, when I dream, I remember just
24The Scribe: Regent’s Interdisciplinary Journal
how beautiful everything was. And that’s why Uncle Running Bear stretched his arms
I have never mourned the fate of my foot. It and yawned. He tipped the ashes from his
was the price I paid, for my foolishness, but pipe into the fire and then coughed and spat
also for my pleasure and I will bear it until into the flames. Stiffly, he rose to his feet,
I pass into the spirit world. Now, your little picked up his bow and one of his precious
Uncle Grey Cloud didn’t tell you that story, arrows.
did he?’ With powerful arms, he drew the bow,
‘No, Uncle Running Bear.’ bending it nearly back on itself against the
Uncle Running Bear laughed. ‘Throw nocked arrow, the coloured feathers glowing
some more wood onto the fire and light me in the firelight. Looking out of the cave,
my pipe.’ directly into the night, he let the arrow fly with
I added the wood and lit the pipe and a hiss of air, and it arched high up into the
handed it to him. I was glad of the smoke, as darkness and disappeared. He lowered the
the rotten smell of Uncle Running Bear’s foot bow and looked at me, his eyes flickering
was getting more pungent with the heat of with the light of the fire.
the fire. I could see him sitting there, gazing ‘Swear to me, that when I am dead, you’ll
into the flames and thinking his thoughts, find the arrow, and make sure they bury me
exhaling long plumes of smoke, his black where it has landed.’
eyes glinting in the firelight, as if in some kind I sat silent and confused.
of trance. ‘You swear it?’
After some moments he breathed ‘Yes, Uncle Running Bear, I swear.’
deeply and opened his eyes. When they fell I was suddenly afraid, but then his stern
on me, he said: ‘Say what’s on your mind face broke into a wide smile and he sat down
now, Little Cloud.’ by the fire, looking tired and old.
‘I was thinking about your bow, Uncle ‘You should always remember your
Running Bear.’ dreams, Little Cloud,’ he said. ‘When you die
‘What about my bow?’ and move on to the spirit world, you forget
‘An English missionary came to school your old life and all the wondrous things,
once. He told us about an outlaw named just like you forget dreams. What a shame to
Robin Hood. He lived in a secret camp in the forget,’ he said and lay down to sleep.
woods, and his bow was as tall as a man.’ That night I dreamed many dreams.
‘A bow as big as a man?’ Of fierce warriors, great battles, beautiful
‘’They called them longbows, and they squaws and even Robin Hood. I was terribly
could shoot arrows that could pin a man to a stiff when I woke in the morning, just before
tree.’ dawn. The fire had burned out in the night
‘Long bows? Hmm,’ Uncle Running Bear and I shivered in the morning chill. Rubbing
said thoughtfully. the sleep from my eyes I rolled over to wake
‘The missionary said Robin Hood made Uncle Running Bear and to tell him of my
war on the chiefs and gave their money to dreams, so that I would not forget, but the
the rest of their tribe.’ old man was cold as stone and as still as
‘The chiefs must have been plenty a fallen tree. For a moment, I was afraid,
angry,’ said Uncle Running Bear. but suddenly I was struck with a feeling of
‘They hunted him in the forests, but he warmth, as if Uncle Running Bear’s spirit
escaped them many times. When he knew he was with me, like a robe of bear furs or
was about to die, he shot an arrow out of his beaver pelt and as the first bright rays of
tepee and told his braves to bury him where the rising sun came up through the trees
it fell.’ I felt the spirit soar into the heavens and
‘I like that story,’ Uncle Running Bear said heard the whispering on the wind, always
after a moment. ‘This Rowbin Hoo sounds like remember your dreams.■
a fierce brave. He had plenty honour.’
25WILL GILLINGHAM
WEB EDITOR & CONTENT PRODUCER
Sometimes They Are
T
here’s someone in the field. ‘It’s two days,’ I say. I walk over to where
They’re camping over at the far Charles has been standing and pour the
end, at the break in the fence, kettle into the mug. I watch it muddy as it
where the turf haemorrhages into gurgles to the brim. ‘Does he even have food
the forest. Except you can’t really over there?’ I say.
call it camping. They’ve got a tent with them, ‘He’ll be fine. You should have seen me
but it’s all caved in like they can’t work out at that age.’
the poles. Charles is walking back towards He pulls a coaster off the pile and places
me now. He’s got a smile on his face, and it in front of himself. I dip a teaspoon into the
that’s not a good thing. I push my arms into mug and bring it over to him. He twirls the
the folds of my cardigan. tea. He pulls the spoon out and sucks at the
‘You won’t believe this,’ he says. dregs. He reaches for the sugar-bowl.
‘What did you say to them, Charles?’ I’ve ‘I bet the parents are worried sick,’ he
been pacing across the lawn, but I stop now says. He’s smiling again. ‘Couple of days,
and watch him approach. most. That’s all it’ll be. We’ll be able to go on
‘It’s a kid. Just a little boy. I’m telling you, that holiday.’
I’m right.’ I sit down opposite him. There’s a droplet
‘How old?’ I say. running down the mug from the stirring. I
‘Can’t be more than ten. Goldmine.’ watch it fall onto the table, missing the coaster.
‘What did you say?’ I can’t help but I stand up and look out of the patio doors.
flick my eyes in the direction of the tent, but ‘Just don’t get any ideas,’ says Charles.
there’s nothing to see at this distance. I look over the field, at the thistles
‘I told him to bloody well stay put, didn’t drowning the wildflowers. At the back, I can
I?’ He laughs as he walks. His body shakes just make out the tent, flapping loosely in
with the weight of it. the breeze.
‘You were over there longer than that.’ A poster has gone up at the ford. It’s
He reaches me, and then continues only small. Someone has stuck it to the
walking. I turn and follow him inside. telegraph pole. There are families sitting
‘Well, maybe I said more, and maybe on the side of the stream, and one of the
I didn’t. Maybe we sat around and had a mothers is wiping sun lotion into the grass.
cheery scout’s breakfast. Or maybe I put Children are screaming in the water and
a peg through his foot to stop him going dabbing their feet in the shingle. And then
anywhere. Does it matter? Jesus.’ there’s this bright pink poster.
He takes the kettle off the stand and I’m carrying the groceries. We were
holds it under the tap. ‘Couple of days, that’s supposed to be heading into town together
what I reckon,’ he says. to get a few things, but Charles said he’d
I stop in the middle of the room and hang back. Just in case, he’d said. He’d gone
watch him at the sink. He returns the kettle out to find his binoculars in the garage.
to the base and flicks the switch. He lifts one I put down my bags and step closer to the
mug off the rack and drops a teabag into it. sign so I can read the writing. It says MISSING,
He’s just a kid, Charlie,’ I say. He slams a and then there’s a hazy picture printed in
palm down on the counter. monochrome and a number to call. The reward
‘So, what?’ he says. ‘Christ Almighty is at the bottom. It’s got one more zero than
Annie, what do you know about kids?’ He Charles was expecting. I look at the way it loops
walks to the dining table and takes a seat. round on itself. The splashing seems louder.
26The Scribe: Regent’s Interdisciplinary Journal
‘It’s terrible, isn’t it? Just awful.’ It’s one of the ‘What is it?’ he says. He’s heard
mothers. The one who was wiping her hands. something in the way my voice sounds. He
‘Mmm,’ I say. turns his head and sees the pink sheet of
‘I can’t imagine it. If I lost my Ellie.’ She paper in my hands. His eyes widen and he
shakes her head. ‘Do you have children?’ she actually looks surprised. As if the poster
says. wasn’t part of the plan anymore. As if it wasn’t
‘No. I don’t.’ ever part of the plan. But then he reads
‘Oh. Well.’ She gives me a sympathetic downwards, and I watch as he revises his
smile. We stand looking at the poster. own calculation.
‘Did you see who put it up?’ I say. ‘You’re joking,’ he says. He laughs. He
‘No. It’s just one of those things, isn’t it? takes the sheet and rubs a thumb over the
They go up for a few days and then come down, number. ‘Took them long enough,’ he says.
and you never see anyone. It’s such a shame.’ ‘We need to call it,’ I say.
‘He hasn’t been missing for that long,’ He holds the sheet up to the sun and
I say. looks at it at full glow. Like he’s won a raffle.
‘I know, but he won’t be found. They ‘Please, Charles. Let’s call it.’
never are, these ones.’ She turns and looks ‘He’ll still be there in a couple of minutes,
down at the stream. A little blonde girl is Annie. What’s the rush?’ He’s holding the
throwing handfuls of water into the air. The thing with both hands and nodding at the
woman waves. investment he’s made. At the profit.
‘Sometimes they are.’ I say. I look down at the grass, where my foot
‘I know,’ she says, taking a step in the is right next to his mug of tea. Right next to
direction of her daughter, ‘but only when it’s it. It would only take an inch of poor footing,
too late.’ or loss of balance, but Charles knows I’m not
She takes another step, and it looks as like that. I remain still.
if she’s going to leave, but she pauses and ‘I’m going inside,’ I say, look up to the
turns back to face me. field, and freeze. There’s movement in the
‘That wouldn’t be bad though, would thistles. They’re being pushed away from
it?’ she says, and points to the number at the each other to make way for someone coming
bottom of the sheet. She laughs and walks through.
away back to the bank. ‘Charles,’ I say. He looks at me and
I watch her go. Nobody else is paying follows my gaze.
attention to the flyer on the telegraph pole. ‘Oh shit. I didn’t think he would,’ he says.
It’s not really the right tone for a day at the The boy steps clear of the field. He’s
ford. I pick up my bags, tear the sheet from holding a few empty bottles. He sees us
the staples, and slip it in with the shopping. watching him and stops. Then he lowers his
I drop the bags on the table. Bread and head and proceeds with a short, slow step.
milk and a missing person’s poster. Through He walks up to Charles.
the window, I can see Charles out on the ‘Please could I have these filled up, if
lawn. He’s sitting on one of our stools and he’s that’s alright?’ His voice is high, and there’s a
got his binoculars pressed up to his face. You slight quiver to it.
can barely see the tent anymore. The bulk of it ‘Well I said you could, didn’t I?’ says
is squashed flat into the ground, with only the Charles. He smiles. He’s turned the flyer over
entrance pulling taut against its pegs, somehow and placed it on his thigh. The binoculars
staying up. It rained last night. I take the milk are underneath the stool, hidden by his feet.
over to the counter and put the kettle on. ‘Here, pass them to Annie.’ He points a thumb
‘Listen to this,’ Charles says, as he hears across at me.
me step out onto the patio. ‘His tent’s as The boy looks up and takes the extra
good as gone and he’s sitting there trying to few steps across to where I’m standing.
get a fire going. Cocky little bastard.’ When I don’t take his bottles, he repeats his
I put his tea down in the grass, so he can question. But I’m not listening. The boy’s right
reach it from the stool. cheek is discoloured and yellow. There’s
‘Charles,’ I say. ‘Charlie.’ a similar mark on his arm, where someone
27Will Gillingham: Sometimes They Are
has grabbed and held him tight. They look ‘Or Portugal?’ he says, undeterred.
several days old. I look at Charles and he’s ‘Down in the Algarve. Lovely.’
just shaking his head. I take the bottles from He picks up his fork again. I watch him
the boy without a word, fill them up in the sink eat. Preparing the new mouthful before he’s
at the kitchen, and give them back to him. finished the old one. The same way he has
‘Thank you,’ the boy says. for the past seventeen years.
‘Anything you need,’ says Charles. ‘Off ‘I don’t think we can,’ I say.
you go, then.’ ‘He’s not yours, Annie,’ he says, voice
The boy half smiles and turns back into muffled.
the field. We watch him go in silence. ‘I know that,’ I say.
‘They must have looked worse a few ‘It’s just right place, right time, that’s what
days ago,’ I say, once the boy is out of it is,’ he says.
earshot. I stand up and go to the window. There’s
‘So, what if they did?’ he says. ‘We’ve a wind coming in from the east. It’s whistling
given him a bit of time away from the through the cracks in the walls. Outside, the
bastards. And look, they’re sorry.’ He flicks a thistles in the field are swaying and beating
wrist at the paper on his knee. their heads into the earth. I’ve been meaning
‘I’m going inside,’ I say. to clear them out for years, ever since we first
Charles puts down his fork and picks up bought the place. They were only meant to
the poster, as he’s been doing all dinner. The be temporary.
sun is on its way down. There’s a pinprick of ‘Anyway, we can think about it,’ says
orange flickering at the end of the field. Charles from behind me. I listen to his quiet
‘How about Italy?’ he says. dinner clatter. I think of the way his hands are
I don’t answer. gripping firmly around the steel.
‘The Colosseum,’ he says. ‘We can write ‘You weren’t just leaving him out there
our names on that wall and that. All-inclusive, for nothing, were you?’ he says.
that’s what I’m thinking.’ A stronger breeze blows around the
I look at the plate in front of me. It’s house. In the distance, the orange dot
untouched. I pick it up and scrape its dwindles and dies.
contents into the bin. ‘Maybe Italy,’ I say. ■
28RAY GREWAL
ASSOCIATE LECTURER IN SCREENWRITING AND SCRIPT ANALYSIS
The Answer
‘I
magine you’re standing on a beach,’ ‘So, all there is is the sky, the ocean and
he says. the sand?’
‘OK,’ she says. ‘Yes.’
‘In front of you is a clear blue ocean ‘And me.’
and above you is a clear blue sky.’ ‘Of course. Now look down at the beach.
‘OK.’ Look at all the many millions of grains of sand
‘Now imagine yourself swimming out between your feet. What I need you to do is
into the ocean. You could swim out into that focus on a single grain of sand, just one grain
ocean all the days of your life and you would amongst the millions between your feet. Can
never get to the end of it because it’s infinite. you do that?’
Do you know what infinite means?’ ‘I can try.’
‘I think so.’ ‘Once you’ve focussed on one grain
‘Now imagine yourself flying up into the of sand, I need you to imagine a microbe
sky. You could soar up into that wonderful appearing on that grain of sand. Just one
blueness all the days of your life and you microbe on that one grain of sand. And once
would never get to the end of it because it’s you can see that single celled organism on
infinite.’ that single grain of sand I want you to imagine
‘OK.’ that it is there for one…two…three…four…five…
‘Now look at the beach you’re standing six seconds and then it’s gone.’
on. Look to the left, see how the beach ‘OK.’
disappears beyond the horizon? You could ‘Do you understand what I’ve just told
walk along that beach, in that direction, all the you?’
days of your life and you would never get to ‘I think so,’ she says. ‘The sky is all the
the end of it because it’s infinite.’ space that is in all the universe; the ocean is
‘And to the right?’ all the energy that is in all the universe; and
‘Look. See how it stretched out beyond the beach and the desert are all the planets
the horizon? You could walk along it, in that and stars in all the universe.’
direction too, all the days of your life and ‘Exactly.’
you would never, ever get to the end of it ‘And that single grain of sand is the
because it’s infinite. Now turn around. See Earth and that single microbe is the entire
how the beach seamlessly becomes a desert human race, and those six seconds are the
that stretches out as far as the eye can see in entire history of the entire human race from
every direction? You could walk out into that the moment it came into existence to the
desert, in any direction, all the days of your moment it will become extinct; six seconds
life and you would never get to the end of it for a single microbe on a single grain of sand,
because it is infinite.’ in the context of an infinite universe that
‘And beneath me?’ lasts for billions upon billions upon billions of
‘The same: you could dig down into that years.’
beach all the days of your life and you would ‘Precisely. Now you tell me, what is god
never find anything but sand because it is in that place?’
infinite.’ ‘Me.’. ■
29MIKE HARDING
CERTIFICATE COURSE LEADER / SENIOR LECTURER
Going Away
M
artha disappeared yesterday, you’re looking at one week, you might get
or it could have been major fluctuations, such as happened in
sometime over the weekend, Basingstoke a couple of months back when
one can never be sure. At hundreds went in just two days, though
any rate, she didn’t turn up fortunately not many functionaries. But re-
for work on Monday and by Wednesday draw the graph for ten years and you can see
her tasks were reallocated according to that they lost no more than one would expect
the Department’s standing procedures. over that period. Re-draw it for the thirty years
I got Brighton added to my folder, which that this has been going on and one could
was okay. It could have been some large make a case for Basingstoke actually being
conurbation, which would have been under the average. It’s as difficult to get a
somewhat inequitable as I have already a really clear picture of population decline as it
fair amount of cities to oversee, and was is to engage with the phenomena itself. Not
landed with the whole of Cumbria when that this really matters any more as it was
William went last Christmas. At the time I made clear long ago that this issue is not
was told it was mainly countryside, which is one of the Department’s concerns. Indeed,
not absolutely true, it has – or had – quite it is now an immediate sacking offence
high urban populations, but that missed the to get involved in any such discussion,
point, as it is actually much more difficult however much individual employees may
to oversee a basic social infrastructure have personal experience of what used to
amongst scattered rural communities than it be termed ‘the vanishings’. If such questions
is to re-jig things within a town. Brighton was are brought to our attention by members of
okay; it’s pretty compact and at the moment the public, they are referred to a separate
things are working reasonably well there, office, but there are now very few who bother
for which I guess I have Martha to thank. It to enquire, as everyone is aware there is no
would be fair to say that I missed her; she scientific explanation, and nothing that can be
was a good colleague, always cheerful done. Of course, when it started to happen, it
and helpful, but we’re supposed to set an was a very different matter.
example for the rest of the country. It actually It’s very hard to pinpoint exactly when
says that in the last contracts we were given the phenomena began, as people have
after a dozen or so from Overseas Liaison always been disappearing and initially they
went in one week and there was momentary were just recorded by the police as ‘missing
panic, as you can imagine. persons’. It took a while to realise that this
No matter how well we’ve been trained was something different. Until then the usual
in statistics there is a natural tendency to missing person was someone who had just
think that a momentary blip heralds a whole had enough of things, jacked in their job, their
new scenario and all current thinking gets marriage, whatever, and on one fine morning
turned upside-down, but of course the figures just took off. Most returned, although there
evened out with very few vanishings in the were some who had lost their memory, or
following year. Indeed, even counting Martha had got into debt, or drink and drugs. For
and William, the Department as a whole is others there was a criminal component, a
actually under the mean for the population as need to change identity, and obviously there
a whole. Though this could also indicate that were always teenagers who couldn’t handle
another blip might be expected, depending their family anymore. A few were murder
on the timescale used. For instance, if victims. The big difference was that they still
30The Scribe: Regent’s Interdisciplinary Journal
existed somewhere, if only as a decomposing who experienced similar anomalies. While
corpse in some squat. It took a while for the the supporting mathematics remains beyond
authorities to realise, and then finally to admit, me, the general consensus was that it was
that a growing number of missing persons perfectly sound at a theoretical level. While it
had literally vanished. suggested how disappearances might occur,
Initially those whose loved ones had it offered no suggestions as to when they
disappeared envied the bereaved and the might happen, much less as to what could
funereal traditions for those who had died, be done to stop them happening in the first
declaring themselves to suffer more as place. In the midst of my first encounter with
their loss was inexplicable and unnatural. such incomprehensible algorithms emerged
Eventually a range of ceremonies were a memory of Valerie. She was a colleague
created, initially under the auspices of the from pre-disappearance days when we
Department, to honour the lives of the both worked in the statistics department
vanished. But after a few years this was of a market research company. She was
increasingly discouraged, the Department fascinated by the stories of missing persons
holding the view that such disappearances that were reported in the papers from time to
had to be accepted. Vanishing might be a time and told me of her fantasy of closing her
new phenomenon, much as were climate front door and walking away from everything.
change or the European Union’s economic I have often wondered to what extent such
collapse, but had now to be accepted as part a wish might translate into reality if enough
of a natural order. people held similar desires. Nonsense, I
Of course innumerable theories were at know, but such was said of many other ideas.
first suggested to explain the vanishing, most If you’re under the age of thirty and
of them based on one form of conspiracy thus born after all this started it may be that
or another – inevitably including alien you can’t really come to grips with what
abduction – or were a version of the Gaia things were actually like. The old newsreels
hypothesis, the planet seeking revenge just don’t convey it, even to me, and I lived
in the style of a ravished Greek goddess through it all, being well over what used to be
dragging her abusers into the underworld. called retirement age. It was the same when
A number of ecological feminists declared my parents spoke about the war. No matter
themselves the inheritors of Persephone’s how much was documented, and despite
mantle and created ceremonies in which they the endless films, I just couldn’t get a sense
expressed her rage at the manner in which of how people actually got on with life when
males had treated the planet, perhaps in the they were being bombed. My father would
hope of some sort of appeasement. For their tell me stories of how arbitrary this could be.
part some males adopted the mythology Sometimes half a row of houses lay in ruins,
and rituals of the Green Man or claimed but in the middle was one utterly undamaged
that this had all come about because their with even the windows intact. There was
traditional role as protectors of women had some bomb damage remaining when I was a
been usurped by the state. There was no child, but all the debris had long been cleared,
evidence that those professing either view leaving only walls covered in creepers. At
were spared. the time one would have seen their rickety
As a matter of fact, the Department remains: floor boards kiltered towards the
made a very specific study of both cohorts street, baths hanging on their plumbing, men
during the early years, which indicates digging through the rubble while ruptured
just how seriously all possibilities were pipes spouted water, and nearby a waiting
investigated. Although all documentation ambulance and tearful neighbours. What I saw
regarding this has been deleted, such as a child was a sort of sanitised version of
fringe views as abduction, parallel universes my father’s experience, and this thought often
intersecting with our own, quantum came back to me in the years following the
phenomena, and so on, were all subjected to Government’s formal acknowledgement that
intensive analysis by a team of high-ranking nothing could be done about the vanishings,
physicists drawn from all the major countries any more than Churchill could do anything
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