The Future

The Future

Note:

This account has been transcribed into antique English from the original Xoas in the  hope of a greater understanding.

*

Che Ga called his boss, Professor of Geo-physics Gha La. ’Have you got a minute, there’s something I need to talk to you about?’

‘Yes, certainly, come along now.’ Gha La put the phone down. She tidied her desk as she waited for Che to arrive.

‘Come in, she said in response to a knock on the door, ‘take a seat. What do you need to talk about?’

‘It’s about our survey party at the Vredefort Crater. They have all become sick and have had to be evacuated from the Free State to our medical centre here in Accra. We have got most of the survey done and can confirm that it was caused by a bolide impact. The impacter was probably about 10km across and travelling at 10km a second just before impact. The resulting crater is some 300 km across and at least half of it can still be seen.’

‘Do we know what is wrong with them?’ asked Gha La.

‘They all have burns to the skin and have depleted T. Leucocytes. This is indicative of exposure to radioactivity.’

‘But there are no nuclear power stations within 2,000 miles.’

‘We have sent a party, protected by rad. haz. suits to monitor and measure the radioactivity to try and determine the source and calculate the team’s exposure.’

‘And…?’

‘There is a small source deep underground. The exposure was from a tunnel path at 30⁰ to the horizontal, giving a disc of exposure at the surface of 10 m diameter. The team’s exposure was relatively low and they should all fully recover in about three weeks..’

‘What is the tunnel pointing to and what type of radiation is it?’

‘The horizontal vector of the tunnel is practically due West and the radiation  is mostly alpha although there is a small amount of gamma. The ratio suggests that most of the nuclide is Uranium 235 with a very small quantity of Plutonium 239, most of which will have decayed over time to Uranium. The plutonium has a half life of 24,000 years whereas the Uranium’s is 704 million years. If the original source was pure plutonium then the present day ratio suggests that the plutonium has been there for about 200 million years.’ exposited Che Ga.

‘OK, so I’ll let you into a secret. We have also had a survey team carrying out the same work at the Sudbury crater in Canada. The complete team is at present in hospital with the same symptoms. The radiation ratios are the same and there is a radiation transparent tunnel from the source deep in the Earth. The difference is that the tunnel is pointing due South.’

‘To summarise,’ Gha La went on. ‘We have found two very long lived nuclear sources under the two oldest and biggest bolide impact craters in the history of the Earth - Vredefort is 2.02 billion years old for example Each has a radiation finger from a long half life nuclide pointing in different directions. We have a computer model of the tectonic plate movement over the Earth’s surface. Run the Wilson cycle model backwards for 200 million years, plot the radiation lines on the computer and see where they cross.’

* 

‘They cross almost exactly on the Barringer crater in Arizona in the USA.’ said Che Ga, looking up in amazement.’

‘So, we thought until now that the Barringer Crater was also formed by a bolide impact but, what if it was made by a nuclear explosion as a marker to indicate where something is buried for us to find? You will note that the two impact craters used are very old, on different tectonic plates and set in the centre of very stable cratons. Arrange for an aerial radiological survey of the area around Barringer Crater and get me the results by tonight.’

‘Yes, boss.’ He scurried off.

*

‘We have completed the survey and there is a definite pattern in the radioactivity. It shows as a series of small circles in rows. Some are a magnitude more radioactive than others but they are all in straight lines in sections of ten.’ explained a tired Che Ga. ‘ We think they are upright, vitrified, columns of low level radioactive waste.’

‘Lets have a look at the plot.’

They spread the chart out on the table and looked closely at the plot. The first section had 9 low levels followed by one high level, the second section had eight low levels followed by one high level then a low level.

‘Hey, you know what this is?’

‘What?’

‘It’s a binary dictionary!’ It is an analogue series from 0 through to 1024.’

‘But this is only a small section near to the crater, it goes on for several kilometres. All in the same format but seemingly more random.’

‘That is because it is a message to us from the past, 200 million years ago in fact. Don’t you see, this is the only way that they could leave a message that would last long enough after their civilisation had failed to ensure that the next civilisation had a chance to evolve, discover nuclear energy and understand the significance of the message. There is no other method that would have lasted so long.’

*

The next 100 years were spent recording and studying the site to try and understand the message.

*

It was checked and counterchecked until the great day came when all became clear. The World President read the message in full over the ‘net.

‘Greetings from the far past. We had the chance to live in harmony on the beautiful Earth but we destroyed ourselves by breeding until we were too many for this planet to support in spite of our many wars that killed millions. We studied and learned the science of how things worked until we thought we were very wise and could live without nature. This was bad enough but we were still ignorant enough to have many religions around the world, each of which  thought only they knew the truth. The believers fought and killed each other until there are only a few of us atheists left. This message to you will be our civilisation’s memorial. 

We wish you well and hope you live in harmony. Good luck.’

The President got up from his perch and flew off to his next appointment.

1,080 words.

W B - 15 The telephone call

The telephone call.

George handed me the yellow handset. I took it from him, put it to my ear and listened. I started a pretend conversation to keep my grandson happy.

‘Hello, who is speaking?’ 

‘Is that the Samaritans?’ asked the voice. 

‘No, this is a private number,’ I said, about to put the phone down.  The quiet weeping from the other end of the line dissolved my anger. I waited for a moment then said ‘Can I help you?’

‘I’ve got no one to talk to. I can’t do it on my own and now I can’t even call the right number. I’m useless, I’ve had enough, I’m going to end it for both of us.’ I recognised the desperation in the voice. I’d been there myself. How could I now just hang up with a cheerful ‘Sorry, wrong number’ and then get on with my life?

‘Who is there with you?’ I asked.

‘It’s just me and Eleanor.’

‘Who is Eleanor?

‘She’s my baby.’

‘You can talk to me if you like,’ I waited. I now suspected the telephone was the only tenuous lifeline this poor soul had left and I knew I should choose my words with care. ‘My name’s Susan, what’s yours? ‘said the shaky voice. 

‘I’m Mary. Can you tell me what the problem is Susan? I promise I won’t tell anyone or do anything you don’t want me to.’ 

‘Hello Mary. I can’t talk for long. I’m in a phone box and I haven’t got much change.’

‘That’s no problem, give me the number and I’ll call you back.’ 

I rang her back, quickly, on the house phone, would she still be there? Had she got the right number this time? 

‘Hallo Mary,’ said Susan. 

I sighed with relief.

‘Why are you so upset then, Charley, sorry, Susan? It sounds like everything is fine, both you and Eleanor are healthy and you obviously mean to keep the baby or you wouldn’t have given her a name.’ I could hear Susan crying at this.

‘Of course I am going to keep Eleanor. How could you possibly think I could kill her?’ she said ‘ I’m upset because, when I told my Mum and Dad about Eleanor last week, they kicked me out and told me they didn’t want to know me any more. “How could you do this to us?” They said. They even took my mobile. They said I wasn’t their daughter any more.’

‘Err, well, I was seventeen and still at school when I fell pregnant with Charlotte. My boyfriend, Kevin, disappeared and I haven’t seen him since.’

‘How did you manage then?’ asked Susan

‘Mum and Dad were great. They really helped me and made sure we had everything we needed. It was still difficult but I worked part time in Boots while Mum looked after Charley and I managed to buy a small flat and save so that she could go to university if she wanted. The hardest part was being totally responsible for someone with no one to share the load with.’

‘That is exactly how I feel, but at least your mum and dad helped you and you had someone to talk to.’ I realised then how alone Susan must be feeling. I was starting to feel responsible for her now, or perhaps she was beginning to fill the gap in my life which had been there since Charley had left?

‘Well, err, perhaps you would like to come around here one evening? We could have a chat and a cup of tea.’

‘I would really like that, Mary, you are so easy to talk to.  I’ll have to go now, there is some guy hammering on the glass again’ 

‘OK,’ I said, ‘but please ring me tomorrow evening or anytime during the night if you need to talk. Promise me. Please.’

‘OK, I promise,’ said Susan. 

*****

I managed to get through the next day at work although my heart wasn’t really in it and my thoughts were elsewhere. I got home early and wondered what time Susan would ring. I waited by the phone to make sure I would hear it. When it got to ten o’clock I started to wonder and by midnight I was very worried. I eventually dozed off in the chair by the phone and awoke, stiff and cold, at six next morning. What could have happened? Susan had promised and I was certain she would have called if it had been at all possible. 

I struggled to get ready for work and eat some breakfast, hungry after missing my meal the previous evenings. I set off for the twenty minute drive across Bristol to the Avixa insurance offices. I listened to the news, as usual, on Heart FM. The second headline was a local item. A young woman’s body had been found on the river bank far below the Clifton suspension bridge, a ‘popular’ suicide spot. She was described as five foot three , slim with long blond hair. There was no mention of her being pregnant but I thought they would keep that private until she had been identified. Her clothes were also described but by this time I had stopped listening, stopped the car and stopped worrying about Susan. 

I knew she was dead, Susan had no troubles now. All my talking and listening had been a waste of time, I had failed my new friend. I had thought I was a good listener but now I knew I was useless. I should have persuaded her to stay with me last night, she could have slept in Charley’s room. She had died because I hadn’t helped her. I couldn’t face work now so I turned the car and  meandered home. 

I made a mug of tea, took it out to my sanctuary and just sat there in the morning sunshine. I could smell the phlox as I watched a bumble bee make its rounds.  Susan would never enjoy the warmth of the sun on her face again. Eleanor would never have a chance to enjoy these delights. What had made her do it?  The stupid, stupid, girl, why hadn’t she called me or rang the Samaritans from one of the special phones on the bridge? She had seemed quite cheerful when we finished talking. She was thinking of ways to deal with her problems and could even see a future for them both. What had changed after she hung up? What a terrible waste of two  lives. She hadn’t given Eleanor a chance of a life by cutting her own so short. I had failed them, let them down. It was all my fault.

The phone rang. I didn’t want to answer it but I knew they would only keep on pestering me about my gas supply or some such nonsense so I answered it.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi Mary, it’s Susan, sorry I didn’t call last night, it all got a bit hectic yesterday, sorting things out after our talk, then I couldn’t find the piece of paper I had written your number on until this morning and I knew you wouldn’t  mind if I left it until today, it was wonderful talking to you, you really made me look at things differently and helped me see a way forward, you are a real life saver, I’ve found somewhere for us to live, will you be Eleanor’s Godmother,  you’ll never guess what I have done now after your advice …’ 

I couldn’t speak, the tears rolled slowly down my cheeks.

W B - 13 Luck

W B - 13     Luck

James had always known that he was unlucky. He was famous as the only guy around who could produce an ‘edge’ from a ‘heads or tails’ when tossing a coin - no binary for him. He had always been known, even at school, as ‘Lucky Jim’ - irony started at an early age where he came from. He started to carry a lucky penny in addition to his rabbit’s foot in an attempt to change his luck but he soon lost the penny and his rabbit’s foot got eaten by his sister’s black cat which crossed his path one day. He tried to take up bird watching but he only ever managed to see one magpie at a time - he sometimes wondered when a blackbird would peck off his nose.

Because of his bad luck he had long ago stopped buying lottery tickets after he worked out the odds of winning for a person with an average sort of luck. The odds of any one ticket winning the jackpot were just under 13 million to one against. He figured out from this that, if he bought one ticket a week, he would win once every 250 thousand years. He didn’t think he would live that long. Because of his reputation, he had been banned from the lottery syndicate where he worked - at a bookies. His boss had concluded that his bad luck would rub off onto the punters so increasing the profits, which is the only reason he kept his job. He also worked out the odds of surviving a parachute jump so he didn’t take up that sport; why place your trust in some plastic sheeting and a few bits of string when you can stay in a perfectly good aeroplane?

James was descending into depression, everything he tried turned out wrong, he failed at everything. The last straw was when he was sacked from his job at the bookies, profits were down because the punters were winning too often.

He decided to prove once and for all that he had some luck left so he got his dad’s souvenir revolver from his time in the war, loaded it with one round and then spun the chamber. He held it to his head with a shaking hand and pulled the trigger, expecting to hear a bang and then nothing as the bullet entered his skull and macerated his brain.

He heard a bang but he had not held the gun steady enough so the bullet went wide, skimmed the side of his head and took his ear off. It whistled down the hallway and went through the front door, leaving a neat hole in the glass. James had been temporarily deafened by the bang so did not hear the scream from the man with the briefcase who had just reached the front step of his bungalow. 

James was now laying on the floor in the hallway, dazed and not aware of anything. The man on the front step had also dropped to  the ground with a wound to his arm that was now bleeding all over James’ front path. He had dropped his briefcase, which split open, spilling the lottery tickets over the ground and the cheque made out to James for 35 million pounds.

Later as they sat in James’ living room having just got back from A & E , they sipped a sweet cup of tea each and reviewed the events of the afternoon.

‘I was lucky because I won the game of Russian roulette at my first try,’ insisted James.

‘But you lost because you hurt your head and lost your ear,’ argued the man from the lottery, who was called Alan. ‘You only really won because you got the big prize from the lottery.’

‘So, am I a lucky person now?’ mused James.

‘I think you are very lucky, in fact you won against odds of 28.76 million to one. But, to prove your luck has changed, why don’t you toss a coin and see if you can call it right?’

James found a penny from his pocket and tossed it in the air, ‘Heads,’ he cried confidently. The coin bounced off the chair and landed on the floor - on its edge.

W B - 12. Photo prompt

‘Be careful, Maria,’ cautioned Papa, as we carefully negotiated the filthy water, empty bottles and other unmentionables laying in a disgusting mess on the marble floor. It made our footing treacherous and uncertain in the dying light of the sunset.

‘Yes, Papa,’ I said, realising but, not mentioning, that my footing was more secure than his. The events of the last year had taken a terrible toll on him. The starvation rations and loss of status made him question himself; could he could have done more for his people and beloved country, could he have influenced events?

The corridor was aligned with the setting sun so the shadows of the seven of us jumped and danced on the walls. Who was more real, the shadows or us? We were as weak as ghosts and made very slow progress.

‘What are those things hanging from the ceiling?’ asked my sister, Anastasia.

‘Those are the ashes of the leather wall hangings that were burnt when the fire gutted this Ipatiev House in Yekaterinburg on that terrible May day in 1918,’ I told her.

We slowed to wait for Mother. 
      ‘Come lean on me, darling Alexandra,’ said Papa to his wife. ‘We have to get to that cellar but we have plenty of time, all eternity in fact, so there is no need to hurry.

The steel windows were open but there was no glass left so it made no difference, the bullets of the Bolsheviks had shattered the glass and left the shards on the floor. They were hidden in the muddy water from the heavy rains that followed the shooting.

It had taken us seemingly forever to get from the grave site on the Koptyyaki Road. It was only twelve miles but time and distance had no meaning for us now. We hoped by getting back to cellar, we would eventually get to lie in the Pete and Paul cathedral in Saint Petersburg with the other monarchs of Russia. 

We eventually got to the cellar, the scene of the execution. Pap told Mama and Alexie to sit on the three chairs and rest. We had only eighty two years to wait before we were finally laid to rest and so leave behind our earthly cares.

WB 11 The eleventh hour

W B 11 The Eleventh Hour

Things were going wrong. No one knew why. 

People started walking through walls without the use of doors. 

Nuclear power station outputs varied erratically, 

One week two hundred people won the jackpot on the lottery - the following twenty weeks, none.

Traffic light started behaving erratically, red was sometimes followed by more red, rather than the expected amber and green - it didn’t help much with the traffic.

Bathwater started changing the direction of the eddy as it swirled down the plug hole.

Trains and buses started arriving on time.

Politicians started telling the whole truth.

Something was amiss with the world, chaos was taking over, one of those poxy butterflies in Brazil again probably but which one, there were several of them there and Brazil is a big place. Bigger even than Wales, some say.

People demanded that the government did something.The government did what it always did when it had no answer to a problem; it postponed the issue so it didn’t have to do anything while seeming to be strong and resourceful. It set up an enquiry led by a ‘past his sell by date’ lawyer. It would almost certainly last a long time and cost a lot of money. That is what lawyers are good at. The government fulminated publicly against the years of delay while being privately delighted at the time wasted. They didn’t worry about the cost, after all it wasn’t their money.

The lawyer, Sir Cholmondly - Smythe, was not quite as daft and doddery as he appeared. He had a sharp and enquiring mind, hidden behind a mild air of bewilderment when asking the witnesses who appeared before his panel, questions that pierced the hyperbole adopted by most civil servants and got quickly to the nub of the matter. One of his favourite strategies was to allow a civil servant to witter on until he was confident that he had cast enough wool over the eyes of the panel and mildly ask, ‘why did you do such a stupid thing when even a four year old child would have known better?’ This almost invariably brought out some gems that the witness would have preferred to remain hidden.

The government Chief Scientist was summoned to the enquiry and was quite certain that he was a match for a bumbling lawyer. Sir David Smart was to find out that he was wrong. He was dressed in pin striped, dark grey trousers and a white T-shirt with the slogan “Statistics means never having to say you’re certain.”

Sir C - S as we will call him, to save paper and ink, looked at Dave and thought he would have a go at tying him in knots - bowlines mainly - as he was an amateur sailor.

‘So tell me Dave, err may I call you Dave?’

 Sir David Smart had a hatred of being called Dave but knew, if he admitted to that, the number of ‘Daves’ he heard each day would increase a hundred fold so he mildly answered, ‘Not at all Smudge.’

‘Well then Dave, perhaps you can explain to us simple, non scientific folk, what is going on and what started it all?’

‘It all started when we were told, nay commanded, by the European Union that we had to change to binary decimal time’

‘Explain please.’

‘The SI unit of time was decided to be the second, which would be unchanged and determined by the speed of light, which as you know is constant - in a vacuum of course - at 299,792,458 metres per second. This also defines the metre so other units of length and time are calculated from this. There are now 100 seconds in a minute - now known as a centiminute and 100 centiminutes or 10,000 seconds in an hour.The day is determined by the rotational speed of the Earth and consists of 86,400 seconds. This means that there are now 8.64 hours in a day, or 8.64 x 10⁴ seconds in scientific notation. There were a few adjustments required to accommodate this new clock system but over all it made things a lot more simple and precise. Big Ben’s clock had to be changed from analogue to binary digital of course, as did all the other analogue clocks in the country. It also pushed Switzerland out of the watchmaking business so they now rely on cuckoo clocks, triangular chocolate bars and dodgy banking to earn a living.

That is only the first step, of course as the time units had to be expressed in digital binary - DB rather than just digital and in scientific notation, but I am sure that everyone in the country remembers the conversion calculation and can manage it quite easily. What about you then Smudge?

Sir C - S could of course, do this standing on his head, just not so well when sitting on his brain but he didn’t want to admit to this so he replied in his assumed persona, ‘not really, I have always found it to be a problem, perhaps you could explain it for the benefit of us dimwits?’

‘Certainly Smudge,’ came the reply. If there was one thing Dave was good at, it was patronising the intellectually challenged.

‘Take the time of half past five in the afternoon or 1730 as you maritime types used to call it. This is of course seventeen hours and 30 minutes through the day. if you first convert this to seconds you get;

17 x 60 x 60 = 61,200 seconds

Add 30 x 60 = 1,800 seconds

Total = 63,000 seconds

Convert to scientific notation = 6.3 x 10⁴

This is simple and straightforward.

Now convert to binary using the simple method gives 1111011000011000

So instead of saying half past five in the afternoon, you simply say 111011000011000. This is also the number of seconds since the last midnight. I think you will agree that this is simpler and more precise and it makes the design of digital clocks that much simpler. People soon got used to reading time in this way.

The main problem was that computers are very good with this method because time is now expressed using their language but it increased the data storage required and because if the increase in accuracy, it reduced the amount of randomness required. This meant that the randomness had to be increased  in other areas by exactly the same amount to keep the quantity of randomness at the same level. This is known as the third law of thermodynamics or random entropy, to give it its other name.

Quantum theory predicts that atoms will be in random places. A few that make up a person have a very low probability of being on the other side of the wall. This probability is normally so low that is does not really occur in the real world but since the increase of randomness…

Also is you look at a mass of plutonium for example. Its common allotrope, Pu-239 has a half life of 24,100 years. This is known and predictable but there is a problem. If you look at one molecule of plutonium, there is no way of knowing when it will decay, it can be in the next couple of seconds or in many thousand of years time. It is identical to all the other plutonium  molecules but they will decay at a different time. The timing of this decay is totally random, as predicted by quantum theory. The problem is now, because of the increase in randomness, this half life will have decreased by an unknown amount and so all nuclear reactors will have to be shut down until they have been redesigned and rebuilt.

‘Why has the lottery gone very strange?’

‘It is because of the strange effect called the common occurrence of unlikely effects. The odds of one ticket winning the lottery is 14 million to one so it is very unlikely that one person with one ticket will win it. But, the big prize is won by someone almost every week. The increase in randomness has to be shared with the lottery which now has more of it and the odds against winning can no longer be calculated and they change every week.

Don’t get me started on the problems with traffic lights, bath water and, and.’

‘What is the answer then Dave?’

‘Leave the European Union and go back to old fashioned time with 24 hours in a day.’

‘How much time to we have? Tell me in old money please.’

‘It is now very late in the day and we have no time to lose. I’d say we are now at the eleventh hour.’

‘Thank you Dave. I’ll notify the Prime Minister, I am sure he will be very pleased to hear that. I’ll also put it in the report of the Smudge enquiry.

W B - 10 The farm office party

The Farm Office Party     Prompt - humour 

They had seen the weather forecast so decided to hold the party in the big barn. Daisy was back from her trip to alert the other nearby herds to Operation Lysistrata so she and Gertie set about arranging and decorating the barn. They arranged the straw bales around the edge so that some of the older animals could sit and chat while the younger ones were dancing in the clear area in the middle. It was quite difficulty putting up the streamers and bunting, cows aren’t really designed for climbing step ladders and pushing in drawing pins but they managed.

The pigs had volunteered to arrange the food so there were plenty of apples from the orchard and even some cider that they had been fermenting for three months. They had negotiated a deal with Henrietta and her sisters so there were about three dozen eggs. Henrietta had teased Porky about providing some ham to go with the eggs and then accused him of  not being fully committed to the party when he refused.

Gertie had brought the cream so she made lashings of custard to go with the stewed apple desert. She saved some to make some special porridge for Billy the Bull as he hadn’t been getting his oats recently, well since Operation Lysistrata started really, apart from that escapade with Florence who had been feeling a little frisky one day. She had been told off quite sharply by her sisters in the herd and she assured them it wouldn’t happen again.

The goats were acting up again and refused to bring any food. This was not a problem for them as they would eat anything, probably even Terry’s Dwarf Bread if necessary but they were always good on the Carry Oche as their eyesight was excellent and they usually got several 180’s during the evening.

The swallows had been invited but they took a rain check until the spring.

It was seven o’clock, time to start the fun. The animals turned up on time, even the ewes were there, looking sheepish as they were a little woolly about time. Sean shepherded them in, took them across to the bar where he got them started on the cider. 

The owls were wisely late as they knew they would be the last to leave.

It was a good evening and things started to liven up as the cider went down. The dancing was in full swing to the music of The Wurzels. John Humphries sang an excellent solo rendition of ‘Old MacDonald had a farm’. Some of the animals argued about who could make the best farm noises during the chorus.

During the band’s break Sean got up and sang his party piece, I know there’ll never be another ewe. The goats’ choir were persuaded to sing a couple of songs, gruffly and even the mini goatlet kids joined in.

As the evening wore on and the cider level sank, some of the animals got a little tipsy. A couple of the pigs got together in one corner and started complaining about the organisation on the farm and listing the changes they would make if they were in charge. The biggest goat challenged Porky to a fight, they had never really got on. Then Porky admitted to Daisy that he had always rather liked her and asked if perhaps she would like to come outside for a little fresh air? Daisy demurred, she had been quietly fantasising about Billy for the last hour or so and the last thing she had in mind was an amorous interlude with a pig. 

Henrietta was a very sensible hen and managed to stop a couple of the younger, just not chicks, who had been sitting on the farm photocopier. She didn’t know what they were planning but it didn’t look good. She looked around and saw that Sean was missing, as was one of the ewes. She had a look for them and found them in one of the feed stores, ‘discussing ovine balanced diets,’ they said but Sean appeared to be wearing muzzlestick which was a little unusual, even for him.

The rest of the hircines were acting the goat as usual and had to be restrained in the byre, where the cider had run out.

Adge decided that the band had done enough so they packed up and tractored off home. 

The animals slowly walked home, arms around each other, some declaring undying love for their friends.

Daisy and Gertie were just about still standing but both knew they would regret that last glass of cider at five the next morning when milking time came around.

It has been a good party and they agreed they would do it again next year. 

WB-9. Woman on a bench.

W B - 9     Woman on a bench - Person, Place, When 

There was still a chill in her tiny flat at this time of the morning. She had resolutely turned off the heating at the first sign of spring. Hetty liked to think of herself as a climate change warrior but in reality the switch-off was driven by her need to save money. A large part of her pension had recently gone on the costs of the wooden bench and its concrete foundations.

It was all a bit of a rush and she took less time than she normally did to get ready to go out. She didn’t want to be late for her long planned date with Howard on this special day. 

She stood in the narrow hallway of her cramped, ground floor, flat and checked her appearance in the full length mirror screwed to the wall. She didn’t like the look of her trousers but knew she would like it even less if her legs were on show. Howard used to laugh with her at what he called her Stilton legs; creamy-white from lack of exposure to the summer sun and with a tracery of blue veins. Hetty had chosen to wear her full length coat today, in spite of the increasingly warm sunshine, because it hid the worn, shabby look of the rest of her clothes. The pair of ex-nurses black shoes, bought from the charity shop in the High Street were practical and comfortable but perhaps not at the height of fashion - she favoured comfort over fashion these days. Her sole concession to the importance of the day was a somewhat frivolous red scarf tied in a bow around her summer straw hat.

‘You don’t scrub up badly for an old-un,’ she said to herself.

‘You’ll always be beautiful to me, Henrietta,’

‘Thank you, Howard,’ she replied.

She grabbed her walking stick - one of Howard’s - from the rack and, with her thumb,  traced the comforting, finger-polished place where the blackthorn had been cut from the hedge. Yes, it was still there since she had felt it last week. She determinedly walked out the door for the last time, not forgetting to lock it behind her.

Hetty walked slowly along the road to the nearby bus stop. She waited there while getting her bus pass out from her bag to clutch defiantly in her hand. She knew that the bus driver would not give her long to get on the bus and present the card before they started muttering about ‘slow old people’, as if they would not be old themselves one day. Hetty herself wasn’t that fond of being old and slow but she didn’t feel she had much choice in the matter. 

The number 28 turned up and she hurried to swipe her diamond card through the reader after asking for ‘Queen Elizabeth Park please.’ She just had time to get to her seat before the bus lurched into movement, making it difficult for her to put her pass safely back in her bag.

The trip wasn’t long. She kept an eye on the stops, ready to press the ‘ting’ button early enough for the driver to stop and, hopefully give her time to get to the door and step off before the muttering started. Luckily the driver was a young woman who even offered to help her if necessary - almost unheard of. Hetty would have enjoyed a chat with a friendly face but she knew the driver had a schedule to keep so she hurried off the bus.

The park looked beautiful in the morning, early summer, sunshine. The grass had been cut and had not yet turned brown from it’s fresh, spring green. They had had many family picnics there over the years. The beds were full of flowering annuals and even the birds sounded cheerful. The sparrows she thought of as the Tescos of the bird world while the dignified blackbirds were the Waitroses with their darting runs between stabbing the grass for a worm, just like the obsequious shop assistants darting out to help ‘Madam’ select some overly expensive and exotically named jar. The starlings were the Aldis of the bird world of course. She walked slowly along the pavement on her three legs, favouring her weak left leg, supporting some of her weight on the stick. She didn’t try to hurry. She stopped to look across the road at the elegant three story house that overlooked the park. 

She let herself into her favourite world through the black-painted wrought iron gate which squealed as it swung open on the rusty hinges. Once inside, she walked along the path, past the benches, saying hello to each of the people mentioned on the memorial brass plaques.

‘Hello Peter and Barbara, good morning Sydney, how are you today, hi David, Sheila, how are the grand children? She had known them all when they were alive and lived in that row of houses with their curtained windows looking down on the park. Yes, she had known them all, and their children and their grandchildren. Then they got old and died; their houses sold by their children to strangers. Now she was the only one left and even she didn’t live in that too-big, too-expensive, house any more.

Hetty got to her destination, a new looking seat, bolted to a still-white concrete base in the dappled shade of a sycamore tree. She brushed the warm, smooth trunk of their tree with her free hand. She chose to sit at the right hand end of the bench so that she could turn and see the bright brass plaque whenever she wanted. She laid her stick gently on the newly varnished wood, she liked that smell.

‘I said I would be here today, didn’t I Howard? Can you believe it, our seventieth wedding anniversary. I’ve know you for seventy four years. It has gone very quickly.

‘Happy anniversary, Hetty.’

‘Thank you Howard and to you too.’

She turned awkwardly to her left and traced the engraved words on the plaque with a wrinkled, shaking finger.

Howard Green 1928  -  2015

There was room on the brass for her name to be engraved under Howard’s. She had always been good at planning ahead.

The gentle breeze rattled the big leaves on their sycamore tree above them as a zephyr passed through the park.

‘I’m sorry I had to do it but, the cost of keeping you in that home was outrageous. I had to sell our house, of course, to pay the bills. Towards the end you didn’t seem to know me, or yourself, so I thought it was the best thing to do. It was very easy with one of those big pillows. Everyone was so sympathetic and you seem to be happier here. I insisted on scattering your ashes here under our tree on my own - just the two of us as, always.’

‘Don’t worry, Hetty, it will always be our secret and I am happier here under the tree, with the sunshine and the birds. You did the right thing for both of us. 

It is a lovely day today, why don’t you come and join me?’

‘We led a good life, didn’t we Howard?’

‘Yes, I think we did, Hetty.’

‘Then I think I will, Howard, I’m feeling old and tired now. I’ll just have a doze here in the sun and then perhaps…’