I couldn’t, even in my wildest imagination, ever dream of undertaking such an extraordinary task, even if I had the years of flying experience. And let’s not forget that, in 1937, they didn’t have the technology we have today.
Thinking back to Amelia’s second attempt at her world flight; Amelia, Howland Island and the three Guard ships were all operating with their own individual clocks set in five different time zones and their calendars on two different days and dates. It was no wonder there was a problem with communications. It was because of Amelia’s world flight that Greenwich Mean Time (GMT), also known as Zulu, was adopted for all distress communications.
The more I researched Amelia, the more she seemed to be calling out to me. Not in the cryptic sense, but more through the coincidence of dates. For instance, Amelia departed on her around-the-world flight on Saint Patrick’s Day; that was the day my parents were married. She was last heard from and disappeared over the Pacific Ocean on her way to Howland Island on July 3rd; that was the day I started my career and my days of youthful innocence ended. And while surfing through the television stations, I stumbled across the movie Flight of the Phoenix, the original version with Jimmy Stewart. At the end of the movie, the following message appeared:
“It should be remembered . . . that Paul Mantz, a fine man and a brilliant flyer, gave his life in the making of this film . . . (Died July 8, 1965–also called Hollywood’s best known daredevil).”
July 8th also happens to be my dad’s birthday! Coincidence or something else? You decide!
I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the debt of gratitude I owe to those who have spent years and, in some cases, decades, researching, analysing and documenting Amelia Earhart’s life. I have tried to honor their work by adhering to historical fact, while interweaving my characters—the Delaneys, Richard Barak Case and others—into the fabric of history. Of note, Paul Mantz and Terry Minor left Hawaii on March 20th with the others and the Electra was shipped back to the mainland on March 27th not the 22th.
I hope you enjoyed the journey . . . Until Next Time.
Author’s Notes Part III
When I first had the idea of writing a book, which quickly morphed into a trilogy, I knew I’d have to navigate my way through a sea of information. What I didn’t realize was how much water a sea contained. Nor did I realize how many interesting things exist in the sea. I soon learned. I also realized that I had to stay truly focused on my goals, if I was going to reach my destination. Every time I lost my focus and veered off course, I was at risk of losing my way or being swamped in the vast sea of information.
Let me try to explain, so you can appreciate my journey.
In my story I introduced a fictional couple: Rich and Mary Case. Now, I needed to find a home for the Cases, so I started searching for 19th century dwellings. I discovered there are many different kinds of dwellings. I decided that Mr. and Mrs. Case were going to live in a terraced house, a style of housing that was, and still is, common in London. I also discovered the usual characteristics of a typical middle-class terraced house: the layout, the types of rooms, the décor, etc.; I settled on the characteristics that would grace the Cases’ home. So far, so good, but I still needed to address a key question: where was the house going to be located? So, using the internet (I don’t know how writers ever did any of this without the internet!), I ventured forth, using various mapping tools to find the perfect neighborhood for the Cases. Sounds pretty simple, right?
Not quite. I now had to consider where the Cases were going to work, taking into account the location of their house and then factoring in the various modes of transportation. So, after another plunge into the unfathomable depths of overwhelming data, I determined that the Cases would have to work within a two-mile radius of their home. But, I still haven`t figured out what they’d do for a living. Thinking . . . thinking . . . I`d make Mrs. Case a nurse—oh wait—was there a hospital nearby? Let’s dive deeper.
Great. There was the London Hospital—oh wait—what’s that? Joseph Merrick lived at the London Hospital during our story timeline. Maybe I could work him into the plot. So, off I go, jumping into Joseph Merrick’s story. Several hours later, I resurfaced . . . now, where was I? Oh yeah, looking for a location for the Cases’ house. It had to be in a fairly upscale neighborhood and within a two-mile radius from the London Hospital and—oh wait—I still didn’t have an occupation for Mr. Case!
Think . . . think . . . think . . . I’ve got it. I’d make Mr. Case a police inspector. I’d have him work in Whitechapel, close to where the Ripper murders occurred. Okay, now let’s find the police division where he will be assigned. After another leap into the digital world, my research revealed twenty police divisions. Thankfully, only H Division and J Division were heavily involved in the Ripper investigations. I also found reference to the City Police, but after further research I realized their involvement in the investigations occurred after the period covered in my story.
Now, where was I? Oh yeah, Mr. Case. I’d made him a police inspector and I assigned him to H Division.
Good, I was making headway. I found a job and a workplace for Mr. Case. Now, I needed to understand what policing was like in London’s East End in 1880’s—oh wait—what defined the East End? Better figure that out. Hey, look at this. The police weren’t even issued fire arms.
Okay, I finally knew what encompassed the East End and what the police did. So where was I? Oh yeah, looking for a place of residence for the Cases. Maps . . . maps . . . more maps. Wait. What’s that? There were two White’s Rows, three Church Streets, two John Streets, two Montague Streets, and three Devonshire Streets, all within close proximity to each other. There were also three George Streets; two of them ran parallel to each other and were just three hundred yards apart. Confusing, to say the least. How did the police ever know where to investigate a complaint or, for that matter, a murder?
Are you exhausted yet? I am. The saying ‘up the proverbial creek without the metaphorical paddle’ doesn’t even begin to echo the level of frustration in trying to reach my destination.
But street names were not the only befuddlement. People in the late 19th century didn’t carry any formal means of identification—and they were often known by several different names. For example, a witness at Mary Ann Nichol’s inquest was cited in the police report as Ellen Holland, but was listed under other names in various newspapers: as Emily Holland, in The London East Observer and The Illustrated Police News of September 8, 1888; as Jane Hodden in The Manchester Guardian of September 4; and as Jane Oram in The Times of the same date. Amelia ‘Mel’ Palmer, a friend of Annie Chapman, also went by her surname: Farmer.
Even the police had trouble with names. Several newspapers had reported that Inspector Spratling’s testimony at Mary Ann Nichol’s inquest had stated that Spratling had directed Constable Cartwright to examine the neighbourhood where the deceased had been found. No Police Constable Cartwright has ever been identified. So, who was this Constable Cartwright?
All this stuff about names was interesting, but it wasn’t really helping me get to my destination. I adjusted my bearing: I needed to get back to finding a place for the Cases’ home. Okay, I found one: a perfect neighbourhood directly across the street from Victoria Park. Wow. What a beautiful fountain. And hey, look at this: Baroness Burdett-Coutts, the wealthiest woman in England, dedicated her time and wealth to philanthropic causes including, co-founding with Charles Dickens, a home for young women who had “turned to a life of immorality”. This was all great stuff, but it took me off course again.
Focus . . . focus . . . so, we know that Mrs. Case is working as a nurse at the London Hospital and—oh wait—what did nurses wear in 1888 and what was their role? I veered off on another tack that took me through all kinds of uncharted stuff. Look who was there—Florence Nightingale. Not only was she influential in establishing training for nurses, but her concern over sanitation, mi
litary health and hospital planning resulted in practices that still exist today. Wow. Pretty impressive stuff, but not what I was looking for. Through my diving into depths unknown, I came across another very remarkable woman: Clara Collett. Her vast collection of statistical data, accumulated as part of her work for Charles Booth, led to her working for the Board of Trade. For over thirty years, Collet was involved in a variety of important studies that greatly influenced reforms concerning the working conditions and wages for women. Both these women significantly influenced the future, but unfortunately their monumental achievements were clouded by the autumn of terror. Focus . . . focus . . . and so it goes . . .
It was never my intention to become an expert in Ripperology, but it was so easy to get swamped in the waves of information that were endless and often in conflict. So, after spending months reading everything I could get my hands on regarding the Ripper murders, I realized the current was taking me in the wrong direction. I didn’t want to write about the murders or the investigations or, least of all, even pretend to think I could solve a century old mystery. I wanted the Delaney children to experience what it was like to live in the late 19th century.
I knew throughout my voyage on the sea that I could never stop the waves; at the same time, I was confident that I could learn how to surf! It was a great ride.
I acknowledge my debt of gratitude to those who have dedicated so much of their time and effort into the relentless quest of identifying Jack the Ripper. I also acknowledge my gratitude to those who have meticulously documented every remaining and known fact about the period from August through to November 1888 in the East End of London. I have tried to respect historical facts, while at the same time, interweaving my characters: the Delaneys, Richard Barak Case and others into the fabric of history.
I hope you enjoyed the journey . . . Until Next Time.
Bibliography
Time Travel
Gott, J. Richard. Time Travel in Einstein’s Universe: The Physical Possibilities of Travel Through Time. Mariner Books, 2002.
Kaku, Michio. Physics of the Impossible: A Scientific Exploration into the World of Phasers, Force Fields, Teleportation, and Time Travel. Doubleday, 2008.
Magueijo, Jaao. Faster Than the Speed of Light: The Story of a Scientific Speculation. Basic Books, 2003.
Nahin, Paul J. Time Travel: A Writer’s Guide to the Real Science of Plausible Time Travel. Johns Hopkins Univ Pr; Revised ed. edition, 2011.
Amelia Earhart
Branson-Trent, Gregory. The Unexplained: Amelia Earhart, Bermuda Triangle, Atlantis, Aliens And Ghosts . New Image Productions, 2010.
Long, Elgen M. Long and Marie K. Amelia Earhart: The Mystery Solved . Simon & Schuster, 2009.
Purdue University Library e-Archives, George Palmer Putnam Collection Of Amelia Earhart Papers. n.d. http://earchives.lib.purdue.edu/.
TIGHAR, The International Group for the Historic Aircraft Recovery. n.d. http://tighar.org/Projects/Earhart/AEdescr.html . 2012.
Matson Ocean Liners https://ssmaritime.com/malolo-matsonia.htm
London 1888
Casebook: Jack the Ripper. n.d. http://www.casebook.org/index.html . 2015.
Cornwell, Patricia. Portait of a Killer: Jack the Ripper Case Closed. G.P. Putnam’s Sons; 1st edition, 2002.
Eddleston, John J. Jack the Ripper - An Encyclopedia. CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2015.
Flanders, Judith. Inside The Victorian Home. W. W. Norton & Company, 2006.
Paul Begg, Martin Fido, Keith Skinner. The Complete Jack the Ripper A to Z. John Blake , 2010.
Treves, Sir Frederick. The True History of The Elephant Man, Appendix 3. British Medical Journal, Dec. 1886, and April 1890
Acknowledgments
Thanking the people who were most important to Lost in Time seems like an impossible task, considering I started this book so long ago, being the first of three in a series. If your name is not listed below, it could be in one of the other two books. If not, it’s probably because I’ve forgotten and I am terribly sorry.
First and foremost, I give a heartfelt thank you to Hugh Willis. I’m sure you never thought, when you agreed to go on this Next Time journey with me, you were committing to a trip that would last five years! I thank you for your patience with my typos, your determination with trying to improve my grammar and your never-ending encouragement. I honestly believe your kind words helped me to make this journey through to its final destination. I’m grateful that you took this trip with me.
Thank you to Rose Lythgoe, you were my first reader of the entire series and you flattered me with your enthusiastic feedback. I am also grateful to Kerry Mills, Lori Sullivan, Joyce Dennis, Sandy Riddell, Arlene Douglas, Wendy Cathcart, Carolyn Nixon, Cameron and Mary McBain and Joyce Wiltshire. Your reassuring words were heartfelt and appreciated.
I would also like to acknowledge Lynda Orrell, Emergency Room Nurse (retired) for her technical assistance and for your encouraging words. Thanks to a dear friend Michael Brier for your aviation and navigational expertise.
And finally I’d like to thank fellow authors Cathy Marie Buchanan and Rosemary McCracken for sharing their writing journey with me and for providing some valuable advice to a debut writer.
Bonus Content: Book 2 (Part IV)
The adventure continues with
NEXT TIME BOOK 2
RUNNING OUT OF TIME
Read on for an exciting glimpse into the next book in the Next Time series coming out soon.
Part IV
In the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time
1: Unknown
“That was him!” Dani shrieked. “That was Jack the Ripper!”
“I know,” Daric barked back. “And that bastard will never pay for his crimes.”
“Where are we?” Dani asked, trying to orient herself.
“Look out!” a child screamed from somewhere over Daric’s left shoulder. Daric’s prone form looked up. The front hooves of a reared horse were plummeting downward, directly toward him. He instinctively rolled away, taking Dani with him.
“That was close,” Daric muttered.
“Grab them!” a man’s voice bellowed from above.
Two men among the crowd gathered at the side of the road rushed forward and seized Daric’s arms. They pulled him up onto his feet and wrenched his arms high behind his back.
“Hey, take it easy,” Daric protested, unable to mask the grimace on his face.
Another man from the opposite side of the road bent down and pulled Dani to her feet, pinning her arms as well.
“Hey!” Dani objected. As she peered over her shoulder to see who was holding her so tightly, she let out a gasp. She was looking into a pair of wide-set brown eyes that were staring out at her from a shadow-draped face under a wide-brimmed black hat.
“Don’t you be givin’ me no evil eye, witch,” he snapped.
“Where did they come from?” a woman asked worriedly.
“They must be witches!” cried a young woman from the back of the crowd.
“Here,” the cart driver said as he tossed some rope to the men who were restraining Dani and Daric and who made quick work of securing their hands behind their backs.
“Can we get on with it? We’ll deal with these two later. They’re not going anywhere,” a man on horseback shouted.
As the cart slowly past, Daric looked at Dani to make sure she was okay. As he did, his eyes met those of the man holding her. At first he couldn’t believe what he saw: a face with thin lips, a broad nose, and a thrusting pointed jaw. He would know that face anywhere, no matter what kind of clothes its owner was wearing.
Daric mouthed the words. Dani acknowledged with a nod of her head. Another Uncle Richard.
2: Present Day - Saturday
Richard’s mind was awash with the possibili
ties. Time travel: could it be true? To be able to travel through time. He would be famous, the envy of his profession; hell, he would be the envy of everyone. “Quinn actually did it!” he muttered. “The things I could do with those travel bands.” There was only one problem: the bands were in England, in 1888, the last he knew.
Richard was annoyed that Quinn had been reluctant to share his incredible breakthrough with him. At the same time, Richard knew he would not have understood the endless equations involved in Quinn’s achievement. They gave him migraines.
Although annoyed, Richard would bide his time. He would leave Quinn to work out the still unresolved details. Once Quinn was finished with his work, Richard would make his move.
After parking his Abruzzi in the garage, Richard entered the house. He immediately proceeded to the north wing where he had previously installed a fingerprint scanner locking device. Unlocking the door, he entered, yelling, “Hey, Eddie, I’m home!”
“You can’t keep me here,” a timid voice muttered back.
“Of course I can, you worthless piece of shit. Nobody even knows you’re missing, or cares, for that matter. Besides, you have a roof over your head, a comfortable suite of rooms, and decent meals whenever you want them. A far cry from where you were two months ago when I scraped you off the street and kept you out of the hands of the law. So, be grateful,” Richard spat.
Edward “Eddie” Jonathan Keys was a young man, small in stature compared to Richard. Weighing one-hundred-fifty pounds, with narrow shoulders, he stood six feet. He had sad jade-green eyes behind thick black-framed glasses. His short brown hair was a little longer on top. He had a small mole just above the left corner of his mouth.
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