by Ann Michaels
Chapter 4.
Deeper and Down
I whizzed upstairs and grabbed the giant torch from the laundry room, noting how quiet and serene it was in there, without Edgar. I returned, but before I could even say a word, Alice seized the torch, and shone it down the hole.
‘She’s real bossy sometimes’, Owen said, in a deadpan voice.
I scrambled over to survey the black hole, which led to unknown subterranean regions, but all I could see, was some gruesome, metal stairs.
Without another word, Alice, clutching the torch, leapt down into the hole and began to descend the stairs into the darkness, and Owen, silently followed. I, however, had no intention of going down there with one measly torch.
‘I’ll just toddle off and purloin another two more torches’, I bellowed, like a halfwit into the square of blackness, where I could see two fading figures, and a quavering light moving down the spiral staircase.
‘Right-o’, yelled the disembodied voice of Alice, followed by the dim sound of Owen yelling, ‘make it fast’.
And I did. I scudded along to the kitchen, and opened the cupboard where Mrs Pollard kept such paraphernalia. I snagged a small back pack, threw three torches in (having read all the Famous Five books, I knew how a torch could be broken) and snared some batteries. Then, off I skittered back to the new, secret stairs.
I stood looking into the hole before descending and noticed that, the light of Alice’s torch looked very small and far down, indeed. How very strange.
‘Oh well. Here goes nothing’, I bawled. And down I went.
By the time I got to the bottom, I thought that my three score years and ten were up. It had felt like an eternity upon that stair, especially, as I was trying to avoid pendants of old spider webs and dry husks of lifeless insect bodies……and the smells!
Anyway, I joined Alice and Owen, who were standing upon what appeared to be an underground train station, with a long since abandoned single train line. Alice was vibrating with excitement, directing the beam of her torch here and there, with noted vigour, until she noticed a stream of rats slinking away into the darkness.
Directly next to us, there was a building of very heavy stone, which had only a few windows on the second floor, and a single door, which looked thick and impenetrable. It was all very odd. Although, this place appeared to be part of the underground tube network, it did not have the appearance of having ever been used by the public.
‘I don’t really think we should be here’, Owen blurted.
‘That’s why it’s fun’, Alice added, obviously revelling in her Nancy Drew moment. She then, strode over toward the heavyweight door, and simply pushed it open. It was not locked. Before I too followed Alice and Owen, into the unknown room, I noted that there was a huge jumble of what looked to be old telephone and electrical wires, secured to the stone wall, going into the building. And, as I flapped my torch around some more, I spied a huge generator, similar to one that, we had on our land out in India.
Inside, Owen and Alice were running about a room, which appeared to serve as a canteen. They cantered about tables, which held old glass bottles of HP Sauce and trays stacked with an assortment of white crockery and tarnished cutlery. I picked up a book which lay neglected and dirty under a Formica table; it was, Animal Farm, by George Orwell. The printing date on the inside of the cover said 1945.
We then trooped into a kitchen room, where a strange silence and sadness hung about. The dated fridges had their doors leering open, revealing empty innards. A huge, rusting old stove sat in one corner, with a corroded and empty pie tray, still in the oven.
Owen, more confident now, spotted a stack of yellowing papers on the serving bench, and whipped over to have a squiz. ‘Just food orders’, he said, before adding, ‘black pudding: gross!’
Another door led out of the kitchen and so we turned the stiff lock, and traipsed through it, into a huge, silent room.
‘Look at that old telephone switchboard’, Alice exclaimed, confirming what I was thinking.
‘It’s a long one, though!’ Owen added, as he swept his torch from side to side. And it was.
In front of the switchboard, which had wires and plugs spilling from it, were a row of cracked chairs on wheels. About twenty of them!
‘What a set up!’ Owen said. And it was.
I swivelled about and trained the light of my torch onto the other side of this room, where I could see a long bench, and piles of letters. I bounced over there and lifted up a few of the brittle missives, which had been chewed, and eaten about the edges. The ones that I could read were addressed to people in England, with stamps dated from 1945. These were letters that had never been delivered.
We began to walk again, noting the odd assortment of junk that had been left behind: on chairs, on tables and on the floor. I saw a single shoe of an antiquated mode; a tea pot and a tea cup featuring a bucolic scene; a black, woollen coat, encrusted with dust, and punctuated with holes, draped across a chair. We moved on.
At the end of this long room, we came upon another door; we went through, and saw a timber staircase going upwards to another floor, into the darkness. Without a word, we moved some disintegrating piles of old newspapers’ (which made me think of dear Granny Clementine) and boxes out of the way, and began to climb the stairs.
It was very quiet down here and the air was cool, with only the sound of our breathing to disturb the peace, but it was not a spooky place. It was a forgotten, mysterious and neglected world, which lay quietly under London.
On the second floor, there were three doors. Alice pushed the first one open, and shone the torch into a long and thin room, where about ten iron beds were lined up; the mattresses’ were sagging on wire bases and kapok stuffing was spilling from holes in the stained, blue and white striped covers. Alice moved into the room, to take a closer peep, and was startled, as a family of mice, babies and all, flew through the air like trapeze artists.
‘Crikey! My heart almost stopped!’ she cried.
The next door revealed a room which was almost exactly the same, but there was an old fashioned, brown suitcase, left on one of the beds. This time, Alice hung back, not wanting to encounter any more acrobatic mice. So I strode forward, like Saint George beading the dragon, in its lair, and unclipped the corroded locks. Inside, I found a rusty tin containing a small sewing kit and a collection of buttons; a tin of tooth powder; a container of Yardley Shaving Soap; a tortoiseshell clothes brush, and a decaying war ration book. I could find no name anywhere.
‘Look here Benny! Called Owen, from out in the hall. I hared out and saw Owen and Alice staring hard at the third door. Upon the door, was a small brass, name plate which said Operation Double-cross and underneath, the name Phineas Nutters: my grandfather!
My brain exploded for a moment, but then, I was able to follow Alice and Owen into the small office, where a large, timber desk, with a leather top dominated the room. On the corner of this desk, was a weird and creepy statue of a bat, with an egg-like device strapped to it. Looking closer, I could also see a deflated parachute attached to the bat’s body, also made of the black, metal-like material.
‘Your family has a very strange relationship with animals’, announced Owen, looking from me to the statue, and back again.
‘You are not wrong’, Alice added.
What could I say?
We shone our torches around, and noted various odd and interesting things. On one wall, there was a photo, in a polished timber frame, of a dog with something strapped cunningly onto its body, facing an army tank. It was an irregular and strangely disturbing image.
Looking on the dusty shelf next to the desk, I found a stack of crumbling papers’. On one of these papers, was a drawing of a dead rat, with a pencil-like object within it. At the top of the paper, the words, ‘Rat Explosives’ was typed. Outlined below, it explained how these dead rats would be filled with explosives, and left around in weapons factories, near a furnace. Workers finding the
se dead rats would then, likely throw them in the fire and then, kapow! On another paper, it said, ‘Rat Pathogens’; followed by lots of writing about how rats can deliver deadly diseases, behind enemy lines.
‘I think that I may have a bit of a notion about all this, I said slowly, as I picked up another piece of paper, which said, ‘The Military Poodle’.
‘I’d say that, this office, was investigating the use of animals for weapons, and war work!’
‘I think you’ve got that right’, said Owen handing me a small pottery figurine of a poodle with accusing eyes, which had a brass plaque attached. It said: ‘The poodle serves to keep our country free, working toward victory.’
‘Diabolical!’ Alice exploded.
“Animals have been used for war purposes since ancient times’, I said. Then, I hurriedly added, ‘Of course, that doesn’t make it the honourable thing to do. I mean, it’s not like they can give their consent’.
‘You’re right there Sunshine’, Alice sarcastically added.
‘But I have read how the ancient Greeks used wild boars to frighten war elephants and Attila the Hun, and even the Spanish conquistadors used dog soldiers’.
Perhaps, I was trying to excuse my grandfather, who appeared to have been very much involved, with the stomach-curdling use of animals for war.
Owen, who had been wandering about, opened another door, on the far wall, that we had not noticed before. He shone his torch into a room, containing many huge box-like pieces of equipment, with lots of tube and circuit-like thingies, hanging off them. They reminded me of those cryptanalysis computers that, I had found in the secret room. However, right next to these mammoth contrivances, we could see two turntables, like the one on Uncle Crispy’s old gramophone. There was even a Beethoven record sitting on one turntable. And on the wall, directly over these turntables, hung an old rotary-dial telephone, in a polished timber case.
‘Obviously, this was some sort of setup for sending telephone messages and using music in some way to scramble or disguise the information’, said Alice with a tone of great importance.
‘Come on’, she added, ‘let’s go outside and explore, cos I reckon that there’s more to this story’.
We walked back out into the room with the desk, but I wanted to lurk about here for a moment, as I wanted to take a last look around, before I followed Owen and Alice, who were already clumping noisily down the stairs.
I got down on my hands and knees and began to crawl about on the floor, because, I always think it helps to look at matters from a different point of view.
I crawled under the big, old desk, where my attention was initially hijacked by a mummified rat body. I turned my head away, to avoid looking at the frightful piece of biological goods, and noticed, what appeared to be a small, thin drawer on the underside of the desk, which was set well back from the front, and so, not easily visible.
I crawled back out, stood up, and bent down to take a closer look. From the front, what I thought was a drawer, just looked to be part of the desk, and there was no handle. However, I pushed the thin strip of timber, and the secret compartment popped open. Inside, it looked empty, but I pushed my hand toward the back, all the while thinking about hairy, black spiders (see how brave I am) and my finger touched something hard and cold. I pulled out an antique looking key, with a fancy end, which had a lion, in the centre of the bow. I thrust the key into my pocket and ran out of there, lickety-split, and down the stairs.
‘Come on!’ yelled Owen and Alice, as though from a distance. I could make out their bobbing torches in the darkness, a good way away, in the opposite direction, to the stairs of the secret room. I bounded after them, at a flying pace.
‘Let’s just follow this train line and see where it leads’, Alice said. I could tell that Alice was having the time of her life and was not even fazed now, by the glittering eyes of the many rats that swept past us.
We trotted along for some time in silence, as the darkness and the damp underground feeling, was not very conducive to a talk-fest. However, after a while, it’s hard to tell how long, as none of us had a watch or one of those newfangled mobile phones, we came upon a lonesome train carriage, which sat silently, dark and deserted, on the single train line. Owen ran in front and was already trying the doors, by the time Alice, and I caught up.
Then, Owen leapt inside and Alice and I followed.
The carriage was old and dusty, but at one time, it must have been almost beautiful, with its polished timber walls and green, leather seats. We walked up and down the aisle, but it was empty, except for a sort of tea chest sitting in the luggage area.
Alice, who had recovered now from the gymnastic mice, steamrolled her way through, and pulled the lid off the tea chest, in a forceful fashion.
The first thing she pulled out was, a small timber box, which had the words, ‘Cyanide Cigarettes’ emblazoned on the lid, in red. Sure enough, we found packets of innocuous looking cigarette packets, lined up inside. Owen then pulled out a wine bottle, which had a slip of paper attached to its neck. I bent down to read it, ‘Beware Exploding Wine Bottle’. Owen shoved the wine back quickly into the box, and wiped his forehead. ‘I almost dropped it’, he said, in an odd, high, quavering voice.
Alice whipped out a grey, cardboard box, which had the single word ‘Microphones’, scrawled on the lid, in pencil. On opening the box, however, we found a collection of old watches, and fountain pens.
‘Gosh!’ said Alice, ‘These are spying devices. They probably make recordings too’.
On the bottom of the tea chest, there was a mouldy collection of wigs, and clothing items, and a solitary miniature camera.
‘It’s so cute!’ Alice declared.
We jumped out of the carriage and continued walking along the platform, even though I was itching to see a bit of sunlight at this stage (yes, I do realise that this is England!). As we shambled along, we did pass a few curious doors set into the stone sides of the tunnel, but thus far, all were locked. Then, we came upon a door which gaped open; it hung off its hinges, in fact!
Shining our torches inside the room, we could see a quite a few benches.
‘It looks like our science lab at school’, Owen intoned. Then, we all tried to walk through the door at once, but Owen and I became stuck, while Alice ducked underneath.
‘She always has to be first’. Owen complained, pushing through.
‘Looks like they were making radios here’, Alice called out, stating the obvious, as there were various dismantled radios and scattered parts, sitting on some of the benches. On one bench, I found a box of Rowntree Chocolates. But there were no chocolates inside, only some pieces of folded paper. I picked up the first one. It was written in Ancient Greek, so I read it out. Then, I noticed that, Alice and Owen were eyeballing me strangely.
‘What is that gobbledygook? And what does it mean?
‘These wise sayings are written in ancient Greek’, I said, as I flipped through some of the other pieces of paper. ‘The one I just read out, was by Aristotle’.
‘Yes, but what does it mean?’ Owen persisted.
‘We make war that we may live in peace’. I said.
‘Tell us some of the others’, Alice demanded, as she grabbed the box and some of the papers from me, and looked intensely at the strange characters.
‘This looks like a chook walked across it’, was her verdict.
I began to read:
‘It is never right to do wrong or to requite wrong with wrong, or when we suffer evil to defend ourselves by doing evil in return’.
‘Good people do not need laws to tell them to act responsibly, while bad people will find a way around the laws.’
‘There is nothing permanent except change’.
I stopped. There was only a single piece of paper remaining.
‘But what does it all mean? I mean, it all sounds contradictory, and why is this box here?’ Owen asked, puzzled.
I lifted the last piece of folded paper
out of the chocolate box and a key slipped out, and dropped onto the floor with a clang: a key with a lion in the bow. I took out the key that, I had found in the secret drawer of the desk, from my pocket, and compared it with this new key. They were identical.
I now told Alice and Owen, about how; I had found the key in the secret drawer of the desk.
‘So, why didn’t you tell us before, then?’ Alice asked suspiciously.
‘I do not know’, I replied. ‘I think, I just wanted to keep the key to myself for a while….because it must have belonged to my grandfather’. This was the right thing to say, because, Alice smiled and slipped her arm through mine. Owen smiled too, and began to do a bit of a tap dance around the benches.
We continued on our way, walking along the platform. This time, though, Owen was tap dancing and singing a song which appeared to be called, ‘Can’t Get You Out of my Head’. It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t exactly Mozart, either. I realised suddenly, that I was feeling strange. Then I realised that, the feeling was happiness.
