The TV Time Travellers

by Pete Johnson

  ‘Don’t give my parents ideas,’ grinned Leo.

  Then Mr Wallack told us to come away from the window as we were about to leave. We all obeyed him instantly. As the train chugged off I thought, This train is really a magic carpet, carrying me away to my all-time favourite period in history.

  During the journey we were allowed to talk very quietly or do these jigsaws Miss Weed had brought for us.

  But only Harriet and I bothered with the jigsaws. Leo watched me though, and pretended he was really interested. ‘Oh, nice work,’ he kept muttering as I put another piece in the right place.

  Suddenly Harriet leaped up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped, ‘but I feel very sick.’ Then she rushed out of the carriage.

  Izzy got up too. ‘I’ll see if she’s all right,’ she said.

  But Miss Weed popped up, looked at Mr Wallack for a moment and said she would deal with this. A few minutes later Mr Wallack got up too. ‘Continue talking very quietly,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’ Then he left as well.

  ‘He really creeps me out,’ hissed Izzy.

  ‘Don’t forget, we’re being filmed,’ said Barney, nodding at the cameraman, whose face was as blank as ever.

  ‘Oh, who cares?’ said Leo. Then he shouted: ‘Mr Wallack is just a big bag of tedium, and if I had to look at his face for another second I’d feel sick too.’ We all laughed in a shocked way, while Barney opened the carriage door very slowly and looked out. Then he hastily shut it again. ‘They’re coming back,’ he said, ‘and Harriet’s got a very strange look on her face.’

  ‘No, that’s her normal expression,’ said Izzy.

  The carriage door opened and Harriet sped in. ‘Alarm over, just felt a tiny bit sick for a moment, but I’m fine now.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ said Miss Weed firmly.

  Harriet beamed away, but without actually looking at anyone. I think she was highly embarrassed. I felt sorry for her. I wondered if she’d just had an attack of nerves.

  Angry clouds had been massing when we left the station. By the time we arrived at Little Milton the weather had turned wild. Rain splashed down and then thunder crashed so loudly it made everyone stop talking for a moment. ‘Very good sound effects,’ said Leo. ‘I suppose Strictly Evacuees has laid this on especially for us.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Mr Wallack. Then he announced we were now going to walk to the farm.

  ‘In this?’ exclaimed Izzy.

  He ignored her. But then Izzy said, ‘Well, I’m sorry, I’m not walking in this. I’ll get pneumonia.’

  ‘I don’t remember asking for your opinion,’ said Mr Wallack.

  ‘Well, you got it anyway,’ she replied defiantly.

  Mr Wallack started to twitch and looked as if he was about to say something very fierce. But then Miss Weed whispered something to him and he said, ‘In view of the extreme weather, we shall in this one instance call for a taxi. Isobel, I wish to speak to you. The rest of you go into the waiting room with Miss Weed.’

  Izzy was gone for ages and when she returned with Mr Wallack she was much quieter.

  A few minutes later the taxi arrived and we all crammed in, the cameraman too. Rain lashed down outside and the wind joined in, howling away.

  ‘Do you think the weather is trying to tell us to turn back?’ whispered Barney to me.

  ‘Oh, no,’ I replied, ‘we’re going to have the best time of our lives.’

  As we drove into the farmyard, there was a brilliant flash of lightning which lit up the whole cream-coloured stone farmhouse for a moment.

  A man came and stood in front of us: huge and rather forbidding, holding a walkie-talkie. Surely this wasn’t the farmer. I just couldn’t imagine him living here. But Miss Weed told us he was a Strictly Evacuees security man. There would be someone on guard outside the farm at all times.

  Then a man under an umbrella came sloshing towards us. He had some other umbrellas under his arm and he handed them round as if they were lollipops. He was wearing a flat cloth cap, and had a gas-mask box over his shoulder, which all added to the wartime authenticity. He cried, ‘What a night! I want you to know you’re very welcome indeed. Now tell me who you all are.’

  He listened to each of our names with a kind of astonished delight. He was small and thin, with a slight Welsh accent. He seemed more like an enthusiastic salesman than a farmer, really.

  ‘I’m Farmer Benson.’ Before he could say another word, a pig came grunting and squealing towards him. ‘Oh, I thought you’d have to see what was going on,’ he said, picking the pig up. The pig settled in his arms as he went on, ‘This is quite a small farm, but it is a proper working one and I’m rather proud of it. I’m biased, though. You see, I was born on this farm and my late father before me and my grandfather before him . . . and in my grandad’s time we had evacuees here.’

  ‘Oh, how brilliant!’ I cried.

  ‘Brilliant indeed,’ he repeated, smiling at my enthusiasm. ‘My grandad took in two boys and they became just like part of the family. Good lads they were, and we’ve still got pictures of them. Now I’ve got something very exciting to tell you about them—’

  But he was interrupted by a voice calling, ‘Are you staying out there all night?’

  Farmer Benson gave an embarrassed smile. ‘Of course, you don’t want to listen to me rattling on. Just wanted you to know we’ve had evacuees before – and we’re delighted to welcome you to your time warp.’

  ‘Yes, but what’s the exciting thing about your first evacuees?’ I asked.

  Farmer Benson grinned. ‘I think I’ll save that as a surprise for later.’

  ‘Yes, do that,’ said Mr Wallack, who had an impatient frown on his face.

  Farmer Benson put the pig down. ‘Off you go, nosy,’ he said and the pig went trotting off. The farmer then led us through a big oak door. A woman’s voice yelled out, ‘All shoes on the mat, if you’d be so kind.’ And everyone, even Mr Wallack and Miss Weed, obeyed.

  Mrs Benson was a small, rather breathless woman who seemed to be constantly on the move. She bustled us into the kitchen, which was enormous. There was a coal fire burning and a long wooden table with cakes and biscuits on it. We all pounced on those.

  It was then that I felt this fizzy, excited feeling in my stomach, as if I’d swallowed about a thousand bubbles all at once. I wanted to jump and yell with sheer happiness. Every moment I’d been at Aunt Sara’s I’d felt like a guest. No, not even that, a big nuisance who Aunt Sara had to reluctantly put up with.

  But from the start, this felt completely different. And I knew I’d found somewhere I truly belonged.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘I Need to Perform Number Two’

  Izzy

  WE WERE IN the Bensons’ kitchen, stuffing our faces with delicious buttery scones, when Leo nudged me. He pointed up at the corner of the ceiling.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘There’s a camera up there.’

  I squinted up my eyes. ‘So there is.’

  Leo said, ‘At this moment there’s a guy at the control centre watching us, thinking, Shall we put these two idiots on the telly?’

  ‘Just so long as he gets my best side,’ I grinned. But it was so weird to think of my mum and my friends being able to watch my every move. In fact, I still couldn’t quite believe it. Nothing seemed quite real about these past few hours. Most of which I’d hated.

  Yet oddly enough, I was enjoying myself too. I suppose because my life was suddenly so exciting and different. I really hadn’t a clue what was going to happen next. But I was still very homesick so I whispered, ‘Hi, Mum, I love you lots,’ hoping somehow she’d hear that.

  Leo started prowling about the kitchen. ‘Now they said there are twenty-one cameras in this house. So let’s check out the rest.’ But suddenly Wally (which had already become Mr Wallack’s nickname) said he wanted our full attention.

  Instantly no one dared breathe – no, not even me. He really was one scary dude.

&n
bsp; ‘As some of you have already noticed,’ he said, ‘there are cameras hidden all over this farm – with the exception of in your bedrooms and the toilet. They are out of bounds for the cameras. Now, a piece of advice: forget all about the cameras. Thinking about them will only make you feel self-conscious and awkward – and stop you being completely natural.’

  But how could you forget all those cameras lurking about? Impossible. And that first night I kept spotting them. ‘There’s one, there’s another,’ I’d say. I’d hear the cameras moving too – they made a funny slithering sound. I got used to them incredibly quickly though. And within a few hours I had practically forgotten all about them. I suppose there was just so much else to think about.

  Wally went on to tell us that we couldn’t go outside the gate of the farm without permission. Anyone disobeying this rule would be instantly dismissed. So that guard wasn’t just to keep strangers out – it was to keep us in.

  ‘You may occasionally be allowed to leave the farm, but you must ensure you only speak to people in Second World War costume. If anyone attempts to speak to you in modern dress, you must not reply but should inform Miss Weed or myself right away.’ He continued, ‘I will remind you too that we shall be expecting high standards of behaviour from you at all times. Anyone who misbehaves will receive a warning – three warnings and you will be disqualified from the competition.’ Then he added, ‘And one person has already received a warning.’

  I gave a little bow in case anyone doubted who it was. I’d got my warning just for announcing that I couldn’t walk a mile to the farm while a massive storm was going on. Apparently, I’d been highly disrespectful and very rude.

  Next we were told we could see our rooms. I sprang up, but had to come back because I’d left the room like a football hooligan – not like a young lady.

  We all clattered up this narrow, winding stairway. The first floor was where the Bensons and Miss Weed slept. The second floor was ours. Two of the bedrooms were very small with sloping ceilings and some distinctly mouldy wallpaper with faded roses all over them. To try and brighten things up a bit they’d slapped up a couple of little pictures of country scenes.

  The third bedroom was a cupboard really (stretch your arms out and you could touch both walls). But everyone wanted that room because it was kind of cosy and, of course, it was private. For a few superb hours you could be totally on your own.

  But before I could put in a bid for it that seal piped up, ‘Oh, could I have this bedroom? I’ll share it with Barney if I really must.’

  Now Mrs Benson hadn’t seen the sock puppet before and she was charmed by it – sorry, him. She even called her husband upstairs and soon Barney and Solomon were doing their full act. Of course they got the bedroom, while I had to share with Harriet.

  She had fully recovered from feeling sick earlier. Now she was bounding around our room saying, ‘Well, today has been a journey and a half, and isn’t it just incredible to be here? You know something else? You and I are going to have brilliant fun, Isobel.’ She burst out laughing. ‘It’s hilarious hearing you called that – makes me laugh every time.’

  ‘Well, don’t you call me Isobel in here,’ I said. ‘This is our private place.’

  ‘Oh, I think I should,’ she giggled. ‘Keep up the illusion.’

  ‘I’ve told all the other evacuees to call me Izzy,’ I insisted. ‘And I shan’t answer to anything else.’

  She laughed again. ‘Oh, you are funny getting all upset about a silly thing like that.’ She looked at me. ‘It’s not easy being you, is it?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, you get uptight about such silly little things, like your name. Oh well, a few days with me and you’ll feel so relaxed and happy. I cheer everyone up.’

  Then she smiled a smile which seemed to fill the whole bedroom; in fact there didn’t seem any space left for me. I knew if I stayed in this room any longer I’d only say something I regretted. And I just had to keep my temper – as I didn’t want Little Miss Sunshine nominating me to leave.

  I even had to pretend to like her. So I said, as brightly as I could, ‘I’m sure you and I will have a good time together.’

  ‘Oh, we will,’ she cried. ‘It’s going to be so fantastic.’

  I fled to the bathroom. Only I couldn’t find one on our floor – and then we were called down to tea in the kitchen. Those scones had been delicious and I was looking forward to something even tastier. But a rather embarrassed-looking Mrs Benson announced to us, ‘I’ve been told off for cooking you all those scones. And I can’t give you the welcome tea I’d planned; it’s all got to be prepared according to wartime rationing.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Zac, ‘but we’re in 1939 and rationing didn’t come in until January the eighth, 1940.’

  ‘He’s right,’ cried Leo at once.

  ‘You don’t know.’ I grinned at him.

  ‘Shush,’ said Leo.

  For a moment Miss Weed and Mr Wallack both looked distinctly taken aback by Zac’s pronouncement. Finally, Miss Weed said, ‘You’re quite right, Zac, about when rationing started. But we’re accelerating you through the war, to give you the total experience. So rationing starts now.’

  Mrs Benson actually blushed as she brought in our tea – and well she might. It was the most gruesome meal I’d ever seen. It consisted of scrambled eggs – made from powdered eggs – which tasted of absolutely nothing other than dried cardboard, and then a lovely big helping of raw cabbage salad.

  ‘There’s more cabbage salad if anyone wants any,’ said Mrs Benson. I would have laughed for several months if my stomach hadn’t been turning belly-flops at even the sight of such disgusting fare.

  Amazingly, Harriet and Zac were actually eating it enthusiastically. Harriet said it was ‘tremendous’. And Zac said he thought powdered eggs tasted even better than the real ones. But Barney and Leo were picking at their food. I started making faces at them at how awful it tasted.

  Suddenly Wally, who was sitting at the head of the table (where else?), barked, ‘You have to draw attention to yourself, don’t you, Isobel?’

  ‘No, it’s just I can’t eat this food.’ Then I put my knife and fork down and added, ‘Now I’ve finished.’

  There was a shocked silence from both Miss Weed and Wally, as if I’d said something really bad. And even Mrs Benson, who’d come in to ask if anyone wanted any more, had a stunned look on her face.

  ‘We’re fighting a war,’ said Miss Weed. ‘Food is very scarce and cannot be wasted. You will eat everything that is on your plate.’

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Miss Weed said, ‘I am not debating this with you. You will not waste your tea.’

  Then Wally added ominously, ‘You’ve already had one warning today.’ So I shovelled the foul food quickly into my mouth, my stomach shuddering at every fresh forkful.

  When I’d finished Miss Weed said, with a grim little smile, ‘I won’t ask if you want seconds.’

  Potato cakes and jam were brought in next. These looked better, but Leo – who tried one first – whispered to me, ‘They taste rank.’

  So when Miss Weed offered me one, I said quietly but firmly, ‘Thank you, but I’m full now.’ And Miss Weed didn’t say any more.

  When the meal was over I asked Mrs Benson where the bathroom was.

  ‘The thing is,’ said Mrs Benson, ‘and perhaps you’d all like to know this, our house – in common with many wartime homes – does not have a bathroom.’

  ‘What do you do if you want a bath?’ I asked.

  ‘Baths are once a week. There’s a very nice tin bath in the kitchen, and you can take it in turns to use that.’

  Farmer Benson smiled at our shocked faces. ‘You haven’t heard the best of it yet. We don’t have an indoor toilet either.’

  ‘I suppose we go to the loo once a week in the tin bath too,’ said Leo.

  ‘Oh no,’ cried Solly. ‘You’ve got to hold it in for three whole weeks. That’s what I�
�ll do anyway.’

  Mrs Benson smiled warmly at Solly – he was definitely her favourite evacuee. ‘We have a perfectly good lavatory outside,’ she said.

  ‘Outside!’ we all echoed.

  ‘Oh, it’s not far,’ said Farmer Benson. ‘In fact, it’s a pleasant little stroll to what we call the lavvy. It’s a flush lavvy, as well.’

  ‘And they were still rare in the war years, weren’t they?’ said Zac.

  ‘Oh, yes, you were considered quite a toff if you had one,’ said Farmer Benson. ‘But come and see for yourselves.’ He led us evacuees and Miss Weed quite proudly to it. ‘Now, just one word of caution,’ he said. ‘The lock doesn’t always work.’

  ‘How cosy,’ I murmured.

  Farmer Benson said, ‘So if you would be so kind as to give a firm tap on the door first. And maybe call out something too. Then listen carefully, and if you don’t hear an answering call from inside, you’ll know it’s safe to proceed – simple really.’

  ‘But what about if you need to go in the night?’ asked Barney.

  Miss Weed took over. ‘There will be a chamber pot under your bed for such emergencies.’ She went on, ‘And if you need to perform Number Two’ – Barney and Leo immediately started sniggering – ‘then come out of your bedroom and say loudly, but without shouting, “I need to perform Number Two”. I shall be sleeping downstairs, and Farmer Benson or myself will accompany you.’

  ‘That is so gross,’ I cried.

  ‘But,’ said Farmer Benson, smiling away as if he was about to tell us a joke, ‘I’m afraid toilet paper was not in general use at that time, and we also had to save paper. But fear not, we’ll have some newspaper cut up and hanging on a hook by the side, some featuring authentic headlines of the day.’

  ‘So we can read as we wipe,’ said Leo.

  ‘Oh, very good,’ grinned Farmer Benson. ‘I like that – a little bit of humour gets you through most situations, doesn’t it? And you are getting the real-life experience of many evacuees.’

  ‘Which tomorrow,’ added Miss Weed, ‘will include a full day’s lessons – and, of course, evacuees were expected to earn their keep. So you’ll be called at . . . half past five.’