by Nikki Young
Praise for the Time School series
“. . . gripping tale.”
Schools Reading List
“Fun and educational.”
Amazon reviewer
“Definitely a 5 out of 5 stars.”
Ellie Lewis, aged 11
“A fascinating story.”
Scope for Imagination
“A brilliant blend of adventure, history and friendship.”
Erin Hamilton, myshelvesarefull
“A fantastic way for children to develop empathy and spark an interest in the past.”
Chrikaru Reads
“My students who love historical fiction will eat this book up.”
Cassie Reynolds, 4th grade teacher in Texas, USA
Published in Great Britain by Hashtag Press 2020
Text copyright © Nicola Young 2020
Copyright Cover illustration © Tim Budgen 2020
Cover Design © Kate Turner 2020
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictions and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9978-1-9162864-4-3
eBook ISBN 978-1-9162864-5-0
Typeset in Garamond Classic 11.75/14.5 by Blaze Typesetting
Printed in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc
HASHTAG PRESS BOOKS
Hashtag Press Ltd
Kent, England, United Kingdom
Email: [email protected]
Website: www.hashtagpress.co.uk
Twitter: @hashtag_press
To all the loved ones lost to us.
Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1: The Letter
Chapter 2: 03:42
Chapter 3: Back In Time
Chapter 4: Freakishly Cold
Chapter 5: What? No Ties?
Chapter 6: The New Teacher
Chapter 7: Kam
Chapter 8: What Is Spam, Anyway?
Chapter 9: Weren’t We On The Same Side?
Chapter 10: Look Out, Polski!
Chapter 11: An Unjust Punishment
Chapter 12: Back To The Warmth
Chapter 13: Nana
Chapter 14: Roots
Chapter 15: What If We Can’t Get Back?
Chapter 16: Here It Comes Again
Chapter 17: Back To 1947
Chapter 18: Where Is Kam?
Chapter 19: Off To The Docks
Chapter 20: Stowaways
Chapter 21: The Eulogy
About the Author
Acknowledgements
The Time School series is very much about experiencing a moment in history first hand and that’s exactly what Jess, Nadia, Ash and Tomma do as they travel back in time, meeting people, gaining an understanding of what life was like for them, living through a war, or a period of social or economic upheaval. Seeing and being a part of something historical is an honour and a privilege that few can boast and I have loved giving that honour to these four children.
I couldn’t let this acknowledgement pass by without noting that right now, I too am experiencing an historical moment in time. Unlike Jess, Nadia, Ash and Tomma, I haven’t travelled back in time though. I’m experiencing history in the making—in real time.
A deadly virus has swept across the globe. Thousands have died. The UK, like many other countries across the world, is in lockdown. Schools are closed, people are having to work from home. There is no cure, as yet, but scientists are working on an antibody test; they might not be able to stop us from getting it, but they can tell us if we’ve had it or could be immune. That’s all we have to look forward to right now. There’s seemingly no end to it as yet; there is no light at the end of this tunnel.
Sounds like the intro to a dystopian movie doesn’t it? I wish it were, but sadly that’s not the case. This is the reality we are currently living in. The year 2020—when the world stopped.
The publication date for Time School: We Will Honour Them, book two in the series, had to be put back due to this Coronavirus pandemic, also known as Covid-19. Ironically, though, this time-slip novel, one that follows four children as they step back in time to experience it for themselves, is my shining light at the end of this endless tunnel. As the children look to the past, I am looking forward. Forward towards a time when we can feel safe enough to step out of our houses and socialise with our friends instead of having to be two metres away from each other, a time when we can go out without fear, a time when we can find some semblance of normal life, whatever that might be.
I hope when you read this, we have all I wished for and more. I hope when you read this, I will be out and about, visiting schools and libraries, interacting in person rather than by Zoom and talking to you about this book and others in the series. Perhaps one day, there will be a Time School story about a set of friends who travel back in time to 2020, to the aftermath of the Covid-19 pandemic. What will they find? What will their impression be of a world that changed so drastically in such a short space of time? Will the impact of these changes have affected life as they know it in their future time?
I absolutely have to thank the utterly brilliant team at Hashtag Press for their relentless hard work, keeping everything together and steadfastly carrying on in true British wartime style throughout this crazy period. The Time School series wouldn’t be where it is without them.
I must also thank my editor, Vicky Blunden, who always does a brilliant job helping me to shape my words into the stories they eventually become. Tim Budgen for his fantastic cover art.
Of course, my family are always behind me and are as proud of this series as I am. Their support has meant the world to me and I couldn’t have done it without them.
Hold your loved ones close. Be thankful for the little things in life and never take anything for granted.
Chapter 1
The Letter
Nadia swung open the front door and dropped her bag to the floor, glad to be rid of the heavy load that had been digging into her shoulders all the way home. So many textbooks to drag around in Year Seven. And why all the endless homework?
She had an essay to finish—well start actually—and was about to go straight upstairs to crack on with it, when she noticed her mum sitting motionless at the kitchen table. It was unusual for Nadia’s mum to sit still. She was always busy doing something. She hadn’t even acknowledged Nadia coming in from school.
“Mum,” Nadia said in a soft voice. “Are you okay?”
Mrs Kaminski looked up, her face pale and full of concern. She held a piece of expensive-looking cream paper between both hands as if they were glued to it.
“What is it, Mum?” Nadia asked, stepping over her school bag and making her way into the kitchen. She sat down at the kitchen table and looked at the letter before turning her attention back to her mum.
It wasn’t often anyone received post other than bills in their house and even that was rare. Most of the time, the mail was just junk that went straight into the recycling bin. This looked like a real letter though. The type someone would hand-write, so Nadia knew that it had to be important.
“It’s from your nana,” Mrs Kaminski said, beginning to chew on her bottom lip. “Grandad has died.”
“Aw, Mum, I’m so sorry. Poor Nana.” Nadia reached out to clasp her hands around her mum’s.
Poor Grandad too. Nadia felt a pang of guilt stab through her chest. She hadn’t seen her grandparents in ages. They’d been so close when she was little, but since they’d moved down south to live in a Retirement Home a few years ago, Nadia had barely been down to visit more than a handful of times. Now Grandad was dead and she’d never see him again.
“Why didn’t they just ring us? Does Dad know?” Nadia asked.
They were her dad’s parents and Mr Kaminski had been down to visit almost every weekend since his dad had become ill. But it had only been a few weeks and Nadia hadn’t thought it was serious. At least, no one had told her that it was.
“I expect not,” her mum said, putting the letter down on the table. “Unless the Retirement Home has phoned him at work. This letter came this morning. Nana is old-fashioned, coming from the days when people communicated this way. It wasn’t all instant messaging back then you know and she hates the telephone.” She was staring out of the window now, almost talking to herself, as if working things through in her own mind.
“He was quite old though, wasn’t he?” Nadia said.
Mrs Kaminski turned back to face her daughter, shaking herself out of her reverie and frowning. “Late 70s, so not that old in today’s terms.”
Seventy years of life seemed like a whole lot of living to Nadia. She could only imagine what he had seen during that time, the vast amount of change he must have witnessed. A big part of her regretted never finding out. Grandad Kaminski was a quiet and private man, who had never been much of a talker. Nadia’s memories were of spending time at their house with Nana, learning how to bake cakes.
“Nana wants you do a eulogy at the funeral,” her mum said, bringing Nadia back to the present.
“What!” Nadia’s head snapped back around to face her mum.
“You know what a eulogy is, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. It’s just. . . me? Why? I didn’t even know Grandad that well, so how am I supposed to talk about him?”
“You’re the eldest of all the grandchildren and Nana would like you to say a few words to represent you all,” her mum said, looking back at the letter as if checking she had quoted it correctly.
“But, Mum, I hate standing up in front of people and talking, you know that. I won’t be able to do it. I’ll mess up and say something stupid.”
Nadia could feel her breathing quicken as her heart sped up. Just the thought of speaking in public began to bring back horrible memories and made her feel sick. She rubbed her sweaty palms against her jeans.
“I know it’s hard, but this is about Grandad and what his life represented. Nana would really appreciate you doing this. She’s been quite specific about it—look.” She turned the letter around to show Nadia, pointing at the fancy, curly writing which Nadia couldn’t actually read. “It says, ‘I would like to have a representative from each generation of our family to stand up and say what Grandad meant to them.’ So you have to do it.”
Nadia shoved back her chair and stood with her hands resting on the table, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. She didn’t want to appear selfish by saying no, but she hated speaking in public. Her insides churned with a mixture of anxiousness and panic as she turned and left the room, chewing on the skin on the corner of her thumb.
Nadia’s grandad was Polish but had lived in England most of his life. Nadia’s dad didn’t speak Polish and neither did she. Sometimes they met distant relatives when they went to visit Aunt Yvonne—Dad’s sister—and some of them spoke Polish. There was often disapproval expressed, mainly towards her dad, for not having taught his only child the language. There were Polish people living in their community, lots of them. They had their own shop selling products imported from back home, but it meant nothing to Nadia.
She didn’t even think of herself as being remotely the same as them. With her dad and her grandparents having lived in England most of their lives, the only part of Nadia that connected her to her Polish roots was her surname.
Chapter 2
03:42
Nadia slept fitfully, dreaming of her grandad as she tried in vain to reach out to him, but never quite fully making it. She woke up sweating, tangled in her bedsheets, and felt a heaviness in her chest as the guilt of not being able to recall an image of his face hit her full-on.
She looked at the digital clock on the drawers next to her bed. It read 03:42. She gave an exasperated sigh and turned over, tugging at the duvet to pull it over her head, desperate to get some sleep. It felt like only five minutes later when her mum burst into her room.
“Nadia, wake up. We’ve all over slept! It’s gone seven.”
Nadia groaned, still half asleep, having finally dropped off after what seemed like hours of trying. Her mum turned on the light causing Nadia to moan even louder.
“Didn’t you hear me? I’m sorry, pet, but you’re going to have to get up. We must have had a power cut last night and the alarm didn’t go off.”
At this, Nadia finally began to take notice. She sat up, still squinting, but her eyes were just beginning to make out her surroundings. The first thing she did was look at her clock. It still read 03:42. She scrambled out of bed, fully alert now and ran downstairs.
“Where are you going? Bathroom’s this way,” her mum said.
“I need my phone,” Nadia said, rushing into the kitchen and snatching her phone from its resting place on one of the units. There were missed calls from Jess and messages from Tomma. She dialled Jess and was greeted by her flustered-sounding friend.
“Are you up?” Jess said. “We had a power cut. Tomma called me.”
“Yeah I saw. Does Ash know?”
“Tomma told him too but couldn’t get through to you. Mum’s taking me to the station. I’ll see you there.”
“See you in a bit.” Nadia threw down her phone, and dashed back upstairs. She grabbed her uniform and rushed into the bathroom, almost knocking into her mum on the way.
“I’ll make you something to eat to take with you, then I’m going, or I’ll be late for work. See you later.”
“Bye, Mum. . . and thanks,” Nadia shouted from behind the closed door of the bathroom.
She didn’t have time to think about anything else. The train came at 8:00am and it was the only one they could catch from their village if they were going to make it to school on time. Her house wasn’t far from the station, so she should just about make it if she hurried. Her heart was beating fast and it wasn’t just because of the adrenaline of the situation and the unexpected wake-up call. No, there was something more than that—a sense of anticipation washing around inside her.
Nadia couldn’t shake the image of the clock out of her mind. There was a significance to that time, 03:42, but she couldn’t get her head around it. Her brain was still in its early morning haze.
After hurriedly dressing, she took the stairs two at a time, almost falling down the last few, and grabbed her coat and bag from the cupboard under the stairs.
There was a slice of toast and a banana on the kitchen table, which she also grabbed before racing out of the door, toast-in-mouth, trying to put on her coat with one hand whilst balancing her bag and banana in the other.
Fitness wasn’t Nadia’s strong point, but she jogged up the road as best she could, spotting Tomma and Ash ahead of her, which spurred her on.
“Guys, wait up,” she called out.
They turned around, both looking equally as eager and anxious as she felt.
“Come on,” Ash said. “The train will be here any minute.”
They made it to the station with seconds to spare. Nadia could hear the announcement of the arrival of their train. She was relieved to see Jess waiting for them.
“Urgh, I feel sick,” Jess
said. “I hate rushing like this. It’s awful.”
“I know. I’m not even sure if I’ve woken up properly yet,” Nadia said. “Maybe I’m still dreaming, ‘cos I had an awful night’s sleep, full of weird dreams.”
“No, you’re not dreaming. We had a power cut, the clocks stopped at 03:42 and there’s only one thing that could mean,” Tomma said.
Nadia groaned, as the realisation began to hit.
“Come on, we haven’t got time to stand around chatting about it,” Ash said. “Let’s go.”
He led them into the station, up the stairs, and across to the far platform. By now, the train had arrived and people were getting on, but Ash took them on a short cut, through a hedge that came out at the far end of the platform, where few people bothered to go because the trains were never long enough to reach that far down.
It was as if the train ended and another had begun, for at the back of the train, the very last carriage was completely different to the rest. And the smoke blowing from the engine seemed to settle at the point where it joined the rest of the train.
“Quick, get in,” Tomma said, pulling open the door and gesturing for them to hurry.
They jumped in and Tomma shut the door behind them. The train began to move away with a large jolt.
As Nadia stared around the carriage, devoid of commuters and other school children, knowing it should normally be packed at that time of day, a sense of nervous anticipation began to rise through her body, like bubbles in a fizzy drink, clamouring for freedom when the top is first unscrewed.
“Here we go again then,” she said, her voice barely a whisper as it cut through the deafening silence of the empty carriage.
Chapter 3
Back In Time
Standing side by side in a narrow corridor, barely wide enough for one person, the children looked around the empty carriage; its dark wood-panelled interior and musty aroma speaking of a thousand journeys. The small, private compartment just in front of them was closed off from the corridor by a sliding door. There were two red-velvet bench seats opposite one another and a luggage rack above each seat. This wasn’t their usual train, but it was one they had encountered before.
