Midwinter Mystery Series - The Town of No Return - Chapter Two

_{The Town of No Return – Chapter Two}

_{"Arrival “}

_{The carriage door slid abruptly open, summoning John from his 'train' of thought and returning him to the endless journey, albeit it further down the line. He noted that though the tunnel lay far behind them, they were still very much in the dark despite the carriage's lamps burning once more, as the day finally relinquished it's remaining light to the falling night sky.}

 _{“ Tickets, tickets please !” came the mournful request, from the train guard now standing sentry in the carriage's doorway, filling it's frame with his own. He was a small, giant of a man, broad of shoulder, wider of girth, his ill-fitting uniform crowned with a peak cap pushed back over his forehead in a slightly rebellious manner. “ How much longer until we get to Mistry ?” John enquired producing his ticket from a waistcoat pocket and presenting it to the guard. He straightened himself up in his seat before entering into a deep stretch easing the stiffness in his lower back, before conducting a pocket-by-pocket search of his overcoat for any surviving cigarettes.} 

_{" Ahh, Mistry ! That be the next stop, we should be comin' up on it, in 'bout 10 minutes, or so, I reckon,” replied the guard, a puzzled look of recognition crossed his brow as he inspected both the ticket and it's owner. ” This be your first time to Mistry, then ?”he quizzed.}

_{"Yes, it is. What gave me away ?” smiled John.}

_{" I've jus' never 'eard of anyone returnin' to Mistry before...come to that, I don't think I've ever seen anyone leave !” was the honest reply. John leant in towards the Guard, to offer the benefit of his deductive reasoning,} “ I shouldn't worry if I were you, perhaps they just slipped back in when your back was turned, or went over the wall on your day off !” a look of relief swept across his face, as his fingers finally touched upon a crumpled pack of cigarettes in one of the darkest recesses of his pocket.

_{"Mebbe, Sur ! You can never tell with some folk can ye'!” the Guard conceded somewhat philosophically.}

_{"Well, I happen to be in possession of a return ticket, and I can assure you that I fully intend on making the most of it !" clarified John.}

_{"I'll have to take your word on that, Sur, won't I ?” the guard offered his unsolicited opinion as he punched John's ticket.} 

_{“ Yes, YOU WILL !” admonished John, and then concluded. “ Look, it seems to have taken a lot longer to get here than I expected. Is everything alright, or do you run on some kind of Cornish time, down here ?”}

_{"P'haps, you ain't taken into consideration, that we have to take things more slowly down 'ere. On account of bein' at the end of the line.. and all !” explained the Guard.}

 _{“ The end of line, what are you talking about, man ?” John felt compelled to verify the validity of this last statement.}

_{"Aye, it's true, these last few stations can only be reach'd by the old disused line, tracks not cover'd by the gover'ment's, ' Modernization' plans !” the Guard almost spat out the last words in a contemptible tone. “ But, once they're gone these 'forgotten' villages will be cut off from the main line forever. Then they'll be jus' little more than ' Ghost towns' !}

_{"Hmm ! I see ! I guess it's the price we have to pay for progress,” John, tried to reason his way out of a bad situation, tapping out the last cigarette in the pack – a slight tear in it's middle, but otherwise still quite serviceable – and proceeded to light up.}

_{"Progress, be damned !” slammed the Guard, thrusting John's ticket back into his hand.}

     _{The train suddenly jerked violently – as if reaching the end of some unseen tether – knocking the bespectacled passenger, bowler hat et al, to the floor. The Guard only managing to avoid the same position by falling into the now vacated seat of it's former occupant. John faring slightly better, as only his cigarette was consigned to the compartment's grey depths. Whilst he maintained his repose by planting both feet, firmly and widely apart, adopting a low center of gratitude, thankful for escaping a similar such indignity!}

_{"Damn, old tracks ! I swear they're getting worse ev'ry week !” exclaimed the Guard, as he and the silent scholar corrected themselves to their original position.}

_{"I'm beginning to suspect that neither of us are exactly on the 'right track', as they say,” empathized John, scouring the floor for any sign of his dying cigarette.}

_{"That's as may be, Sur. But, things run kind of differently down 'ere, that's all I'm sayin' ! You'll find out fer y'self soon enough !” countered the Guard, opening up his pocket watch before pronouncing, “ Anyway, your time's up, Sur !”}

_{"WHAT !” choked John.!}

_{"Your station ! It's comin' up, any minute ! Should be pullin' into it after this next bend !”}

_{"Oh ! Right ! Thank you “ breathed John, with a slight sigh of relief, as he stood up to prepare himself for departure, starting by disentangling his bags from the overhead corded luggage rack.}

    _{After climbing down from the train onto the one track-sided platform John placed his two suitcases either side of him on the ground and  made the necessary adjustments to his attire, adapting for the sudden change in environment. He drew the dark paisley silk scarf tight around his neck, buttoned up his tweed overcoat and pulled on a pair of black leather gloves. Once everything was covered he surveyed the surroundings and realised that he was now all alone on the very barren and neglected looking station. Nobody, apart from himself, had either departed or boarded the train. Not even the Guard had seen fit to grace the platform with his presence, to perform the appropriate regulations and gestures: re – general flag waving and whistle blowing, signalling that all was safe to move on. 
   Picking up the luggage he began to make his way, slowly and carefully - trying not to ruin his soft leather black brogues in the freshly fallen snow – towards the station's main hall. After a few steps he was totally engulfed in a large cloud of steam vapour, vented by the departing locomotive as it's engineer opened up the throttle for more acceleration.}

     _{The only source of illumination came from a large lamp, hanging over the building's doorway, with minor support from the lighted windows of the station office. John could see that the station had fallen into a state of disrepair, the wooden picket fence bordering the platform had loose and missing slats. The few platform lamps, all of which had broken bulbs, were infected with a thick moss climbing up their overly rusted posts. While the white paintwork on the station's fascia boarding and windows was turning dirty grey, showing signs of prolonged flaking and peeling, and what once passed as window boxes now seemed to be nothing more than just a repository for dead leaves and stagnant water. There were also two wooden posts, a few feet apart from each other, which he took to be where the station's identity board should be – but there was none. 
   As he neared the office he passed-by a red confectionery dispensing machine, hanging from the wall, empty of wares with one drawer stuck open. Next to this – and somewhat ironically – was a Speak-your-weight machine, it's glass face deeply cracked whether through age, accident or as a result of a disgruntled customer, John couldn't determine for sure, however as it's needle seemed to be stuck on 
'Seek medical attention' he felt that he could probably hazard a guess to a conclusion.}

_{Reaching the station's door he found it unlocked but had to try several attempts to open it – probably due to severe warping – and swiftly entered, leaving the cold unfriendly platform behind him. To stand instead in the cold unfriendly waiting room – it's small fireplace, full of yesterdays ashes, dead embers and disappointment. The bare room was sparsely furnished, just one wooden bench and small round table, covered with out-of-date, stained newspapers and an over abused ashtray. A solitary naked bulb hung from a long piece of flex cord, slightly swinging in the air, disturbed no doubt by the blast of wind that had accompanied John in upon his entry. 
    He moved over to the ticket office window, it's blind pulled fully down, and gently tapped on the glass for service. He waited for a moment, and then repeated the action, in a continued attempt to 'contact the other side'. There was still no response, so John tried a more direct approach, “ HELLO ! HELLO, IS ANYBODY THERE ?” he called. But, there was only the silence, the empty, hopeless silence, which caused John a certain degree of exasperation followed by a higher level of desperation, He started to pound his fist on the ticket window and shouted, “ COME ON ! OPEN UP ! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, I CAN SEE THE LIGHTS ON !” There came a muffled noise from somewhere behind the screen, the blind flapped imperceptibly, before snapping sharply back up onto it's roller. John, was now left staring into the very heart of inhumanity, or at least the face of it - a British Rail, Station Master, semi-retired.}

_{"Ah, good, you're awake, then !” John greeted this overdue arrival with a growing sense of weariness.}

_{"Wot's all the commoshun' about, didn't you read the sign ? We're closed !” queried the railway man. He swayed slightly as he approached John and appeared to be of  'advancing beers', judging by the unkempt appearance and slurred speech, he must have been approaching somewhere over... LAST ORDERS, by John's reckoning.}

_{"Sign ? There's no sign out here ! Look, I've just arrived, and I'm in need of some assistance,” John tried to appeal to the wild looking gentleman's better nature, which was made all the more harder as eye-contact couldn't be confirmed, due to the dense consistency of his beer bottle glasses.}

_{"Eh ! Wot's that you say ?” countered the Station Master.}

_{"IS THIS MISTRY, OR NOT ?” John implored a simply answer.}

_{"WOT ! Of course not ! This is just a TRAIN STATION ! Everything else is a few miles down the road ! ” the Station Master waved his hand in a general direction towards the exit.}

_{"Okay, now we're getting somewhere ! How can I get there ?” pressed John.} 

_{“Well there's a bus, that runs thru' there.”}

_{"Good, when's the next one due ?”}

_{" 'Bout, 11 o'clock.”}

_{"11:00 PM ! But that's almost 5 hours from now, man !”}

_{"And the rest ! The next bus ain't due til 11:00 AM, on Monday mornin' !”}

_{" What ! That's ridiculous ! You mean to say, that there is no other service, til then ? ”}

_{"That's wot I said, are you a bit simple or summin' ?”}

_{"NO ! I just want to get to where I want to go !”}

_{"Eh !”} 

_{" Look, there must be some other form of transport around here. Haven't you ever heard of Taxis, in these parts ?”}

_{"Taxes ! What are you... one of those darned Revenue chasers ?”}

_{"No ! Taxis ! T-A-X-I-S ! A private vehicle that can be hired out for a journey, with it's own driver !”}

_{"Ohh ! One of those ! Then you be wantin'... George.”}

_{"I do ? So, this 'George' has a car of his own then ?" John clarified.}

_{"Yus ! He's the only one in the village, who does.”}

_{"Good, how do I contact him ?”}

_{"You can't, not 'til Monday mornin', anyhow,” answered the station master, swaying even more than usual.}

_{John's body started to tense up, with the sudden realization that he was getting nowhere, fast. “ Is there a particular reason, why can't I get hold of him tonight ?”}

_{"Yus, cos it's Saturday night !”}

_{"And, what exactly does that have to do with it ?”}

_{"'Cos, George, always goes to the pictures on a Saturday !”}

_{"I see, so you're telling me, that everything here, just stops at the weekend !”}

_{The Station Master started to wane – both physically and mentally – under such sustained questioning, and alcoholic consumption, and in a bid to draw a veil over the conversation. 
"Look, Mister, I deals with trains, and trains only, see. If you don't want to knows about trains, then I can't help yer !”}

_{"Alright, alright ! How far is it to walk there, then ?” surrendered John.}

_{"That depends, don't it ?”}

_{"Go on, I'm listening !” warned John.}

_{"Well, normal walkin' at this time of night, I'd say... not far. But, if yer intendin' to travel with those bags over there...” the old master espied John's large suitcases, “ the size o' two small boars, then it be... a BLOODY LONG WAY !”}

_{"Fine ! I'll leave the larger one here, and send for it later. That's, if you don't have any objections, of course,” John sarcastically requested.}

_{"Nah, I don't mind. Bring it over to the door, an' I'll keep it inside me office, for safe keeping,” the befuddled Master disappeared from the screen as he made his way to unlock the office door. John, stood back for a moment, partly out of surprise, but mainly due to the condition of the second party, currently parading in too close a proximity to him. Now that John could see the ' whole picture' of his would-be adversary, he became aware that he was actually in a worse state of disrepair than that of the the station ! Also, that there was a lot more of less of him - or vice versa - than John had anticipated, as he revealed another side of himself, or at least the bottom half. He was sporting just an exceptionally baggy, and very holey, pair of long johns under his station master coat.}

_{"Not expecting any guests then ?” John quipped.}

_{Ignoring the sarcastic overtones of John's last response the old boy continued,}

_{"Give us your name then, so's I can put a ticket on it fer yer. Mind you, if you haven't claimed it in a week, I'll be sendin' it up the line, to the main 'Lost Property' office !”}

_{"NO YOU WON'T! I'll be back for it soon enough, just keep an eye on it, till then !” commanded John, although due to the Masters myopic condition he had a deep worrying fear, that he was going to live to regret this decision. “ Which way do I go ?” he queried.}

_{"Turn left out of 'ere, cross o'er the walk through bridge, bare RIGHT at the crossroads and then jus' keep going straight on.”}

_{"Until ?” pushed John, for a definitive conclusion.}

_{"Until, you find wot ever yer lookin' fer, I guess !” the Master, answered somewhat sagely.}

_{After that, there didn't seem much else to be said, so John bade the Station Master farewell and strode out into the freezing unknown.}

   <sub>The ageing railway man, closed and bolted the station door behind John. Heading back to his office, he stopped in mid-thought, ” Or was it, LEFT, at the crossroads ?” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders to dismiss his quandary he crossed the rest of the room, extinguished the main hall light and retired to his quarters, to rest in peace.

lifeandfunnies.blogspot.com</sub>

Midwinter Mystery Series - The Town of No Return - Chapter One - A 1960's based Supernatural Mystery series

_{Midwinter Mystery – The Town of No Return
Chapter One: The Beginning}

    _{A high piercing cry shattered the peaceful natural order of the countryside, as the heavy locomotive sounded it's whistle, heralding the passing through yet another deep narrow railway cutting, before vanishing into a series of short tunnels. The engines exhaust fumes, a mixture of steam and smoke, trailed behind the preceding rail carriages creating an illusion of being transported on some kind of unearthly cloud. Inside one such carriage were two estranged passengers sharing a small private compartment, both of whom were too self absorbed to take notice of each other or the outside world.}

      _{Time can be a rather relative matter, contemplated Detective Inspector. John Foxe, as he sat watching the wintry landscape roll past, through a nearby window. In your youth a summer can feel like an eternity, but when you're older a season seems to be over with the simple turn of a calendar page.
It's said that time “flies” when you're enjoying yourself, but if you're engaged in some tedious task or waiting on public transport - then Tempus Fugit, it most certainly doesn't ! It was the latter of these activities that John currently found himself caught up in - perhaps 'trapped' was a more appropriate word - on this interminable journey to a little outpost of a village on the Cornish coast, a town strangely called... Mistry. He drew back his sleeve, glanced down at his watch, and shook his wrist gently, before holding it up-to his ear for a second hand opinion. But it was only his patience that was slowly running out, all he could do now was resign himself to a higher power – The British Railway Timetable.}

     _{The steam radiator situated under the seats was performing well in the lower regions - from the knees downwards there was a definite degree of warmth - but from the waist up the climate dropped noticeable. It was beginning to turn dark outside and the walled gas mantle lamps were already burning brightly, imbuing the compartment with a warm flickering ambiance. The windows were steamed up on the inside but lightly iced up on the outside - John had to wipe his hand across them in order to peer out. As he did so, he caught sight of his own dark image looking back at him in the window. He could clearly discern his thin features, the short slightly receding, well brylcreemed hair with a high straight parting swept cleanly back. The reflection made his hair seem almost black, rather than it's natural dark brown, nor did it highlight the slight greying around the temples. He could however, trace the line of his broken nose, although the mirror'd image failed to register his keen intelligent hazel eyes and their surrounding gentle expressive lines, which were testament to a wry sense of humour. John's attention was momentarily deflected by the erudite looking gentleman sitting opposite him, as he recrossed his legs, for the umpteenth time. He was an emaciated looking man of advancing years with a heavily starched composure, which he maintained with a rigidly uptight position, extremities held in close proximity to his body, along with an overall sombre tone. He wore a dark charcoal suit with a white shirt and thin black tie, his bowler hat rested next to him, on the padded bench seat, it's curved brim facing down. He was seemingly engaged in a particularly weighty tome - The Complete Works of Charles Dickens, Readers Digest, omnibus edition, unabridged - but John had caught the odd furtive glance coming his way from over the top of the silver rimmed round spectacles, that framed the glazed but tired eyes of his scholarly companion.}

_{In all the time that had passed during their drawn out excursion, no meaningful dialogue has been exchanged – perhaps in-part, due to a lack of common interest, or just a general lack of interest in common. In fact, the only real discourse that had transpired between them was when John had first entered the compartment and discovered that his 'silent partner' was already in situ, and sought to ascertain whether or not the seat, on the opposite side was available. After that they observed an unofficial communication blackout.} 

_{The train fell into another tunnel, this one longer than the others, and a sudden blast of wind shot through the carriage extinguishing the small lamps - plunging the compartment into utter darkness, absent of all signs of light and life. John felt himself consumed in the depths of the black void, detached from reality, existing only in his own thoughts and memories. In this state of revelation he was compelled – as so often – to relive the circumstances that led to this day, this journey, this 'little escape', on this date, which he would never forget: January 7th, 1961}

_{Where does anyone's story truly begin, is it with the start of a new challenge, moving home, a change in career, or perhaps with a death – after all even an end can be a sort of a start – or is it simply a moment, a point in time, that intersects between 'all our yesterdays' and 'what might have been tomorrow '. To Detective Inspector. John Foxe, it was a combination of all these things, which seemed to coalesce themselves during a somewhat unusual and unexpected meeting, on that fateful afternoon.}

_{The bright sunlight streamed into the Chief Inspector's office, although it was late-December, the sky was deep blue and clear, offering no hiding place or resistance from the sun. The Venetian blinds were at half mast – to reduce the glaring brilliance – and cast a broken shadow over the heavy oak desk and the nearside wall. Around the room hung the usual suspects, a collection of photographs – black and white – showing various policemen through the stations history celebrating some landmark arrest or being decorated for an act of bravery in the course of their duty. Other culprits were the ubiquitous humorous print of drunken constables standing in a row, a kind of unlawful line-up, and then there was the old felon, a large oil painting reflecting rural life by some unknown artist from an undated period, depicting a small elderly lady, an over-laden cart, a running river and a faraway windmill, in the style of the 'Haywain', as if it's mere presence gave the surroundings an air of gravitas.}   

_{The Chief Inspector – Peter Neuman – looked immaculate in his uniform, the crisp white shirt and polished silver buttons offset the highly pressed black tunic. He was a slim, alert man for someone in their advancing years, and his regulation short dark receding hair laid flat and swept back. His long face, with a narrow, pinched nose, was supported by a strong jawline. He sat at his desk, on which stood two small framed photographs of his wife and children, also taking up precious space were two shallow, wire trays, one was resigned as “In” the other consigned as “ Out” - the former of which was stacked high with an ever-expanding 'pile' of bureaucracy, displaying clear evidence of criminal neglect.}

_{The office was situated on the top floor of the police station, which allowed John - sitting facing the Chief Inspector's desk - the occasional opportunity to gaze out over the city's rooftops. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, filtered and intensified by the large windows, and noted the minuscule particles of dust caught in the sharp brilliance of the winter daylight, floating - almost imperceptibly - around him. All of which was a welcome distraction as he sat there waiting for the Chief to finish his telephone conversation to some hapless caller. “ Well, sergeant, you tell that constable, I don't care how cold it is out on the streets. If I catch him on patrol with his hands in his pockets, one more time... I'll have him transferred to the Mounted Branch for a month...and it WON'T involve riding them !” finished the Chief.}

_{John heard a garbled electronic reply from the harassed officer, although he couldn't make out the words just a general put upon theme.}

_{"Yes, I'm well aware of his 'imposing' mother's disposition, thank you ! And, while I admit the force would probably be better off if the mother was serving in it rather than than her son ! We simply cannot be seen giving in to public pressure, no matter where or who it comes from, is that clear ?” responded the growingly frustrated Chief, and with that he slammed the receiver back into it's cradle.}

_{"Ah, parental guidance meets the cold hands of the law,” John mused then continued, “ So, you're familiar with the mother, is she really that bad ?”}

_{"Unfortunately, I do know her, 'relatively' speaking, and yes, she is really is ' that bad'. She's also...” the Chief paused for a moment, before revealing, ” .. my sister ! ”}

_{"Ahh ! So that would make the young constable, your...” John started..}

_{"Problem !” interjected the Chief.}

_{" I was going to go with Nephew, but I see your point,” sympathized John.}

_{The Chief, leaned forward in a conspiratorial gesture, clasping his hands in front of him on the desk top,” When she was younger, we all thought she was just highly competitive, but with the hindsight of age I can see now that she's simply...a right pain in the backside ! Still, I suppose not even the best of us can evade our personal lives at work, can we ?” with this final remark, the Chief fixed his gaze a little more closely on John, as if to indicate some underlying meaning to his final words.}

_{"Anyway, enough about me, how are you keeping John ? I'ts been a while since we caught up with each over... probably a bit too long," the Chief paused for a moment his fingers gently tapping over some files on his desk. " The last time must have been just after Cathy's funeral, wasn't it ?"}   

_{"Yes, I suppose it was, a little under three months, give or take a couple of days,” recounted John as he averted his eyes, and then seemed to look up into space, purposely avoiding eye-contact – as he invariably did - when handling questions about his wife's death. He still didn't really feel comfortable or want to talk about it, to anyone.}

_{"You, never did take our advice for some personal leave, did you ? In fact, according to our records, you haven't had any break for quite sometime now, is that right ?” the Chief continued his investigation.}

_{"Well, no, I never took any time off, there didn't seem much point, I mean, it wasn't as if I could do or change anything. All I have at home for me now, is a slightly bigger house and a much smaller life,” John suddenly became aware that he had disclosed more than he had intended, and decided it best to simply address the issue at hand. 
“ We were planning to go down to the coast for a few days, in the Spring, and stay with Cathy's sister. Perhaps, I might still do that, I think she'd like that... the sister that is,” clarified John. “ But, for now, I'd rather just keep going. If that's all the same with you,” he finished.}

_{" SPRING ! That's months away, and an awful long time to 'just keep going', John,” the Chief empathized, “ Look, I appreciate, that we all have to deal with the loss of a loved one in our own time, in our own way, some with others, some alone. But, you shouldn't under-estimate how powerful and deceptive grief can be, John. Why, you could be affected by it right now, and not even know it. How does that saying go... “ No man is an island”, perhaps it's time you talked to someone professional about it ?” the Chief studied John's face, for any sign of acceptance, but there was no evidence of movement, facial or otherwise. So, decided the more prudent course was to continue,} "Well, I suppose that brings us to the other reason why you're here today !” He shifted in his chair before drawing it nearer to the desk, then after pulling his tunic down, straight – in an orderly fashion - he shifted a few papers around and then picked up a file that he'd been resting on. “ A matter has come to my attention involving your recent case notes, which I'm rather concerned with. Some of the entries display, shall we say, a somewhat questionable conduct, combined with a fast and loose style of investigation and frankly, rather shoe-horned results, which are, how can I put this, just plain indefensible !” the Chief rubbed his forehead, too ease his troubled brow before delivering more critique. 
“ Furthermore, I've been hearing accounts from some of your fellow colleagues, voicing their concerns of your uncharacteristic and 'erratic' behaviour over the last few months.”

_{John, sat there in stunned silence, whether in shock or denial, it was too close to call, neither of them knew what John was really going through. But, given the lack of response, he had only one recourse open, to continue on, “ I'm sorry, John, but given such incidences, I have to be seen to take these allocations seriously and apply the appropriate action,” he paused so as to let the implications sink in, and then continued.
“ If I send this report 'upstairs' – as it stands now – then I will have no choice, but to follow protocol. Now, that would involve temporary suspension – with pay – following a recommendation for grief counselling and psychiatric evaluation, on the grounds of a suspected, emotional breakdown. Re-instatement, would be pending an 'all clear' from the medical board.” The Chief wagged the file up and down, as if weighing the consequences before pronouncing his verdict, “ That's of course, IF, I send these papers upstairs, in THIS condition.” Suddenly a lifeline was in the air, John shifted in his chair, curiosity and desperation preparing him to grab it with both hands.}

  _{The Chief stood up, walked round his desk and perched himself on the other side just in front of his worried visitor, placing his hands flat on either side of him, in a more casual, more approachable manner. "Look John," the Chief exhaled, " I admit that as your immediate superior and as an old family friend I am just as responsible for this situation as you. I should never have let you talk me into continuing working while you were going through such a obviously emotional time, " he confessed. "So, perhaps there is another more mutually, beneficial solution, one where we can both keep face. It's possible your file could be 'misplaced' – for the time being – especially if you were to be suddenly, and temporarily ' seconded out' to another station. Now, if you're amenable to this, then I have a little proposition I'd like to run by you,” the Chief paused as if to let his opening gambit to take root. Then, turning over his right shoulder, whilst remaining seated, he picked up a rather thin old file from behind him. “ You, see, John, I need a reliable, experienced man, that I can trust, to investigate a slightly 'lost' station, development.”}

_{"Lost ! What, as in metaphorically or geographically ? “ quizzed John.}

_{"More, accidentally,” clarified the Chief, “ from what little I can make out, the station just kind of, fell off our 'radar', during the last round of Home Office, regional, re-shuffles. Ever since then, we haven't heard hide nor hair of them, not a single reported incidence or recorded offence, no response - verbal or otherwise - 
at all !”
" How has it come to light, now then ?"
" The good old payroll office, brought it to my attention, when they flagged up that they were still paying the sergeant's wages, despite the fact that he retired - or died, we're not too sure which - over 15 years ago !"}    

_{" Ahh ! You can always rely on payroll to get their man... eventually ! So, how long exactly, has this 'lost station' been incommunicado for, are talking days or weeks ?” John's interest began to stir.}

_{"Three years, two months and a couple of days, a Tuesday I believe “ the Chief itemized his answer.}

_{"THREE YEARS ! Well, obviously, something is seriously wrong, you should be sending someone down there, right away !” was John's stunned reply.}

_{"Look, let's not get hung up with conjecture, at this point. What's needed now, are calm heads and hard facts, in order to make an informed assessment of the situation, and then we can... panic ! I mean, for goodness sake man, do you have any idea what the newspapers could do, with a story like this !” the Chief returned to his side of the desk and slumped back into it, with exasperation.}

_{"I can think of one headline, ' One of our stations is missing ! If seen, please contact police headquarters, with information regarding it's whereabouts !” John fantasized.}

_{"That's not helping, John. This is a delicate matter, which could be very embarrassing for the whole Force ! So, for now let's just keep this ' in-house', until we know exactly, what we're dealing with. I'm relying on you, John, to go down there, find out what happened, and then report back to me, personally, is that clear ? “ summarized the Commissioner.}

_{"Crystal clear ! I keep you and the powers that be, out of the papers, and you'll bury my mine,” John replied cynically.}

_{"Hmmm, that's a somewhat harsh, and simplistic synopsis. But, at least we understand each other, so I take it that you accept my terms,” the Chief Inspector smiled confidently.}

_{"When, do you want me to start ?” John simply followed.}

_{"Well, finish up whatever case you're currently working on – under supervision by me, of course - and get any personal affairs that you may have, in order. Then head off down there, say, the beginning of the New Year. They've waited this long, a little bit more won't make much difference, " the Chief smiled. " I wouldn't be at all surprised if it wasn't just some silly administrative error. Looking at this file there doesn't seem to have been any arrests down there for years. You may have to put them out of their misery and just close the station down, I'll leave it to you to decide, anyway. The Sergeant in charge is called Keel, can't make out his first name from this," the Chief held out a badly stained and tattered sheet of paper from the stiff card file. " And, that's about all we really know about it, not much I know, but I'm sure it won't take you too long to get to the bottom of it all. Besides just think of all that fresh air and the peace and quiet of village life, I'm almost envious of you," he smiled friendly at John,   satisfied that he had killed two birds with one stone.}

_{After, the two men had finalized the rest of the details, John made his departure, at the door he turned} back, "Yes, John, is there anything else, ?” enquired the Chief Inspector. “ Eh, no, I just thought you said something, that's all !” explained John, hurriedly. However, this wasn't the truth, but, given the recent conversation, he thought it best not to confess that he was actually watching Cathy as she stood next the Chief, peering over his shoulder at the report.  Then she raised her head, a concerned expression written across her face, and gently shook it, whether it was some sign of  disapproval or as a warning was hard to say. But, these unpredictable, unwarranted intrusions into his life from his dead wife were certainly starting to become ….a problem.

_{to be continued...
lifeandfunnies.blogspot.com}

A Tribute to Brian Clemens - The Avengers Producer/Writer

                                                        A Tribute to Brian Clemens

                                      Brian Clemens  OBE (30 July 1931 – 10 January 2015)

The scriptwriter and producer Brian Clemens, responsible for TV hits such as The Avengers, New Avengers and The Professionals

Steed: “A glorious day for a drive in the country, don't you think so, Mrs Peel ? ”

Emma: “ I might be more inclined to agree with you Steed, if this was just a casual, pleasure  jaunt. But, since you have shanghaied me - no doubt, for some nefarious purpose or other - I find this more a pleasant diversion than an idyllic escape.

Steed: “ Ahh ! Mrs Peel how can you be so skeptical ? ”

Emma: “ Mmm ! Practice and the company I keep ! “

Steed: “ Well, for that I just might not introduce you to Sir Digby Hampton-Smallpiece,”

Emma: “And what exactly is a Hampton-Smallpiece, when it's at home ? “

Steed: “ Let's just say that he's the only chap I know who has a whole chapter devoted to him in Debrett's Peerage, The term " First Class" was virtually created for his gene-pool. He belongs to a very old, and respectable family, word has it, that he's an emerging force in the political world, and held in high moral regard for his charitable ways and apparently, something quite big in the city, to boot ! “

Emma: “ How often a girl has heard that claim ! Wait a moment, something seems to be coming to mind. Isn't that the fellow who was reported to have two young ladies...”

Steed: “ ...Ahem ! nothing was ever proven, and the evidence presented, didn't stand up in court”

Emma: “ Ohh ! That ones too easy “

Steed: “ The legal system and his peers have accepted his explanation of – admittedly – the somewhat bizarre set of circumstances leading to his unwanton social exposure. Anyway, he's put all that behind him, now, and he has thrown himself, whole heartedly, into his charity work and Benefit Balls. It's unfortunate but sometimes, Mrs Peel, it just so happens that a man in his position attracts a certain amount of notoriety ..”

Emma: “ Remind me, Steed ! Just what , was that position he was caught in, actually called, again ? “

Steed: “ I'd prefer to talk more about his Benefit Balls, and our suspicion that “Top, Hush-Hush, Don't Repeat This to Anyone” information is being passed over to enemies of the state, under the pretext of these high-society, social advancement, and fully tax-deductible shindigs.”

Emma: “ So, where exactly do I fit into this little scheme of yours ? “

Steed: “ You, Mrs Peel ! Why you're a natural social butterfly, men seem to gravitate towards you....."
Emma: " Like a moth to a flame ?"
Steed: " Ahhh, Mrs Peel, death by incandescence ! Look, all I ask of you is that you dance your way around the floor, weaving your magic of beauty & charm, with your deadly fandango,  whilst eliciting the kind of information that most seasoned agents would die for ! “

Emma: “ The last time you took me dancing, I ended up with that drunken, clumsy, over-weight, over-friendly, Russian operative, that you were investigating “

Steed: “ Oh yes ! But you have to admit that he was very quick in the quick step, he seemed quite foxy in the fox step and – at times - surprisingly light on his feet ! “

Emma: “ Light on HIS feet, maybe....but certainly NOT on MINE ! “

Steed: “ Well, anyway, he spoke very highly of you, quite flattering infact “

Emma: “ Hmmm ! You accused him of being OVERLY friendly – if I remember correctly – and what was it that you called him ? Wasn't it the “ Syncopated Sycophant “

Steed – gentle laughs - “ Really ? I was on good form that day, wasn't I ?”

Emma: “ Well, if I'm to give you the benefit of my feet, then at least I get to call this case – and I name this file..” the Philandering Philanthropist “

British Comedy - Galton & Simpson - Comedy Weekend Drive

                                                          Kings of Comedy

As we enter the season of longer nights, and lower temperatures, I think it's the ideal time to lighten everything up...so why not indulge yourself this weekend, in the best of British Comedy. I'm talking about the kings of laughter, the Shakespeare's of comedy writing...the one and only,  Galton and Simpson ( aka Ray and Alan ). Come on everybody, get your DVD's or CD's out, of Hancock's Half Hour, watch them, listen to them, and above all...enjoy them ! Revel in an evening of pure classic comedy gold. Immerse yourself in another world, another time, a dimension of imagination and craziness, a world of the REAL and original "LoL".
  Or, turn on, tune in, laugh out l with the comedy musings of Barry Took and Marty Feldman, the creators and writers of such wonderful radio shows as, " Round the Horne" and " Beyond Our Ken", here again a superb example of a writing partnership that encapsulates a humorous world of the sublime, the surreal and anarchic.
  Both of these offerings of course are complemented by a stella cast of actors,performers the likes of which we'll never see again - I'm sorry to say.
  So please, this weekend get your laughter gear out, and raise a titter to Tony Hancock, Sid James, Kenneth Williams, Kenneth Horne, Hugh Paddick and Betty Marsden.

Make this weekend British Comedy, be proud and be funny !

For my part I just want to take this opportunity to say, " Thank you," to all these people, for all the joy and laughter they have given me over the years.

Midwinter Mystery - The Town of No Return - Prologue

_{The Town of No Return -} Prologue

_{It was deep into midwinter, and the woods were heavy with a foreboding sense of death, that permeated the atmosphere of the chilling early  morning. The wood  - for the most part -was nothing more than just a collection of various shades of grey, punctuated by the odd coniferous tree, or two, with some of the more evergreen shrubs to offer the slightest resistance to the colourless scene. The rising sun hung low on the skyline as it's heavily filtered rays attempted to break through the skies freezing bleak shroud, with only minimal effect, to awaken another day - minus any of it's life-affirming warmth.}

_{But, despite this chilly tableau, the lower areas of the woodland, were showing signs that it's snowy covering was in retreat, a fact wasted on the small, furry, inhabitants, who were still fully committed to their ritual states of hibernation, as if they knew, deep down, that this phenomenon was just a temporary polar ceasefire.}

_{The raw, morning air was motionless, as if unable to move due to being saturated with the damp, freezing cold. Nothing was stirring, there was just the grey and the deathly silence. Then, from out of no-where, a crow suddenly swept down, cawing as it dove into the newly exposed wet leaves on the ground. It cawed once more, while it's head flitting sharply around surveying the surroundings and for any tell-tale movement in the undergrowth, then it plunged itself – violently - beneath the layer of leaves, and began tossing and turning the earth into the air, as it began the search for hidden morsels of food. Then, as sharply as it had began, it ceased. It's head shot to the surface as if it had sensed some unseen presence or danger, it cried out again and launched itself into the air, it's fast, powerful wings, flapping wildly as it took flight, disturbing the leaves it left behind. This radical displacement of the immediate landscape, revealed a foreign body – or rather a part of one – re: one upturned, frozen human hand, it's gnarled, grey condition was self-evident that life had long since slipped through it's icy fingers.}

_{The crow had only removed it's self a few feet away, deciding to take refuge on an old, warped, rudely constructed signpost. Once more it commenced it's haunting lament, which almost seem to echo against the trees themselves, as it shattered the unearthly peace. Then it began to pace, slowly but steady, along the top of the wooden sign, dis-lodging the last of the covering snow, and there crudely etched into the wood, in red, was an arrow pointing the way, and underneath this it simply read: Mistry – Dead Ahead .}

_{The Mistry Files..coming soon}

Mobile Phones - The Liquid Facts

  My girlfriend recently deposited her mobile phone - accidentally that is - into a cup of hot tea.
She retrieved it immediately, and performed an emergency number on it, which basically involved
opening the front up, and shaking it wildly around, in front of me - the phone that is -  in an attempt to remove any unauthorized, excess liquids. Then a soft towel was applied to encourage the final drying out process.
  I, of course, offered my usual support, and informed her that, she " shouldn't have done that", as everyone knows...you get a much better reboot with coffee than tea !

   My case comes up before the magistrate next week...apparently I'm being charged with supplying
an inferior I.T service !

Blogger of the Year - 2015, Nomination

_{Alright, I confess, I'm actually the ONLY one, to nominate myself - so far - under the category of ' I can't believe there's not a better, bitter blogger . As I enter my third year of creative writing, with a style that is best described as 'mainly venting' - I can't help but wonder if there is something I'm missing, in order to maximise my lowly on-line exposure, stopping short of photographs of me in a pair of revealing, budgie smugglers – not that I've actually ever owned a pair, mind you.}

   _{I have taken into account a number of contributing factors, variables, connotations and multi-media inter-faces, and am quite honestly at something of a loss, as to what I can do to address my slow moving traffic. I mean, on paper I should be appealing to a larger spectrum of the demo-graphic, than I am currently attracting, for a start: I'm a male, so that should be at least 50% of the population, right there ! Add the fact that I'm a working-class, white collar worker, surely should collect me a couple more viewers. Then, if you factor in that I am respectable member of the community - actually I might lose a few points on that score. Well, my real life-experience stories should earn me some extra-credit, surely.} 
 I have high hopes and low expectations – actually these don't have anything to do with this article, but whilst I was on a revelatory roll, I thought I'd throw them in, anyway. 

_{Mind you, if we subtract that I don't cover sport issues or carry pornographic material, then I'm probably lucky that anyone is checking me out at all ! So, let me just take this opportunity to thank all of you, for your time, interest and support.}

I'm a practical fantasist, a serious satirist and a failed cartoonist. 
_{So in closing, I shall continue to blog away, hoping that somewhere along the lines, I just might pick up the odd vote of confidence or two along the way.}

_{Supplemental: If, anyone has any constructive advice/input, it would be greatly appreciated.}