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Sunday 13 September 2020

More Tales From The Village

     If you, like so many Prisoner enthusiasts, have enjoyed the “fan fiction” series ‘Tales From The Village,’ then you will enjoy the second volume called ‘More Tales From The Village.’

    No.2, a portly gentleman sat in the black global chair, “If he would answer one simple question all the rest would follow!”

    No.21 young, tall man, with fair hair stood at the desk “One of your predecessors thought that.”

    “Really, what happened?”

    “The Prisoner answered the question and that brought his file up to date.”

    “What do you mean brought his file up to date?”

    “Well it was the one thing that was missing from the file.”

    “What was it, what was the question?”

    “What was his date of birth?”

    “And that was it?”

    “Yes, but the clever thing was we knew the Prisoner’s date of birth

all the time, we just left it out of his file!”

    “And he gave you his date of birth.”


    “Just like that?”


    “He probably guessed you knew the date of his birth, and so saw little harm in him telling it to you. Did he tell you anything else?”

    “Well yes as a matter of fact he did.”

    “Well what was it, what did he say?”

    “I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered, my life is my own. I’ve nothing to say, nothing. The trouble was they were using the wrong approach!”

    “How do you mean?”

    “You should send the Prisoner to the hospital.”

    “Why isn’t he feeling very well?”

    “There’s a doctor there, Number 40, he’d soon get the information we want. He reckons everyman has his breaking point.”

    “No I can’t do that.”

    “Why not?”

    “Our masters do not want the Prisoner broken, they want him with a whole heart body and soul.”

    “We are too soft on him that’s our trouble!”

    “You want to be careful 21.”


    “You never know who might be listening, after all not everyone is  as understanding as I am.”

    On the wall screen the Prisoner was pictured in his house lying on the sofa listening the Brahms. He had a ham and cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee.

    “Look at him, he’s far too relaxed. What we want to know is why he resigned.”

    “What does it matter?”

    “It’s the one detail missing from his file, and our main purpose is for the extraction and gathering of information.”

    “What do we do with it when we get it?”

    “What do we do with it when we get it, well we pass it on.”

    “To whom do we pass it on to?”

    “Number 1.”

    “And what does Number 1 do with it?”

    “Well I should think he’ll pass it onto someone else.”

    “Our masters.”

    “I should think so.”

    “And what do they do with it when they get it?”

    “I should imagine they give it to someone else!”

    On the wall screen the Prisoner was pictured turning off the record player, he slipped on his brown piped blazer and went out. No.2 pressed a button on the control panel of his desk and followed the Prisoner’s progress on the wall screen.

    “What happened to his letter?”


    “His letter of resignation?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Someone must have it, the Colonel perhaps, or Sir Charles Portland.”

    “We can’t go bothering them.”

    “Why not?”

    “It’s not the done thing.”

    “If we had the letter we could read it and perhaps learn something of value from it.”

    “Not necessarily, he might not have written a reason for his resignation, simply that he resigns.”

    “Dear Colonel, I herby tender my resignation effective forthwith, that sort of thing?”

    “Just so.”

    “Just as well we didn’t go bothering the Colonel or Sir Charles then!”

    No.2 caught sight of No.6 on the wall screen “What’s that Number 6 up to now?”

    No.6 had made his way into the woods, and over the past week he had assembled a high bar. The bar itself was a length of steel scaffolding, strung up at over six feet between two trees and secured by stout rope. From the bushes he brought out another length of rope and threw it up over a strong tree branch. The other end of the rope was secured to a homemade punch bag, made up by various pieces of sacking all stitched together.

    “So that’s what he’s been up to” 21 said staring at the screen “he’s made himself a private gymnasium!”

    “You mean you didn’t know?”

    “And you did I suppose.”

    “It’s our job to know Number 21, that’s why we have surveillance. But why our friend Number 6 was busy constructing his private gymnasium he wasn’t poking his nose in where it didn’t concern him. I didn’t know he was so skilful with needle and thread though.”

    On the screen No.6 pulled on the rope and hoisted up the punch bag then secured the rope.

    “What’s in the punch bag?” 21 asked.

    “Our friend has been collecting old rags, bits of cloth, and a couple of bags of sand from the beach.”

    “Is there no end to this man’s talents?” 

    No.6 took off his blazer and dropped it to the ground then began laying into the punch bag with his bare fists. Then he jumped up and grabbing hold of the high bar pulled himself up and continued his workout on the high bar before somersaulting to the ground pushing the punch bag, ducking out of its way then punching it as it swung back towards him. There was another rope which No.6 took a running jump at, he swung a few times on the rope, then as he swung he kicked out at the punch bag which made it swing. Then letting go of the rope he dropped to the ground, clenched his fists again and began to punch the swinging bag for all he was worth. When he had finished his work-out, he put his blazer back on and headed back through the woods, through the village to his cottage. In the shower room he decided that if he was to continue with his work-outs there was just one more thing he needed, a track suit!

Be seeing you


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