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Monday 11 October 2021

Village Weekly The Serialization of 'The Prisoner - A New Arrival'



    Well respected author and Prisonerologist David Stimpson brings Prisoner enthusiasts “more Prisoner” in his novel entitled ‘The Prisoner – A New Arrival.’
    Village Weekly is delighted to have obtained the publishing rights to ‘The Prisoner – A New Arrival’ and working with the author’s permission this novel will be published as a weekly serialization.

        ‘The Prisoner – A New Arrival’ sees a new face in the village, No.4, who hasn’t been there for more than five minutes before he’s looking to leave. A first interview with No.2 leaves the Prisoner with no doubt who he is, why he has been brought to the village, that there is no escape, and is soon put to the test.
   The village has been going for a very long time, since before the war in fact. And yet there is still room for development such as the Rover experiment.
    Prisoners give them what they want, before they take it, and citizens eventually find a kind of freedom within the prison, although there is twenty-four hour surveillance and The Watch sees all!
    No.2, Chairman of the village, as well as being Chief Administrator has a gift in bringing out the worst in people, as well as being the boss. Which leaves but one question….who or what, is No.1? Find out the answer to this in a thoroughly easy and absorbing read…perhaps more absorbing than you might imagine!

    If you are wondering about ‘Village Weekly’ it is a ‘village’ publication which appears in three episodes of the Prisoner. In both ‘Arrival’ and ‘Hammer Into Anvil,’ a copy of the magazine can be seen on sale in the General Store. And the in the later episode ‘It’s Your Funeral,’ ‘Village Weekly’ is seen on sale at a kiosk, along with two other village publications, ‘tally ho Journal,’ and ‘Village Mercury.’

    So as 2 tells us in ThePris6ner {2009 series} “Breathe in, breathe out…..more village!”

    {The Prisoner – A New Arrival is published under the banner of “Fan Fiction” which means the promotion of ‘the Prisoner’ from which no money will be earned}

The Prisoner

A New Arrival


David Stimpson

©  David Stimpson 2020 

Published by Village Weekly

In conjunction with 

The right of David Stimpson to be identified

as the author of this work has been asserted by

him in accordance with copyright, Design and

patent act 1988.

All rights are reserved. No part of this publication

may be produced in any form or by means – graphic,

electronic, or mechanical including photocopying, without
the prior permission, in writing, of the publisher.

Artwork design Village Weekly.

Chapter 1

The Arrival

    The middle aged man lay on the couch in his lounge; they hadn’t bothered to put him to bed, why? But no matter, there he lay until the body began to stir, he sat up, his blurred eyes began to focus on his surroundings. His head pounded, his mouth was dry, he ran his fingers through his light brown hair. He stood up and went to the kitchen running the cold tap for a couple of moments before putting his head under it to let the cold water soak his hair, his head. He stood up the water dripping from his head. He picked up a glass, Alka-Seltzer that would help bring him round. Crossing the dinette he opened a cupboard, then came the first shock. No Alka-Seltzer, no tins of Heinz baked beans, or tins of whole tomatoes, corned beef, just tins of village food! He took a glass and filled it with cold water then drained the glass. He pulled up the blind of the window, where there should be houses across the street there were the woods, that was the second shock which led to confusion and disorientation. The man went back through into the lounge and opening the French door stepped out onto a small balcony. Instead of busy noisy London, there was quietness, this village with its candy coloured buildings, with a mixture of architecture but mostly Italianate. As far as he could see there was no-one around, except over there where a woman, a waitress was busy setting out tables. He went back inside closing the French door behind him, then through the lounge he found the back door to his cottage, this led out to a gravelled area and the woods beyond. He ran along the back of the line of terraced cottages, then through an arch, and down a set of steps to the road below. The man turned right and hurried along the road, round the corner at the bottom and along to the café.
    A waitress, in black dress and white lace apron was busy opening the umbrellas of the tables on the patio.
    “Oh hello, we’ll be open in a minute” the waitress announced.
    “Where, where am I?”
    “In the village.”
    “Where is this?”

    “We haven’t seen you before have we? We don’t often see a new face around here. So it’s nice to see one.”
    “Where is this?”
    “The village, I’ll see if the tea’s ready, would you like breakfast?”
    “No I don’t want breakfast. I just want to know where I am, and the quickest way out of here.”
    “You’re new here aren’t you.”
    “Well you could say that, this is certainly new to me!”
    He thought about asking to use the telephone, but who was there he could call? Then he saw a vehicle drive passed it was a light blue


jeep with a grey canopy. He ran into the road and called after the driver. The Willys MB American jeep came to a stop in the road, and the man ran forward.
    The taxi driver, a girl in a striped jersey looked at the man in the road from underneath the grey canopy “Yes sir?”
    “Are you a taxi?”
    “The jeep is, I’m the driver.”
    “Can you take me to the nearest town?”
    “I’m sorry sir, but we’re only the local service” the girl replied.
    “Well take me as far as you can, and I’ll take it from there.”
    The man jumped into the seat next to the driver, who engaged first gear and the jeep moved forward.
    “This is an unusual job for a girl.”
    “Oh I don’t mind I get to see the sights.”
    The jeep went along the road, then round a left-hand bend, down the road passed the Town Hall and down the hill towards the Old People’s home. It turned left, then reversed and went back up the hill then taking the right-hand fork along a cobbled lane, round the Hercules statue and up along another cobbled path. Right through an arch into a square, then left, down the road, round the bend, passed the Café and then right through a large white and yellow arch and along the road through the woods. The jeep eventually turned onto the road back into the village, through two arches and eventually coming to a stop opposite the cobbled square.
    “That’s good, that’s just peachy. We went all around the houses to end up back where we started!”
    “Well I did tell you we’re only local. The jeep will be two credit units” the taxi driver said.
    “Credit units, well I’ve only got good old fashioned pound notes” he said taking his wallet from his jacket pocket only to find it empty.
    The girl looked at the empty wallet “Oh well” she said “you can pay me next time, be seeing you” and gave a curious salute with the circled thumb and fore finger.
    And with that the jeep drove off, its horn sounding as it went.
    There was a shop nearby, the sign read General Store. The man looked into the shop’s bay window, then went to the side door, and went in.
    The tall almost gaunt looking shopkeeper, in striped apron and straw boater working behind the counter, he glanced at the man then said to a short stout woman in a green trilby hat “Would you help yourself to a cauliflower madam?”   
    The woman did as she was bid, and put the cauliflower into her shopping basket with all her other purchases and paid with her credit card.
    “Thank you madam” the shopkeeper said handing back the card “Be seeing you” and gave that curious salute. “Now sir, what can I do for you?”
    “I’d like a map of the area.”



   The shopkeeper turned his back muttering “maps” to himself as he opened a glass fronted cabinet and rummaged inside. Eventually producing a map and tossed it down onto the counter.
    On the front of the folded map were the words Map of Your Village. The customer quickly  unfolded the map, to find the village laid out, with the woods, the mountains, the sea, the beach, cliffs, tower and a number of buildings marked on the map.
    “That’s not what I meant, I meant a larger map.”
    “That’s the only size I have sir.”

    “No I didn’t mean that.”

    “Well sir I wish you would say what you do mean!”

    “I meant a larger area.”
    “A larger area, I’ve never had call for a map of that kind before. You’re new here aren’t you?”
    “What about a garage where I can hire a car?”
    “There’s no garage” the shopkeeper told him “only taxis.”
    “I’ve been taken for a ride already!”
    The shop door opened.
    “Well I look forward to the pleasure of your custom sir, be seeing you” and saluted as a parting greeting then turned his attention to his next customer
    “What is that?”
    “What’s what sir?” asked the shopkeeper.
    “That thing with the hand, what is it as salute?”
    “Yes sir, be seeing you” said the shopkeeper repeating the salute “Now sir what can I do for you.”
    Outside the man stood thinking what to do next, he decided to return to his cottage. There had been a black and white striped pole with a candy-striped canopy outside the door, now someone had added the sign ‘4 Private.’ Once inside the telephone began to bleep. He picked up the receiver and paused for a moment before speaking.
    “Is that Number 4?”
    “If you mean is that the number of this cottage, then yes.”
    “I have a call for you.”
    “A telephone call, for me?” his heart suddenly lifting.
    “Seeing as we’re neighbours” a voice said “I thought you might like to come round for breakfast.”
    “This is the second time this morning I’ve been offered breakfast!”
    “Number 2, the Green Dome.”
    The telephone went dead. The Prisoner rattled the telephones cradle trying to get the operator.
    “Number please?”
    “I want to make a telephone call to London.”
    “What is your number sir?”
    “Number….he looked down at the dial “number 4?”
    “You are not allowed to make International calls, only local calls.”


The line went dead, he attempted to get the operator back, but there was no response. He left his cottage and made his way to the Green Dome. Standing at the white door he pulled on the black wrought iron bell pull, and a large bell rang once. The door was opened by a diminutive butler dressed in black tails. A gloved hand beckoned him in, and closed the door behind the visitor.

    He found himself in a small domed, white walled office, in the middle of which was a large oak desk, and behind it sat in a leather bound chair was a man dressed in a single breasted dark jacket, and grey flannel trousers. The butler busied himself by setting out the visitor’s breakfast on a small side table.
    “I can see you are about to ask me a question” the man behind the desk said.
    “I have several questions, beginning with why am I here?”
    “I would have thought introductions should come first. I am Number 2” he said.
    “Well that doesn’t tell me much!”
    “And you are our new Number 4.”
    “Number what?”
    “I’m no number, my name is…….”
    “Yes I know who you are, but we do not use names here.”
    “No names?”
    “That’s right; we find the use of numbers causes less confusion. After all so many have the same name, Smith being quite common.”
    “Well my name’s not Smith.”
    “Yes we do know, now what about breakfast?”
    “No thanks.”
    “Pity after our friend here has gone to so much trouble in preparing it for you.”
    “Well perhaps some coffee.”
    No.2 nodded and the butler picked up the sliver coffee pot and poured out one cup.
    “So where is this place, and why am I here?”
    “This is the village, and you have been brought here for a very good reason.”
    No. 4 took the offered cup and saucer from the gloved hand “Yeah, and what reason?”
    “You worked for Military Intelligence.”
    “And when they find out you have me here there’ll be hell to pay!”
    “Oh you think so?”
    “What’s that?”
    “Your file.”
    “You have my file?”
    “No, this is our file on you!”
    “You’ve read it?”
    “From cover to cover, it’s fully documented. Light brown hair, hazel eyes, height five feet eleven inches, date of birth, what you like to eat,




what you like to drink, what you are, what you’d like to be. No family illnesses, and no politics!”
    “I’m not political.”
    “You don’t take sides?”

    “What is it you want of me?”
    “All in good time my dear chap.”
    “Then there’s nothing more to be said.”
    No.4 stood sipping his coffee and taking in his surroundings of the domed office. The free standing Penny farthing bicycle, the two Astro lamps with their perpetually moving red and orange wax, the television set, and the steps that lead nowhere except up to a raised platform.
    “I would have thought someone in your position would have had a more impressive office than this.”
    “I’m promised a new office, but it’s still at the planning stage.”
    “I’m very happy for you.”
    “Never mind my office. You’ve not been brought here to talk. Why were you in East Germany?”
    “I would have thought it a simple enough question.”
    “I’ve never been to East Germany.”
    “Really, that’s not what your file tells me.”
    “Then the file is wrong.”
    “You were there working for American Military Intelligence.”
    “If you say so.”
    “I do not say so, your file speaks for you. Again, what were you doing in East Germany?”
    “Why don’t you ask my file?”
    “You could do better.”
    “Better than what?”
    “You fail to realize the seriousness of your situation.”
    “What do you want?”
    “I have nothing to say.”
    “That will not improve your situation.”
    “No, oh well it can’t be helped.”
    “You could improve your situation.”
    “By, working for us for example.”
    “Don’t tell me, you’re the recruiting officer who’s offering me a job, doing what?”
    “Whatever we say, if we can be sure of you, in time you would be released back into circulation, carrying on with whatever it is you do in Military Intelligence, then we would call on you from time to time and ask you to do something for us, and you do it.”
    “I wouldn’t work for you if you got down on your bended knees and begged me!”
    “In that case Number 4, you are going to be here for a very long time."




    “You can’t keep me here!”
    “Oh I assure you we can. Go home and think about it Number 4.”
    “What’s with the number, I’m not this number 4 or any kind of number!”
    It was then that the front door to the Green Dome opened and two burly set men entered the office. No.2 nodded. The two men set about the Prisoner, one took hold of his jacket, spinning him round and sat him down in a simple wooden chair. The second man clenched his fists and punched the Prisoner in the face sending him backwards out of the chair and onto the floor. The first man picked him up by the lapels of his jacket and hit him again sending him backwards on his heels, as the second man spun him around, beating him with his fists. Each punch burned and tore skin, each blow more severe than the last. They used his body as a punch bag. He bled, he tried to protect himself, to hit back. Between them the two bully boys beat the living daylights out of the Prisoner who now lay close to unconsciousness on the floor. No. 2, a tall man with thick black hair raised himself out of his chair.
    “You are Number 4, Number 4, Number 4, 4, 4” No.2 shouted “do you understand Number 4?”
    He wiped the blood from his mouth “Go to hell.”
    “I can see you have not yet had enough” he nodded to the two men.
    No. 154 picked the Prisoner up off the floor and punched him to the ground, while 241 kicked him in the stomach.
    “Enough” No.2 shouted, and crossing the floor crouched down by the almost unconscious prisoner.
    “What is your number?”
    The Prisoner was in considerable pain, there was a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

    “I’ll ask you once again, what is your number?”

    The Prisoner moved his lips.
    “I didn’t quite hear that.”
    “4…Number 4.”
    “You see that wasn’t so difficult now was it? Sometimes errant children have to be given a slap on their backsides” No.2 told him then stood up and returning to his desk asked the two watchmen to see the Prisoner back to his cottage.


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