The Prisoner - Village Day - Chapter 1

 

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.

The Prisoner – A New No.2’ is published under the banner of “Fan Fiction” which means the promotion of ‘the Prisoner’ from which no money will be earned.

1

The Beginning

    Prague had become a dangerous place, his cover as a seed and fertiliser salesman had not been one hundred percent, plus he was unsure of two members of the espionage ring, set up by one of Military Intelligence’s counter agents, and the information which they had supplied turned out to be bogus. The meeting at Petrin Hill had not gone as planned, he had barely escaped with his life!

    As part of his cover he had attended the agricultural trade exhibition as one of the British Trade Delegation, and as a matter of course anyone new to the city of Prague sooner or later attracted the attention of the secret police. Questions asked, his passport and papers checked, at one point he had been interviewed by Colonel Ivan Berkov himself who was head of the secret police. They have to be careful he had said, only the other day a man was fished out of the river who turned out to be a spy. “But of course you are with the British Trade Delegation, so we welcome you to Prague, and I hope you have a pleasant stay in our beautiful city. Czechoslovakia needs trade deals with other countries.”

    Colonel Ivan Berkov, a clever man and as such men go, a dangerous one to fall foul of, and his men of the secret police were everywhere and on every street corner, evade one and another was further along by a lamp post reading a newspaper, or across at the café, in their dark raincoats and wide brimmed hats.

    Today had been worse, a day when he felt that all of Prague’s eyes were upon him, a day of dangers and disappointment. The danger of being pulled in by the secret police and disappointment due to the non appearance of his target…… Karl Kopec. He had waited at the café for well over an hour, this had drawn the attention of both the café proprietor and the secret police. Why was he there? Who was he waiting for? Let me see your papers, what is your name? How long do you intend remaining in Prague? The questions going round and round in his head until he finally stood up from his table, leaving the café, and having given up on any chance of contact as a bad job he returned to his hotel, the hotel Miramar.

    His room was both functional and adequate, and as he closed the door behind him he turned the key in the lock and crossing the room looked out of the window into the street below, at the parked black car opposite, and of the man in a wide brimmed hat and dark raincoat stepping out of the telephone kiosk and towards the parked car, there to report to the well set man in military uniform sitting in the back seat…. Colonel Ivan Berkov.

    Frank Peterson, well that was the name he had been using for the past week, a tall man, with light brown hair and hazel eyes, a man who had long become used to living by his wits, having developed asixth sense where danger is concerned, a professional who is considered to be one of the best agents in the field. Taking a silver cigarette case from the inside pocket of his jacket he lit the cigarette with his lighter and at the same time took a photograph of the man sitting in the back of the black car parked in the street. Then drawing deeply on his cigarette closed the lens cover of the cigarette lighter and replaced it in his pocket. Standing at the window he continued to watch the street below until at last the black car drew away from the kerbside, leaving a man in dark raincoat and wide brimmed hat standing alone by the telephone kiosk reading his newspaper. Peterson walked away from the window and paced the room wondering what his next move was to be. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and removing the jacket of his charcoal grey suit and unbuttoning his black polo shirt, reclined upon the bed.

1

    From out of his briefcase he took a blue cardboard file, on the front of which were two words - Karl Kopec. The file was thin with the least of all information upon the subject, and the only photograph was five years old and would by now be completely out of date. Well no one from the west had seen Kopec in all those five years, and it had been only on rumour and speculation by one of the members of an espionage ring that had seen him sent here by the Colonel. Having studied again the file and photograph of the aging, grey haired man, Peterson lit another cigarette, the tobacco tasted good. As for his next move, he had absolutely no idea, save for contacting members of the ring again, but that would be both fool hardy and dangerous, what with Colonel Berkov bearing in on him and his every move watched by those men of the secret police. But then isn’t that why he did what he did, because of the danger, well it certainly wasn’t for the money! It was at this point that the telephone upon the bedside table suddenly began to ring, which put him on his guard, at least it wasn’t a knock on the door in the middle of the night. Reaching over he picked up the receiver and slowly put it to his ear.

    “Mister Peterson?” asked the hotel operator in broken English.

    “Yes.”

    “I have a call for you from London” the operator informed him.

    Peterson was puzzled, who would be calling him here from London, unless it was Amalgamated Phosphates, but the voice on the other end was not that of the Colonel, but one he knew very well indeed.    

    “Janet, how did you manage to call me here, this is not a good time.”

    “It’s John, he’s gone missing” Janet suddenly blurted out “I’ve asked father about it, but he tells me that even he doesn’t know where he is, He’s not sent him on a mission or anything, trouble is I don’t know whether to believe him or not……..”

    “Well that’s your father for you, never could give a straight answer to anything” Peterson quipped.

     “He’s been gone a year and then just before my birthday party this man turned up, living in John’s house, he had even lent him his car…..”

     “Janet this is not the time, how did you find me anyway?”

    “Danvers, he told me.”

    “He should have known better, and so should you if it comes to that. Look you know John, the kind of work he does, like me he can be gone for months and a year would not be out of the question.”

    There was a sudden click on the line.

    “I don’t know which way to turn and have no one else to turn to, please help me Da…..”

    Peterson stopped Janet from giving his real name away over the open line, he was sure someone was listening in on his phone conversation, probably recording it as well “Look Janet I’m working myself, and in a very big deal in fertiliser, you could say I’m up to my neck in it. I have one more meeting at the trade delegation and if all goes well I will be back in England in a few days. I’ll look you up when I get back, you can tell me all about it then.”

2

    Peterson replaced the receiver and stubbed out his cigarette. Janet Portland had seemed very distressed, so his brother had gone missing. It had been about a year since he had last seen John and wondered if his disappearance had had anything to do with his decision to resign. He got up off the bed and crossed to the window. Outside it was beginning to get dark and below in the street the man by the telephone kiosk was being relieved by an identical looking man in wide brimmed hat and dark raincoat. His sixth sense was telling him that danger was just around the corner, that it was time to go while the going was good, before it was too late, perhaps it had been too late for John!

    Picking up the telephone receiver “Reception, this is mister Peterson in room eighteen, prepare my bill for me would you and I want you to book me a seat on the next flight to London, yes London.”

    “You are leaving us so soon mister Peterson, is there some problem?” asked the desk receptionist.

    “Yes I’m afraid so, the telephone call I received a few moments ago was to recall me to London, business you know” that was a lie, he knew it, the receptionist knew it and so too did the man in the wide brimmed hat listening in on the call.

    The receptionist looked at the man standing over her, eyes peering from beneath the brim of his hat.

    “I’ll put you through to the manager sir.”
    There were two clicks on the telephone.
    “Hello mister Peterson, its Brodnic, the hotel manager. I’m sorry to hear you have to leave so suddenly………… yes I have your passport…….”

    The man in the wide brimmed hat handed him the black British passport.

    “……….. I shall have your bill prepared immediately.”

    Peterson put the receiver down and swung his legs round, raised himself off the bed, and taking his brown suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe he began to pack. The blue Kopec file he closed, and with it the chance of collecting the other half of the four hundred, and dropped it into the suitcase along with his clothes and the Smith and Wesson 38 revolver which he had previously taped to the bottom of a drawer of the dressing table. His plane was due to leave for Paris at two that afternoon, and from Paris he would catch a flight to London airport. Or perhaps a train to Calais, from there a ferry to Dover. He paid his outstanding bill and collected his passport from reception.

3

    “I take it that you had a pleasant stay mister Peterson” said the dark haired receptionist who smiled at him.

    “Yes very much” he returned with a knowing grin.

    “You will be sorry to be leaving, no?” the receptionist asked stamping his hotel receipt and depositing his money into the cash register.

    “No, oh I mean yes’ Peterson grinned.

    “And you have made many useful contacts?” asked the receptionist smiling.

    Peterson was put on the alert “Contacts?”

    “Yes, agriculture, no?’ prompted the receptionist.

    Peterson looked relieved and hoped it did not show on his face, although he felt it had as he waited at the reception desk.

    “Is there anything else Mister Peterson?”

    “My passport” Peterson smiled holding out his hand.

    “Your passport? Oh the gentleman standing behind you has it” pointed the receptionist.

    Peterson turned round to see the tall, well framed figure of Colonel Ivan Berkov thumbing through the British passport that he was holding “So you are leaving us mister…. Peterson, what a pity you cannot stay longer.”

    “Perhaps I shall return one day.”
    “And when you do you shall be made very welcome.” Colonel Burkov closed the passport and offered it to the man standing before him “Perhaps next time you will return with a passport in your real name. I’m prepared to allow you to leave….this time, for now the game is over. She must mean a great deal to you, for you to go back to London so quickly.”

    “She?”

    “I said the time for games is now over, why do you persist, we know all about you, Amalgamated Phosphates and this secretary who telephones you for help, or is she more than a secretary to you, a lover perhaps, certainly she was most distressed on the telephone” said Colonel Berkov “and now you are on you way to render her assistance, and as you English say, at the drop of a hat.”

    “She is an old friend….”

    “Certainly a very good one to take you flying back to England so quickly” the Colonel returned as he stared back at his adversary.

4

    “It is often the way of things, besides my work is concluded, there is nothing holding me here” he said with feeling, a little nervous under the Colonel’s continued stare.

    Peterson slipped his passport inside his jacket pocket “I have my overcoat and suitcase to collect from my room.”

    “No you do not, they have been searched and placed in my car which has in turn been placed at your disposal, my driver will take you to the airport” and with a click of Colonel Berkov’s fingers two armed guards approached Peterson and stood either side of him.

    Peterson grinned, but at the same time was somewhat relieved “Why do I get the impression that you can’t wait to see the back of me?”

    “I assure you that we consider you a most important British visitor to our city and so being I have offered you the use of my car, I would be neglecting my duty not to do so.”

    Berkov’s words sounded sincere, yet there was an underlying menace, he had heard of Colonel’s methods.

    “You are not coming Colonel?” he asked halfway out of the hotel.

    “You are too kind, perhaps to see you safely on your way.”

    The drive through the relatively empty streets of Prague was for the most part, a quiet one until the Colonel said one word “Kopec!”
    Instinctively Peterson knew the game was not over.

    “You are an excellent agent, one of your company’s best I should think.”

    “Agent?”

    Colonel Berkov saw the sweat on his passenger’s brow “An agent of your company, oh you would say a representative of Amalgamated Phosphates. But will they appreciate your leaving the trade exhibition so soon I wonder?”

    “I am a free agent, I come and go as I please…..”

    “Only as I allow you to mister Peterson. You must be highly thought of to be in such a position, such a man as yourself would fetch a high price on the open market” Berkov grinned, knowing that he was going to let this man go, but that one day he would be back, Kopec was assurance of that.

    Finally arriving at the airport the black car came to a stop outside the terminal. The driver and one armed guard stepped out of the car, the guard opening the car door, whilst the driver collected his overcoat and suitcase from the trunk of the car, then flanked the passenger as he stood upon the pavement.

    The driver and armed guard got back into the car just as a radio message came through for the Colonel. A moment later the driver honked the car horn, Peterson about to enter the airport terminal stopped, and turned.

    “Oh I have news for you of a mutual acquaintance” the Colonel shouted from the car “Karl Kopec.”

    Peterson tried to maintain his poker face.

5

    “I have just been informed that my men have picked him up, he’s at Police headquarters. I understand he is being made very comfortable. I thought you would like to know.”

    “Never heard of this man” Peterson lied.
    “Oh come now, Kopec is the reason for your being in Prague. Did you think we did not know? Do you take us for fools? We have had all of your activities watched since your arrival. Now get on your plane while I’m feeing charitable, and mister Peterson, do not let me see you in Prague ever again!”

    Now the game was over, and he had lost……..this time!

6

The Tally Ho

 

The Tally Ho

Death Is An Escape!
                  by our own reporter

    Death is an escape, at least that’s what No.58 once thought “To hope to die, there’s nothing else.” He actually told No.6 that “One day I’ll die and beat you all.” I’m not sure that No.58 was thinking about dying of old age, so he may have thought that one day they would go too far and cause his death, or he may have been suggesting his own suicide. Suicide seems to be a common complaint in the village. There was Cobb who leapt to his death through an open hospital window. Of course a funeral was held for Cobb, and he was buried in the village cemetery on the beach. The question must be asked, what was a hospital window on the first floor doing being left open? And the lesson was not learned, because there is the case of No.73. Life in the village didn’t suit her at all, she was very happy at one day waking up in what she thought was her own home, only to find she was in the village. It must have really played on her mind, because she could not settle, so this reporter was told. It makes you wonder why she was brought here in the first place. There are a lot of unhappy people living in the village, and when the spirit is broken certain people attempt to escape, while others take a different way out. And so because of No.73’s unhappiness, her desperation drove her to try and take her own life by slashing her wrists with a kitchen knife. Had it not been for the quick thinking of No.251, her personal maid, No.73 would have ended up lying in a coffin in her grave, and not in a comfortable bed in a private room in the hospital! Had there been time she would have undergone a psychiatric assessment, and depending on the results she might have remained at the hospital for her own good. However this reporter was told that No.2 intervened, as he wanted to carry out an interrogation of No.73, wanting to know why No.73 attempted suicide. And the reason why she had been brought to the village? It would seem that No.73 was one of those people who knew too little, but even then it was enough to have her brought here! They couldn’t find her husband you see, and so they had No.73 brought to the village because they thought she could tell them where he is. But all she could say was that he was over there, somewhere there. But that wasn’t enough for No.2, and it was his threatening interrogation technique which drove No.73 to leap out of her bed and through the open hospital window to her death. According to an eyewitness No.2 may have threatened No.73 but he did not actually lay hands on her. Yes she was afraid, frightened by what No.2 was physically going to do to her. But what the eyewitness saw, as he and another medical orderly tried to restrain No.6, who suddenly came bursting into the room, was the moment No.73 saw No.6 come bursting into the room she leapt out of the bed and jumped out through the open window to her death. This reporter managed to interview No.6, I asked him what he was doing bursting into the hospital room like that? He told me that he was just passing by {passing by where, the old folks home?} when he heard a scream {you heard a scream at that distance and through stone walls} through an open window {so you heard a scream what did you think was happening} I thought someone was in danger of their life {You got to the hospital very quickly} as I said I was passing by {you just happened to be passing by}. So I went to the woman’s aid {so you burst into the room as medical orderlies tried to restrain you, did you know No.73?} No I had never seen her before {and even then it was ever so briefly, did 73 know you?} Not as far as I’m aware {then how do you account for the fact that the moment YOU burst into the room she leapt out of bed and hurled herself to her death through the open window?} I can’t. {Tell me No.6, why did you go to the window and look down at the ground where the body lay?} I was just making sure I suppose! {After Cobb you mean, well you need a body for a funeral!}

A Village Publication!

 

Tally Ho Journal

    The Village is a place where people turn up……well they don’t simply turn up, they are either abducted because people who work in a certain job or environment have certain information inside their head that needs to either be extracted, or protected. And then there are the interim No.2’s, each one assigned to the village for one purpose or another. One can only imagine from where each of them in turn has been seconded, possibly within the Civil Service, and in one or two cases their selection can be questionable, or dubious to say the least!
   And then there are those who came to work in the village of their own free will, such as the Professor and his wife, and those recruited through Labour Exchanges, as well as employment bureaus. Specialized people, electricians, scientists, technicians, painters, decorators, craftsmen, gardeners, plumbers, administrators and all the others who were brought in to run the village behind the scenes. Me? I remember the day when I was brought here, I was taken to the Labour Exchange, I asked the manager why I was here? He told me to get a job, then looking at my file and told me that I would be put to work on The Tally Ho. I was surprised; I thought I would be doing something important. The manager told me each of us are put to the tasks of our profession, you’re a journalist he said, so you can work in the offices of the village broadsheet The Tally Ho, they said, reporting on everyday life in the village, commenting on social matters, on important events, carrying out opinion polls. But first you will begin with Tally Ho Journal, they said.
 

   As a matter of fact there is something I can write about straight away, a strange occurrence which I and a number of citizens witnessed. It took place in the Piazza, everyone was enjoying themselves promenading around the pool and fountain, when all of a sudden this thing appeared, a round white sphere made of membrane. Someone told me it was the Guardian. Do you know I do believe this village is full of eccentrics, what with the old Admiral sailing plastic boats in the Free Sea, I mean to say, what’s the Free Sea all about? Anyway there was this dinghy in the Free Sea and a chap dressed for Henley regatta sitting in a dinghy being pulled along on a rope by another chap. Suddenly everyone was ordered to “Be still” by Number 2, and suddenly everyone was frozen to the spot, well almost everyone. There was this young man in sun glasses and striped jersey who wasn’t trying to run away, he was just dodging about, simply not being “still” I suppose. And I guess it was for that reason why the Guardian was set upon him. It was awful to see that thing smothering that young man’s face and suffocating him to death, or at the very least into unconsciousness! And the queerest thing of all, the Guardian is capable of making sounds, either a blood curdling roar, or something like a Gregorian chant, crossed with a noise of a bicycle pump, crossed again with someone breathing through an aqualung. No, that’s not the queerest thing, the queerest thing was that as the Guardian moved away, presumably resuming its patrol and leaving the body lying in the Piazza, everyone there was suddenly able to move again, and simply went on promenading in the Piazza just as though nothing had happened. In time an ambulance arrived and two medics carried the body away on a stretcher.
    True the village is a picturesque place, where people are permitted to enjoy themselves and at times in a most peculiar way, such as scrambling about the deck of what I can only describe as a folly, the stoneboat, clambering about her rigging. While others spend time relaxing, sunbathing, swimming in the public Lido. There’s even a regular brass band concert, and croquet played on the village green. And if you don’t feel like cooking breakfast, and you’re not eligible for certain privileges, like having your breakfast delivered by a personal maid, then you can always have breakfast at the café, and enjoy afternoon tea on the lawn of the Old People’s Home. Everyone is catered for, for as long as you live, you are then gracefully retired into the Old People’s Home! And yet there is a dark underside to the village if the use of that amorphous membrane thing called the Guardian is anything to go by.  And was that a demonstration? Because there was this chap in a charcoal grey suit, who was obviously a new arrival here, so the demonstration, if that was, was possibly for this chap’s benefit as if to say if you step out of line look what will happen to you! And of course there is another way of looking at it, the powerful manipulative ability No.2 demonstrates over the citizens of this community. “Be still” he ordered and not one person moved, only that poor young man, who was so badly used that day.
    I suggested to the editor that I might carry out some investigative journalism; after all that is what I used to do in my former life, and that I might write a piece on No.2. He told me not to worry about No.2, as any such No.2 has never been here long enough for anyone to get a handle on him! Other than that I am free to write about any aspect of village life, and perhaps a few features on less prominent figures in the village. I understand there is a couple here who took ages to settle down, and that now they wouldn’t leave for the world……..I wonder why that was?

The Tally Ho

 The Tally Ho

Security of the Citizens
   by our own reporter

 

   “The security of the citizens will be my primary objective” the new interim told this community in a recent television announcement. It would appear that this No2 is going to make the most of the media during his term in office, no matter how long that might be. Certainly this former No.6 newly elected to the position of Chief Administrator has had a complete change of heart, a man who previously prided himself on non co-operation, causing mischief whenever possible, and generally poking his nose into business which was none of his concern. Not to mention attempting escapes whenever the opportunity presented itself. It would appear that this former No.6 is now a reformed character, making such promises as the citizens who can enjoy themselves, that they can partake in the most hazardous sports {I think he means Kosho there} but there is a price, and he considers that price cheap. All he wants is for them to give us information, once they’ve done that they are eligible for promotion, to other spheres, suggesting that he will fulfil their desire, where do you want to go, that he can fulfil your dreams! Also he pledged to tighten up on village security, as for his external policy it would seem village exports will operate in every corner of the globe. And yet this reporter wasn’t aware that the village actually produced anything! True it has cornered the market in information, information, information and that can come at a hefty price for someone, as it can be an expensive commodity. The change in attitude of this former prisoner makes this reporter wonder if he has undergone some form of therapy treatment, or mind conditioning. It is possible that he knows exactly what he’s doing, playing the game, giving the administration what it wants, to quietly work through his term in office. But what happens once that term is over? Would he simply be allowed to leave the village? Not with the information he has about the village, I should think that highly unlikely because there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t go running back to those ex-colleagues of his and start blabbing his mouth off. Not that that ever did him any good before. Because he should know it by now, that it was those so called ex-colleagues who had the now new interim No.2 in the village in the first place! It is always possible that No.2 might attempt to bring about changes to the village administration from within the system, perhaps he intends to tighten up security, and I should have thought the security of the citizens would be the last thing on his mind. But perhaps he had the idea of taking care of them. Ah but he soon came to his senses, and it wasn’t long before No.6 was feeling much more like his old self, and soon he was giving orders to evacuate the village, telling citizens that they were free, free, free to go. For a few critical moments he was in command, and attempted to immobilize all electronic controls. But No.6 will never learn, the order was not to damage the tissue, well it did get bruised a bit, but as an ex-No.2 he must have felt fortunate not have been co-opted onto the town council, otherwise he might well have found himself standing at a lectern amongst all those other brainwashed imbeciles! For this newly elected interim No.2 his term in office was over before it had hardly begun, which makes it the shortest in village history! However we thank him for his dedication to the community, for taking up the challenge, and for his valiant attempt to stand up to the rigours of electoral office. He gave No.2 a run for his money, and his was the popular vote despite being treated with suspicion by members of the electorate outside the Town Hall once the election had been decided. But really it was merely a question of manipulation of not only the opposing candidate, but the community as a whole. The village is what is termed a “rotten borough” in which there is but one sitting town council member no matter for whom the citizens vote. As No.6 said, “The old regime forever, and the old Number 2 forever.” The question remains, was the election a genuine one, or merely manipulation of the Prisoner in order to get him to talk? Because if we are to take the election at face value there does come a time when elections in the village are done away with, and No.2 no longer has any opposition, although the administration is an effective one. After all as No.2 once said “Its an irritation we’ve dispensed with. Even at its best free democracy is remarkably inefficient!”

Prisoner Fan Fiction coming soon!

 

   “Village Day is the day when the entire community celebrates both the founding, and the founder of the Village!”

    To lose a fiancé may be regarded as a misfortune, to lose a fiancé twice looks like carelessness! But to whom could Janet Portland turn, not to her father but perhaps to another.......
    A man arrives back in London and is assigned to track down Janet Portland’s fiancé who has been lost for over a year. The trail leads him to be abducted to the Village, where despite No.2, the search continues. The Village is a small enough place, how difficult could it be to find one man? But there is a shock in store as the new No.6 discovers that his brother is not the man he thought him to be!

    More than that, this is the book of the film {with a few added embellishments} produced in 1998-99, and some fans of the Prisoner, should they care to read this novella, will be able to interact with the characters, seeing as they were in the film!

To be published a chapter per week over 17 weeks.

'Fan Fiction' meaning no money will be earned through the publihing of this novella.

Be seeing you

The Tally Ho

 

The Tally Ho

The General Stores – Under New Management!

                            by our own reporter

   The General Store has been placed under new management, No.19, or was it 56 has been replaced. It would appear a recent audit of the Store’s books has shown a number of discrepancies in the accounts, in brief it appears the shopkeeper has been “cooking” the books! No.2 said that this is an administrative error the fact that the Store’s books had never been checked before! No.112 has now been given the position of shopkeeper, and has already implemented a number of improvements to the village shop, a number of “special imports” now stock the shelves. Various LP records are now for sale, which any prospective buyer can listen to in the newly installed record booth. For those budding photographers there is now a selection of cameras and photographic equipment which can be purchased as well as 3 pounds of King Edward potatoes, Brussels sprouts, oranges, pineapples, and for the table, and imported blue and white Cornish ware, along with Portmeirion pottery. A 1940’s till is also a new addition to the shop. I asked the shopkeeper No.112 why there was a need for the till when the village is a cashless community which runs on credit? “Well sir, every time I clip a customer’s credit card I have to keep the clippings somewhere, so what better till could there be for what is supposed to be an olde worlde, typically English corner shop?” I found I could not argue with the man. So I asked the shopkeeper for 20 cigarettes. “Cigarettes sir?” “Yes, I’ll take 20 woodbine, oh and a box of matches.” “I’m sorry sir, but we don’t sell cigarettes.” “You do there’s a cigarette machine next to the door” I said turning to look. “There used to be sir, but I had it removed.” “Since when?” “Since the no smoking policy in the village sir.” “I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous, a no smoking policy. I’ll see Number 2 about this!” Ting ling a ling. I stood outside the shop for a few moments, took out a packet of woodbines from my pocket and a box of matches and lit a cigarette, a passer-by gave me such a queer accusing look, but my mind was on the previous shopkeeper who couldn’t make up his mind what his number was. A question buzzed around inside my mind, with the village being a cashless community, how could the shopkeeper No.19 or 56 have been found to be “cooking” the books, and so removed from his position because of fraud? There was no possible way he could have skimmed cash off the top, there being no cash to skim, unless he was philching goods, but then to what end? The shopkeeper isn’t the only citizen not to be seen recently, there’s No.14 the ex-Count, the painter No.42, and No.58. I have asked around, but no-one could say they have seen any of them; no-one leaves the village, and the only funeral recently was that of No.73. So where are they? It’s as though they have been wiped off the chessboard, as if they never existed! What’s more there are no more games of chess using people as chess pieces!

The Tally Ho

 

The Tally Ho

The Blue Zone In The Post!
                          by our own reporter

“Sign your number here Number Six.” What’s this? a registered letter sent to No.6? No, it is an invitation to the ball, special delivery and must be signed for! Why does the village postman wear a Royal Mail peaked cap? In doing so he fits in with two other citizens, the eccentric No.66 who wears a British naval officer’s cap and described by No.2 as an exAdmiral. How did he become an ex-Admiral? Did he simply resign? Perhaps he was caught giving away secret naval plans to another country, the Russians for example. And yet, why is No.66 allowed to wear that British Royal Naval cap an indication of his former employment? It’s the same with No.54 the General apparently once of the British Army, although we do not know the regiment, wears a British General’s cap. It makes one wonder what it was that had the General brought to the village? However if we are to accept that the Admiral was once of the British Royal Navy, and the General of the British Army, then perhaps the village postman once worked for the British Royal Mail, and being his previous occupation is allowed to wear the peaked cap, but not the rest of his uniform! It might be that the village postman was brought to the village to be the village postman! We see the village postman pushing a Penny Farthing bicycle up to the door of ‘6 Private,’ push the Penny Farthing yes, ride it on his postal round would seem unlikely. But during the Victorian period British Royal Mail postmen rode Penny Farthing bicycles, so perhaps that is the reason why the postman is seen with a Penny Farthing bicycle. Now we come to this new “Blue Zone” in the post, what’s that all about? Who bothers to write to anyone in the village? Well some citizens must write to others, otherwise there would be no need for a postman, and no new Blue Zone in the post! At the kiosk copies of The Tally Ho and confectionary are sold, along with picture postcards of the village but not the traditional saucy comical postcards. Who in the village would buy picturesque postcards of the village, let alone send such a postcard to someone living in the village. One could hardly send someone the usual seaside holiday greeting “Wish you were here,” because they are here already! So this postman, how does he actually deliver the post? I only ask because as far as I can see none of the cottage doors are actually fitted with a letter box! Perhaps the postman has to knock on every cottage door and wait for the door to be opened in order for a citizen’s post to be delivered, in the same way he delivers No.6’s invitation to Carnival! And there’s another question, before the advent of the new blue post box, how did citizens post their letters and postcards to one another? Because up until then this reporter has never seen a post box in the village! What’s more there is no village post office! When it comes to the possibility that certain people are bought to the village simply to carry on their occupation, like the postman, the watchmaker, the reporter who writes for The Tally Ho, perhaps it’s the same with the milkman who wears a peaked cap and blue and white striped apron. We may not see the milkman because he works early hours delivering the citizens milk before they are up and about. Proof of this is seen on the doorstep of ‘6 Private’ when No.6 has put out the empty milk bottle on his doorstep at night ready for collection the nest morning when his milk is delivered. And of course when it comes to wearing hats, the administrative officials of administration all wear Top Hats, and that included No.2 and his assistant No.12 when they were members of the board of education. And should have included No.2 as Chairman of the town council! So you know what they say, if you want to get ahead get a hat