A Time to Blossom

Time Travel

“Craig, I’m going home on an aeroplane, a 9-hour flight, not a 6-month sea voyage on an open raft,” laughed Nat as Craig put his breakfast plate in front of him. “There’s enough food here to feed an army.”

“Can’t be too careful, Nat, anything could happen. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us all the way down to Heathrow – that is going to take a minimum of 4 hours even if we don’t stop – and then you’ll be waiting round in the airport for two hours. Aeroplane food is usually rubbish too, just tiny little portions in a plastic tray.”

“Not up in Flagship First, Craig. It’s only plastic back in Coach.”

“Nat’s flight leaves at 16:30,” said Craig’s dad, tucking into his own large plate of breakfast. “So, we’ll need to make sure we’re at Heathrow for 15:00 to give Nat time to get through check-in and security. The plan is to leave here at 08:30 and take a nice steady drive down with a couple of rest breaks and lunch on the way. Me and your mum will alternate driving, swapping over every hour at a 10-minute break, so we both remain completely fresh and alert.”

“That’s convoy driving, Nat. 50 minutes at a stretch, with 10 minutes’ rest for the drivers to swap over and a chance to check tyres and fluids at every break.”

Nat grinned. “I knew I should have expected this to be planned like a military operation.”

* * *

“That’s Sheffield over there, Nat, Steel City. Where my gran and grandad Wright live. If we had longer, we’d go and meet them. You’d like gran and grandad Wright, wouldn’t he dad?”

“I’m sure he would, Craig.”

“Wave, Nat.”

“What?”

“Just wave, Nat. We always wave if we pass Sheffield on the motorway but don’t have time to call in. Then, when I phone them later, I tell grand and grandad Wright I’ve waved to them as we passed. They always say they saw me. That’s right, isn’t it mom?”

Craig’s mom smiled. “Yes, he’s being doing it ever since he was about two or three years old. Hopefully you’ll get to come back and meet Craig’s other grandparents, Nathan. Sheffield is very different to York though, it’s a big industrial city, famous for its steel and engineering.”

“I know something about Sheffield, Julie,” said Nat as he waved out of the car window. “Some of the Sheffield steelworkers emigrated to Pittsburgh and set up the steel mills there. Pittsburgh is the steel city of America. We own the land that the likes of Carnegie rented to build their foundries. I’d like to visit Sheffield one day.”

“You’ve got to do it, Natters. Come back and meet my other grandparents, I’ll show you round Sheffield.”

* * *

“Hey, dad, why are we turning off of the M1? We’re not due a break for another half hour! We’ve barely got this leg’s back broken. We don’t want to make Nat miss his flight.”

“Don’t fret Craig, it’s all part of the plan. Your gran has arranged something for us. We’re stopping for lunch a little early at a place called Repton, just outside Derby. The traffic’s been light, we’re actually ahead of schedule.”

“Repton?”

“It’s a small village, quite inconsequential at first sight. But back in the Dark Winter of 873 to 874, it was the site of the winter encampment of The Great Heathen Army, Viking raiders from Denmark. Your gran knows the leader of the archaeological team that have been excavating there for nearly thirty years and she thought you and Nathan might like a quick visit to the church there. It’s at the very centre of the site and has some amazing stories to tell.”

“Wow, mom, why didn’t you tell us before we set out?”

“Oh, it’s sometimes best to keep a surprise or two, isn’t it Nathan? We won’t be there long, just an hour and a half or so, including lunch, we don’t want Nathan to be late for his plane.”

“You’re a bit like Noah at times, Craig. You like to know everything, in detail, and in advance. You don’t like surprises.”

“I do like surprises, Nat. I just don’t like surprises to come as a surprise.”

* * *

The car had barely stopped moving before Craig and Nathan piled out and straightened up in the small car park alongside St. Wystan’s church. “Come on Nat, let’s go find the Vikings. Which way, mom?”

Craig’s mom smiled as she stepped out of the car, admiring the apparent ordinariness of the small village church that belied its historic significance. “Your gran said to just walk up to the church and go inside, the vicar will be in there. Be nice and polite.”

“Always am, mum. Come on, Natters, no time to waste.”

 The ancient wooden door creaked on its hinges as Craig led the way inside. Bent over a table was a middle-aged man in clerical attire, tending to some books.

“Oh, God preserve us,” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands in mock horror as he turned to face Craig and Nathan. “It’s the heathen warriors come again…”

Craig and Nat exchanged bewildered glances. “Err, no, we’re just visitors.”

The vicar laughed. “I’m expecting you. I gather you’re Craig, and this must Nathan the Red, Heathen Warrior of the Danes. Your gran told us about you. I’m sorry to say the archaeologists aren’t here today, off at a conference or something important like that, but I’m Graeme, the vicar here, and happy to show you around. We don’t get many visitors. Peaceful ones, anyway…”

As Craig and Nathan followed the vicar past the 14th century effigies in the chapel and down to the undercrypt, Craig’s mom and dad smiled and headed back out into the sunlight and over to the nearby pub for lunch.

“Do you think they’ll miss us?”

“Not a chance.  There are plenty of sandwiches for them to eat later in the cool box your mom gave us. Let them explore while we have a quiet break and a nice lunch.”

* * *

“Okay, both of you belted up back there?”

“Yes, Mark.”

“Roger that, dad.”

“Was it worth the break, Craig?”

“Sure was, mum. Remind me to phone gran and thank her for arranging it when we get home tonight. Such an ordinary looking church.”

“Ordinary? It was amazing, Boots.”

“Pretty modern, Nat, most of it was from 1300.”

“1300? Modern? You’re a Philistine, Boots.”

“Okay, so the bits downstairs were older…”

“The crypt was from 600, Boots. Just going down into the crypt was time travel. More than a thousand years. The burial place of the ancient Saxon kings of Mercia. The vicar said it was the most important early mediaeval burial site in the whole of England. Some of those early stone columns holding up the roof still had traces of red pigment on them, Boots. It would have been gaudily painted, he said. Red and gold tombs for kings.”

“Bling, Natty.”

“Craig, in Pittsburgh, anything from before 1900 gets a sign on it and included in the Heritage Trail. There wasn’t a thing at all in Repton to say we were in the middle of history.”

“We do have a fair amount of it, here, Nat. Can’t go putting up signs everywhere.”

“And those Viking burials outside the church, Boots. The Vikings who raided in 873 and buried their dead outside the church. The vicar said it was a statement to show they were the new masters, and not Christians.”

“Just temporarily, Nat. We kicked them out, didn’t we mom?”

“Well, that’s one viewpoint, Craig. History is a little more nuanced than that.”

“The Paired Warriors, Craig. That was amazing. Two Vikings, father and son, proven by DNA analysis of their bones, buried in places of honour, right outside the church entrance. Lots of grave goods. Real high-quality swords, just like the one me and you made yesterday.”

“Yeah, that was interesting,” conceded Craig, but quietly.

“The vicar said that the father was covered in battle injuries, really severe, Julie,” said Nat. “And his son. Just in his late teens from the dental analysis, killed at the same time, trying to defend his father, fighting alongside him, killed by the same axe. They have measurements of the wounds in the skull and pelvis and their shape. Definitely the same axe.”

“So, Nathan,” said Craig’s father, quickly changing the tone. “You’ll need taking to the American Airlines’ Lounge at Heathrow and handed over to the staff there?”

“Yes, Mark,” answered Nat. “To be honest, now I’m over 16, I don’t need to be registered as an unaccompanied minor according to the rules. I can travel on my own if I have a passport and a letter of authority from my parents. But travelling as an ‘unaccompanied minor’ is actually much better. I get a staff member from AA assigned to me all the way from the check-in to boarding, and priority boarding, and then crew assigned to me in flight to look after me. So, basically, I don’t have to worry about anything, just relax and let everyone else take care of me.”

Craig pretended to tug his forelock and muttered “Nice for some…”

* * *

“Pass me my satchel, Craig, it’s closer to you. Just there, behind you on the parcel shelf.”

“There you go, Natters. Nice bag.”

“It’s styled on a Pony Express satchel, Boots. Messengers would have raced across the Great Plains carrying important documents in bags like this over a hundred years ago.”

“If you come back again, Nat, I’ll take you to Plymouth Hoe. They still have the old red telephone box there that Sir Francis Drake used to let Queen Elizabeth know that the Spanish Armada had been sighted. There’s a preservation order on it.”

“Yeah, sure, Boots.”

“What you looking for in there, Nat?”

“Just checking I have my passport and ticket ready, Boots. Lounge pass too, though I probably don’t need that, my ticket alone should get me in to the lounge. Oh, and you should have these, I almost forgot. Your gran gave them to me for you this morning.”

“What are they, Natty?”

“Some brochures. From York University, their Metallurgy Degree course brochures, I think. Looks interesting, I had a quick scan earlier. All about the science of metals. Maybe you could keep them, ready for when you finish school in a couple of years. Just in case…”

* * *

 Heathrow doesn’t get any better. I much prefer flying out of Brize on a trooping flight. It took us ages to find a parking slot and that was about as far away from the Terminal 3 as it’s possible to be without actually being abroad ourselves. Then of course we had to yomp all the way to the terminal to hand Natty over to American Airlines. At least Nat is travelling fairly light, just his satchel and a single suitcase. One of those posh ones with wheels on. Makes life a bit easier but it rumbles away over the paths as though it’s about to drop a con rod or shred a bearing.

Terminal Three itself is a pain in the arse too. Full of people, most of them foreigners that don’t know where they are going or how to get out of the way.  Just suddenly grinding to a halt right in front of you so they can stare up at the departure boards. It’s so tempting to plough right into them.

We knew exactly where to go to hand Nat over, dad had downloaded a plan of the terminal earlier this week. American codeshare with British Airways and it didn’t take Nat long to check in. We just walked up to the First-Class desk, ignoring the long queues at the economy and short queue for Business. By the time the lady on the desk had finished typing in Nat’s details and sent his case down the conveyor, an American Airlines stewardess had arrived and introduced herself to Nat and explained she’d escort him through security and then into the Lounge - “Admirals’ Club” I think she called it - where Nat could wait until boarding time.

Nat coolly gave the stewardess his passport and slung his satchel over his shoulder. He could have carried his own passport but I guess he’s used to having people run around after him and looking after the boring details of life. I wouldn’t have let my passport out of my hands. I always carry my own passport when we go on holiday. Once it comes back from being re-issued as an adult passport it’s definitely not going back in my sock drawer. Can’t run the risk of it going walkabout again when I might need it.

Mum was all over Nathan like a rash, asking him if he had everything, did he need a drink before heading off airside, was he really sure he’d not left anything behind. You know what mums are like. Da was a bit cooler about saying goodbye, just shook hands with Nat, wished him a good journey and said he hoped to see him again. I’m pretty sure he will, Nat’s going to be on his case from the moment dad gets back to America at the end of next week to finish his posting.

“Come on Julie,” grinned dad, taking mum’s hand and starting to steer her away towards one of the coffee shops. “Lets leave these two alone for a minute.” He nodded towards the stewardess who was waiting patiently for Nat. “I’m sure this lady will make sure Nat gets on the plane on time, and that Craig doesn’t…”

“I guess this is it, Craig,” said Nat as mom and dad walked away after yet another round of thanks from Nat for their hospitality. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed being with you again. I’d stay if I could.”

“I know, Nat, same here. It’s been great to see you again. And next time I’ll come to you, if that offer of a place to stay in your boat shed and as many rats as I can eat is still open.”

“Sure is, bud,” grinned Nat. “And now you have a watch with two time zones on it we can stay in touch so much easier. Synchronise?” Nat flipped the face of his watch over to show the UK time he’d set on the reverse screen of his JLC DuoFace Reverso as I pushed up my shirt cuff to look at mine.

“Fifteen thirty-five, Nat.”

“Check, dead on,” said Nat, and flipped his face back over. “Pennsylvania time is eleven thirty-five, Boots.”

“Copy that, Nat.”

As Nat rolled his sleeve down again and glanced towards the stewardess, who was waiting for him, I hesitated, looked into his eyes.

“I know, Craig. Me too.”

We both had the same thought, stepped forward, smacked our foreheads together unexpectedly, burst out laughing as we clashed.

“Sorry, Nat.”

“Sorry, Boots.”

“Shut up, Nat, just stand still and let me kiss you…”

* * *