Mary Dunwich writes: This Saturday I was determined not to be caught unawares by the Time Warp Trio. I sat down after tea and knitted Minnie's chainmail for the "Hedgehogs Rampant" (it's a hoodie knitted in stocking stitch in grey wool on very big needles), while watching the adventures of Merlin on BBC1. I had even managed to record it. So I wasn't caught by surprise when my son and his friends slouched into the room. "Yes, I recorded Merlin," I said while counting my stiches and hoping I hadn't recorded Timewatch on BBC2 by mistake. Then my brain read the report which my nose had just sent it. "What in the name of Harry Potter?" The three of them smelled of bonfires and cesspits.
I studied the young travellers. They were covered in soot, scorch marks, their hair was plastered to their heads, and they looked like they had been wading through mud. Well, something brown. "You look like chimney sweeps and smell worse than Ivor's nappy bucket. Where have you been? No, don't tell me. Lizzie's coming for Stanley and Jay in ten minutes. You need to run up and have a shower - a SHOWER, James, that's when the water falls on you from above, then find some clean clothes from James' drawers. Leave me your clothes, I'll wash them for you." "I hate showers," grumbled James. "They ruin my hairstyle!" "It looks like something's already done that," I countered. "What IS that in your hair?" "It's Gardy Loo," supplied Jay. "This woman tipped some over us from an upstairs window." "I think it was a chamber pot," admitted James. "It was full of wee and poo." I shut my eyes and counted to ten. I got to two before my patience gave out. "UPSTAIRS NOW!" I yelled. They ran, leaving nothing but a few cinders and the rather distressing smell of history behind them.
Not a moment too soon, either. I saw Lizzie striding purposely up our garden path past the set of garden gnomes, which, thanks to my daughter, are now covered with sticking plasters. I opened the door just as Lizzie rang our bell. The doorbell played "Tiptoe through the Tulips" at her which caught us both by surprise. I opened the door.
"Hello, Mary!" she said, recovering her poise. "Are Stanley and Jay ready to go?" "They're upstairs," I said, evasively. "Come and have a slice of apple pie while you're waiting. It's the most wonderful recipe from Switzerland!" I herded her, protesting politely, into the kitchen and forced a piece of Mrs Einstein's apple pie on her. When she politely called it "lovely", I insisted on writing her out the recipe. This killed a good ten minutes. When I judged that her patience was starting to wear thinner than her good manners I called the boys down, hoping that they were now presentable. And, miracle of miracles, they were. Stanley was wearing jeans and a Cyberman t-shirt, Jay was wearing jogging bottoms and a London Science Museum hoodie. James was in his underpants and socks. Clearly the strain of finding two clean outfits had proved too much for him.
"What are you doing here, Jay?" asked Lizzie in consternation. "I thought you were grounded!" "Mumble mumble mumble so unfair mumble mumble," replied Jay. "What have you done, Jay?" I asked with interest. I've never known him get in trouble before. I hope my children weren't involved. "He lost his mobile," supplied Stanley helpfully. "He left it .....somewhere..... last weekend." "And why are you wearing those clothes, Stanley?" asked Lizzie.
"We had....a water fight!" said James with a burst of inspiration. We got our clothes all wet." "I'll wash them and bring them to school on Monday," I put in quickly. When Lizzie had left with the boys, I looked sternly at my son. "Where did you go this time?" I asked.
"The Great Fire of London," he answered, smugly. "1666. We actually saw it, like, starting, in Pudding Lane." "You didn't start it?" I asked suspiciously. I've got to stop watching "Heroes". "Of course not!" he replied indignantly. We sat on a bit of fence and ate our sandwiches and watched it. It was cool!" Funny way to describe the most famous fire in British history, but that's eleven-year-old boys for you. "Then we got spotted by a crowd of people. We tried pretending we were French tourists but they just got really angry so we ran away. They thought we'd started the fire or something." Well, yes, it's always been risky being French in England. We've been at war with France for so much of our history. "Did you bring anything back with you this time?" I asked.
"We took some photos." And he handed me over his (my!) camera.
There were some fuzzy pictures of flames against a night sky which could have been a November 5th bonfire anywhere in the country. There were pictures of the boys, posing with what looked like a.... "Is that a dead cat?" I asked in bewilderment.
"Yeah! Right there in the middle of the street! It looked like it had been there for days!" James replied with relish. Mmm...who says history is dull? I slideshowed through the remaining pictures. There weren't many and they mostly seemed to be pictures of the boys pointing at... "Poos! Right there in the street! Real people's poos, not just from dogs and cats!" James was almost beside himself with the thrill of discovery.
"Is that all the pictures you took?" I asked in some disbelief.
"Well, the memory was nearly full with the pictures of the Doctor Who exhibition at Earl's Court," said James. "I haven't uploaded them yet. I wasn't going to delete them." "What about the 2 Gig memory card?" I asked.
"Oh, hang on. It's in my mobile. Ah. You'd better take it next time. It's a terrible shame to time travel and not come back with any souvenirs." "Oh, we did bring some things back," said James cheerfully. He fetched his jeans and rummaged in the pockets. "I got some bits of wood, they are bits of the buildings that burned down. I've got a bit of newspaper, except I dropped it and it's all covered in....er...mud, probably. And I got some maggots off the dead cat." "Not really convincing," I said while my stomach heaved and my insides tried to become my outsides. "There's nothing special about the burned bits of wood. The newspaper's ruined and unreadable (and smelly, put it in the outside bin please!). And the maggots are just maggots." James looked disappointed. "Stanley's got a rat," he said. My imagination crashed at this point.
"Rats are no good," I said firmly. "You need an animal that's changed in 400 years. Changed or become extinct. And get rid of those maggots before I wash those jeans. In the garden, please. If I find them in your sock drawer there will be trouble." I really must have another attempt at explaining the concept of hygiene to my son. I suppose I should be grateful he wasn't in London the year before. Oh Lordy, the rat! I went upstairs with some trepidation to look in the pockets of Jay and Stanley's jeans. They were all empty. Stanley must have taken the rat home with him. I do hope it wasn't carrying the Bubonic Plague. We haven't been vaccinated against it.
