Read Online The Third-Class Genie by Robert Leeson - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Leeson
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railways, told our reporter of an alarming experience which occurred during Wednesday night
.
“‘I was just about to go to bed, when the caravan in which I sleep suffered a sudden violent shock. For a moment it seemed as though it was turned on its side, then just as suddenly it was upright again. I was tempted to imagine that I had had a bad dream, but it all seemed so real, and bear in mind, I had not yet got into bed.’
“Mr Archibald Forrester, chairman of the Bugletown Society for the Investigation of Psychic Phenomena, who had questioned Mr Bowden closely…”
“I bet he did,” interrupted Kim, “in the saloon bar at the Three Fiddlers. Spirit research all right!”
Granddad looked pained. Dad went on reading:
“…closely, is of the opinion that psychic forces, perhaps from prehistoric times, when Round Hill is reputed to have been the scene of ancient rites, are at work. He has asked Mr
Bowden and any other Bugletown citizens to report to him any similar incidents.”
Kim burst into laughter; Dad smiled a bit; Alec was torn between laughter and the thought that it might hurt Granddad, plus the thought that he was really to blame himself for the incident. But suddenly Mum spoke angrily.
“GRANDDAD! I wonder you haven’t got more sense.”
“What do you mean?” said Granddad. “I only told the
Gazette
reporter what happened.”
“Hasn’t it occurred to you that, thanks to that story, it’ll be all over town that you’re living in that caravan? And noseyparker Councillor Blaggett from the Housing Committee will be round because one of his regulations has been broken? And you know what that’ll mean?”
Granddad was silent.
“You’re supposed to be living in the house with us, otherwise the council will start wanting you to go into the old people’s home on the other side of town. I suppose you’d like that.”
Granddad looked miserable.
“Oh, Mother, don’t go on so,” said Kim. “Councillor Blaggett won’t find out. He only reads the paper to find out if there’s anything there about himself.”
“It’s all right for you, our Kim, but I’m the one who has to do the worrying round here,” said Mum, shooting a glance at Dad, who had gone back to reading the
Gazette
.
“Hey,” said Dad a moment later, “I wasn’t joking when I said our family had been in the wars. There’s our Alec’s school here as well.”
“What does it say?”
“Listen to it:
Race riot at Bugletown Comprehensive
. That’s the headline…”
“Race riot? Get off – never,” exploded Kim. “What’ll they think of next? Why, there’s hardly any black people round here.”
“There’s a lot in Boner’s Street,” said Mum. “Miss Morris is always going on about them. She has a family living upstairs from her. She reckons they put coal in the bath.”
Granddad suddenly choked on his cream cake.
“Hetty Morris wouldn’t know what a bath’s for.”
“That’s very unkind, Granddad.”
“Well, I sat next to her at the Senior Citizens’ Club yesterday and I ought to know.” Granddad wrinkled his nose.
“She reckons they ought to re-house them out at Moorside. Some of those houses in Boner’s Street are real slums.”
“Would Hetty Morris go and live out at Moorside?” demanded Granddad. “You bet your life she wouldn’t. And those houses in Boner’s Street are a long way from being slums. They’re overcrowded, but the buildings are in better shape than some of the houses on this estate. They only need seeing to.”
Alec took a deep breath.
“Anyway, it’s a lot of old toffee. There wasn’t a riot at our school. It was just a punch-up, black against white.”
“And how do you know so well?”
“Because I was in it. There was Ginger Wallace and his mates from Boner’s Street on one side, and Spotty Sam, I mean Sam Taylor, and his mates on the other.”
“What were you doing in it?”
“Well, er, I…”
Dad put his paper on one side. “Perhaps Alec should go
.
“‘I was just about to go to bed, when the caravan in which I sleep suffered a sudden violent shock. For a moment it seemed as though it was turned on its side, then just as suddenly it was upright again. I was tempted to imagine that I had had a bad dream, but it all seemed so real, and bear in mind, I had not yet got into bed.’
“Mr Archibald Forrester, chairman of the Bugletown Society for the Investigation of Psychic Phenomena, who had questioned Mr Bowden closely…”
“I bet he did,” interrupted Kim, “in the saloon bar at the Three Fiddlers. Spirit research all right!”
Granddad looked pained. Dad went on reading:
“…closely, is of the opinion that psychic forces, perhaps from prehistoric times, when Round Hill is reputed to have been the scene of ancient rites, are at work. He has asked Mr
Bowden and any other Bugletown citizens to report to him any similar incidents.”
Kim burst into laughter; Dad smiled a bit; Alec was torn between laughter and the thought that it might hurt Granddad, plus the thought that he was really to blame himself for the incident. But suddenly Mum spoke angrily.
“GRANDDAD! I wonder you haven’t got more sense.”
“What do you mean?” said Granddad. “I only told the
Gazette
reporter what happened.”
“Hasn’t it occurred to you that, thanks to that story, it’ll be all over town that you’re living in that caravan? And noseyparker Councillor Blaggett from the Housing Committee will be round because one of his regulations has been broken? And you know what that’ll mean?”
Granddad was silent.
“You’re supposed to be living in the house with us, otherwise the council will start wanting you to go into the old people’s home on the other side of town. I suppose you’d like that.”
Granddad looked miserable.
“Oh, Mother, don’t go on so,” said Kim. “Councillor Blaggett won’t find out. He only reads the paper to find out if there’s anything there about himself.”
“It’s all right for you, our Kim, but I’m the one who has to do the worrying round here,” said Mum, shooting a glance at Dad, who had gone back to reading the
Gazette
.
“Hey,” said Dad a moment later, “I wasn’t joking when I said our family had been in the wars. There’s our Alec’s school here as well.”
“What does it say?”
“Listen to it:
Race riot at Bugletown Comprehensive
. That’s the headline…”
“Race riot? Get off – never,” exploded Kim. “What’ll they think of next? Why, there’s hardly any black people round here.”
“There’s a lot in Boner’s Street,” said Mum. “Miss Morris is always going on about them. She has a family living upstairs from her. She reckons they put coal in the bath.”
Granddad suddenly choked on his cream cake.
“Hetty Morris wouldn’t know what a bath’s for.”
“That’s very unkind, Granddad.”
“Well, I sat next to her at the Senior Citizens’ Club yesterday and I ought to know.” Granddad wrinkled his nose.
“She reckons they ought to re-house them out at Moorside. Some of those houses in Boner’s Street are real slums.”
“Would Hetty Morris go and live out at Moorside?” demanded Granddad. “You bet your life she wouldn’t. And those houses in Boner’s Street are a long way from being slums. They’re overcrowded, but the buildings are in better shape than some of the houses on this estate. They only need seeing to.”
Alec took a deep breath.
“Anyway, it’s a lot of old toffee. There wasn’t a riot at our school. It was just a punch-up, black against white.”
“And how do you know so well?”
“Because I was in it. There was Ginger Wallace and his mates from Boner’s Street on one side, and Spotty Sam, I mean Sam Taylor, and his mates on the other.”
“What were you doing in it?”
“Well, er, I…”
Dad put his paper on one side. “Perhaps Alec should go
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