Spark'l ~ Part 3 of 4

Spark'l  ~  Part 3 of 4

 

By Len Morgan

“Good evening viewers, this is David Thimbleday talking to you from outside the Administrative buildings, at Jodrell Bank Observatory.   The ageing radio telescope complex is due for a 2 billion pound refit but, so far it has shown little evidence of success in its main task; which was to seek out life on other worlds.   Over the last forty years, billions have been spent on the project with little or no return.   It is time to ask the question - how long should we continue to finance projects of this kind - while hospital waiting lists stretch into years?   Professor Hamnar, you have been Project Director here for six years now.   Can you tell our viewers what return they have received for all the money that has been poured into this establishment by successive governments?”

“Well David, You won't waste time coming to the point.   I suppose you have to look at the global picture…”  Archie began.

“But our viewers are interested in what is happening here and now.”

“Seeking out new life in the galaxy is a very small part of our work, its high profile, but…”

“Is it true that you are currently planning to hoodwink taxpayers into financing your program for a further five years?   Is it true that you claim to have made contact with Aliens?”

“I have no idea where you got that from.   Fact is there are a number of secure projects in progress that we are not able to discuss at this time,” said Archie.

“What about project ‘Sparkle' professor?”

“Sparkle?   I don’t believe we have a project ‘Sparkle,” he replied.

“You deny any knowledge professor?”

A young man came running out of the administration block, he whispered in Archie’s ear and hurried away.

“I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen something rather important has come up, I must attend too it immediately,” he said.

“Before you do Archie, can you give us an answer to the last question?” a newspaper reporter asked.

“You can call me professor,” he said coldly, “my friends call me Archie.”

“What about project ‘Sparkle?” he persisted.

“I can’t win can I?   You say that ‘Sparkle is a hoax if I say there is no ‘Sparkle' you say I am hiding something, what would you have me say?   I suggest you tell your readers whatever you have already decided to print regardless of what I say.   Good day!” he said and marched back into the complex.

“It’s on your desk Archie,” said Iris.

“Steve gave me your message, thank you so much,” he went into his office and picked up the steaming mug of hot sweet tea.  “Life doesn’t begin until I’ve had my first cuppa,” he said with a secret smile on his face.   He drank slowly and deeply.   ‘Thank goodness, there were no tests scheduled for today Spark’l,’  he thought ‘What are you doing?’    

‘I’m visiting the city.   There are so many people here and they're all in such a hurry to be somewhere else.’

‘Just as well,’ he thought, ‘with that crowd outside.   But, it will probably only be a matter of time before they get to know about you,’ he thought.

.-…-.

‘Spark’l I need your help!   It’s Geoffrey Partington, he’s taken my satchel and he‘s going to throw it out of the classroom window.’    “No Geoffrey!” Karen yelled.   But her satchel was already flying through the air towards the open window.   Suddenly his self-satisfied grin changed to a look of concern as the bag reversed its flight and returned to him accelerating all the while it hit him squarely in the chest and he sat on the floor, with a thump, his face turned red as he gasped for air.

“Geoffrey Partington!   What are you doing with Karen’s satchel return it to her at once!   You can stay behind after school and write an essay on why you should not take other peoples property without their permission.”

“Yes Mrs Eversham,” he gasped.  

‘Thank you Spark’l,’ Karen thought.

‘He likes you but you ignore him,’ said Spark’l ‘Give him a smile.’  Karen looked around but Spark'l had already returned to the city.

Geoffrey looked miserable so she gave him a smiled and a wink.   He smiled back at her and suddenly cheered up.

.-...-.

Later that evening, Spark’l was about to return to Archies house, when she saw a group of young people in a dark alley.   She moved closer.

.-…-.

  When Vicky first arrived in the big city she felt stifled, there were so many people.   She’d run away from home because of a stupid argument with her mother.   She’d only meant to punish her, for the hurtful things she’d said; she hadn’t intended to stay away so long.   But days became weeks.   She hated living on the streets, but she was afraid to go back and face her mother, she was ashamed of the things she’d done – she’d felt dirty.   Then she met Rob, he was also living rough.

 Rob was sixteen, a year older than Vicky.   He was kind, he understood what she was going through, and he looked out for her.   Rob ran away from home when he was fourteen when his stepfather beat his mother unconscious.  But while he slept, in an alcohol stupor, Rob hit him with a vase.   He lay unmoving, as still as death, and Rob panicked.   He grabbed his possessions and ran and had been living rough on the streets ever since.

Vicky was cold, she couldn’t sleep.   She was sat in a doorway, her threadbare blanket pulled up to her chin.   She gazed up at the stars, dreaming of what might have been.   Suddenly one-star moved closer, growing brighter as she watched.   She closed her eyes against the glare; beside her, Rob slept without stirring.   Suddenly the brightness was inside her mind, she felt a calming peaceful sensation, and all the hurt seemed to melt away.

‘Mum must really be worried,’ she thought.   ‘I should ring her and let her know that I’m ok.’   She decided she would do it, and felt much better; ‘maybe we could become friends again?’   She opened her eyes and gazed up to see the star, just above the rooftops, bathing the alley in a pale light.   Gazing around she saw others were also looking up at the strange star.   Rob awoke beside her, there were tears in his eyes, and he hugged her tightly.

“Phone your mum,” he said, “this is no life for a girl; it’s no life for anybody.”

“Do you have a phone card or coins,” she asked hopefully.   He shook his head.

.-…-.

Emma Bunting was roused from a dream, she'd been sharing with George Clooney, it was Scruff’s continual barking and other strange noises in the house.

“George,” she whispered urgently, shaking her husband, “George!” she shook him violently.

“Ugh?”

“There’s a burglar in the house.   Call the police.”

“Whee – uh - ooh?”   His body jerked, his eyes opened, but his brain was still asleep.

“He’s going through our things.  Listen,” she wailed.

“Who’s making all that racket?”  He sat up, shook his head, and bound out of bed.  “Call the police Emm,” he handed her the phone and stepped into his slippers; heading for the bedroom door.   He threw on his dressing gown and in one smooth movement picked up the walking cane he’d purchased, when he broke his leg skiing, five years earlier.  Hefting it he opened the door and almost fell over Scruffy who was dashing up and down the corridor in great excitement.   Following his ears, he headed for Karen’s room.   Karen was on the floor frantically shaking her piggy bank.   There before her was a small pile of ten and twenty pence pieces.

“Don’t bother Emm,” he shouted over his shoulder, “what on earth are you doing,” he asked.  “It’s…” he looked down at his bare wrist, realising his watch was still on the bathroom shelf, “…late,” he said lamely.   “You’ve woken everybody in the house and probably the whole street.   Couldn’t this wait until morning?” he asked.   “If you want an advance on your pocket money…”

“Whatever is the matter dear?” Mum asked rushing into the room and throwing her arms about her daughter.  “You should be ashamed, raising your voice to her like that, tell me what’s wrong baby.”  

“I’m sorry mum, I didn’t mean to wake you, Spark’l needs money urgently.   Phone cards, ten and twenty pence coins,” she explained.

“Is it that urgent?” asked Mum looking around, “where is she?”

‘Spark’l’  Karen thought.

Spark’l appeared instantly; her voice was in their heads, agitated and upset.

So terrible, so many sad stories and damaged young people, we must help them…

“Where are they; who are they?”  asked Mum.

Young children without parents, without homes, just like me, but they are living in the streets, she said flickering and flashing with emotion.   She told them of her visit to the big city and of how she discovered the children living rough.

“You persuaded them to phone home but they have no money?   We’ll soon see what we can do,” said Dad.  They dressed quickly and bundled into Dad’s Fiat Punto.   They stopped at every Off-licence, every corner shop that was open, and visited every petrol station on the way.   When they arrived dad’s tool bag was bulging, with coins and phone cards, his tools were carelessly discarded in the boot of his car.

This way, Spark’l urged.   When they arrived at the bus terminus they saw an orderly queue of young people by the phone boxes.

“There are hundreds of them,” said Karen in amazement.

A smiling white-haired man came hurrying towards them, “Emma, how good of you to come.”

“Hello Archie, this is Karen and my husband George, I see Spark’l has involved you as well but we thought a few dozen; where on earth did they all come from?”

Before Archie could answer a police car pulled into the curb and many young people started to move away.

“Stay where you are,” Archie called out to them, “there’s nothing to fear, you’re with me, and we are engaged in a lawful activity.”

The police constable approached.   “Good evening sir, are you responsible for this demonstration?”

“It’s a gathering, not a demonstration.  A friend persuaded these young people to contact their families and let them know they are safe and well,” said Archie.

“You do realise that any gathering that obstructs the public footpath is unlawful sir?”

“Well as it happens no!   But at three in the morning, you could hardly say that queuing to use the phone is antisocial.”

“Well, that is true sir.   You people are also with this gentleman?”

“Yes,” said Mum and Karen.  “No,” said Dad.

“We ran out of phone cards and coins,” Archie explained, Dad opened his bag to show that this was their errand.  

The policeman smiled putting his hand in his pocket, he handed Archie a handful of change.  “Sorry that’s all I have, but I’ll ask the others,” he returned to his car as two others pulled up behind it.   He was bareheaded when he returned his hat was filled with loose change which he emptied into Dad’s bag.

“Thank you so much,” said Archie.

“Keep up the good work sir,” he said with a smile.  Then he returned to his car and it drove off.

“Steve see that this gets distributed,” Archie said handing Dad’s bag to a young man nearby.

 Next to arrive was the media; first the local news then T.V.

“It’s really quite simple,” Archie explained.

“Aren’t you the director of the Observatory at Jodrell Bank?” they asked.  “What are you doing with all these children?”

“I’m doing nothing with them!   They’re living rough and a friend persuaded them to contact their families to let them know they are well,” said Archie.

In the morning newspapers, he was hailed as a hero, a champion of youth, the story went national and no amount of protesting could play down his role.

“All I did was help a friend by providing ten and twenty pence coins, and surplus phone cards,” but he protested in vain.

“Ok professor, who is this mysterious friend who did all the footwork,” asked David Thimbleday.  

Archie was silent, what could he say, a star fell from the sky?   A star appeared in the east?  

“Then there’s a story about two teenage girls who stole your car?”

“They brought it back!” he protested.

“You rewarded them with a guided tour of the establishment and an adventure holiday!”

“They were just bored; all the Youth Centres in the area have been turned into homework clubs and centres for further education.   Did you never have a sense of adventure, when you were a child, didn’t you yearn to have fun?”

.-…-.

   Thousands of young people all over the country suddenly developed the desire, to phone home; suddenly the lists of missing persons began to disappear like candy floss.   Many young people were reconciled with loving families.   Many more were offered lodgings and jobs.  

To be continued/...

Copyright Len Morgan