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
in
empty houses, without care.
cricket,
table tennis too,
