BAIRD : 50 Shades of Grey : two scenes from the birth of TV.

BAIRD: Intro and notes

SCENE 1: INT. 22 FRITH STREET – WORKSHOP – DAY   APRIL 1925

FLORENCE - Logie Baird’s secretary. She is late teens/early twenties. Florence is pleasant with a somewhat nervous disposition. It was reported about his secretary that on first seeing the ventriloquist’s dummy head, she let out a scream and fainted. 
BAIRD – John Logie Baird is 36 and never in the best of health. He has a faint Scottish accent. This is a man on the verge of a breakthrough but the money is running out. He is always suffering from lack of sleep and has a tendency to wear slippers all day.

JACK BUCHANAN – In 1925 Jack is one of the most famous stars of the theatre and the ‘pictures’. He is 34 and a lifelong friend of Baird. They both went to school in Helensburgh on the West coast of Scotland. He worries about his pal and he’s heard that Baird is low on funds and on the crest of making ‘television’ work. He feels he can help and for all his Scottish-ness he plays the quintessential Englishman on stage.

SCENE 2: INT. 22 FRITH STREET – WORKSHOP – DAY   OCTOBER 1925

WILLIAM TAYTON – The 21 year old assistant to the owner of the shop on the ground floor. Baird drags the rather nervous boy up to witness the first TV pictures. He is definitely the first person to appear on TV and given Baird’s bribe probably the first to be paid for it too.

                                                                              John Logie Baird with "Stooky Bill".

TWO SCENES
When making TV was all about saving your eyebrows.

 INT. 22 FIRTH STREET - WORKROOM - DAY
“APRIL 1925”

As always the room is a melting pot of pulleys, wheels and bits of cardboard.
 

There are TWO TABLES at an angle to each other - BAIRD has his head under a sheet on the table furthest from the door.
The other table has a ventriloquist's dummy head staring into machinery (which is also covered by a sheet).
A KNOCK on the door.

FLORENCE :Mister Baird may I come in? 

Nothing. Another KNOCK. 

FLORENCE  (CONT’D) :Mister Baird?
 
FLORENCE cautiously opens the door and enters a little. KNOCK.
 
FLORENCE (CONT’D): Yoo! Hoo! Mister Baird, may I come in? 

BAIRD keeps his head under the sheet.

BAIRD :Judging by your voice Florence, I would say you are already in.
 
FLORENCE:It’s Mister Buchanan, Mister Baird, he wants to talk to you.
 
JACK BUCHANAN , now 34, has turned into a debonair, sophisticated actor. 
When JACK talks to FLORENCE , like most of the women of England, she turns into a giggling wee girl. 

JACK:Thank you kindly - Florence is it? I can take it from here. 

JACK sizes up FLORENCE’S shapely leg.
 
JACK (CONT’D) (To Florence) :Ever thought of a career on the stage my dear young Florence?
 
BAIRD still under the sheet.
 
BAIRD: Leave her alone Chump, she’s mine.

JACK gives FLORENCE a wave of the hand to leave, then blows her a kiss. 
She giggles within an inch of her life and leaves.
JACK has a quick look towards BAIRD who is still occupied. JACK lifts the dummy head and he manipulates his face to copy the startled look.

JACK:He reminds me of old Henderson - remember, the janitor? He always looked constantly surprised as well. 

BAIRD comes out from under the sheet. 

BAIRD: Wasn’t that something to do with some war injury or other?

BAIRD takes the paper head from JACK and puts it back into position. JACK wanders around the contraptions.

JACK: Doubt it dear heart, old Henderson never got further than Glasgow.
By the way,I saw you the other evening across the street from the stage door. You didn’t come over.
 
BAIRD hides his embarrassment in tinkering. 
 
JACK (CONT’D): Money? 
 
BAIRD stops. 

BAIRD: Chump.
 
JACK: John?
 
JACK lifts the dummy’s head again to deflect the tension.
 
JACK (CONT’D): What was it that we called that janitor? Bill, something or other?
 
Once again BAIRD takes the head from JACK.
 
BAIRD: “Stooky Bill”.

JACK jumps in right away.
 
JACK: “Stooky Bill”, of course. That’s just the name this little fellow requires. 

JACK takes the head back from BAIRD. He talk directly to it.
 
JACK (CONT’D): Hello Bill, my name is Jack Buchanan. Tell me Bill what’s wrong with your pal - you know, the inventor?

JACK lifts the head as if it is whispering into his own ear.

JACK (CONT’D): Really?

BAIRD can’t look at JACK.

BAIRD:I don’t want your money Chump.
 
JACK: I didn’t say you did, old bean.Are you still seeing that woman John?
 
BAIRD: Is that why you came here?

JACK :One of the things I love about you John is your ability to push ahead regardless of the consequences. You have that woman in tow which your wife, I am assuming, doesn’t know anything about.

BAIRD: And?

JACK: Well take all this for instance, once you’ve proved this television contraption works, you’ll be on to something else regardless if the world is ready for it.

BAIRD: Of course the world is ready for television, it can only be for the good.
 
JACK returns the head to its original position. 

JACK: I’ve been talking to a few people John. People that matter.

JACK taps the side of his nose.

JACK (CONT’D): And do you know what they told me?
 
JACK struts about the room in his usual theatrical manner touching things he shouldn’t. BAIRD follows him putting the things back in their proper place.
 
JACK (CONT’D): How was it they put it old fruit? “Mister John Logie Baird has achieved his results by rough apparatus”. Judging by what I see I would say that was fair comment. Wouldn’t you? “And that in the process he has exhausted his private means and can not go on. That in a few months from now, with the necessary money, a perfected instrument would bring the invention to completion”. I never forget my lines John. 

A ghost of a smile from BAIRD. 

JACK (CONT’D): “That it makes possible for ‘seeing’ what broadcasting has already made possible for ‘hearing’”.True?
 
BAIRD:True.
 
JACK: Then we have no option. You need finance and with all haste.

JACK over acts pointing with one finger at the sky. It hangs there as JACK and BAIRD both look at it. 

JACK (CONT’D): Allow me my affectations dear boy. Let me place upon my head my thinking cap.
 
JACK looks into space as he mentally organises his diary. He paces up and down the room tinkering with things he shouldn’t. 

JACK (CONT’D) (to himself) :No..no..then....aha....no, I have the theatre. How about? AHA! May the 1st, I will book a private room at Romano’s.

JACK is dusting BAIRD’S jacket (like a valet).
 
BAIRD: Romano’s?
 
JACK picks a spec from the jacket, examines it and throws it away.
 
JACK: The restaurant in the Strand. I’ll invite members of the press - some owe me favours - and various wireless enthusiasts, you’ll know them - especially those with pounds in their pockets John. At the end of a wonderful meal...

BAIRD tries to interrupt.
 
JACK (CONT’D) :...ah, ah,ah..which I will pay for. You will drag this contraption out and demonstrate to those ingrates that if they do not invest in your invention then we are all ultimately doomed. A plan?
 
BAIRD:A plan, Chump.
 
JACK: I’ve still have a good two hours before curtain up. In that case, what say you to me taking the three of us oft for a hearty meal? My treat. Please, please, please, please, John.
 
BAIRD:The three of us?

JACK: Well, we can’t leave Stooky Bill out now can we old fruit?

 
INT. 22 FIRTH STREET - WORKROOM - DAY
“OCTOBER 1925”

Not much has changed, safe for a strong light shining at Stooky bill’s head. BAIRD is watching a small screen at the other table.
SNIGGERING becomes CHUCKLING becomes LAUGHTER...
This is it what BAIRD has waited for all these years.
...becomes TEARS.

BAIRD: I can see you Stooky. I can see you. As clear as day. As clear as day I can see you.
 
BAIRD, with tears in his eyes, walks over to Stooky Bill. Lifts the head and kisses it on the forehead. He dances around the room with the head.

BAIRD (CONT’D): I can see you. Isn’t it wonderful?

BAIRD is visibly shaking.
He CRIES for everyone that’s ever needed to CRY in these circumstances.
He lifts an old cloth and wipes his face.
Now he is getting excited as the reality seeps in. He thinks for a few seconds then disappears from the room.
 
WILLIAM (O.S.) :Mister Baird. I’m busy. Please Mister Baird, please let me go. This ain’t right.
 
BAIRD drags twenty one year old WILLIAM TAYNTON into the room.
BAIRD stands between WILLIAM and the door before releasing him.
 
WILLIAM (CONT’D): If Mister Cross finds me gone, he won’t like it Mister Baird. He thinks you’re as daft as a brush and I can’t say I blame him. This ain’t going to help Mister Baird. Not one little bit.
 
BAIRD:I’ll pay you.

WILLIAM: Five minutes. No more.

BAIRD places a chair beside the table where Stooky Bill’s head normally sits.

BAIRD: Sit.

He does.
BAIRD positions WILLIAM’S head on the table.

WILLIAM: What’s going to happen to me Mister Baird?

WILLIAM tries to move his head to talk to BAIRD who moves it back into position.
BAIRD walks to the other table and sits.
 
BAIRD: Nothing William, I promise you. Just sit and shut up. Move your face closer to the lamp. I still can’t see you.
 
WILLIAM is not keen and he only slightly moves his head further forwards.
BAIRD looks up.  
BAIRD (CONT’D) : Further William, stop being a big wane.
 
WILLIAM : What Mister Baird?
 
BAIRD: Just move further forwards.
 
WILLIAM: I’m sweating Mister Baird, truly I am. This lamp is hot as a chestnut brazier.
 
BAIRD: Just a little bit more.

WILLIAM:  I’m burning Mister Baird. I ain’t making it up. Honest.
 
BAIRD gets up and slaps a coin into WILLIAM’s hand.
 
BAIRD: Will a half crown stop the burning?
 
WILLIAM:Forward you say?
 
WILLIAM does so.
 
BAIRD: There you are. I can see you.
 
WILLIAM: What do you mean you can see me? Of course you can see me.
 
BAIRD: On here William. On here. Stick your tongue out William.
 
WILLIAM: What?

BAIRD: Just stick your bloody tongue out.
 
Again WILLIAM does as he’s told.

BAIRD (CONT’D): Brilliant William. Brilliant.
 
WILLIAM (With tongue still out): No one’s ever said that about my tongue before.
 
BAIRD: William Taynton, I don’t know if you are aware but that is the most famous tongue in the world. Now put it away and move your head from side to side.

WILLIAM: Like this Mister Baird?

BAIRD just laughs.
BAIRD walks over to WILLIAM and leads him to his own seat at the other table.

BAIRD:William you are the first person ever in history to appear on television.
 
WILLIAM:Say that again Mister Baird.
 
BAIRD: Just sit William.
 
WILLIAM sits.

BAIRD (CONT’D) :Now look into that screen and tell me if you see anything.
 
BAIRD sits on the seat that was occupied by WILLIAM at the other table. He pushes his face towards the lamp.

BAIRD (CONT’D): Now?

WILLIAM: No Mister Baird.

BAIRD moves his face further forward.

BAIRD: It is very hot William. I’m going to have to do something about that.
 
WILLIAM lets out a scream and falls back off the chair.
 
WILLIAM: There was a face, Mister Baird, a bloody horrible face.
 
BAIRD:Does the horrible face remind you of anyone?

WILLIAM scrambles up to have another look at the screen.
 
WILLIAM:You, Mister Baird. Your face on the tele-what’s it.
 
BAIRD has a chuckle.
 
BAIRD: My face is on the bloody television.

bobby stevenson 2013

We'll Meet You At The Circus

When Sebastian was seven, a traumatic thing happened to him. He had seen the monkeys in a cage from the corner of his eye and had wandered over to feed them. He remembered one of them bit his little finger.

Blood oozed from the wound causing Sebastian to turn to show his parents. They were not there as they had gone on without him.

Sebastian screamed and wept until a woman came to help.

She asked Sebastian who he had come to the Zoo with, and he replied his two brothers and his parents. She then asked what was the last thing they had said to him?

“If anyone gets lost we’ll meet up at the circus, “he told the woman.

So that is what she did, she took Sebastian to the circus and there they found a very worried looking mother and father.  

Sebastian never wandered off again.

When Sebastian was nine, a traumatic thing happened to him.

When the siren wailed, the whole family, as they had practiced, went to the fallout shelter at the end of Frankenholme Street.

Sebastian remembers the darkness, then the sudden brightness and then the oozing of blood. When the sun came up again, Sebastian was the only one left.

Only dust and shadows filled what was left of the shelter.

Then he remembered what his mother had told him that day - so long ago - and went off to find the nearest circus.




bobby stevenson 2013  
thoughtcontrol ltd

Something Scrawled On A Wall

I know all of this is crazy

Every last crazy second of it

And I know that there have been bad times

And good times, and times that it hurts so bad that

You feel as if your heart has stopped.

But there has been laughter too, and friendship

And all the silent victories.

And love, most importantly, love.

No matter what form it’s taken.

So yeh, I know it’s crazy,

What with all of this going on and no reason for any of it,

But I’m going give it a try for another day

Just to see what happens.

bobby stevenson 2013

Be Different

Story written for a charity. 
 

Every one of us is made just that little bit different to the next person. It’s what makes us all special. 

Sometimes we are happy with our little special differences and sometimes it  can make someone unhappy. 

And so it was with Tommy. Since the day he was born he had what the doctor called, a cleft lip. When he looked in the mirror Tommy felt so very different from his friends. There were times in the village when he saw people staring at his lip. His grandmother used to tell him that no one else was that special and so they passed through unnoticed, but her little grandson, Tommy would always be someone to notice.

But as time went on, Tommy became more and more aware of his differences and he wanted it all to stop. So one day in August, he went to his room and stayed there. His mother would have to bring his food to his room and Tommy didn’t want to join the rest of his family. He was schooled in his room and he no longer wanted to go to school.

At night when the moon was full, Tommy would sit at the window and wish with all his heart that he were just like everyone else. And then he would hum a little tune to himself.

Tommy grew big and tall but every night he would still go to the window and sing songs loudly across the valley. It made Tommy feel good and less different.

What Tommy didn’t know was that the villagers in the valley below would listen to his signing and they all thought it was the most beautiful music in the world. To the villagers it was the breath of an angel.

The mayor of the village sent out a group of men to find the source of the signing that made everyone so happy, but they failed. They came to Tommy’s house but his mother didn’t mention Tommy as she thought that it could never be him and anyway he was always locked up in his room.

Then the day came when his grandmother died and the whole family attended the funeral in the village. Tommy wore a large hat to hide his face, the one that he considered so ugly.

Tommy was very sad as they lowered his grandmother into the ground, so much so that he sang a song for her. He sand loud across the land and all the villagers heard him and they knew this was the boy who gave them so much pleasure.

Tommy continued to sing to stop himself feeling so sad, and as he sung his hat fell from his head. When he stopped he saw that everyone was looking at him. Tommy started to run for home until the mayor of the village told Tommy to stop.

The mayor told Tommy that he sang like an angel and that his singing made everyone happy. “It is the goodness of your heart and your soul that makes you sing like an angel. That is your gift from god. That is what makes you different,” the mayor said.

Tommy liked this difference and so he continued to sing at night across the valley because he knew that it made the people in the village below happy and that was his gift from god. He was different, we are all different and those things should be celebrated.

BE DIFFERENT!

bobby stevenson 2013

Teatimes At The Empire Café, Hastings (2)

August 1972

He doubted if anyone in the world could be more excited than he was right at that moment.

He’d asked his boss if he could leave at mid-day, as he had to visit his grandmother on the south coast. She was keeping poorly and probably wouldn’t make it to Christmas. He wondered if his boss had realised that was the third time he’d used that excuse in as many months?

He’d never been to Hastings before but thought that the Empire Café seemed a reasonable place to change his clothes.  He’d left for work that morning to go to Friars and Friars, who were known as the best accountants in Westly. He sat in the café dressed in his dull brown suit and drank his tea. He was hoping that the place would quieten down, and then he’d make his move.

By his third cup of tea, he decided that things weren’t going to improve and took his chance. Both he, and the little suitcase he’d packed away and hidden under the bed went to the Men’s toilets. He carefully folded away his dull clothes and changed into his glam-rock ones. It was a bit like superman, except this wasn’t a telephone kiosk.

No one had noticed him enter the café, but they all noticed him now. He was dressed from head to toe in a shiny silver suit and he wore the largest pair of glittery bright red boots ever seen in the Empire. He wondered if the make-up on his face was a step too far.

He could hear a few of the older ones choke on their teacakes, as he proudly strolled out of the café into the big wide world - accountant by day and glam-rocker by night. It was 1972 and anything was possible. 

bobby stevenson 2013 

thoughtcontrol ltd

Teatimes At The Empire Cafe, Hastings (1)

December 1955 

Even although she pulled her coat in as tight as she could, the snow and sleet coming off the Channel still managed to make her shiver. She’d stop in at the Empire Café for a reviving cup of tea, she decided. It’s not as if Mother was in any danger; at least she could wait another fifteen minutes for her prescription medicines.

She managed to have so little time to herself these days. It hadn’t meant to be this way. By now, she should have been living out on some farm in Western Australia with the love of her life. Except he had never returned - like so many others - and after father died of pneumonia, her mother had deteriorated so quickly that it had caught her unawares.

She was destined to being her mother’s nurse until the end.

When she had finished her tea and cake, she noticed that the snow had stopped and that the sun was fighting to come through. A little hope, she thought, and she caught herself smiling as she stepped out into the afternoon. 


July 1930 

The Empire Café was still there thank goodness. He’d come here with his grandparents before the Great War, and it was always a place of happiness to him. Today, all the bright young things were occupying the promenade with their energy and laughter and the rest of the world could go hang, as far as they were concerned.

He had been young once, too. A very long time ago when Victorian values had ruled on things such as smiling and laughter; they had been frowned upon and were always kept behind closed doors.

He was jealous of the young, they had it so much easier - and as he sat in the Empire nursing his tea, he wished that this was his time and that he was nineteen again.

He was startled by a very pretty girl, high on champagne, who knocked on the large glass window and waved to those inside. They did all they could not to catch her eye, not in disapproval, but knowing if they looked up they’d wish it was them who were out there that day.

bobby stevenson 2013 
thoughtcontrol ltd

THING and THE STORY

When Thing and his parents lived in the cave, it was their custom to paint pictures on the walls about what they had done that day. The cave was covered with stories; some new, some from many years before, and Thing would spend hours looking at them.

When Thing’s father left and then his mother, Thing continued to paint the pictures on the wall, knowing that someday they would return and see how he had spent his time.

Then one day - and Thing was sure if it was because of the sadness that came to visit him from time to time - he didn’t feel like painting on the wall anymore and so put away the brushes for good.

Instead he found a little animal that lived at the back of the cave and he told it all the stories of the day he had just spent.

“And the teacher said that I was the best in the class for listening,” and if the little animal was interested or if it wasn’t, it was hard to tell as it scurried about the dark parts of the cave looking for food.

Then one night, when the sun was setting, and the little animal was nowhere to be found, Thing found a pen and paper and started to write his stories down. Because he knew that when his family returned he would be able to read those stories to them.

One day when Thing got home he realised that nothing much had happened to him that particular day and he wondered what he could write about. That was when thing decided to make a story up in his head about a pretend day.

The story started ‘One day…’, because Thing felt that was how all stories should start. It told of the day that Thing came home from school and he found that his mother and father were waiting on him. They hugged and held him and promised him that they would never leave. Thing loved that story and decided to take it to school with him so that he could read it when he was feeling sad.

At break, he sat in a quiet corner where he would disturb no one and he took out his story that started ‘One day….’ and he read it all the way through. It was just as he was putting the story away that it was snatched from his hands.

“Lookie here what weird kid has written. Aw, he misses him Mom and Dad. Well ain’t that a shame,” and the kid ran off with the story, laughing and joking.

Thing went to class and said nothing. At the back of the room, two kids who had now got hold of Thing’s story, were laughing and repeating some of the words that Thing had written.

The teacher went to find out what was the source of all the noise and took the story from them. She returned to her desk and read it.

“Does anyone know whose this is?” Holding the paper up.

The boys pointed to Thing.

“This is really very good, Thing, very good indeed. Come and see me at the end of the class. “

At the end of the lesson the kids all left except for Thing, who assumed that he was to be punished for writing a story.

“I think this is brilliant, “ said the teacher. “And in future I should like to read any stories that you have.”

Thing thanked the teacher. She asked if she could take it home to read again and then she held his hand and said:

“I know those boys were laughing at your story but it is only fear. They are scared of activities that they can’t do themselves. There is bound to be some stuff that they can do, that you can’t. That is life. However, just because people laugh or criticise what you do, doesn’t mean that they are right and you are wrong; if everyone did the same things, thought the same way - what a boring world it would be. As long as there is one person who attempts or believes something different, then that immediately means that there are at least two truths - they are not right and you are not wrong. “

And with that, Thing walked away happy and was already thinking of another story he would write that evening.

bobby stevenson 2013 

thoughtcontrol ltd

Path & Road

We Walked A Path Once

We walked a path once,

You and I,

And shared some gentle time while basking in the sun,

We walked a road once,

You and I,

Fighting with the storms that blew upon our way,

We walked a highway once,

You and I,

And dealt with all the loss and hurt that fell before us,

We walked the Earth once,

You and I,

And broke with everything that Heaven threw in our direction,

But now the time has come for the parting of the ways,

And you will take one path and I will hold the other,

And we will walk the Universe,

You and I,

But with other souls as company.

The Dust Road

As they drove the last few miles, the wind grew warmer

And he closed his eyes, fixing his mind on that evening

When they celebrated with a party

Everyone was there that night, alive and well

Taking joy in each others' company

Never thinking that things would change so much
That fixed point in his head was where he ran to
When the days were cold and bare

Perhaps he repainted the colours every time he visited

But it was his to do as he wished,

For there he was truly, truly happy,

That one perfect night before his world crumbled

And turned to dust.

bobby stevenson 2013

Cracked Hearts & Walking Wounded

Cracked Hearts

She washes her mother with water and with love. Gently caressing the body that looks like someone she once knew, but her mother’s mind has already gone ahead and waits for the soul to return. She cleans away the saliva from the mouth that once used to chastise and kiss and smile.

He dreads the sun coming up as it means another day and another night of little sleep. Somewhere between being ten years of age and this morning it all got complicated. The knots are too tightly tied to try to undo them anymore. He can hear the car next door starting up – the sign that he has to do it all….all over again.

If it wasn’t for the kids she would have left months ago, may be years. They were happy once. They were in love back then but all she did was turn her head away, take her eye off from where she was going and they slipped away from each other.

Okay, so he’s not a kid anymore but he tells himself that the injections he puts in his leg every morning are increasing his super powers. Yesterday he told himself he could see through peoples’ clothing. It made him smile and it greased another sticky day.

She’s 17 and gravity hasn’t hit her yet. She doesn’t know what waits around the corner but she is happy with her family and her dog called, Bertie. Oh, and her boyfriend.

The old lady lives two doors up from no one. She’s been there since the war and the neighbours have come and gone and although she used to know everyone, she locks her door against the night. When she goes, she’ll go like Eleanor Rigby. Then she hums what she thinks is the tune.

It’s the end of another day and as the heads lie on the pillow, or the sofa or the street, everyone should be standing up there on the podium, arms aloft for a job well done.

To get through a day, any day, deserves a medal.

The Walking Wounded

Sally Anne leaves the house at number 17 with her heart almost bursting through her chest.

She’s pregnant, ‘with child’ as she read somewhere - just like the girl who was on the cover of  that magazine – Sally’s really really happy, she’s already deciding how her new home will look. She only found out while her Mum was making the toast and tea and the little line turned blue.

At number 22, the curtains twitch as Sam Lot watches his little distraction, Sally, walking down the street - bless her. Tonight’s the night he’s going to have to tell her it’s over; his wife is beginning to suspect.

The Hammerston twins, Fred and Irene at number 31 leave together, saying ‘good morning’ together to everyone they meet. As they run up the street for the West Town bus, Irene wonders how she’s going to tell her brother about her job up north.

Next door in number 33, Geraldine paces the floor – ‘born worrying, die worrying’ her mother used to tell the neighbours. But the lump on her breast makes her pace faster.

‘Lucky’ Jim turns into the street after finishing another night shift at the old plastic Works. He knows it has its bonuses - Jim had no trouble finding stuff to wrap his wife up in. And every morning when he finishes work he buys a newspaper, ten menthol cigarettes from the corner shop and wonders if this will be the day they find her.

In the little shop on the corner, Andy, the milkman, delivers another crate of cream and then creeps out having failed to ask Matilda - who works there – if she’d like to go to the park on Sunday.

Matilda’s heart is almost bursting through her chest as she waits for Andy to ask.

And Hugh, big strong Hugh from number 36, can’t tell anyone (not even his best friend) that his black eyes - which he covers with his wife’s makeup - are not from playing sports. She’s warned him, if he acts like a child then he must be punished like one.

He’s hidden the packed bag in the shed for the day he leaves her.

At the white house on the corner, Alice takes in gentleman callers until her husband gets back from a far off land.

And in the bus shelter Eddie drinks a can, not to brighten the dull day but to tone down the colours.

And from every house on the street comes the screech of silent screaming.

Only the dogs can hear.



bobby stevenson 2013
thoughtcontrol ltd

Time Is On My Side (again)

He knew the exact time it was to take place.

He’d studied the when and where for years and dreamed that it could be him; dreamed that he’d be the one getting on the train. Yet here was the irony of it all, it was his job to stop these things happening. He was a Guardian after all, a trusted position that his father and his father before him had held.

All the way back to his great, great grandmother – she had been the first Guardian in the family – Good-Elizabeth she’d been known as, the scourge of the criminal classes.

Hadn’t it been Good-Elizabeth who tracked down and caught one of the time-squeezers when they’d tried to bump off that female Prime Minister? She’d also caught that gang who had been smuggling people to Golgotha to witness the Crucifixion. Sure there had been test trips to Calvary but no one – and that meant NO ONE – was allowed to stand on even an insect or the whole time cycle would be dealt a massive blow.

And now there was him: contemplating something that would have him arrested for life. Something that would bring shame on the family and may even upset the whole time ripple across the Universe - yet it was all he could think about. Day and night until it had become an unhealthy and destructive obsession.

He was going to take his chances as a time-squeezer - to hell with the consequences. Perhaps there was a universe out there where he really was the original one who caught the train that day.

He’d illegally visited the station on several occasions watching the two boys make their moves: as they came together, as they started the first conversation, and then as they boarded the train.

He had visited an old record shop in Mid-town and had bought two excellent condition copies of Rockin’ at the Hops by Chuck Berry, on Chess Records and The Best of Muddy Waters. He’d taken classes to sound exactly like someone who lived in that area in 1961. All he had to do was push himself (known as squeezing) into the time fraction, distract one boy and then pretend to be him.

At least that’s the way it should have gone - except it didn’t.

All he had wanted to do was to meet with Keith Richards on Dartford station on that fateful day when he and Mick Jagger hook up for the first time. His plan was that Mick would never get to meet Keith, instead he, Kevin, would be the one to get on the train and the world would soon get to know the remarkable Rolling Stones and their songwriter team of Keith Richards and Kevin Bailey.

So how come Kevin is looking out the window of the train watching Keith standing on the platform talking to some unknown guy? Worse still, Kevin is on the train staring straight at Mick Jagger and both have the same albums under their arms.

“My name’s Mick....” he says. “And you are..?”

“Kevin,” he says. “Kevin Bailey".


bobby stevenson 2013

Me and Buzz and Lyin'

There was a time back then, a long time after Buzz’s pappy had left for somewhere down south, that Buzz took to lyin’ to make himself feel better. Well maybe not lyin’ exactly, more exaggeratin’ usin’ stories that weren’t the whole truth and nothin’ but the truth.

I mean, I knew his pappy was long gone but I heard Buzz tellin’ the new teacher – the one with the crooked eye - that Buzz’s pappy was away being King of England.  It was a story that probably made my buddy feel a little better and that’s all that matters.

The teacher kinda smiled at him, as if Buzz was the class idiot (which sometimes he was) and then told him she’d hear all about it later and that perhaps Buzz could take his seat, ‘If his majesty feels like it, that is’. You see Buzz had forgotten that if his pappy was the King then that made him the Prince.

“It does?” he said in a real high voice. “It does,” he said again in a real butch low voice.

It sure did and he spent that summer askin’ folks to call him the Prince. Not everyone took kindly to that - one day when I was in Marty’s Barbers, I heard one of the new guys sayin’ ‘There goes the Prince of Fools’ and when I look out the window to see what he’s talkin’ about, all I could see was Buzz crossin’ the street.

Sometimes Buzz and his exaggeratin’ could get a little out of control. Like the time, one July, a man from the Centerville Times came over to our town to look for ukulele players for some competition in the newspaper.  Buzz wasn’t interested until he heard that the prize was fifty bucks. I think Buzz thought the money would get him to find his paw and bring him home, on account that his maw spent most nights crying through the wall of their home.

“Step right up here, ladies and gents and sign up for the most prestigious prize this side of Two Forks River. Step right up. Here’s a fine gentleman ready to put his John Hancock on the paper.”

When I look up, I’m already too late ‘cause Buzz has put his signature on the competition entry. I tried to grab the pen off of him but he just looked at me and said that I owed the man one buck entry fee on account that his pockets were empty. Apparently royal people, like princes, don’t carry money. Now, I did not know that.

“You can’t play the ukulele, “ I reminded Buzz, later.

“It’s two weeks to the competition. I can learn it, in that time.

Anyway, what’s got into your breeches?”

Maybe I was being a bit stupid and that Buzz could learn to play the ukulele in fourteen days. There was probably a book somewhere called ‘Play The Ukulele in Two Weeks’. A buck fifty on the book and a big load of money in return.

Except there weren’t no book, Buzz had no intention of learnin’.

“Why would I want to learn the banjo?” Asked Buzz

I reminded him it wasn’t a banjo but the ukulele.

“What’s that?” He asked me, and right then was the point that I gave up on my friend.  I ain’t proud of it, but I thought there goes my buck down the river. I ain’t goin’ to see that again.

“What’s grittin’ your panties?” Asked Buzz who could see I was a bit disconcerted.

“You ain’t gonna win the money Buzz on account that you don’t know what a ukulele is.”

“Is it a quiz? I don’t think so. I ain’t goin’ to play the thing.”

“You ain’t?” I said wonderin’ what was comin’ next.

“No, I ain’t. Becky Smallhousen is going to play the thing.”

So I can hear you thinkin’, just like I’m thinkin’ at this point, just exactly who is Becky Smallhousen and how is she gonna play the ukulele and make folks think it’s Buzz?

When Buzz told me the plan, I actually thought that it might work. What he hadn’t bargained on was Becky Smallhousen hittin’ a load of poison Ivy on the mornin’ of the competition and her head blowin’ up to three times its normal size. At least that’s what Buzz said.

Becky was meant to hide in a bush behind Buzz and when he stamped his foot three times she would start playin’ the ukulele while Buzz pretended to strum her old one. So they got to practisin’  and Becky happened to hide in the only bush that contained poison Ivy for miles around.

“I ain’t doing it,” I said to Buzz when he said he’d share the prize money with me.

“All you need to do is hide in the bush and play the thing, just like Becky.”

“I can’t play the ukulele,” I told Buzz.

“I’m not askin’ you to, I’m askin’ you to play the banjo,” said Buzz still confused as to what stringed instrument he was meant to be playin’.

So that was the plan, I would hide in the bush and attempt to play the ukulele while Buzz stood out front. I say it was a plan – ‘cause that was until Buzz bumped into the Smith Twins who could play any kinda instrument. There was a story that they could blow air up any animals’ be-hind and get a tune from it.

There was also the fact that the Smith Twins would accept only five bucks from the prize money - they undercut me.

It started real good, The man from the Centerville Times introduced Prince Buzz, son of the King of England. Buzz stamped his feet and a beautiful ukulele tune came from what seemed like Buzz. The trouble was that as one twin played the ukulele the other twin couldn’t resist joinin’ in on the spoons and it kinda gave the game away.

I mean you can say what you like about Prince Buzz -  but playin’ a ukulele and the spoons at the same time ain’t one of them.

The Centerville Times ran a big story on the competition.

Royal man caught cheating it read.

Buzz was famous in three counties for a few days. And me? Well I never did get my buck back. 





bobby stevenson 2013
thoughtcontrol ltd

The Day The Queen Came To Tea

I was clearing out his old wooden garage on that last warm Sunday, and when I say garage, I don’t think he ever actually kept a car in there. It was used as his den where he built and invented contraptions, and where strange noises would escape out into the street scaring the Old Francis’ Twins at number 17. This was in the days of the science fiction movies at the Palace Picture House and the neighbours were convinced that he was in cahoots with spacemen. 

My great uncle had been an engineer and probably much, much more - but his finest achievement, as far as the street was concerned, was the day he built a television out of an old oscilloscope.

My great uncle’s name was Tony and he loved tinkering with machines, and ballroom dancing with my great aunt, Sadie. If he wasn’t in his den, he was up at the Paris Palais skipping the light fantastic: Tony and Sadie, the best couple at foxtrot this side of the Black Hills. The cups and medals in their little lounge told a million stories of hours practised, and feet taped up and hurting.

But that day in 1953 was the pinnacle of his weird science. It had been announced that Queen Elizabeth’s Coronation was to be shown on television - and you have to remember that this was a small town on the coast and no one had a television in those days. So my great uncle Tony decided to build one from the junk he had lying about his den. If anyone could do it, uncle Tony could.

Sammy’s Old Emporium at the top of Easter Street used to sell all the junk that would keep a man who liked to mess with things, really happy. It was a gold mine for my uncle. If he were missing, you knew where to look, and you could always hear my great aunt Sadie shouting:

“Can someone run down Sammy’s and drag that man of mine out? Tell him his flaming dinner is ready.”

It wasn’t unusual for my wonderful great aunt to go marching down to Sammy’s Old Emporium with a plate of food, which she’d slam down, on the table and tell my uncle that if he loved the shop so much, well then he could just stay there.

But that day in June, my aunt forgave him everything.

He had started working on the project, as it was known, right after New Year’s Day. He was to be found searching for this and that in the garage before the sun even came up. By the time I went around to his house, I could smell the whiff of burning Bakelite drifting down the street. I knew he was off and running.

He wasn’t just my great uncle; he was my pal, he was my best friend. For a few years now, my dad had lain in a field in France and Uncle Tony had stepped into his shoes. I always loved working with him in his den; he was one of those people who made you feel better. I’d leave his house, always in better mood than when I’d got there. I guess something like that is a gift, and thank the lord for it.

By Easter of 1953, he had managed to blow up early versions of the television and set fire to the Den on more than one occasion. It happened so often that when my Aunt Sadie looked over at the wooden garage to see smoke bellowing out, she’d just shrug her shoulders and continue beating the carpet that she had hung over the clothes-line. Perhaps she beat it just a little bit harder.

Sometime in May, Uncle Tony and me were down Sammy’s looking for an old tube to act as the screen. Sammy was my Uncle Tony’s best pal from school and he should have retired a long time ago but, as Sammy said:

“There is something addictive about junk shops that gets into your blood. You never know the treasures you’ve got under your roof.”

Then he’d spit on the floor. When Sammy felt he had said something important or clever he’d spit right in front of you. Sometimes you had to duck or weave to avoid being hit.

“I’ve got this old oscilloscope,” said Sammy. “Might just be the thing, you’re looking for Tone.”

I had to ask what a mosillyskope was. Uncle Tony said that was an easy question:

“Why it’s the answer to all out problems.”  Then both my uncle and Sammy spat on the floor. I tried, but my mouth was a bit dry, so Tony just ruffled my hair and said:

“One day.”

When it looked as if we really would have a television ready for the Coronation (albeit a green and white picture – well we had nothing to judge it against), my Aunt Sadie issued invitations to all our friends and neighbours.

“Your presence is requested at the Coronation of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second accompanied by her husband, Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. On June 2^nd, 1953.

Tea and cakes will be provided.

Yours, Anthony and Sadie Blest”.

Aunt Sadie made it seem that the Queen would be present for tea and cakes, herself. You see no one was really sure what having the television meant, so perhaps it was just like having the Royal family in your front room after all.

It was my job to deliver the invitations to all the houses down the far end of the street. Everywhere I called, someone would ask if I would like to come in for a cup of tea – by the end of the street, I was almost ready to burst. I had one more house to go to and it belonged to Fancy Freddie He was named this on account (apparently) of the clothes he used to wear in his younger days. Since his wife died, his only companion was Winston the dog and that dog was legendary in the street.

He wasn’t a bad dog, you understand, just a bit lively when it came to chasing things or stealing things – a bit like Fancy Freddie in his younger days. I was just about to put an invitation into Freddie’s place when Winston jumped on me, made me drop the invites and ran off with the lot of them.

According to Freddie, when I saw him later, he said that Winston had buried all the invitations somewhere in his large garden.

On the morning of the Coronation, the tea was made, the cakes were brought in from all over the street and everyone sat down to their first television programme.

Uncle Tony was still having teething problems with the picture on the screen as the friends and neighbours arrived.  

The old lady from next door kept mentioning about the picture being in green, she said “I didn’t realise the Queen was green in real life.”

Her daughter had to keep telling her that it was Tony’s funny television and  that it made everyone that way.

Just as everything looked ready, the picture went black. The old lady from next-door wondered if the Abbey had fallen down.  Actually it was Winston, Fancy Freddie’s dog, who had grabbed the end of my uncle’s makeshift aerial and was running around the garden with the end of it between its teeth.

The aerial had been fixed to the side of the house and it would take too long to get it back in place.  The wire had to be stretched out as far as possible, so the solution, although not the greatest, was that everyone watching the television should stand out in the garden holding a piece of the aerial. Then each person would have five minutes of watching the Coronation before they were back out in the garden on aerial duty. The old lady from next door was exempt, and then Fancy Freddie, whose dog had caused all the trouble, refused to help and left the house in a mood. My auntie caught him looking at the television in through the window. So she shut the curtains.

The rest of us got to see a few minutes every so often and I have to say it was well worth the trouble. The fun was finished with tea and cakes and a new Queen.

That warm day, all those years later, when I cleared out my great Uncle Tony’s garage, I found the television set. Yes it was a bit dusty, but it looked just as it had been all those years ago.

And so I spat on the floor.

“That’s for you, great Uncle Tony.” 




bobby stevenson 2013 
thoughtcontrol ltd

The Best

Wrap up your soul from the north winds,

Turn your sweet head,

Facing the sun,

I know that those dark clouds will scare you,

But believe me,

The best is to come.

Let slip those stories they told you,

Remember that you are the one,

Don’t let their sadness get weary,

For I tell you,

The best is to come.

Smile even ‘though it was hard work,

Cleanse tired eyes with bright fun,

For these dark days

Will lift soon my darling

And I promise,

The best is to come.

Take strength in the ways of the old times,

When your laughter and hope can return,

Don’t stumble and fall,

Take my hand love,

For you know that the best

Is to come.



bobby stevenson 2013

Zoot And Sandy And The Birds

As always, Sandy the elephant and Zoot the dog were the best of pals in the whole wide world and were sitting by the river.

“Them things in the sky,” said Zoot.

“The birds?” Asked Sandy.

“Yup, the birds, do you think they are happy?”

“I guess so,” said Sandy. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“I wish I could fly,” said Zoot.

Sandy smiled to himself about flying dogs and then remembered that story about flying elephants.

“Why would you want to do a thing like that – flying , it’s dangerous,” said Sandy.

“Not for the birds, it isn’t.”

“Yeh, but they don’t know any better. Flying is all they know.” Sandy was getting worried about Zoot.

“What’s up, Zoot?”

“I’m fed up being a dog, I want to be able to fly.”

“Don’t you think, that one of those birds is looking down at us and saying, I wish I was an elephant or a dog, so that I can stay on the ground – I’m tired of always flying?”

“Nope.”

“I can bet you they do. It’s they way we are all made. Wishing to be something or someone else.”

“I do it all the time,” said Zoot. “I’m always wishing I wasn’t a dog.”

“That’s because being a dog is easy for you, you were born a dog, and despite what you wish for, you’ll probably die a dog. Unless you’ve got a hankering to tie a pair of wings on your back; it’s because you’re a dog, you don’t see how special that is.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said a confused Zoot.

“We’re all made to be something that’s different from everything else. No matter what you say, Zoot, you’re unique.”

“I am?”

“Of course you are, and more importantly you’re my pal. Do you think I would be friends with just anyone?”

“I guess not,” said Zoot, who was a little more pleased.

“Some are made to fly, some are born to dance, some to sing, some to stand and see the stars. All of us, and I mean all of us, are different from the next thing. Even the leaves on the trees are all different.”

“So what are you saying, Sandy?” Asked Zoot.

“That you were born to be a dog, Zoot, my friend. And even if there is a dog kinda like you in the future, he won’t have been born in this time, knowing me, doing the things we do.”

“Like sitting by the river and talking?”

“Exactly. Too many people…”

“And animals,” added Zoot.

“And animals are unhappy with what they’ve got. But if they could only see that what they’ve got is a miracle then they’d stop wishing to be something else. You are what the universe made you. If you spend your days wishing it away, then you’ve turned your back on the universe. Why would anything want to do that?”

“So I should stop wishing I wasn’t a dog and just be happy.”

“You got it.”

“What about being a rich dog then?” Asked Zoot.

Sandy just looked at his buddy and smiled. That’s why he loved Zoot so much.

bobby sevenson 2013 

thoughtcontrol ltd