Bertie and the Beast: We Don't Belong to Glasgae, Chapter 10 Part 9
Created | Updated Feb 12, 2012
Once again we are beholden to the current executors of the Knolly estate for letting us publish this, the second package of the great man's journals and memoirs.
We don't belong to Glasgae
Chapter 10 Part 9
We hastened in the direction from which this torrent of cyclists seemed to be erupting. Alas, once we got there, we found ourselves at what was obviously the rear of the building there being no entrance for the public. The front of the building, however, was a different matter entirely.
With the up and coming celebrations and the building itself forming the communications hub to the known world later that year, no expense seemed to have been spared on sprucing-up the place. It was a far cry from those places performing the same basic function that we had seen on our travels throughout the Empire and beyond.
The columns and stairs leading up from the pavement would have put the ancient Greek and Roman world to shame. The heavy oak doors and associated brass-ware sparkled and gleamed in the watery sunlight that peered through the current greyness of the day. Bertie and I stood to one side of the staircase, watching the comings and goings of both locals and assorted foreign visitors. The communications business was certainly booming.
"It seems somewhat busy," Bertie piped up to break the silence between us.
"Certainly does," I replied.
"Local bobby on the beat down there seems none the wiser to recent goings on." Bertie pointed to a constable standing on the corner of the street who didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular other than keeping an eye on the nearest clock tower.
"I think you may be correct, Bertie. Our roof top escape doesn't seem to have created any heightened alarm. And whilst here I have not observed any Widows lurking nearby."
"So we are in the clear then ?"
"I doubt that very much, but the sooner we have dispatched our messages and caught up with the others, the more comfortable I'll feel."
"I'd feel comfortable with some lunch inside me. And a beer. Or a whiskey."
I shot Bertie a look, who replied with a response which spoke a whole menu, including dessert and wine list.
We waited for a gap in the flow of people and then followed them into the building. Inside didn't disappoint either; the floor was highly polished as was the chandelier high in the ceiling. The whole place seemed to ooze opulence but at the same time seemed to say "welcome to the future – young, old poor or rich, but especially young, rich folk."
"Bit swanky, eh?" whispered Bertie, who tested the waxed floor with his shoes. And then with a little run up in the direction of the counters, he proceeded to glide slightly away from me.
There came a voice.
"May I be of assistance … " and there was an obvious pause before "Gentlemen?" was added.
The voice came from a uniformed man who had suddenly appeared and had caused Bertie to break suddenly, but in doing so performed a neat pirouette slowing down the oncoming official. Bertie bowed to the polite applause from other customers and then turned to me as I approached.
"BIT OLD FOR A TELEGRAM BOY AINT HE?" blinked Bertie quickly.
"Thank you, no," I replied to the uniformed one. "We are well versed in how to send telegrams thank you."
The fellow was rather taken aback by this and looked both Bertie and I up and down with an air of superiority.
"You have money?" he asked quietly, but with a certain menace.
Bertie railed at this, forcing the man to take a step back.
"What kind of a question is that, my good sir?"
I put a hand on Bertie's shoulder causing him to slip sideways with a squeak of leather on tile. Catching him, I spoke softly so as not to offend the flunky.
"I think, that the um … gentleman is somewhat taken aback by our appearance and feels that we may be in here just seeking shelter from the elements."
I smiled my biggest smile in his direction. Elspeth has often remarked on this smile and hoped that I won't use it on the children.
He was somewhat taken aback by this approach, most likely because I had all of my own teeth. I fished around in my jacket pockets for any essential paperwork that would get us past, and then remembered that we were supposed to be incognito and instead brought out my pocket book with a flourish and a jingle of loose change.
The fellow visibly relaxed at the sight of this and muttered something along the lines of "sorry sir, but you can't be too careful these days" and went off in search of easier prey.
Bertie, I fear, would have preferred a full written apology, but I pointed out in no uncertain terms that we did not have time for such formalities as I scruffed him along to join the growing queue,. The queuing system! That miracle of the late 19th Century! One could find a queue springing up at the slightest provocation as the people of the Empire just loved to wait in line for practically anything. Here in the Glasgow telegraph office, though, a new 20th Century scientific method was being trialled out in an obvious attempt to spread the gospel to all corner of the globe, even the Americas.
As we joined the back of the queue we were handed a ticket by a spotty youth in a pillbox cap who then scampered away to the next customer. I looked at Bertie who just shrugged. I peered over the heads of those milling about when suddenly up at the front, a little flag was raised and a stentorian voice boomed out through a megaphone "23 to desk number 5 please !" and then a new flag popped up to the accompaniment of "24 to desk number 1 please" only this voice was more nasal.
"This is exciting! It's a bit like a bingo game! What number are we?" asked Bertie as we began to shuffle forward, I looked at the small piece of paper. It read 42.
"Not long then, I wonder which desk it will be?"
"25 to desk number 3 please ….."
Bertie continued to fidget whilst in the queue. I spied a rack of periodicals and sent him in their direction whilst in my head I continued to compose the various messages that we needed to send. Firstly, I needed some more up to date intelligence on friend Mungo, so that message would have to go to Biggfat, but not through normal Navy channels. Secondly, I needed to alert the League about our new possible recruit and to get him out of Glasgow post-haste. Then I needed to get a message to Hobbes to see if he had any updates on information gleaned from the staff of Quitzlelotapoplekettle. And finally, a note for Merrick to see if he could shed any light on the Scottish Widows.
Bertie then re-appeared at my arm, waving a periodical entitled "Ladies' Home Journal." I raised an eyebrow at this but he went on.
"Look at this article. It's fascinating and of some concern." He thrust page 8 under my nose.
The article in question was entitled "What May Happen in the Next Hundred Years."
"Oh, who wrote this? Not Wells again, is it?"
"No, this is an American publication, this is by.... Ah, here we are John Elfreth Watkins Jr."
The queue shuffled forward once more and I started to read.
"Photographs will be telegraphed from any distance. If there be a battle in China a hundred years hence, snapshots of its most striking events will be published in the newspapers an hour later.... photographs will reproduce all of nature's colours."
Warning bells began to sound in the deeper recesses of my brain.
"Wireless telephone and telegraph circuits will span the world. A husband in the middle of the Atlantic will be able to converse with his wife sitting in her boudoir in Chicago. We will be able to telephone to China quite as readily as we now talk from New York to Brooklyn.."
Bertie leaned over my shoulder pointed to another paragraph.
"There will be air-ships, but they will not successfully compete with surface cars and water vessels for passenger or freight traffic. They will be maintained as deadly war-vessels by all military nations. Some will transport men and goods. Others will be used by scientists making observations at great heights above the earth."
"So, do we have a leak?" whispered Bertie.
I went on reading.
"Aerial War-Ships and Forts on Wheels. Giant guns will shoot twenty-five miles or more, and will hurl anywhere within such a radius shells exploding and destroying whole cities. Such guns will be armed by aid of compasses when used on land or sea, and telescopes when directed from great heights. Fleets of air-ships, hiding themselves with dense, smoky mists, thrown off by themselves as they move, will float over cities, fortifications, camps or fleets. They will surprise foes below by hurling upon them deadly thunderbolts. These aerial war-ships will necessitate bomb-proof forts, protected by great steel plates over their tops as well as at their sides. Huge forts on wheels will dash across open spaces at the speed of express trains of to-day. They will make what are now known as cavalry charges. Great automobile plows will dig deep entrenchments as fast as soldiers can occupy them. Rifles will use silent cartridges. Submarine boats submerged for days will be capable of wiping a whole navy off the face of the deep. Balloons and flying machines will carry telescopes of one-hundred-mile vision with camera attachments, photographing an enemy within that radius. These photographs as distinct and large as if taken from across the street, will be lowered to the commanding officer in charge of troops below."
"I'm not sure," I said. "He could just be a clever fellow looking about him and basing his ideas on current scientific thinking. But I think the fellow is worth an investigation. When was this published?"
Bertie flicked to the front cover. It said December 1900.
"Look here! Another piece of the puzzle slots into place, Bertie."
