Father forgive me, for I have committed fiction

[wellinghall]

I graduated with a degree in engineering from the University of Edinburgh. Since the death of my older brother the year before, I had been left with no close family; and as I had a desire to see something of the world, I resolved to join the army. Accordingly, I took my commission in the sappers; and after three months' training at Gillingham, I took ship at Chatham, and we sailed for Mesopotamia. There I was to spend four years building airfields for the Royal Air Force, and roads and sewers for the locals. The work was physically taxing, but technically within my grasp; my colleagues a varied bunch, but generally goood lads; and the young ladies of Baghdad both entertaining and instructive. In particular, I remember one young miss who ... but I digress.

To cut the story short, I greatly enjoyed my four years in the Middle East; it gave me opportunities for both work and pleasure that I would have been hard-put to find back in the old country. It was, therefore, with considerable regret - as well as some degree of pain - that I took a rebel bullet in one of my limbs; although oddly enough, I can never remember which one. After five weeks in a military hospital, it was decided that I should be invalided out. A place was found for me on a ship heading westwards; and by changing at Valleta and Gibraltar, I was able to spend some days in both of those delightful ports, where I found much to amuse me.

I eventually disembarked at Plymouth, and was faced with the problem of where to go. I had enjoyed my time at Edinburgh, but my friends there had all dispersed around the globe. I was on cordial terms with an uncle in the north country, but we were hardly close. And so I asked for my travel warrant to be made out for London; and, like thousands of men before me, and no doubt thousands to come, I gravitated to that great cess-pit of the empire.

I found it pleasant enough for the first few weeks, and I enjoyed being able to see the latest shows; but after seeing much of the world, and disporting myself in its cities, the attractions of London soon began to pall. I began to look round for some useful occupation, as well as for cheaper lodgings; for my hotel room was no doubt comfortable, but it was also eating a worryingly large hole in my wound pension.

One day I had walked round to the Criterion for a drink, when I bumped into young Stanford, who had served with me for a period in Messpot. We hailed each other delightedly; and after the first round had been consumed, and a second ordered, the talk turned to our present situations. He, it turned out, had recently taken up a position in a tunnelling company, which were engaged in extending one of the lines for the London Underground; and they needed engineers. He felt sure he could arrange an interview with one of the managers. What is more, he knew of another fellow who was looking for lodgings.

"In fact," Stanford said, "He will be at his work-table now; shall we go round and see him?" "Why not?" I replied. And so we finished our drinks; gathered up our hats, coats and sticks; and I followed Stanford out of the bar. He led me to one of the new University buildings, some few hundred yards away, and asked the porter for Doctor Swannage. We were shown in, and found a way eventually to a large bench, curtained off from its neighbours. This revealed itself to be festooned with chemical, electrical and scientific apparatus, as well as some curiously-drawn emblems in chalk. A man was bent over it; but as we approached, he unfolded himself, and was revealed to be tall, lanky, hawk-nosed and quick-eyed. Stanford made the introductions. We shook hands, and Swannage glanced over me.

"You have been in Mesopotamia, I perceive," were his opening words.

"Yes, indeed," I stammered; "but how ... ?"

"Ah, a simple trick," he replied, with a wave of his hand. "Anyway, gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

Stanford explained our positions, and mentioned that his aunt had a suite of rooms available. We resolved to go round and visit them. We parted with Stanford promising to speak to his aunt that evening, and arrange a visit for us upon the morrow.

The Sunday dawned fair, and I met Swannage in Notting Hill Gate a few minutes before eleven. Stanford came trotting up as the clock chimed, and took us to number 332. He pulled the bell, and an elderly lady answered. That this was Stanford's aunt was demonstrated by the kiss on the cheek he gave her, and we were shown in. The rooms proved handsome, airy and clean; and while the price would have been high for one, it was cheap when split between two. We settled the terms there and then; and agreed that we would move in the following day.

The moving was accomplished with little fuss, for Swannage had but a few pieces to move, and I had even fewer. But Mrs Taylor provided all we needed, and we were settled. As our thoughts turned towards our first dinner there, Stanford was shown up. He had arranged an interview for me the next morning. In the space of three days, I had renewed an old acquaintance and made a new one; found a place to live; and had the possibility of a job. It seemed that a new phase of my life was opening.


ETA: Comments welcome!

Comments

[heliopausa.livejournal.com]

"oddly enough, I can never remember which one." -- are you making game of the worthy doctor?? Shame! ;)

But a very deftly written and enjoyable AU. Is Swannage AU Sherlock,though - and if so,what else has changed? (Besides the lodgings and the landlady, of course.) I'd be very keen to read more of this!

[wellinghall.livejournal.com]

Making game of him? Who me? ;-)

And thank you! I do intend to write more ... sometime ...