CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When Mitchell arrived home, sure enough, his garden was manicured and the long grass of the morning gone. The lawn edges were trimmed and flowerpots he never knew made the yard look inviting. Lyle had obviously been more than once. Just Ethel’s way of saying thank you Mitch supposed. The phone left on the kitchen bench that morning showed a missed call from Albert four hours before. There was no message, so Mitch returned the call discovering Albert needed to see him urgently.

“Why don’t you and Peanut come over with a bottle of scotch? She can discover my backyard and it’s many hidden treasures.”

Amongst a street of newly renovated brick veneer homes stood a single level fibro house. Though far less appealing than its neighbours, the grounds were neat and regularly maintained through council services. Alberts home was typical of government subsidised housing and once belonged to a community of identical buildings. Each a simple one-bedroom abode serving the purpose of giving their inhabitants an air of independence. Much of the estate had been systematically sold when the occupant left this mortal coil. High land values in a sought after suburb forced veteran housing to move further afield; making way for new families with larger purses and Alberts stood alone as a remnant of post war thankyous to those in need. The same fate awaited his dwelling, but not until Albert deemed it time. 

Mitch knocked loudly on the door and heard Albert’s footsteps on the timber floorboards inside. An absence of ‘clicking’ told Mitch he knew the way down his own hallway. Albert greeted him dressed casually in a short-sleeved shirt, however the long trousers remained and Peanut politely waited on the porch until both were invited into Albert Churchill’s personal domain. 

Minimal furnishings were positioned to cause Albert little concern and the house uncluttered providing clear passageways between rooms. It wasn’t lavish and certainly reflected the man. A long bookcase lining one of the living room walls was filled with thick braille books covering a huge range of topics; many on history and warfare, and to Mitchell’s surprise, science and fantasy literature. Novels, Biographies and textbooks completed the collection making it clear Albert was well read.

The one thing missing were photos of a family. It seemed eerie. There was nothing telling a visitor of the owner’s past. It made sense given Albert could never view them, however there was very little else. No war medals proudly on display, nor a photo of Albert in his naval uniform as a teenager. Those artefacts would be found in any military household, but in Albert’s they were absent. Mitch wondered if he was hiding his past, or if anyone had even been here to notice? It made little sense but took nothing from the man or esteem in which Mitch now held him.

The rear porch was smaller than Mitchell’s but the yard equally as big. Peanut busied herself sniffing out every corner while the friends assumed their positions on Albert’s lawn chairs; each nursing freshly poured drinks. Mitch was anxious to tell Albert of his trip to 1990 but sensed now wasn’t the time and unselfishly allowed Albert the floor as host.

“Cheers,” Mitchell said motioning his glass in Alberts direction. “What’s on your mind?” 

Albert’s gaze strangely tracked Peanut around the yard before he spoke. 

“Mitchell, our recent discussion had me thinking more about our secret. I feel we’re much the same in our approach to problem solving, or more specifically, our inability to let them go unanswered...” Albert paused and took his first sip, “…and, the infection of your youth had an effect on me.” Albert sounded more like Mitchell’s father with every word. “I appreciate your exuberance, and while I don’t necessarily agree with your motives, I too have begun questioning its meaning.”

Mitchell listened intently to Albert’s honesty and realised his point of view had at least been considered despite their drunken discussion coming to no agreement. Albert spent the past few days pondering that discussion and with an ally now in Mitchell, shared his thoughts more freely.

He confessed to making some early morning journeys the past few days, even stepping off the plate for the first time. Albert explored the local area with his eyesight restored, and the freedom it gave was intoxicating. He kept going back for more; finally realising the true impact the plate could have. He’d travelled for hours to different times, and on each trip pushed the boundaries a little further. He was born in 1939 but couldn’t go back that far. His memory wouldn’t allow it. But he tried. He told Mitchell he remembered learning of his father’s death on the beaches of Normandy in 1944, but couldn’t go back to that time either. Perhaps his memory was too sketchy as a five year old? But the day he enlisted in 1956 was more vivid.

“Mother was furious with my decision. After voicing her concern, I was convinced the Navy would be safer than living with her.” Albert laughed. “I recall the day like yesterday Mitchell, but I can’t go back.” Albert tried travelling to 1956 on several occasions and each time it didn’t work. He stepped onto the plate hearing his mother’s anger, stood perfectly still, but remained in his present sightless world. 

“Do you know what’s under the metal plate Mitchell?” Albert asked a little out of context.  

“Telephone cables no doubt. The pits are a junction point connecting lines, used by technicians to access cables for repair and maintenance,” Mitchell replied confidently.

“And do you know how telephone lines work?”

Mitchell could answer that question with equal confidence. He wasn’t an expert but understood the basic concept. He explained what he knew suspecting Albert was already aware of the answer.

Telephone wires were originally made of galvanised iron as a relic from the old telegraph days. Copper wire was introduced in the late 1870’s because it was lighter, more conductive of electricity, and at the time much cheaper. Telephonic communication is made possible by a constant wave of around fifty volts of electricity being passed through the line. ‘Pulses’ are sent through the line interrupting the flow of current thus changing the energy signal. That enables data to be encoded. With copper wire that happens with changes in the electromagnetic field, the intensity of the field, and even the phase of the wave being sent down a wire. Mitchell added that new technologies in fibre optics carry these signals faster and at a much higher bandwidth; hence capable of carrying more traffic through the lines. Fibre optics were also less susceptible to noise and electromagnetic interference and slowly being introduced as a replacement to the aging copper network.

“Excellent Mitchell, that’s exactly what I’ve read. Though, I believe there’s more to it…I think it’s time we investigate more closely,” Albert offered raising his glass to his lips.

Mitchell had no idea where Albert was headed and concluded the opportunity of telling the Bartholomew story was lost. He would leave that to another time and another bottle.

“When do you think the telephone cables were laid under the plate Mitchell?”

“No idea. I would need the Internet for that, but I’m sure we can work it out.”

Albert looked lost, clearly hoping Mitchell knew the answer given his engineering background. When he spoke again, he sounded less confident. His voice lacking the authority it always carried.

“Mitch, I understand why I’m old when leaving the plate, but why is my eyesight restored?” Albert had never addressed him as Mitch before. He definitely wasn’t himself. “We need to find out why.”

“Ok Albert. I agree, and I’m glad you’ve reached that conclusion. Let me have a look at the plate in more detail and I’ll see what I can find. No point in you coming along. Forgive me, I don’t mean to offend, but you really won’t be of any use.” Mitchell was pained to say that, but it was true.

“No offence taken Mitchell, and you are right. I’ll see what I can uncover using some other resources. With both of us looking, we might find an answer.” 

They remained in silence, simultaneously turning to their drinks. The situation grew complicated and Alberts desire for greater clarity took some of the shine from Mitchell’s work with Lyle. Their positions had reversed. 

Albert was once happy just standing on the plate seeing the world again, and Mitchell wanted to know more of the secret. Now Mitchell was using the plate to make some positive change, and Albert focused on learning more about it. Mitch wondered what happened over the past few days and if Albert was telling him everything. The forgotten Peanut suddenly barked startling them both and Mitch realised it was time for her dinner. They left Albert’s house, Peanut leading the way with Mitch dawdling in her wake thinking of possible answers to the questions Albert raised.

Having worked on many construction sites, Mitchell was familiar with manhole covers and how they opened to gain access to the pits they protected. It was a simple process requiring a special unlocking tool but could be done with anything really. With Peanut fed and settled, Mitch removed two forks from the kitchen drawer and bent each of their handles into right angles. He rummaged through the garage finding a torch and set the items aside waiting nightfall. He poured another scotch and turned on his computer to research the history of telephone lines in Sydney. 

Google yielded no conclusive answer so Mitch suspected a visit to the local council would be required. But Albert was definitely onto something. Mitch surmised if the plate wasn’t present in 1956 then that would explain his inability to travel past a certain date as the plate was the portal between times. He kept searching for hours, if for nothing more than to pass the time, and when late enough left the house under the cover of darkness. 

There was little traffic late at night and only a few house windows burnt light along the way. The neighbourhood had retired for the evening. Mitchell was heading back to the plate and thankful no one was around. He wanted to be left alone. 

The concrete and metal blended seamlessly in the dark and Mitch crouched to feel what he was looking for; oval shaped holes at opposite ends of the cover. He took the kitchen forks from his pocket and inserted them into the holes. The tool generally used for the procedure was a metre in length with a ‘T’ at one end. The technicians would insert the ‘T’ into the holes then turn the rod through ninety degrees thus engaging the barbs under the plate’s surface, making it easy to lift it from the rails. The forks served the same purpose but a little harder due to their shorter length. Mitch needed to kneel to leverage the plate from the rails, then did the rest by hand. Often the covers were chained down to avoid vandalism and Mitchell prayed the rusty old plate hadn’t been secured. Thankfully it hadn’t, but it took some effort shifting the plate from its hold. He placed his fingers through the small gap created and slid the plate over the adjoining section revealing the pit. From the blackness, the combined smell of dust and damp wafted with the circulation of fresh air. Mitch pulled the torch from his pocket and shone the light into the hole.

The pit was expectedly filled with a complex array of coated wires; thousands of them bundled together into thick wads. The concrete cage holding them was no deeper than three feet but managed to cram a lot into such a confined space. Large holes at either end of the pit brought cables in from one side, then through the opposite hole to continue the journey onto the next pit further down the road. The exposed section of cables Mitch could see had been opened numerous times with additional lines spliced into the matrix. Many of the finer ‘twin’ lines were exposed, some even crimped by a lead capping having served their purpose for the time being.

Something unusual caught Mitchell’s eye and he trained the beam of light directly on it. From a thin slit in the master wad of cables emerged maybe one hundred thinner copper wires. They were wound in an elaborate pattern over a cylindrical metallic rod saddled onto the pit wall. The bare wires returned into the coated plastic sleeve of the cable and continued through the wall of the pit unseen. 

Mitch had never seen anything like it before and doubted it common among the junctions lining the telephone lines’ route. It was of course man made and built in situ given the complexity of work. The golden wires shone brightly when the torchlight bounced off them and the way they were aligned was intriguing. The uninsulated wires were wound equi-spaced, and in opposite directions from both ends of the rod. They formed a criss-crossed pattern with the crossing points identical on the upper and lower sides to form a precisely laid double-helix pattern. Mitchell guessed the rod was made of iron, and about twenty centimetres in length and three in diameter. The neatly contrived device was extremely unusual and looked out of place even to Mitch.

Fumbling for his phone while holding the torch in place, Mitch photographed the device and refitted the plate over the pit. He checked to see if he’d been watched then left the scene a little confused. He hadn’t stepped ten metres when the phone beeped with a message. Thinking to be caught, he realised any nosey neighbour wouldn’t have his number. The screen showed it was Sarah.

Hi Mitch, sorry it’s so late, just settled Christina and now 

have some time to myself. I’ve got this Thursday off 

and thought you might like to have lunch as mentioned? 

Let me know. 

S

“Shit.” Mitchell had forgotten about Sarah. 

He couldn’t even remember the last time they’d spoken such was the confusion of the past few days; the past twenty years even. Her message couldn’t go unanswered so he replied immediately. Mitch really liked Sarah, and given her past, didn’t want to lead her on. Yet at the same time he was focused on the plate and what he’d just discovered. He walked home typing a reply saying Thursday would be great and knew the perfect spot for lunch. By the time he entered the front door another message sounded. It told Mitch to pick Sarah up at 10:00 am and she was looking forward to seeing him. 

Sarah was not only confident, she was interested. What day was it now? When was Thursday? 

In the past forty-eight hours Mitchell had travelled through twenty years. He’d been to the city, bought a winning lottery ticket, and met Lyle for the first time and his daughter Megan too. He’d been side-tracked by Albert leading him to find something very strange and now Sarah wanted to get together. 

His head swam. 

Mitch decided any further research could wait until morning; he needed rest. So much had happened and his ability to keep it balanced was proving difficult. Juliana too was on his mind, but she was in Israel without a thought of him.

Sleep would be the best medicine and he passed out within minutes of hitting his bed.

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