“How far does Space extend?” asked Albie, “after all, everything has a beginning and an end, don’t it? ”

www.albiestales.co.uk part three

LBIE HAD ALWAYS been interested in the night sky and marvelled at the wonders of the Universe: all those stars like a million, million sparkling diamonds in the blackness of furthermost space. What secrets they held, imprisoned, within their shimmering forms, and with so many other mysteries of the cosmos to be revealed. How far did Space extend and what was outside? These, and many more, questions invaded his head as he gazed up at the mystical Heavenly Bodies. Would Man ever travel to the Moon and set up base or venture to the Planets where no man had gone before, just as his comic book heroes had done? In time, all would be known, he told himself, but time was so short – all over in the twinkling of an eye. Would he find out before it was too late? He certainly hoped so!

BY THE SUMMER of 1961, Albie had been working on a book of Astronomy for many months and soon it would be ready for printing – or press, as they say. He had hoped to have discovered a few answers from the book, but he had been disappointed as it seemed its author, none other than Patrick Moore – and quite a well-known astronomer even in those days – was more interested in sunspots, meteor trails and the far side of the Moon to be bothered whether Outer Space had an end or not!

“Everyone seems to be obsessed by the other side o’ the Moon,” Albie declared, turning to Felix, the senior Design artist, “now that the Russians hev took pictures of it.”

Felix didn’t bother to look up; he was too busy, working on a map of the self-same celestial body in its fullest phase.

“But, what I’d like to know is – just how far does Space go? Arter all, everythin’ has a beginning and an end, don’t it? So, we know wha’s on the other side o’ the Moon – much o’ the same – but, wha’s on the other side of Space? Tell me that!”

“What on earth are you rambling on about now, Albie?" Felix asked the lad, trying to put the finishing touches to his artwork and taking great care to place the wording for the Mare Tranquillitatis in exactly the right position. “It’s far from tranquil with you about!”

“I wuz only wondrin’ wha’s out there,” replied Albie, a little hurt by his friend’s comments. “D’ya ever think they’ll find the answer – now they’ve got a man in space?”

DAN DARE, PILOT OF THE FUTURE

Albie had always been interested in Space – and anything to do with it. He could never get enough of the final frontier, as he once called it, and he’d only recently been persuaded by his long-suffering parents to give up his favourite weekly comic, the Eagle!

Dan Dare, Pilot of the Future, was his hero of course, having conquered Space and, with Digby and Professor Peabody, had visited Mars and Venus, although Mercury, it seems, was a little bit too hot for them! But even Dan Dare and Co were the cause of great disappointment for Albie as they, too, never reached the far extremities of Space, so he was still none the wiser.

Albie had, quite naturally, been following on television the reports of all the recent unmanned space flights by the Americans and Russians. It was like some contest of the nations, he thought, with the Secrets of Outer Space the prize!

Earlier, in 1958, the Americans had been first to send a probe, the Pioneer, around the Moon taking pictures as it went and beaming back television images to Earth. A series of probes then followed, but all were unsuccessful.

This was like waving the Red Flag at the Russians, who, in 1959, launched their Lunik I probe, which was last heard of 371,000 miles away from Earth. Later, in September of that year, Lunik II hit the Moon. All of this, Albie had followed with growing interest.

“I wuz at the Norwich School of Art when they took pictures of the far side of the Moon,” Albie told Felix, who, by now, had given up any attempt at trying to work and was pouring a cup of hot cocoa from his large thermos flask with a red top.

“Couldn’t see much – could they?” his friend joked, sipping his hot cocoa. “After all, isn’t it a bit dark on the other side?”

“Then they sent a couple of dawgs,” Albie told Felix, a dog lover himself, who, at the time, thought it rather cruel and most inhumane to involve dumb animals in silly experiments.

“And now, only a few days ago, them there Russians hev gotta spaceship up there agin – this time with a bloke in it!” Albie continued, sending a finger spiralling upwards in the general direction of the ceiling, “I reckon that won’t be long afore they put a man on the Moon…”

“Give over, will you, Albie!” complained Mike, the head designer, as he silently walked up behind the lad. “Haven’t you finished those star charts yet?”

A TRICKY PROBLEM

Albie had been working on drawings of the Constellations for some time. He was not alone of course, for it was quite a universal task! His friend Felix had been helping as well, in between working on his map of the Moon, and John Newland, another artist and designer, was also giving them a hand. But the task was proving rather more complex than anyone had visualized.

Patrick Moore, the author and, at that time, amateur astronomer, had very fixed ideas on what the maps of the stars should look like and had gone to great lengths to explain, in his written brief, exactly what was required.

‘Absolute accuracy is called for when preparing drawings of the constellations’ – or so the brief read, and it seemed not all the stars were of the same size, or brightness, as some were further away, whilst others were larger or more luminous than the rest.

‘When preparing artwork for the star charts’, the brief continued, ‘the stars must be depicted by the use of dots of varying diameters’ – which left the designers the tricky task of deciding the best way to go about it.

After much ‘humming’ and harring’, they had begun the task of charting Betelgeux and Cygni, having decided to use well-tried and tested methods with ruling pens, compasses and Indian ink.

But, try as they might, they just couldn’t draw the black circles for the teeniest, faintest stars, as even the smallest ruling compasses were just too large for the job. Besides, the ink kept smudging!

Time after time, screwed-up paper was ‘sent into orbit’ until the wastepaper baskets were full to overflowing. What could they do? Their task seemed impossible.

ALBIE HAS A BRIGHT IDEA

Luckily, Albie was on hand to give them the benefit of his experience – from art school days.

“Here we are, messin’ about with rulin’ pens an’ that,” he told the others, “but, when I wuz at the Art School…”

“Here we go again – blah-de-blah-de-blah,” joked Felix, having heard it all before.

“No – listen,” continued Albie, banging his hand on his table in a fit of pique.“I can well remember the girls in Miss Sherlock’s fabric class using a leather punch to stamp out little holes in belts– an‘ that always left piles of round, leather offcuts.”

The others, including Mike the deputy manager, suddenly began to take an interest in what he had to say.

“We’ve got plenty of black sticky-backed paper,” Albie told them, “all we need is a leather punch with a series of different-sized cutting heads. We could then stamp out black circles of any size and they’d be just great for the stars, don’t you think?”

“Hmmm – I don’t suppose they’d have a leather punch in the Art department of Jarrolds’ shop in London Street,” said Mike, picking up the telephone, “but I’ll give them a ring anyway!”

As luck would have it, they did, and, once off the phone, Mike turned to Albie.

“I’ll just get a chitty for it,” he told the lad, “then, perhaps, in your lunch break, you’ll nip along to the Art department and pick up the leather punch, will you?”

It only took Albie a moment before replying. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind, Mike,” he said, “last time I went there I wuz nearly carted off to Bethel Street by a Copper!”

“What on earth for?” exclaimed Mike, beginning to wonder about Albie’s troubled past. “Not shoplifting, surely? Is there something you ought to tell me?”

“Don’t ask!” replied Albie, reliving the moment he had met his ex-girlfriend and her parents outside Jarrolds. “Let’s just say, there’s someone I’d rather not bump into – and I don’t think they’d welcome me with open arms in the Art department either!”

A VISITOR FROM FOREIGN PARTS

By late July, the book – simply called Astronomy – by Patrick Moore, was almost complete! The Map of the Moon was shining at its fullest, all the Constellations had been charted with a series of black dots in a multitude of different sizes – all accurately cut by hand on Albie’s leather punch – and all the pictures and wording had been neatly pasted together in pages ready to go under the critical eye of the author.

During the first week in August, a telephone call was made to the author in East Grinstead, West Sussex – well into ‘furrin’ parts as far as Albie was concerned – telling him the proofs of his book were ready.

A few days later, John Redgrave, the head representative – always known as ‘The Commander’ by all his men – summoned Mike, Felix and Albie to the Rep’s room to meet their very distinguished guest.

“Of all the Sciences,” Patrick Moore told them, over coffee supplied by the Works’ canteen, “Astronomy definitely has the greatest popular appeal.”

But why was that, thought Albie? It had always appealed to him of course – although so many questions were still left unanswered – but his parents weren’t one little bit interested, so he said so!

“That’s really quite sad,” Patrick Moore replied, raising one eyebrow in surprise at the young designer’s comment. “For, who has not been struck by the sheer beauty of the sky at night?”

Who indeed, thought Albie, remembering standing under the stars with his girlfriend – now his ex – and gazing up at the night sky looking for shooting stars to wish upon!

“And it gives plenty of scope for the amateur stargazer,” the Astronomer concluded, “as, although they may not be quite as important as they were fifty years ago, there’s still a great deal for them to do today, y’know!”

“Well, here it is, Patrick,” said the Commander, handing him the page proofs of his Book of Astronomy, “perhaps you’d like to take it away with you and make sure everything’s shipshape and Bristol fashion?”

“What I’d really like, above all else,” Patrick said, glancing through the star chart diagrams the designers had produced, “is to see the map of the Moon!”

“This was done by Felix, our senior artist,” said Mike, handing over the finished piece of artwork, perfect in every detail, truly a masterpiece!

It was, without doubt, the artist’s finest hour!

Patrick Moore began squinting at Felix’s work of art, checking all the mountains on the Moon, delving into the deepest craters, craning his neck this way and that as he did so.

“It’s really quite good…” the astronomer declared, with a wry smile on his face, “… for a rough!”

The look on Felix’s face said it all!

“Come, come, Patrick,” chided the Commander, “you know it’s the finished artwork!”

Such was Patrick’s dry sense of humour!

STRANGERS ON A TRAIN

After work, Felix and Albie left Jarrolds together as usual and made their way to Thorpe Station to catch the 17:23 train home.

“I was quite upset by Patrick’s comments,” Felix confided in his friend, as they turned the corner of Bishopgate opposite the Adam and Eve public house. “I thought I’d made a really good job of that lunar map…”

“But he was only joking,” laughed Albie, as they continued along the narrow, winding street.

“That’s as maybe,” retorted Felix, crossing over the road by St Helen’s church, “but I didn’t think it was very funny.”

Albie decided enough had been said on the subject and, glancing down at his wristwatch, began to walk a bit faster.

“Come on, Felix,” he said, getting a few paces in front of his friend, “it’s almost quarter-past – we dun’t watta miss our train, do we?”

“Better be late, than in a crate!” his friend laughed, as he strolled past James Stuart Garden in St Faith’s Lane. “You worry too much – we’ll catch our train, you’ll see!”

Turning the corner into Prince of Wales road, Thorpe Station lay straight ahead of them and, beneath its majestic, zinc-covered dome, the hands on the station clock showed almost twenty-past-five – leaving them only three or four minutes to catch their train.

Hurrying over Foundry Bridge, which spanned the River Wensum, they ran across the station forecourt, dashed through the booking hall, and just flew through the ticket barrier flashing their season tickets as they went.

Once on Platform 3, the scene that met their eyes was one of great activity. Already porters were scurrying about slamming doors, the Guard was frantically waving his green flag and, through pursed lips, giving his whistle a shrill blast, whilst, at the head of the train – all stations north to Sheringham – the large steam locomotive was preparing to depart.

Leaning out of the locomotive’s cab window, the fireman acknowledged the Guard’s signal with a wave of his arm. With a toot on the whistle, the engine-driver opened the regulator of the B12 steam loco and, with much huffing and puffing, the large driving wheels of 61572 began spinning on the greasy rails, before gaining a grip and slowly, but surely, inching the train, of eight or nine coaches, forward.

“Come on, you two!” laughed a friendly porter, thoughtfully holding a door open for them in the last carriage. “Learte agin are we? Yew’ll miss that one day, yew will!”

The train to Sheringham steamed slowly out of the station, snaking over points with much metallic squealing and clanking as it crossed the main line from Norwich to London, before branching off on the line to the north Norfolk coast.

Meanwhile, Albie and Felix were stumbling along corridors – with the train swaying from side to side – passing through connecting doors from one carriage to the next, in search of a vacant compartment – but there was none!

Eventually, as the train began the long climb up the steep gradient towards Salhouse, they found a compartment with just two seats left and, sliding open the door, they went inside.

“Would these seats be taken?” Felix politely asked the occupants, who, giving him a cursory glance, merely shrugged and shook their heads in silent reply.

Following his friend, Albie took a quick look at the other passengers in the ‘No Smoking’ compartment before sitting down in the middle seat next to a rather large man, who displayed a tendency to spill over the lowered arm rest which separating them.

Within a few minutes Felix drifted off to sleep, as usual, whilst Albie just sat there and, to pass the time, began to amuse himself by playing an imaginary ‘What’s My Line’ at his fellow-passengers expense – or, as he said to himself: where do you come from, what d’you do, and where are you gorn’?

Starting on the opposite side of the compartment, nearest the outer window, there sat a mother and toddler, with the youngster peering out at the passing countryside and uttering incomprehensible words as the endless line of telegraph poles and singing wires flashed by.

The woman was nursing a bag of shopping on her lap, with two or three others by her feet. A dead giveaway, thought Albie, as he noticed Loads of North Walsham on one bag. Obviously a housewife and mother, and resident of the quaint old market town where he – and Horatio Nelson – had received their education, he decided.

Felix was an easy one of course! Albie knew his friend and fellow passenger well, having travelled together every day for almost a year. Felix always joined the train at Gunton, the station nearest his home, having cycled all the way from Willow Cottage in Bradfield, to catch the train to work.

Sometimes, if he was a trifle late, the Guard would ‘hold’ the train for a minute or two, to give Felix time to park his bicycle – as the train would never depart without him in those days!

Albie’s quest, to discover all there was to know about his fellow passengers, received a rude interruption as the large man sitting next to him, in the seat nearest the sliding door to the corridor, sneezed loudly – and all over him!

“Bless you!” said Albie rather sarcastically, moving out of the way.

“Thank you, my son!” replied the man, blowing his nose in a large, white handkerchief, monogrammed with the initials: CoE.

Giving him a sideways glance of disapproval, Albie then noticed the ‘dog collar’. Obviously a ‘Man of the Cloth’, he concluded. But, that just left two other questions unanswered: where was he from, and where had he been?

“I’m frightfully afraid I may have picked up a cold today,” the Cleric whispered in Albie’s ear, “from the Bishop, I fear!”

So, that’s it, thought Albie, he’s a Vicar from somewhere or other. But was he local, or just ‘parson’ through, he smirked.

“I do hope this train stops at Worstead,” the Vicar continued, as the train trundled over the river bridge into Wroxham-with-Hoveton, “that’s my stop, the next one after this, but some trains do go straight through I hear...”

Got it, muttered Albie under his breath, a Country Parson been to see his Bishop in Norwich – only one more to go!

In the seat next to Albie sat a young lady, face hidden throughout the entire journey behind her newspaper. Albie would’ve liked to have taken a quick peek at her, but he knew better than that, as it was very rude to stare! However, he had noticed a very large suitcase, quite smart too it was, in beige leather with brass corner pieces.

From this he decided, she just had to be going on holiday or returning from one!

Alas, he could glean no further information from her appearance – as she seemed so reluctant to put down her newspaper – and it bothered him as, now, his game couldn’t end!

As the train slowed for Worstead – or ‘Wuhsted’ as it’s known in those parts – the Country Parson quickly leapt up, gathered his belongings and, in the process, gave Albie an almighty push that caused the lad, in turn, to bump into the young lady, knocking her newspaper clean out of her hands.

“Oh – I’m so sorry!” he apologised, quickly bending forward to pick up her paper from off the floor, “please allow me get it for you...”

“Mon Dieu!” she exclaimed, “Is zat really you, El Bee?”

NEXT: Who is this young woman? Find out in Albie takes a break!

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