The Unlikely Time Traveller by Janis Mackay Read Free Book Online Page B

had a canvas bag full of letters over his shoulder and handed me one. “Handwritten and sent with a stamp costing nine old-time pence.” I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it. Read it? “This is a letter,” the man explained. “A communication between two people, and it was handwritten in Peebles in 1973. It is a family letter from son to mother.”
    I just stood there gaping at it. Maybe the man thought I couldn’t read.
    “I can read it out for you,” he said. “A shame indeed that many young do not understand the writing of the hand.”
    “I can read it myself,” I said and saw how Ness flicked back his long hair and looked at me admiringly. I folded open the envelope and pulled out the sheet of paper, hoping there wouldn’t be any difficult words.
    “Dear Mother,” I read to the hushed audience of Ness and the museum staff, “Just to let you know I am settling in as postie and getting to know the cobbled lanes and narrow streets of Peebles. You were right; it’s a grand job. I will be as fit as a fiddle delivering letters, Mother. Thank goodness there are no rabid dogs. Peebles is altogether a fine town. I carry dog biscuits to make my job easier. I am putting a few pounds of my wages by each week into a Post Office savings account. I am saving up for one of the latest record players. Can you picture your son twisting again like they did last summer in his new suede shoes? I miss my old chums from Melrose, and of course our cosy chats by the fire (and your fruit scones) but I will be home for Christmas.
    Your loving son, Craig.”
    Not exactly difficult to read. I don’t think Mrs Flynnwould have been putting me to the top of the class for being able to read ‘fruit scones’. But the man in the Royal Mail T-shirt started clapping and shot me wide-eyed admiring looks. Not everyone can read in the future, I figured, or maybe it was the handwriting thing. Anyway, I suddenly felt proud. I might look like a prat here, but at least there was something impressive I could do!
    The man rustled in his bag and fished out another letter. “From 2014,” he announced, waving it in the air. “This,” the man went on, “was a letter of complaint sent to a post service delivery office, when we had such things.” I opened out the paper and read, “Dear Sir or Madam, I am writing to inform you that the Playstation 4 I ordered for my son – TWO WEEKS AGO – has not yet ARRIVED!!! He is understandably upset and has had three tantrums in the past week. It was to be one of his main presents for his birthday, which has now passed. I am not asking you to deliver this parcel to the moon. What on earth is the problem??? An extremely dissatisfied customer.”
    Ness laughed as though this was really funny. But I didn’t. A shiver ran up my spine. Robbie’s mother had written that letter. I could tell by the address. She was always writing letters to complain about stuff. I remembered all the fuss about that Playstation arriving late only last year. Robbie had gone on and on about it in the den, like he was so hard done by. My fingers were shaking so much I dropped the letter, but the museum staff and Ness were still having a good old laugh.
    The man picked up the letter and slipped it back into his bag. “Fine indeed to meet a pleasant handwriting-reading boy,” he said, wiping his tears of laughter away. “We have many such crabby letters of unhappiness. We had many electronic mails also, but after the onlineworld shut down back in 2059 they all stopped of course.” Maybe he saw my jaw drop. “Do they tell you of history in the community school? It can’t all be green guardianship, music and the healing arts. What about history? It’s important.” Then he beamed at me, like he had just noticed my clothes. “Ah, you have dressed up too. You are a keen one for history, I can tell. Perhaps you would like to take up your citizenship work in our museum? You will learn of stamps and letters. You can read