The Boy and the Hidden Tunnel

By Wayne Saber

In 1940 London, the parents of a 12-year-old boy are killed when their house is destroyed during the Blitz. He seeks shelter in a London Underground tunnel and discovers a hidden ancient tunnel, where he is almost trapped. When he emerges from the tunnel, everything looks different and he learns that it is 65 years later than when he entered the tunnel, yet he is still 12 years old. He has no parents, no friends and nowhere to go. He has to adjust to the modern world without being able to tell anyone where he comes from. The police think he’s a runaway and he’s put in a boarding school with uncaring staff and an oversized bully. He manages to travel to Scotland, France and Germany looking for answers. He keeps thinking about the tunnel and whether it could take him back to the world he once knew.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wayne Saber
• Release date: May 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476074078

Wayne Saber

Wayne Saber was born in London, England in 1986, where he lived until moving to Canterbury in 2009. "The Boy and the Hidden Tunnel" is Wayne's first novel. Although all of the characters and events in the novel are fictional, many ideas in the novel are based on Wayne's own life experiences. He was in care as a child, had difficulty in school because of undiagnosed dyslexia, and was sent to a boarding school with a farm. He leaves to your imagination which other fictional incidents in the novel were inspired by real events. Wayne hopes you enjoy reading it.

Book preview

The Boy and the Hidden Tunnel

By

Wayne Saber

Copyright 2012 Wayne Saber

www.waynesaber.com

Smashwords Edition

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This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are entirely fictional.

Cover designed by Harrison Davies (www.harrisondavies.com).

Table of Contents

Chapter 1. The Tunnel

Chapter 2. 65 Years Later

Chapter 3. Arrival in Scotland

Chapter 4. Ann

Chapter 5. Trouble with Trevor

Chapter 6. The Boarding School

Chapter 7. The Farm

Chapter 8. Paris

Chapter 9. Trip to Trier

Chapter 10. Andy Confronts Carolyn

Chapter 11. Return to Scotland

Chapter 12. Sonya’s Search for Answers

Chapter 13. Ann Moves to London

Chapter 14. Tom Arrives in London

Chapter 15. The Celtic Legend

Chapter 16. The Key Is Stolen

Chapter 17. Tom and Ann Are Married

Chapter 18. Return to the Tunnel

Acknowledgment

Chapter 1. The Tunnel

I’m sorry, Mrs. Rebas, the greengrocer said to my mum, we have no pears today. I expect another shipment next week. We have some nice strawberries and apples that just came in.

It was September 1940. The war had made some foods scarce, but we always had enough to eat. My mum examined the strawberries one by one, checking the color and sniffing each one.

No, I’ll skip the strawberries, she said, shaking her head, and went on to the apples. She carefully examined each of the six apples and selected three of them.

The grocer weighed the apples and put them in a paper bag. I didn’t like this part of shopping with my mum. I thought she was being too fussy and it was embarrassing, but when I think back about the wonderful meals that she prepared, I really appreciate her careful shopping. My favorite dish was her shepherd’s pie. The pie was a little different each time depending on what ingredients were available, but always very nice.

We didn’t need any vegetables because we grew our own carrots, peas and potatoes. I was proud to be helping the war effort by working in the victory garden that we planted behind our house.

Next we went to the small grocery store down the street. My mum handed the grocer her ration book and purchased 12 ounces of sugar. The sugar would have to last a long time.

But shortages and rationing were the least of the blood, toil, tears and sweat that Mr. Churchill told us we would face. My dad’s army unit had been pushed back by the Germans in France. They were trapped at Dunkirk between the Germans to the east and the sea to the west. It appeared that only a miracle could save them. And there was a miracle. Churchill ordered everything that could float to cross the English Channel and pick up the endangered soldiers. Nine hundred ships and boats, from large navy ships to little fishing boats, rescued more than 300,000 soldiers.

Dad had been wounded in the fighting in France. Many London hospitals were closed because of the air raids and he was sent to the Royal Victoria Military Hospital near Southampton. His leg had been amputated and he was in generally poor health. We made the two-hour train trip from London to Netley Rail Station as often as we could. We walked about a mile walk from the station to the hospital. The hospital was crowded with wounded soldiers. My dad was in a large ward with two rows of 10 beds each. The nurses in white and gray uniforms with flowing white hats were running up and down trying to minister to the patients. Doctors in white coats looked exhausted as they tried to stop by the bedside of each patient who needed them. Visitors were sitting on folding chairs next to almost every bed. The noise and chaos was alarming and I hoped that Dad would be able to come home soon. He was finally released from the hospital in July. He was still not completely well, but Mum insisted on taking him home. Seeing how busy things were at the hospital, she felt she could give him more attention at home.

We lived in Stockwell on Lansdowne Gardens, in a modest two-story detached house with basement windows just visible above the ground. Mum had inherited the house only two years earlier from her grandfather. Six steps led up to the front door. An overhang above the door was supported by two large Greek-style columns that lent some elegance to the house’s otherwise dreary exterior. The front door opened into a long narrow hallway, with the door to the living room to the right and the door to the kitchen straight ahead. A staircase in the center of the hallway led to the first floor, with its two bedrooms and large bathroom. A cloakroom was located on the ground floor under the staircase.

Mum enjoyed taking care of the house and was used to Dad looking after her, but all of that had changed now that Dad had returned from the war with a missing leg and a wounded spirit. I could see the strain that Mum was under trying to take care of Dad as well as taking care of me and the house. Although I was only 12, I did what I could to help.

Mum and I had just returned from our grocery shopping. She was upstairs when we heard the sirens.

Mum, we need to go to the basement, I said excitedly.

You go to the basement, Tom. Dad has a fever and he doesn’t feel up to getting out of bed. Mum had heard the sirens many times before and nothing had happened in our neighborhood. Only military and industrial targets had been attacked. She decided to stay upstairs rather than leave Dad alone.

Can’t I stay with you and Dad? I said.

Tom, go to the basement right now, like you promised.

I headed for the basement. We had reinforced it to provide some protection in case we couldn’t make it to an air raid shelter. Some of my friends had been evacuated from London and were staying with families in the countryside. Others had moved out of London permanently with their families. But I had decided to stay home with my parents. How could I leave Mum to care for Dad all by herself? Mum allowed me to stay if I promised to go to the basement whenever we heard the sirens.

This time there was more than just sirens. As I got to the basement, I heard a loud explosion. The house shook and I fell to the floor. When I got up, all I could see was a thick cloud of dust and smoke. At first I couldn’t hear anything, only a ringing in my ears. Then I heard a crumbling sound. Our roof had caved in and the first floor had collapsed into the ground floor. The stairs to the basement were covered with rubble. I moved enough of the rubble so that I could climb up onto the ground floor. The ground floor was covered with pieces of the brick walls, plaster, and furniture that had fallen through from the first floor.

Mum! Dad! I shouted, terrified, but there was no answer. I started to look around and I saw something shiny on the floor. As the dust started to settle, I could see that it was Mum’s gold locket that she always wore around her neck. The chain was broken and I knew something terrible had happened. Then I saw a hand hanging out of the rubble. I could tell from the wedding ring on her finger that it was Mum’s hand. I started fighting frantically through the rubble, trying to move chunks of the brick wall that were covering her, but they were too heavy for me.

Mummy! Mummy! I cried out as I tried to move the rubble. I cleared enough rubble to see Mum’s head and shoulders. Her eyes were closed. I tried to wake her but she didn’t answer. I realized that Mum was dead. I sat next to her crying. Then I heard some movement in the rubble nearby. My dad was still alive. I could see that he was badly injured.

Dad, Mummy’s dead, I said sobbing. You’re hurt; I’ll get help.

It’s too late, he replied slowly, barely able to speak.

Don’t leave me, Daddy. Don’t leave me on my own.

Tom, run to the shelter in the tube station. Run as fast as you can.

He closed his eyes. I sat there choking and crying in the dust. I had hoped in my head that Mum and Dad would somehow just pick themselves up and comfort me, but they didn’t. They lay there still, quiet.

It started to rain. I looked up in what was once our living room and I could see the open sky. The rain was pouring down into the room. I was cold and wet. I couldn’t think of what to do. Dad’s words echoed in my mind. He had used his last breath to tell me to run to the tube station for shelter and I knew that’s what I had to do. I yanked my long brown coat out from under some rubble and put it on. I picked up Mum’s locket from the floor and put it in my coat pocket. I said goodbye to Mum and told her I loved her. I said the same to my dad. I knew that they couldn’t hear me, but it was something I needed to say.

I ran through an opening where the front door used to be, climbing over piles of rubble to get onto the street. I was shivering. I turned right and ran toward Stockwell Tube Station. Some houses I passed had been reduced to rubble; others were on fire. The sirens were still going off. Planes overhead were making terrifying noises. I looked up and saw bombs dropping from the planes. The sky had an orange glow and there was black smoke everywhere.

Hundreds of people were trying to get into the tube station. I was small and able to mingle easily with the crowd. Wardens were directing people into the station and down to the platforms and I followed behind them. There was a lot of pushing and shoving. Even elderly people and women carrying babies were jostled by the panicked crowd. Parents were calling to their children, trying to keep their families together. Small children were crying with fear. The wardens told the people to wait for the electricity to be turned off so they could take cover in the tunnels. With all the pushing and shoving, I ended up falling off the platform onto the track. I tried to call people to help me up, but no one could hear me because of all the noise. I ran along the track looking for a way to climb up. As I reached the end of the platform, I saw two dim lights further down the tunnel. A train was coming and I couldn’t find a way to get off the track.

As the train got closer, it lit up the tunnel and I noticed some rats running along the track. One of them went through a partially opened door a short distance into the tunnel. I didn’t want to run toward the train, but I couldn’t stay on the track. I had to get through that door before the train reached it. I ran as fast as I could and opened the door and went through it. Just as I got through the door, I heard the train thunder past. I was trembling. It took me a moment to get my breath back. Then I started to notice where I was. I was in a tiny narrow room. I found a light switch on the wall and turned on the light, but it came on very dimly. I decided to wait there until they turned the power off to the tracks so there would be no more trains. I waited for some time, but I wasn’t sure that it was safe to go back onto the tracks, so I searched for another way out.

There was a large torch in a bracket near the light switch. I took it down and turned it on. I could see a steel plate on the wall at the other end of the room. It looked as though it was normally bolted down, but it had been left just propped up against the wall. I moved it aside and found a hole in the wall. I thought it might lead to another way out and I crawled through it. I should have looked around more carefully first. The hole didn’t lead to another room; it led to an area of dirt and rubble. I lost my footing and slid down several feet. I didn’t know how I was going to get back up. I used the torch to look around and I saw a reflection from something shiny about 30 feet away. I walked over to it and saw that it was an iron gate. I opened the gate and walked through it, hoping to find a way out.

As soon as I went through the gate, I heard a noise behind me. I turned, thinking someone was there, but it was just the gate closing. Then I felt the ground shaking. I decided to turn back, but it was too late. The gate had locked when it closed and a stone wall came up from an opening in the ground on the far side of the gate. This didn’t make sense to me. Why would the gate lock by itself? Why would a wall come up behind it? There was a keyhole in the gate, but there was no sign of a key. I couldn’t get back out the same way I came in.

I was in a tunnel now with walls made of roughly cut stones that seemed to be just piled on top of one another. It looked like something much older than the tunnels that the trains ran through. It smelled musty and damp. I thought it must have been there long before the train tunnels were built. The tunnel was very narrow and the ceiling was just a little above my head. An adult would have to crawl to get through it. I continued walking for about 50 feet.

The tunnel led to a circular room with a high vaulted ceiling constructed of stone slabs arranged in an elaborate design. There were three other openings in the wall, each leading to a small room. One room was directly in front of me as I walked out of the tunnel; one was to my left and one was to my right. I went into the room that was straight ahead.

Eight stone slabs were arranged in a circle on the floor. On three of the slabs I could make out skeletons wrapped in some kind of cloth. I turned and ran, wanting to get as far away from this room as I could. I went back into the tunnel, hoping to find another way out. But the tunnel was much longer now. I walked for what seemed like an hour, but I couldn’t find a way out.

Shining the torch down the tunnel, I could make out something that looked like clothing on the floor with a large key next to it.