Children of the Folded Valley

By Simon Dillon

During a journey to visit his estranged sister, James Harper recalls his childhood in a mysterious valley cut off from the outside world, where he grew up as part of a cult called the Folded Valley Fellowship.

In this seemingly idyllic world, the charismatic Benjamin Smiley claimed to be protecting his followers from an impending nuclear apocalypse.

But the valley concealed a terrifying secret.

A secret that would change Smiley’s followers forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Dillon
• Release date: Jul 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310015540

Simon Dillon

I was born the year Steven Spielberg made moviegoers everywhere terrified of sharks. I lived the first twenty or so years of my life in Oxford, and am pleased to have spent so much time in the place where some of my favourite writers wrote their greatest works (including JRR Tolkien, CS Lewis, and Philip Pullman). I like to think I can write a diverting tale, and as a result I have penned a few novels and short stories. I currently live in Plymouth in the UK, and am married with two children. I am presently brainwashing them with the same books that I loved growing up.

Book preview

Children of the Folded Valley

By Simon Dillon

Copyright 2014 Simon Dillon

Cover Design by Charles Bown

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

Dedication: For my parents, Michael and Anthea Dillon

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Bonus Content: Chapter 1 of Peaceful Quiet Lives

Bonus Content: Chapter 2 of Peaceful Quiet Lives

Bonus Content: Chapter 3 of Peaceful Quiet Lives

Chapter 1

We spend our adult lives trying to regain what we lost in childhood.

I do not claim to be unique in that respect. Whilst it might be argued that I lost more than some, we all, I think, chase after what we once had or never had. What we lost cannot be replaced, but we chase after it nonetheless.

Some think of what they lost with romantic rose-tinted spectacles, whilst others are more pragmatic. Some deny it, others get angry about it, others still accept it and seek help from friends, family, lovers, therapists, priests, gurus or anyone else who will listen. But I cannot do that. I can never tell my friends, my colleagues, my wife or my children what happened to me in the Folded Valley.

Since escaping all those years ago, I have been searching; but mine is not a sentimental journey. I do not long for the past, yet nor do I think of it as exclusively bad. I don’t ever want to go back, but I want things that are trapped there, lost forever.

What I lost, I lost on the railway line that runs along the southern edge of Dartmoor. I can still see the train disappearing; a silhouette against the bleak moors and darkening sunset skies. I can still smell the freshly cut grass, sense the cool breeze and feel the stinging tears. I remember the relief at escaping, the fear of what lay ahead and the horrible churning sensation at the knowledge that everything I had ever known was gone.

That happened in August 1982.

I was just fourteen years old.

‘James Harper,’ says the man behind the counter in the Collectible Toys shop. He is a short, bald man, but his kind eyes remind me of my father, even though he otherwise looks nothing like him. At least, I think he looks nothing like him. I don’t know. I can’t remember what my father looked like anymore.

‘We’ve found your engine,’ the man continues, bringing me out of my thoughts. ‘It’s with a collector. We can arrange to have it sent here if you like.’

‘That would be fine,’ I reply.

‘The 1970 LNER Class B12 locomotive heavy goods set is very rare. Had a devil of a job tracking it down, but got there in the end.’

‘Thank you. I’ve spent a long time looking for it, especially online, but every time a model came up for sale, I was always outbid.’

The man behind the counter shrugs. ‘Perhaps it’s fate. Perhaps you were meant to get this particular one, from this collector in Plymouth.’

Plymouth.

The name leaps out at me like a jack-in-the-box. Perhaps it is time. Perhaps I should drive to Plymouth and visit Jessica. I haven’t seen her in years, and I could pick up the train set from this collector at the same time.

‘I’m visiting Plymouth soon. If you can get in touch with your supplier, I can pick it up directly from him, and pay him whilst I’m there.’

The man behind the counter looks faintly intrigued. ‘I’ll see what I can arrange. If you just leave me your phone number...’

I have always had a passion for model trains, and Hornby railway sets remain the best money can buy. Once they were deemed mere toys, but now it is often adults who buy them. The engines - whether replicas of steam powered, diesel or electrical - remain exceptionally crafted in perfect detail, along with their coaches. Other accessories – stations, track, level crossings, scenery and so forth – are also purchased by enthusiasts like me.

In service to this hobby I have painstakingly converted the entire attic into a vast and intricate model railway. My wife is supportive but doesn’t understand my obsessive interest. Nor do my own children. Not even when I took them to Didcot to see the steam trains, did they find their imaginations stirred like mine; when my father and I stood on the borders of the Folded Valley, watching the trains rattle past. To be honest, I think they would rather play their computer games.

People my age have become very nostalgic, compared with previous generations. Nostalgia itself seems to have become an industry. For whatever reason, toys are no longer the exclusive domain of children. Perhaps in our present age, with increasing bad news and uncertainty, people want to escape into the comfort of their past. Perhaps that is why people like me tend to be obsessive over things like Hornby railways in a way our fathers never did.

Yet my past is far from comfortable, so such a neat explanation would be an over-simplification at best. The truth is, I have no idea why some people remain so deeply attached to their childhood toys. I have no idea why I continue making purchases for my ever-expanding Hornby collection. No matter how big and complicated my track layouts are, or how many rare models I track down, it doesn’t ever seem enough.

I’ve lived on Cumnor Hill in Oxford for a little over eleven years, since getting married at thirty-two. It was important to make sure there were several years between the end of the Folded Valley and marriage, chiefly because I needed a past that I could actually talk to my wife about. Obviously, I couldn’t tell her about the Folded Valley, so it was vital to have plenty of other material to draw from. There was quite a lot in the end, as my teenage years and twenties were colourful and packed with incident. Hardly surprising really. Indeed, many of the more hedonistic incidents were deliberately indulgent. For one thing, I had a lot to catch up with, and for another, I wanted plenty of amusing and interesting stories to tell - stories to distract any future wife, so that she never asked questions about the earlier part of my life.

My plan seemed to work, so after much procrastination, I finally proposed to my wife, Suzie, in July of 1999. We were married early the following year. For a long time after that I didn’t think about the Folded Valley at all. Suzie drove it from my mind completely, and we were very happy. We had our first son Mark, in 2004, and our second, David, in 2008. But recently things have changed. Despite being very busy at work and at home, the past has crept back into my thoughts.

I have all but lost contact with the survivors. I haven’t even seen my sister Jessica since her wedding, and only when the man in the Toy Collectibles shop mentioned Plymouth did it suddenly occur to me that I ought to pay her a visit. There was something else he said too, about it being fate that I should get this particular train set from someone in Plymouth. An odd remark, to say the least.

When I mention the idea of visiting Plymouth, Suzie seems very pleased.

‘I don’t understand why you haven’t seen her for so long.’

‘It wasn’t intentional. Life simply got in the way.’

‘Yet now you’ll make the time, because there’s a train set you want.’

She’s teasing me, but I take her comment at face value. ‘No, it’s not that. I could have it posted to me. It’s just… I’d like to see the South West again. It’s a beautiful area and I haven’t been there in years.’

‘Well, term ends next week. If you can get the time off, we could all go. I can make the arrangements easily enough.’

I think about this for a moment. An impromptu holiday would be fun. I can easily take the time off work.

‘Yes, let’s do it.’

Later that evening, I get a phone call from the man who is selling me the LNER Class B12 locomotive heavy goods set. He sounds friendly, but there is something a little odd about his voice that I can’t put my finger on.

‘Is that James Harper?’

‘Speaking.’

‘This is Arthur Lord. Terry Forbes from Toy Collectibles gave me your number. Said something about you collecting your set in person.’

‘Yes. I’ll be in the area next week.’

Arthur Lord gives me his address and telephone number. ‘Call and let me know when it will be convenient to pick it up. I’ll give you directions from wherever you’re staying.’

‘That would be great.’

‘Difficult set to find,’ Arthur Lord continued. ‘You must have had quite a search.’

‘I’ve been looking for years,’ I say, momentarily overcome with bittersweet feelings. ‘You say it’s in good condition?’

‘Absolutely. Still with all the packaging, good as new. It’s not been used for a while, but… Well, you’ll see when you get here.’

Arthur Lord’s mysterious tone intrigues me. He says goodbye. I hang up the phone and go to bed.

That night, for the first time in years, I dream of the Folded Valley.

My earliest memory is standing with my father, at the edge of the railway line on Beacon Hill. On the other side of the tracks a clear view looked south over the green fields to Ivybridge, and the road leading back to Plymouth. Behind us lay the path leading up from the Folded Valley; into its forests, streams and farmland, down to the settlements and up again into the steep hills to the northern boundary. Beyond the northern boundary, several miles away and barely visible, lay the rugged landscape of Dartmoor.

The sun was high in the sky, and it must have been summer since the leaves on the horse chestnuts, ashes, oaks and elms were in full bloom. I can remember the smell of honeysuckle. My father’s smile. His hand in mine.

I could hear the approaching train. My father’s eyes gleamed with enthusiasm.

‘Are you ready?’

I nodded. I had no idea what was coming, but the sounds of the puffing steam train were electrifying. Standing on my tiptoes I watched the line, feeling mild trepidation but also tremendous excitement.

A huge locomotive puffed into view; a vast, green mechanical bulk that expelled steam from its black funnel like some kind of great and proud beast of metal. The engine seemed alive. To my impressionable mind it was both noble and frighteningly powerful, and as it rumbled along the track towards us, I stared in amazement.

The locomotive shot past, and behind it rattled several coaches of brown and white. My father later told me they were empty, but I could have sworn they were filled with people, all of whom waved and smiled. Perhaps I glimpsed ghosts of those who had once travelled on these trains, for they were long since defunct.

That train, my father later explained, was one used in the South West during summer months on specially preserved steam lines for tourists. By then, in 1971, steam trains had been replaced by diesel engines and most of the time they were what ran along the southern border of the Folded Valley. But every now and again we saw steam trains in transit to the lines where they ran.

‘What did you think of that?’ my father asked.

‘Again! Again!’

My father laughed. ‘I can’t do that.’

I insisted that we stand by the railway and wait. My father agreed, and we watched several more trains. But they were all diesel engines pulling normal commuter trains. Interested as I was in those, they seemed much tamer creatures compared with the magnificent steel behemoth that had chuffed and puffed its way past earlier.

My father told me in later years how he had a particularly amusing conversation with me on the way back to our house, trying to explain that trains weren’t really alive. Somehow my three-year old mind could not accept this. I don’t recall the exchange, but apparently, I stubbornly refused to believe his words. Nothing that spectacular could be dead. That train was definitely alive.

For the next year or two, my father would take me on walks up to the railway line, and we would watch the trains go past. It wasn’t long after I had first seen the steam train that we played a very silly game together, apparently at my behest: we would try to chase the trains.

Exactly why I suddenly wanted to do this is anyone’s guess, but it was great fun. The railway passed along the top of a grassy ridge a few feet outside the Folded Valley, but a path ran parallel to the line just inside, and that was the path my father and I would sprint along, trying to catch the trains. I would hold his hand, racing after the carriages as they rattled past. Incessant giggling ensued, and sometimes my father ran faster than I could, lifting me from the ground in the process.

One time, just before my fifth birthday, the London train slowed to a standstill whilst we watched it at the top of Beacon Hill. There was a signal farther down the line, but the train had halted some way short of it. Perhaps the driver had been radioed and asked to wait there because of an obstruction on the line. At any rate, seeing the train halt in front of our eyes like this was a new experience, and I jumped and danced around with joy at having caught a train.

‘I got one! I got one!’

My father laughed. ‘Are you going to carry it home?’

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘In my pocket.’

For a moment I watched the passengers. Most were reading, or asleep, or looking out of the other window, but a few glanced in our direction. They couldn’t see us of course. No-one could look beyond the barriers into the Folded Valley. From their perspective, the only thing visible was a steep hillside on the edge of Dartmoor.

After a few minutes, the train started up again. I wasn’t prepared to let my catch go, and insisted we chase after it. My father took my hand; and as the train slowly pulled away, we ran, trying to overtake it. We sprinted along the path, reaching out our hands in an absurdly comical manner, pretending to try and grab the coaches.

‘I think I can get it!’ I panted.

‘It’s just out of reach!’ My father gasped, playing along.

The train gathered speed. It rushed onward, and soon the carriages hurtled past. A second before the last carriage went by, I tripped on a stone and fell to the ground, cutting my lip. It’s funny; I can still taste blood when I think about it.

My father picked me up and gave me a hug, drying my tears with his handkerchief. ‘It got away,’ I wailed, lamenting the loss of the train that had now disappeared in the distance.

‘Never mind… I’ll get you another train, one you can keep.’

I thought my father was being ridiculous. Obviously, I understood that the whole catching trains thing was a joke. But now he said he could get me a train of my very own, to keep.

‘Don’t be silly Daddy!’

‘I’m not being silly. You’ll see. It’s a train just for you, I promise.’

‘But how could I keep a train? It wouldn’t fit in the house!’

My father smiled.

‘What kind of a train is it?’

‘A very special train that’s been trying to find you.’ My father was teasing me, no doubt recalling the conversation when I had insisted the steam train was alive. ‘It will be very pleased to see you.’

Shortly after that incident, my father requested special permission from Benjamin Smiley and the Eldership to visit Plymouth. The pretext my father used was that he needed some tools for his workshop, in his capacity as Head Carpenter in the Folded Valley. After discussing the matter with the Eldership, they arranged an appointment with Smiley at his office in the Chapel House, which I also attended.

I was used to the smartly attired Benjamin Smiley of the regular Sunday meetings, so seeing him dressed casually in plain dark trousers and a loose-fitting white shirt felt a little unusual. But he was still a charismatic, imposing figure; over six feet tall with eyes of deepest blue and a full head of wispy, light brown hair. He smiled at me from behind his desk, but addressed my father in serious tones.

‘So Graham, I understanding you’re requesting permission to visit the Fallen Dimension?’

‘I require tools for my workshop,’ my father said.

‘I see.’ Benjamin turned to me. ‘And do you need anything from the Fallen Dimension?’

I didn’t know what to say, so just shook my head.

‘Is there anything more precious than an innocent child?’ Benjamin mused.

His intense, searching eyes regarded me. I felt as though he could read my mind. Yet at the time this didn’t bother me. My reasoning was that if Benjamin Smiley knew my every thought then he would understand and care for me. I had been told he was the greatest man alive on Earth, and my reverence and respect for him was absolute.

Benjamin turned back to my father. ‘Of course, when the apocalypse comes, we’ll no longer have the convenience of being able to return to the Fallen Dimension. We’ll have to manage alone.’

My Dad nodded. ‘Indeed.’

‘This trip ought to be unnecessary. We should already be fully supplied.’

‘Even the best tools will wear down in the end.’

‘Ultimately we will have to look to the Folded Valley to supply our needs. Still, for the present you have my permission to go. I suggest you take one of my cars.’

‘Thank you, but I’d rather take the bus.’

Benjamin scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to my father. ‘Get the cash from the Elders, and anything else you need.’

Benjamin returned his attention to the papers at his desk, indicating the interview was at an end. But as we turned to leave, he called after us.

‘Graham, how is Sarah?’

‘She is very well. Thank you for asking.’

My father’s eyes registered a flicker of anxiety as he spoke, but at the time I thought I had imagined it. He turned to me a second later with a big smile on his face. There was something subversive about that smile; a secret, shared knowledge of the true purpose of our visit to the outside world. It didn’t have the feel of a malicious deception, merely a mischievous, spirited prank.

The Elders gave my father a remote-control device that opened a small window in the barrier so we could come and go. Since we had been told our bodies could not survive for more than a few minutes outside the Folded Valley, we were also given special drugs that enabled us to exist in the Fallen Dimension. These drugs, which they called Dimension Passes or DPs, were only issued to those who had permission for such outside trips. Typically there were not many excursions of this nature, and in those days, no-one wanted to leave the Folded Valley in any case.

The toy shop was somewhere in the city centre, though when I tried to find it years later, I discovered it had gone out of business. For a child who had never seen a toy shop, stepping into such a place was like stepping into heaven itself. This was not a modern toy emporium like those vast, soulless warehouse-like entities that are merely part of a chain. This was a proper, old school local toy shop with its wares beautifully laid out. Selected items were on display outside their boxes, and amid the vehicles, dolls, figures, board games, Lego sets and so forth was a large electrical Hornby railway with two trains, a miniature station, fields, trees, a tunnel and even a few tiny figures. My father inserted five pence into a coin slot and the two trains ran on different sections of track. I stood and watched, completely mesmerised.

After the money ran out and the trains stopped running, I glanced across to the Hornby section which included a set that particularly caught my eye: the LNER Class B12 locomotive heavy goods set. My father also browsed the Hornby shelves, but I had already made up my mind that I wanted this particular set. Through the cellophane I stared longingly at the gleaming new green locomotive and the set of trucks behind it, along with pieces of track and other accessories. My father had promised me a train - a train that had been trying to find me - and here it was.

In joy, I grabbed the set with both hands and ran out of the shop into the street. Concepts of shoplifting did not enter my mind. The pure joy at finally catching a train overrode all other thoughts. Down the street I ran, until I eventually stopped at a corner. I glanced back and caught sight of Dad chasing after me. I half expected him to be angry, but he was laughing.

‘I have to pay for it first, silly!’

My father took me back to the shop and paid for the set. After he had bought the replacement tools he needed, we then caught the bus back, and returned to the Folded Valley. I could not wait to return home, and once I got back, he helped me assemble the train set in my bedroom.

I don’t think I had a happier afternoon in my entire childhood. Dad couldn’t stay for long because he had work to get back to, but he played with me for a little bit before leaving. My mother also put her head round the door, despite the fact that she was busy looking after my sister Jessica, who was only two at the time. They both watched whilst I played, and Jessica even joined in a little, though I took care to ensure she didn’t break anything. Hornby railways became my passion that day, and I decided to ask my father if we could get more of them and build a big layout like the one in the toy shop. When I made the request, he smiled and said he would see, but I knew that smile meant yes.

Unfortunately my happiness was short lived. It wasn’t long before Gavin Bone found out about the train set and reported the matter to Benjamin Smiley. In retrospect, I can now see that the train set incident triggered the first small pebble in a landslide that would ultimately change my life and the lives of all in the Folded Valley, though I did not realise this at the time.

Gavin Bone was a peculiar person to say the least. Later I learnt that Benjamin Smiley had adopted him and brought him to the Folded Valley after he had found him lying severely injured in an alleyway. Gavin had run away from home after his father had beaten him almost to the point of death. For the rest of his life, he walked with a hunch and had a slight hobble. I mention this not to justify what Gavin did, but to try and explain his fanatical loyalty to Benjamin.

Gavin had lost much of his hair, even though he was only in his late twenties. What was left he combed over his pale scalp. This made him look like an old man with a young face, and I often thought he appeared very ill. He had a very flat nose, crooked yellow teeth and spoke with a funny lisp. Although below average height, he still seemed tall and always frightened me, even before I understood exactly why I should fear him. After the train incident, I hated him more than anyone in the world.

About two weeks after my father bought me the train set, Gavin Bone paid an unexpected visit to our house. It was well known that Gavin was sent by Benjamin Smiley to check that all was well in the community. This was for our own happiness and protection, and to ensure our idyllic lifestyle continued smoothly and efficiently. At least, that is what we were told at the time.

Like most of the other houses in the Folded Valley, ours resembled a typically American suburban home. Well-manicured lawns in the front and a vegetable patch in the back were surrounded by a white picket fence. There was even a porch and a swinging seat above the steps that led to the front door. Benjamin Smiley had a particular fondness for this classic American look, hence why he had ordered that the Folded Valley settlements be constructed in such a way.

Whilst playing with my train set inside the sitting room, I noticed Gavin approaching outside the window. He didn’t bother to knock but simply entered the house. No-one locked their doors in the Folded Valley. That was considered unfriendly.

Gavin hobbled across the threshold and glanced from the hallway through the open door of the sitting room to where I sat playing. I stopped my game and peered up at him, leaving the train still running around and around on the tracks I had set up. There was something cruel about the way his eyes glinted in that moment.

‘Hello Jameth… James,’ said Gavin. ‘Your Daddy buy you a preth… present?’

I nodded, feeling unsettled and unable to tear my eyes away from his.

‘I thh… see. Where’s Mummy?’

At that point, Mum entered the room from the kitchen. ‘Hello Gavin.’

‘I’m just checking that you’re all doing well.’

‘Yes we are.’

‘I th… see.’

An awkward silence fell. Gavin kept glancing down at my train set and back to my mother.

‘Mith… Mrs Harper…’

‘You can call me Sarah.’

‘Th… Sarah. I must th… speak to you for a moment.’

‘Very well.’

‘In private.’

My mother sighed. ‘Can’t this wait until Graham gets back?’

‘Actually, Benjamin th… sent me because he knew Graham would be at work.’

My mother let out a little gasp, but then forced herself to smile. She had a particular kind of fake smile for when she was afraid.

‘What’s this about Gavin?’

Gavin glanced down at me. ‘James, why don’t you go to your room for a minute?’

I looked uncertainly to my mother, but she nodded. Anxiously, I left the room and climbed the stairs, but I didn’t go to my room. I listened through the banisters on the landing and caught some of their conversation.

‘Benjamin gave me thith… this letter to exth…plain things.’

For a moment there was silence. Then I could hear my mother crying indignantly.

‘He cannot be serious!’

‘He ith God’s Chosen Leader. You have to obey.’

‘No!’

‘Thith… This is an honour. You should be pleased.’

‘Pleased?’

Another pause. I’m not sure what was happening, but a second later she spoke again. ‘Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever touch me! Get out Gavin.’

‘Th… Sarah, listen…’

‘Leave! Now!’

I don’t think I’d ever heard my mother sound so angry. Before Gavin left, he turned and glanced up the stairs at me, his expression one of smug self-satisfaction. After he went, I ran down the stairs to find my mother. She was in the kitchen, crying quietly with her head in her hands. I rushed up to her and hugged her, stroking her long dark hair. After a few seconds she looked up at me and smiled.

‘It’s alright sweetheart, I’m fine.’

‘But what’s the matter Mummy?’

‘Nothing you best, best boy in the world!’ She clung to me, and I could tell she was trying not to sob.

‘Did you hurt yourself?’ I asked.

‘No sweetheart. It’s just… Sometimes God asks us to do difficult things, and Mummy has a difficult thing she has to do. But it will all be alright. God knows what’s best for us, doesn’t he?’

I nodded.

‘And one of the things we have to do is honour his chosen leaders. You have to do what Mummy and Daddy say, and Mummy and Daddy have to do what Benjamin says, because God has chosen to speak through him.’

‘Like a telephone?’

My mother laughed. ‘Not exactly.’

I thought nothing more of what had happened for the rest of the day, but late that afternoon, shortly before my father returned home from work, Gavin Bone paid my mother a second visit. I was instructed to return to my bedroom, and this time to shut the door. I couldn’t hear the discussion, but about ten minutes later there were footsteps on the stairs. From their rhythm I could tell that they were not those of my mother.

Gavin Bone opened my bedroom door and stood there staring at me with that same smugness mixed with a kind of superficial concern.

‘Jameth… James, pleath… please come downth… stairs.’

I followed him, but I was afraid. Something was wrong. I felt as though I was about to be punished. Gavin led me outside to the porch and into the front garden. To my surprise, two men of the Eldership stood waiting that I recognised from the Chapel House Meetings: Geoffrey Matthews and Frank Chadwick.

Geoffrey was quite short and fat, whereas Frank was tall and bony, with particularly mean eyes… Why is it that I can recollect the appearance of the people I hated in such vivid detail, yet my parents are now a blur in my memory? I vaguely recall my father being tall with brown hair, kind eyes and that he smiled a lot, but all the details have vanished. I remember my mother of course, but only from afterwards. I wish I could remember how she looked back then. All I can see when I think of her during this time is long dark hair. Like my father she often smiled, though from this point onward, she cried as much as she smiled.

A paving slab supported by a pile of bricks had been assembled in front of Geoffrey and Frank. On top of the slab lay the entire contents of my LNER Class B12 locomotive heavy goods set. The Elders both had hammers in their right hands. My mother stood with them, and she was crying.

‘James, I’m sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m so sorry! There isn’t any other way, you see…’

‘Silence,’ said Frank. ‘James, your father exceeded his privileges when he purchased this train set for you.’

I didn’t understand what they were talking about, but I was very, very scared. Most of all, I couldn’t understand why my mother was so upset.

‘It must be destroyed,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Benjamin has ordered this. Citizens of the Folded Valley cannot bring unauthorised goods of the Fallen Dimension into our realm, for many good reasons. In this case, Benjamin fears that this train will ultimately be a temptation that will lure you outside of our fellowship. There are many exciting toys and devices in the Fallen Dimension James, but it is heading for destruction and death. Here, in the Folded Valley, we are protected. And so that is why we do this now - to protect you.’

Then Geoffrey, whose face displayed the same kind of smug expression as Gavin, raised his hammer and brought it down with a shuddering crash onto the green locomotive. The impact was like a knife to my heart. Up to this point, I had been deeply confused about what was happening, but now everything became horribly crystal clear.

In anguish I ran forward in a futile attempt to stop them, but Gavin firmly grabbed both my arms and held me in place, forcing me to witness every blow of the hammers. Frank and Geoffrey utterly smashed every last piece of the train set.