The Serengeti Plane: Book One: Take Off

By Thomas Dowling

Welcome aboard! One hundred and fifty crocodile feet long and serving a wholesome selection of vines and grubs, the Silver Albatross is a little unique, and today is her maiden flight. From the recycled materials used in her construction to the half hound, half penguin crew that man her, this metallic bird is a major breakthrough for endangered animals everywhere. The passengers are a little unique too. The dieting hippopotamus, the modelling chameleon, and the poker-playing cat pack all hope to realise one unified dream: to finally level the playing field humankind has created in its continuous encroachment of their habitat. But where animals are concerned, things arent always plane sailing... And that mysterious crate at the back of the plane is prepared to throw everything off course...

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463402921

Thomas Dowling

Thomas Dowling is an alumnus of the University of Bristol, where he graduated twice with honours in Classics and Ancient History. A passionate environmentalist and historian, Thomas spent a year living and working in Norway, whose natural, unspoilt majesty gave him food for thought in the inception of this book. Now an English teacher in Jinju City, South Korea, where he can often be found in his classroom trying out his new characters on his students, Tom dedicates his spare time in writing all nine books of his ecology-themed novel series and touring the historical wonders of the country.

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© 2011 by Thomas Dowling. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 05/13/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-0291-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-0292-1 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

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Contents

Foreword

Don’t let your animal instincts take over!

Dedication

Acknowledgments:

Acorns

Passenger List

Fjords for thought:

the Kernel of my Consciousness

Prologue

The Mongoose and the Balaclava

Book One

Take-off

Chapter 1

Outfoxed

Chapter 2

Into the Lion’s Den

Chapter 3

Somebody Need a Croc-tor?

Chapter 4

A Wing and a Prayer

Chapter 5

Flight Deck / Card Deck

Chapter 6

Are You Having a Giraffe?

Chapter 7

Pieces of Ahight

Chapter 8

A Tuskan Connection

Chapter 9

Perfectly Blended

Chapter 10

Submersed in Work

Chapter 11

There’s Gazellions of ‘Em

Chapter 12

Volte-face Chameleon

Chapter 13

The Prisoner

Book Two

Broken Wings

Chapter 14

A Fin and a Prayer

Foreword

Just because I’m in this cage doesn’t mean you can ignore me! You are a disgrace, my friend! Look at you with you neat moustache and your tailored pleated suit. What are you, human? You should be defending your young against man, not selling protein shakes and making your strong species weak! Yes, I heard your story. Free me and I will deliver you your salvation, and reverse this odd Stockholm syndrome you seem to have with man!

Knowing his humour well, Tom would have said that our pairing up for the long job of editing and formatting The Serengeti Plane was natural selection at its finest. I’m jolly glad I had the opportunity to come aboard and collaborate with Tom on his manuscript. Between us, we have managed to wrinkle out Hector’s dialogue, among others, in a way that still retains Tom’s unique voice.

Tom has been a trusted colleague for some time now, but he is also a dark horse who doesn’t necessarily show off his creative side in public. Editing the text, I have been able to dive into the richness of his wordplay and characterisation, much like Patchy might do on a day off at the Antarctic Peninsula. As a first novel, which he refined after long days teaching English in South Korea, Tom has managed a tremendous feat by resurrecting the colour and vibrancy of one of the most beautiful (and endangered) ecosystems on Earth into the clouds, onto a plane.

There is so much more I want to find out about the animals aboard the Silver Albatross, and I hope the same will be true for you. But we will have to wait until Book Two for that.

Aside from beautiful language, Tom is also a realist. He has begun a thread (a thread he has woven into each book of this majestic animal tapestry) which is his take on climate change. Book One is as much a commentary on man’s enslavement of other species as it is on the regrettable bloom of environmental/natural disasters that have come to mark life in the new century, and of competition, greed and hunger.

Tom cuts no ice as to where he thinks the problem lies and by humanising his menagerie of animals (talk about carbon hoof-prints…) he provides us with a tension that we cannot afford to ignore. Each and every one of the novel’s endangered animals comes to emulate the varying sides of humanity that we ought to do our very best to change.

As we pass through the chapters and as the opening passage from our guerrilla prisoner symbolises, we arrive at a climatic destination both vivid and representative of modern man-made disasters. Should our passengers choose to preserve their form of mimicked humanity, or should they discard it for a greener community and pastures new… ? It may take you two or more readings before you uncover the depth of Tom’s literary totem pole and all the multiple meanings and beliefs it conveys. However, as you leaf through this book (or on an environmentally-friendly e-reader), you will likely see before you a burning passion for a green revolution—namely, a focus on adopting healthier attitudes towards this planet’s flora and fauna through a greater appreciation of the benefits of conservation, recycled materials and biofuels. As the prisoner states:

Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but at some point in the future, the revolution will have spread across the world. Then, and only then, will all the species of the Earth have a chance to halt man’s summary execution of what it perceives as ‘lesser life’ or life that exists to serve man.

Nothing could be truer. Just as our antihero guerrilla fights for—all species have a chance to halt man’s destruction, and that includes man himself. I hope this book will go some way to enlightening you to the impact of climate change, and encourage you to make some of those informed choices.

Despite the serious themes of this work, The Serengeti Plane is presented in a very readable, side-splitting format that merits the genre of satire.

I hope, then, that you will take pleasure in reading this novel as much as I have enjoyed collaborating with Tom on it. It’s time to get your vanilla ticket ready and enjoy your flight aboard the Serengeti Plane.

Tom Sibley

Viña del Mar, April 2011

Don’t let your animal instincts take over!

Dedication

Above all those prodders and pushers who have helped me create this novel; no one stands taller than my dear friend and editor, Tom Sibley. Thank you, old friend. I dedicate this work to you in homage of the dedication you have invested into this project.

Acknowledgments:

Acorns

It is only right and proper that the first acknowledgment goes to Thomas Sibley, to whom this novel is chiefly dedicated. He inspired me to make this project better and to reach the finishing line after a long, hard race. I could write entire volumes thanking him, but I will suffice with this short note.

Lynsey Peacey (my partner when I first began this project), deserves a mention. She helped me when my soul was marooned; she helped with the grammar and research; and generally looked after me during this arduous adventure. Lynsey’s knowledge and advice has aided me in creating this novel’s structure, characterisation, and refinement of some of the more abstract ideas. I have much to thank her for—and always will.

It was, however, down to a certain Aussie who I met ever so fatefully while on holiday in Egypt who began my writing journey. Kieron Holland was that chap. It was he who first stirred the writing fire within my heart and liver. His words and experiences had captivated my spirit and turned much of my creative impulses towards a literary direction. I rather hope and think that Kieron, a talented and determined writer himself, will grace the shelves of esteemed bookshops long before I ever do. However, after an initially spirited surge and a flurry of writing, for various reasons, my ambitions stagnated and halted.

My university commitments over the next few years consumed much of my time as well as the greater bulk of my intellectual energy. But the acorn of the writer was firmly planted. Over the next few years it grew silently in my mind; hibernating, laying dormant, until those droughts of time finally subsided. Then, all of a sudden, I was swamped by this frenzied monsoon of words, this tsunami of verbosity that drenched my creative membranes and that dear little acorn. My odyssey had truly started.

However, it was down to another very good friend of mine, a certain Diarmid Thackery, a man of impressive language intimacy and creativity himself, who urged me to excavate my writing pen, which had become more of an ancestral relic akin to the artefacts that I studied during my time at university. Dim is the kind of guy who is everyone’s friend, and the only man that could be a direct descendant of Cicero himself in terms of the power of his persuasiveness. Dim implored me once again to take up the baton of creative writing, thus hydrating my acorn’s green shoots with a generous libation of water, poured unfiltered from a watering can named Encouragement. On the eve of my departure from England for Norway, it was Diarmid’s words of support that lingered the longest in my mind. These words propelled The Serengeti Plane from the short story it once was into the novel series it has become.

Some of my other friends also deserve mention. Particularly the legendary Ben Leventhall, who without doubt is the nicest bloke I have ever met. Ben is my personal hero (and if you are among Ben’s legion-strong compliment of friends, you know exactly what I mean). He, too, gave encouragement and support at times when it was needed. Ben’s great humour is always a comfort; it has often been the light during dark times. Throughout the years I have known Ben, his friendship has been truly invaluable, and if there was ever someone who could be described as a ‘rock’, it’s Ben. He will always be my best man and my best friend; a man for whom there is not enough praise in the entire world. The words of Emerson spring to my mind most immediately to describe my dear friend: ‘His heart was as great as the world, but there was no room in it to hold the memory of a wrong.’ Lauren Williams, my Canadian buddy from my Masters course at university, must also get a mention for reading snippets of material and trading those extracts for wonderful words of acclaim. This was a useful reciprocal arrangement for me during the writing of The Serengeti Plane. I always found it a profitable exchange. I will also post a few lines of thanks to Lisa and Duncan Fry, dear friends of mine, who I thank for the several occasions as they listened to me prattle on in varying detail about certain parts of my plot and my characters. I have always found talking about ideas concerning both my novel and my academic studies the best way of clarifying my thoughts, so I thank you kindly on this point (and congratulations on the newly arrived mini Fry!).

Then there is my family. It took some of my poetry to demonstrate my wish to be an author before their support truly flourished for this project, but when it came, it was as reassuring and as soothing as a honey balm. It beckoned me to finish off my novel as a complete piece. My mother offered a platform for my ideas to bounce off, and I know my father was very proud of me when I presented him with a poem I wrote entitled Fjordland. The catalyst for Fjordland was born in part from my desire to emulate my grandfather who himself wrote a collection of poetry entitled A Boy from Reading.

For me, ‘Fjordland’ was a decisive turning point in many ways. It was the first piece of creative writing that I completed, and something I was immensely proud of. I knew if I won my parents’ support for my literary endeavours (as with many other ventures in my life), the chances of success would increase one-hundred fold. That knowledge allowed me to hold my faith, as well as allow my pen to cross the finishing line. A thank you should also go to my siblings: Rebecca, for her support, and Jack, for his ability to often make me laugh until my sides hurt, even though he was just thirteen at the time of the novel’s inception. I have a sneaking suspicion that it was his animal toys that may have given me the idea for this abstract novel in the first place.

I want to give a final mention to my old professors, Gillian Clark and Neville Morley, of the University of Bristol. They gave their support and endorsement to my creative side. I want to say thank you to them for that, and while I’m at it, I’d like to further extend my olive branch of homage and give them thanks for being truly great lecturers and tutors during my time at university. In fact, that goes for all my lecturers as well as the administrative staff, with special reference to Ann Clarke.

Thank you, then, to everyone who made this project possible. I hope you all enjoy the effort I present before you. This book is as much a tribute to you as it is a triumph to me. Kind regards to you all.

Tom Dowling,

South Korea, July 2010

Passenger List

Crew:

Dickie: Captain (fox)

Patchy: Co-pilot (penguin)

Laddie: Head Steward (dog)

Monty: Steward (dog)

Anke: Steward (dog)

Passengers:

Gnoreen (lioness)

Charles (crocodile)

Caleb (flamingo)

Merlot (tiger)

Lazarus (leopard)

Usian (cheetah)

Laramie (giraffe)

Bill (parrot)

Hector (elephant)

Dakarhai (zebra)

Eric (hippopotamus)

Solomon/Tommy (gazelle)

Makale (chameleon)

The Prisoner (?)

Fjords for thought:

the Kernel of my Consciousness

If you are reading this for the first time, this blurb may not make ‘sense’ in a conventional understanding of the word. If you are going to be reading this in retrospect, then perhaps the loose amalgamation of verbs and adjectives thrown together here, like a nuclear bomb dropped in French Polynesia, may absolve you from your wonderment in how this abstract animal novel was conceived.

First, consider what a young chap with a brace of degrees in Ancient History is to ‘do’ for a living during a recession? If you are considering my plight right now, forcing the generation of the context and the same pre-conditions in your densely packed craniums before I began to pen this, then perhaps I have inadvertently armed you with the necessary weapons you need to write a novel of your own. While I have always respected the grand educational institutions of Great Britain, and while history was as much a guiding force in my life as my parents, it seemed to limit my career campaign. My arsenal was seemingly ill-equipped for the battle for graduate jobs the country offered—few as they were. One thing, however, that my study of the Classics taught me was that, to be included in history, we must grasp the opportunities that are afforded to us when they appear on the horizon. It was during my wilderness months of unemployment, after my return from the Norse lands of Norway, which gifted me such an opportunity. That opportunity resulted in The Serengeti Plane.

Secondly, as I was filled with such creative energy and humour in the kernel of thought that I call my own, the only logical release was the several thousand lines over several hundred pages assembled here and in the next two books of this trilogy. It was always one of my greatest ambitions to write a novel. A secondary goal was to let people into my understanding of the world with particular reference to my humour. As Einstein remarked on a poster I once owned: ‘Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.’ Imagination is everywhere. I used mine and combined it with my creative consciousness to lay an organic foundation where my characters flourished on my electronic papyrus. After that, I just let my ideas speak for them, something which I liken to riding a bike without stabilisers, or letting children play with fire.

Thirdly: opportunity and motivation. It was in beautiful Norway that I was able to find the time for contemplation and the strength bestowed in the fjord winds to write and plan the threads of these pages. Not since my time in the mythical land of Japan had my soul felt such peace: a peace that librated my novel free from the labyrinthine depths of my imagination, where the Minotaur of doubt lurked most menacingly and consumed all hopes for the Arts in their attempt to escape. Perhaps everyone does have a novel in them, as the cliché goes, but to get it out takes opportunity, discipline, and a constant boot up one’s rump to release it like the doves of Pax Romana. Whether that boot is one’s own or an equally dedicated and understanding partner’s, is ultimately down to the aspiring writer: mine, I believe, was the latter. Inspiration was immensely important to forge this work, and I believe as much sweat was excreted during this project as any