Corrie's Timeless Travels and Travails

By Iain Morrison

Corrie and the Time Arch

Corrie has been enjoying a normal Saturday, playing football and taking the dog out. Then time actually seems to stand still, and this creates all sorts of problems. She encounters some interesting and dangerous people, time, and space. Corrie's own native wit helps set her and her new

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Nov 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781648952951

Iain Morrison

Iain’s first novel, “Like an Ocean Shelf,” which was published in 2012, was set in the Scottish Highlands of his birth and upbringing. After moving to Devon to escape the rain and midges, Iain has written another thriller, this time set in beautiful North Devon but involving some familiar characters. Iain has also recently had a volume of two children’s novels published. Corrie’s Timeless Travels and Travails. There are two fantasy/time travelling stories loosely set in the Highlands of Scotland and suitable for juvenile-plus age groups.

Book preview

The Beginning

I remember well the day I first became aware of the time arch. I had been out with the dog by the canal and, after walking for a while, had left the towpath looking for brambles. As we plunged down the embankment, the undergrowth soon caught my jersey, and for a moment, I lost my sense of direction as I struggled to extricate myself.

Finally, I stumbled clear of the tangle at the foot of the embankment. I found I was in a small clearing with an old ruin of a house in the centre. All that was standing was one gable end; the rest was a rickle of stones. As I walked around, I noticed that the fireplace had fallen out, leaving a gap in the old end wall. There was a heavy lintel stone across the top with some sort of design cut in it. For all the world, the hole looked like a small door for a small fat man. At this thought, my imagination really took over, and in no time at all, I had peopled the place with a family of Hobbits and could imagine their daily lives. I stood looking into the ruin, lost in thought, when through the arch, I noticed Dusty snuffling about inside the old house. Afraid in case he cut his paw on old nails or glass, I called him. He ran straight towards me through the arch. Just as he passed under the heavy stone, he vanished.

I called out sharply, Dusty! feeling my voice break in astonishment. There was no answering bark. Very confused, I walked round the end of the wall to check, but as I stepped over the old stones, I still could see no sign of Dusty. I must admit I was a bit annoyed by now, and I called his name quite sharply as I searched around for some explanation. My eye was drawn to the hole in the end wall. Curious, I picked a path through the grass and rubble to the old hearth all the while shouting on Dusty. I was getting more worried than angry now, as I bent low and ducked under the lintel of the fireplace so I was relieved to hear Dusty’s answering bark. For a moment, I thought I had caught my back on the heavy stone lintel as I seemed to feel a jar or grate along my spine as I emerged from the Hobbit’s doorway, but I soon forgot all about it as Dusty was running around barking and whining as if he had not seen me for a fortnight.

I calmed him down, and when I checked my watch, I was surprised to notice it was almost teatime. Mum would be really cross if I was late; punctuality was a big deal in our house.

It’s all to do with good manners, my mum would say, looking over her glasses in that meaningful way.

Come on, Dusty, I cried, and we ran all the way down the canal towpath, across the playing fields, and into our street.

The Prodigal Returns

I came to sudden halt when I heard a screech of brakes, and Sandy Brownie, a neighbour, jumped out of his car and shouted, Corrie! at me. I stared at him, wondering if he had been drinking again, when Mrs. Smith appeared at her door; she missed nothing that went on in our street. She shouted at me as well. I don’t mind telling you I was more than a bit startled. More people were coming out of their doors and gardens. I took to my heels again, careered up the pavement, and turned in at our gate. The door was open, and my dad was standing open mouthed and opened armed in the doorway.

Dad! What are all these people shouting for? What’s up?

Up? he choked. Up? It’s you, girl, that’s up. Turned up. Corrie, where have you been since Saturday? It’s been three days, girl, where have you been?

The next five minutes were the most confusing in my life. First, my dad held me roughly, lifting me up to his face where I could feel his rough cheek against mine, smell the old sweet tobacco smell and his salt tears. Next, my mum was grabbing me from behind and smothering me with kisses while crying quite hysterically. My sister, Mairi, stood on the stairs, shouting, I told you. I told you she would be back.

The hall was suddenly full of people slapping me on the back, gripping my dad’s hand, and clucking to my mother. The noise seemed to reach a crescendo but always the one word and phrase dominated.

Where? Where have you been, Corrie? Where? Where? Where?

I fought my way through the crush to the kitchen, where I heard my dad saying, Right! OK, thanks. Now if you’ll just give me a chance to…yes, thanks, a good idea. It’s Dr. Shearer.

I sat down on a stool, the kitchen suddenly quiet as the front door was shut. I looked up and saw my family and realised with a shock that they were as frightened as I was. My mother started forward, stumbled, and fell. Dad, Mairi, and I caught her and we helped her through the door to the sitting room.

Get some tea, girl, snapped Dad. I remembered that he always called us girl when he was worried.

My mother started to cry again silently, and I realised these were tears of relief.

Dad, what is it? I said quietly. I’m frightened, Dad. What is all the fuss and noise for?

His hard, wild look softened.

Don’t you know, Corrie, where you’ve been?

Just up the canal, Dad.

Corrie, you went up the canal on Saturday afternoon. This is 5:30 p.m. on Tuesday. We thought you were dead. You mother and I thought you had drowned when we couldn’t find you. Where on earth have you been?

I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t know what you’re on about. What do you mean this is Tuesday?

Confusion upon confusion tumbled in my mind. Dad was frowning and looking at me in bewilderment.

Now see here, Corrie…

James, said my mum, leave her be. Wait now. Have some tea, Corrie.

My mother looked knowingly at my father and mouthed the word shock.

Shock was right, and I was actually beginning to shake with fright. It seemed that the whole world had gone mad, especially my family. Mairi, who was standing behind me, saw a convulsion run through me.

Don’t shiver, Corrie, you’ll spill your tea.

Whether it was the strangeness of the idea of me stopping shivering or the sense of how ordinary Mairi’s remark was, I don’t know but I found it very funny and started to laugh. I really mean laugh, not giggling or chuckling, but laughing long and loud. The more alarmed I became, the more I laughed. I fell to my knees, the mug of tea still in my hands. The hot tea slopped onto my fingers, which made me laugh more. Tears were streaming down my face, my sides were aching, and my breath was coming in wheezing gasps. I was dimly aware of the front door bell and of Mairi running from the room. I felt my dad take the mug from me. I found that funny and started whooping again. Then there was Dr. Shearer.

I’ve got her, Mr. Mackay.

Two resounding slaps across the face, and I stopped laughing. There was so much silence that for a moment, I heard my face sting.

When did this start? the doctor looked at me while he spoke, but the question was directed to my parents. Dr. Shearer is a good doctor but does, as most adults do, treat children as if they were just not there. Beyond asking me to open my mouth or look into a little torch while he looked in the other eye or asking if his prodding bony finger hurt, he never directly questioned me, so I remained silent, gently rubbing my cheek, which I felt was the only thing wrong with me.

As I listened to them, I realised that they were seriously trying to piece together an explanation for my disappearance, re-appearance, and present condition. The bramble scratches on my face, hands, and arms were solemnly examined, the mud stains on my jeans and anorak were studied, and a history of my day out was worked out.

Yes, said my dad. That’s it, she was up early and helped me wash the van, and then I ran her up to school to play in the girls’ football team. Scored two didn’t you, lass?

My father looked at me directly for the first time in twenty minutes. It was if he did not recognise me or was afraid he would.

Then she went out with Dusty to walk up the canal. He was near to tears. As you know, we became worried about 6:30 p.m., called her for about an hour, then got the police at 7:30 p.m. After that, all the searchers went out looking and the police began dragging the canal. You were here yesterday, Doctor, for Marion and again today when the police said the frogmen had finished at the canal. Suddenly, today, in she marches, saying she’s frightened and asking what’s wrong, after three days.

Dad choked and began to fiddle with an unlit pipe.

The doctor looked up quickly at my dad.

She cannot give any reason? said the doctor. He looked quickly back at me. Tell me what you did when you left the house on Saturday.

This is Saturday, I said stubbornly. I’ve just been up the canal for a walk with Dusty. We looked for brambles, then played a bit near the river and came home.

I saw that no one believed me. I picked up the paper, Tuesday, September 7. I rushed to the television and switched it on. There was the schools quiz game that always came on on Tuesday. We usually watched it as a family, Mum and I versus Mairi and Dad.

I rushed to my mum. By now, I was really terrified. She held me quite tightly.

Did you fall, Corrie? the doctor asked. Did you bump your head?

I fell down the embankment, I suppose, my head was sore anyway from the morning. The ball was heavy. I did a lot of heading.

The doctor nodded wisely and turned to my dad. Delayed amnesia, I think. She is lucky the weather has been mild, still she had to have some shelter. He looked at me, and his look was a question.

There was an old ruin where I lost Dusty.

Yes, that would fit, said the doctor; he clapped his hands together. Now a hot meal and bed and bring her into the hospital for some more tests tomorrow. Listen, Corrie, you’ve had a bump or something has affected your memory. It does happen. You’ve been missing three days. Your family has been very upset. You’ve been in the newspapers and on TV. I want you to get to sleep tonight, and tomorrow we will talk again. Now you all need a good meal and proper sleep. I’ll leave you all some tablets. Mr. MacKay, you had better come with me and report this to the police. I can stop them bothering Corrie, but they’ll need to know a bit.

One very unreal hour later, I was in my own bed after a bath and tea. Dusty lay as usual on the bottom of the bed. I felt very drowsy and much more relaxed. I suppose that was all the pills I had been forced to swallow after tea. I went over the afternoon in my mind, but it still made no sense. I could not really remember a bad bump but maybe that time I jumped through the old fire place, I seemed to remember a sort of jar then, just before I found Dusty. His wiry face was swimming before my eyes. Just before I fell asleep, I remembered something I had felt before, something about the gap—no, not the gap itself, but the ground around it. I saw it quite clearly now. All the rest of the inside of the ruin had been overgrown, but there was a path, yes, a path leading to the gap in the gable end.

I woke next morning with a horrible headache and a weird feeling that somehow something was not in its proper place, something important. Then it all came back. I remembered I had had an accident, lost my memory. Well, my head was so bad, I could believe that. My mum looked in and, seeing I was awake, smiled in that silly way which mothers sometimes do.

It’s grand to see you in your own bed, Corrie. How are you?

I’ve a headache, Mum, I answered, making to get up.

Just stay where you are, Corrie. Dr. Shearer said you might. Your dad’s coming home from work to take you to the hospital at ten. You have a good hour yet. I’ll bring you some tea.

Mum brought me a huge breakfast and the morning paper. There was my face splashed all over the front page. Alive, Alive O, screamed the headlines and the whole story of my miraculous survival and reappearance followed. I read it over and over, feeling all the time that this must be a crazy dream. Brian Williamson, leader of the Mountain Rescue Team, had been asked how I had survived and had said something about the mild spell and luck. Dr. Shearer had said carefully that it appeared that as a result of a probable blow or series of blows, I had been unconscious or had wandered around for some time before arriving home. He had cautiously said that it had been known for some time that heading a heavy football could in certain circumstances prove injurious. Some learned doctor in London had been asked his opinion and had been quoted as saying, Although very rare in medical science, such cases have occasionally been recorded, and while we must wait until we have more details and if the girl is telling the truth, we can admit that it does happen. We call it d… I could not even read the word.

There was more, lots more. Everybody, it seemed, had had their say, everybody but me that is. There was even a picture of the school football team. I kept looking at two things; one was the date on the paper. There it was, Wednesday, September 8. That was what was wrong, what was out of place was everything. On the other hand, maybe it was just me. My father used to laugh at me if I complained of some imagined injustice.

We’re a’ oot o’ step but oor, Jock, he’d say. Well, was I Jock or not?

The other thing that rankled was the professor’s quote, If the girl was telling the truth. That really made me mad. No one had really asked me. I did not, however, get much chance to think about these two points. Mum had me up, bathed again, into clean underclothes, a new blouse, best skirt, and new jacket.

If you’re going to hospital, I want them to know what kind of home you come from. Anyway, you might be asked to pose for another photograph. Your dad got the blouse this morning. The jacket was for your birthday, she explained. I had forgotten that my birthday was on the ninth. I could think of a lot of things I would rather have had for my birthday.

The next two days were hectic but quite enjoyable. It was really fun seeing myself and the rest on the TV. I was at the hospital nearly all that first day, then at the police station. No one ever asked me what I thought. Everybody seemed to have made up their minds that I had suffered some sort of memory loss. The police did ask me some questions, but they were kind, and later I realised that they had asked all the wrong questions. They did make public that they were certain I was telling the truth. There were more hospital visits on Thursday and Friday, but neither the doctors nor their frightening Dr. Who equipment could find anything wrong with me.

By Friday, the papers had dropped the story in favour of some strike, except that there were two daft letters in the inside. One was from some stupid woman who thought that football should be banned for girls in school. The other was a defence of the police and searchers by the local MP who stated: That although Caol was quite a large village, it was in the West Highlands of Scotland and people should be aware of the difficulties of searching such an area. In such wild unspoilt surroundings… he went on doing a commercial for the tourist board.

It was late Friday night before I realised that I had not been alone for a moment since I came home on Sat—no, Tuesday night. Mum had given me a belated birthday tea that night, and Jenny, Jo, Marie, Kenny, and Peter were all round, but Mum and Dad stayed in so everybody was very polite and we could not really talk properly. Before going to bed, I asked Dad if I could go out to play the following day.

No, he said sharply, then, I’ll tell you what, I’ll take you fishing up Loch Benbegan.

I was really pleased. Dad had been promising all season to take me but had never got round to it.

Just before I went to sleep, I thought about the whole week. I was still puzzled. Although I had been talking about what had happened, I had not really thought about it. Something deep down made me feel a bit like Jock, but I had gradually come to accept without really thinking about it that the doctors and experts were right. I had had a loss of memory for whatever reason. As I drifted off to sleep, I decided the whole thing was over and best put behind me like a bad dream. Fishing with Dad tomorrow and back to school on Monday, yes, I had decided that was best, it was over.

But then, I hadn’t met Onree.

The Chime of Time

OK, come on out. Much time we have not got.

I wound down the window of the van in surprise. The van was parked in the square in the village. Dad was off buying some flies and, I guessed, some beer for himself.

What did you say?

Standing by the van was a small red-headed boy with a lopsided smile, his face covered with freckles and impatience.

I said come on, it’s nearly time.

What are you talking about?

The boy stamped his foot in fury.

Listen, he cried. You’ve had your fun and whoever put you up to it will be well pleased but you know the rules. Back for forward, forward for back. So come on!

Any other time I suppose I would have got quite angry, but after the last week, I was used to all kinds of catcalls, insults, and general teasing.

Oh, shove off! I started to wind the window up.

To my surprise, the boy opened the door and tried to drag me out, shouting, Look, the game’s over!

It all happened so quickly. I pushed up from the seat and fell on him. I belted him round the ear and thumped him on the other ear. All the rage and frustration of the last week seemed to pour into my blows. He dived in close and got me in a sort of bear hug. He didn’t try to hit back, just held me. I became very alarmed when he said quietly, Clocks and calendars, this is a new one.

I’ve been attacked by a madman, I thought. I tried to break his hold, but his size made it difficult. He was nearly a head shorter than me. He just gripped tighter, bent his head, and started to walk away with me. He was carrying me.

Suddenly, Dad caught me by the shoulder.

What’s going on here? he roared. Stop this at once. Corrie, put that wee boy down.

That was a bit much. I wasn’t the one to do the putting down, but in a flash, I was standing on my own feet. To my surprise, I found we were about a hundred yards from the van.

What started this? asked Dad, looking angry and worried. I didn’t think you went in for bullying, Corrie.

But, Dad, I…

He wasn’t listening. He had turned to the freckle-faced carrot top.

Are you all right, son?

The