Time School: We Will Remember Them

By Nikki Young

The Time School series follows four friends as they navigate their way through the first year at secondary school, whilst returning to the past at different time-periods. During these time-travelling adventures, they each discover something about their family history, as well as how events that were going on at that time affected their families.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Storymakers Press
• Release date: May 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781838468743

Nikki Young

Nikki Young is a children's fiction author and writing tutor. She lives in Kent with her husband, three children and their Boston Terrier dog and is the author of 'The Mystery of the Disappearing Underpants' and the 'Time School' Series. On a mission to get children writing, Nikki runs Storymakers, a creative writing club for children aged 7 and above, which provides weekly writing groups, holiday workshops and 1:1 tuition and mentoring.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Ghosts Within These Walls

Has anyone ever asked where you come from? Do you know? Mr Mundair?

Yes, Miss. I came from Kirkshaw this morning.

Ash Mundair. Already firmly established as the class joker within the first few weeks of the Year Sevens beginning their secondary school careers. There was a collective giggle that spread across the room like air escaping from an untied balloon. Mrs Kennedy, the history teacher, remained straight-faced. She’d seen it all, and worse, before.

Thank you for that, Ash, but you know what I’m talking about—your family tree. Your roots and please, no mention of grey hairs and hair dye.

The class giggled once more as Ash pulled at his spiky black hair. His face one that expressed pure innocence but for the sparkle in his dark eyes made large and round by the glasses that framed them.

We all have rich histories, more interesting than you might think and our heritage connects us to the area in which we live and the changes that have happened during that time, Mrs Kennedy explained. Think about this school. In one hundred and twenty years, it’s seen a lot of changes, not only physically, as buildings have been added, but culturally, economically and politically too. This classroom we’re in right now, and the hall just through that door, are part of the original building of this school. You’re sitting in a lesson, just as hundreds of children have done before you. Imagine if these four walls could talk and what they would say about the things they’ve seen and heard over the years. The ghosts of the past are absorbed within the walls of this building and as part of our history project this term, we’re going to explore that.

There was nothing in the classroom to indicate it was anything other than bland and uninteresting. The stale smell of sweat in the air, punctuated with cheap body spray and anticipation, reminding you it was a room full of preteens, sitting restlessly on plastic chairs designed to be as uncomfortable as possible. Double desks lined the room, all facing a whiteboard, names scratched into the surface, gum stuck hard underneath.

Jess Chadwick sat up straight. Was that what Mrs Kennedy meant by the ghosts of the past being with them? Had other children sat in this very room, staring at the peeling white paint of the huge sash windows that looked out on to the road beyond, with nothing but an old work unit for a view? Grey on grey, obscured by cobwebs and dust. Minds filled with anything other than what the teacher had to say.

Although she didn’t hate it, school was a place where you had to go, day in, day out, until finally the day came when you didn’t have to go anymore. It was a constant in your life, as sure as the sun rising in the morning and setting at night.

Jess wondered if that’s how pupils of the past had thought of it. Had they enjoyed learning, or dreaded the whole idea? Stressed about exams, or relished the thought of being in a classroom rather than working for a living?

A few weeks into the start of Year Seven and Jess was beginning to settle into the routine of secondary school. The thought of moving on from her small, safe junior school had made her anxious. She wasn’t like her best friends Nadia, Tomma and Ash. They were full of confidence and ready to move on. Jess would have stayed at her old school forever if they’d have let her. The only comfort had been knowing she was moving on with the three friends she’d been inseparable from for as long as she could remember. It had been a huge relief when they’d all been put in the same class as well— something that helped ease the anxiety of the change.

Hickley School had felt enormous to begin with. Flanked on all four sides by roads and housing, it wasn’t that big for a secondary school. It was a mixed bag of buildings, added on over the years, using all of the available space. But with everyone so cramped together, it felt like there were thousands of pupils, making for a hectic and noisy environment that had initially seemed intimidating.

As a newcomer, Jess felt small, young and immature. The older years looked down on them as the babies, which was embarrassing, to say the least. Jess was almost twelve! She didn’t feel like a baby and didn’t want to be treated like one. So far, she’d stuck close to her friends and avoided eye contact with anyone who wasn’t in her year group.

Double History to start the day. Bo-oring, Ash said.

It was break time and they were perched on a low wall in the yard reserved for Year Sevens only. Jess took the opportunity to look around. She hadn’t appreciated that the entrance hub just across from them was a modern glass bubble added on to what was the original school building. The sand-coloured Yorkshire stone walls were discoloured from the pollution of time, like many of the buildings of Hickley town and the surrounding area—remnants of its Victorian industrial past, when the mills churned out wool that made cloth and carpets, exported across the Empire. When coal mines fuelled the mills, and the steam trains that transported the goods. All that remained of those prosperous days were disused rail tracks and falling down old mills.

Here, at the school, however, the past came together with the present in a way that didn’t make sense, but somehow worked, showing how the school had evolved. It was a sign of its strength, rather than of any weakness.

Whereas the town around it had somehow lost its identity along the way and was struggling to understand its place in the world, Hickley School was stronger than ever. The number of times Jess had been reminded of how lucky she was to have a place there was a testament to that.

At least you actually have an interesting history, Jess said, looking at Ash, who was balancing on the wall on one leg.

Reminded on a daily basis of where he came from and how lucky he was, Ash was more than aware of his heritage. His dad’s struggles as a young Indian boy coming over to England from Uganda in the 1970s were held around Ash’s neck like a noose, constantly pressing down upon him. As far as his dad was concerned, what was the point in going through all that, if his own children weren’t going to work hard and make a better life for themselves? To Ash, it was like an annoying song stuck on repeat. He liked to have fun and messing about at school was his speciality. Despite the pressures from home, Ash refused to take life too seriously.

Jess had lived her whole life in nearby Kirkshaw village, in the same house with her mum, dad and older brother, Declan: standard family, ordinary life. . . dull.

As far as I know, my family’s from Kirkshaw and there’s nothing remotely exciting or interesting about my history, she said. I’m not part Polish like Nadia, or half Croatian, like Tomma. Just out and out Yorkshire.

Like the Brontë’s, said Nadia. Nothing wrong with that.

Not exactly exciting though, is it? Jess said.

There’s nothing exciting about my life either, Nadia said. The only Polish part of me is my name.

Or mine, Tomma said. I’ve never even been to Croatia and Mum never talks about it. It’s like that part of her life never existed.

Have you ever asked? Jess said.

Yeah, course! But she gets all weird, so it’s best not to, he said.

One side of Tomma’s mouth looped up in a half-smile-half-frown, but his almond-shaped eyes betrayed a concern the rest of his face tried to hide. Only Jess could see that. She knew Tomma almost as well as she knew herself.

You know, Jess, that red hair of yours has to come from somewhere, Ash said. You never know. You might be Irish or Scottish down the line.

Jess’s hand immediately flew to her hair, tied low in a side plait. She’d always been slightly embarrassed by it, worried she’d be teased for being ginger. Most people only gave compliments though, about what a gorgeous colour it was. She was yet to decide whether she agreed with them on that.

She wished she had Tomma’s or Nadia’s darker skin tone. Her skin was easily burnt and erupted in freckles at the slightest touch of the sun’s rays. She smiled, despite her reservations about her looks. Perhaps it might be interesting to delve more deeply into her past. Maybe she would uncover something that would make her life seem as interesting as those of her best friends? Despite what they said, Jess knew instinctively that Nadia, Tomma and Ash would uncover far more about their past histories than she ever could.

Chapter 2

Power Failure

Jess woke to the sound of shouting and banging from downstairs. In her dazed state, she realised her alarm hadn’t gone off and for a brief moment, had trouble working out what day it was.

Peeling herself from under the cosy warmth of her duvet, Jess peered out of her bedroom door, with all the caution you’d expect from someone who had just woken up, eyes not yet focused. The scene before her was like a video in fast-forward as her older brother, Declan, ran past her towards the bathroom.

Clocks stopped. Power cut. All late, he said, before slamming the door shut, making Jess jump.

Jess shook her head in irritation. Declan had an annoying habit of talking in clipped tones, never seeming to feel the need to use full sentences. It was only a matter of time before he added words like ‘Hashtag’ to his speech.

She stood for a few seconds, letting his words seep into her sleepy brain before turning around and looking at the powder blue, digital radio alarm clock on the chest of drawers next to her bed. The same powder blue, digital radio alarm clock that had been her trusted friend and never let her down until. . .

It was flashing, blink, blinking away, and the time read 03:42.

Declan was right, which was something that didn’t happen very often! Jess groaned. She hated