BACK AND FORTH-I

CHAPTER 9

                                                                        Chapter Nine

                                                         SEARCHING FOR THE TOOLS

        I arrived back in the laboratory to a greeting by an ecstatic Maria. I felt more than a little concerned that I had made promises that I felt, in hindsight, I might not be able to keep, and it worried me. I sat with Maria and explained what is going through my mind.

       "You must understand, Maria, that I might have been the cause of King Harold's defeat at Hastings. You see, if I do not return and do the things that I have promised Harold. After Harold's victory at Stamford Bridge, he might not have stayed in London as long as he did, waiting for me to arrive, thus giving Duke William the means of consolidating his beachhead," I said, wearily.

      "What have you promised him, Antony?"

      "I promised him the means to gain a decisive victory over Duke William."

      "How, precisely, do you intend to do that?" asked Maria, eagerly.

       "That is simple, my dear. By going back to June 15h 1982, the day after Mario Benjamin Menendez surrendered the Argentine forces on the Falkland isles to Major General J.J. Moore. The British ordered all the Argentinian weapons given up and placed in huge piles, so that the British troops could gather them up and dispose of them. Even now, there are thousands of mines still buried in the ground, and the British army, are, even to this day, trying to dispose of them."

       "If I understand you correctly, Antony. You are going to collect these weapons and redistribute them to Harold," she said, with a grin. "There remains just one problem," she continued, "How are you to collect them? You are going to need a great deal of help. Where is this assistance to come from?" She folded her arms. Then I knew I had some explaining to do. This task is not going to be easy. My brain went into top gear, searching for a way to overcome the problem.

     "I have an idea, Maria. I am a member of the British Anglo Saxon Historical and Re-enactment Society. I know of at least three members of our society who are ex-servicemen who were in the Falklands conflict. I shall approach them, and ask if they would give me their assistance in recovering some of these weapons," I said with a confident air. "I need your viewpoint on this matter, Maria. What do you think?"

      "You are going to have a tough time convincing them to return with you, and, that you have a time machine, too. Come on, Antony; get a grip on reality. No-one in their right mind is going to believe you."

  Of course, I knew that Maria is right, but, I mused, if I invited them to dinner, then I at least could show them my laboratory, and then try to convince my comrades to come for a ride. I wondered if at least they might humour me, and, if I broached the subject very carefully, I might just gain their confidence.

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  Sunday afternoon is warm, with a light breeze. The smell of newly mown grass and a gentle hint of thyme flavoured the air. A swallow swooped low scooping up the soup of insects, narrowly missing my head. This beautiful day is perfect. I had beside me, my wife, Maria. I had everything a man could wish. I turned to gaze at Maria. Her beautiful features, enhanced by the dappled shade of an ancient oak gave her skin the sheen of a teenager. We held hands as we strolled further into the meadow, across a shallow stream, and into the garden of Paul Jones.