Anachronistic Harry

 

1.

 

A thought popped randomly into Harry’s head:

 

anachronism: something or someone that is not in its correct historical or chronological time, especially a thing or person that belongs to an earlier time.

 

“Hmm, interesting...” said Harry, as he put the Duran Duran record back in its sleeve. A hologram of his mum then appeared from the screen of his iPhone 17.

 

“Hello, my angel,” said Harry’s mum - at which Harry cringed and thanked Odin none of his friends were around.

 

“Hi mum,” said Harry. “Have you done me that postal order that I asked you for?” - he was referring to the required payment for the X-ray specs, advertised on the back of his Dandy comic.

 

“No, my darling,” said Harry’s mum. “I told you, banks no longer accept postal orders as payment for things.”

 

“But it says on the back of my comic!”

 

“Which is a figment of your imagination, my precious.”

 

Harry didn’t know what his mum was on about. He had the comic right there on the bureau before him! Honestly, you’d think his mum lived in a different time sometimes.

 

 

2.

 

Harry skipped along the track, his shorts and cardigan flapping in the breeze, when his friend Jemima appeared before him.

 

“Greetings, Jemima!”

 

“Uh... hi, Harry. What you been up to?”

 

“Oh you know, the usual. Setting off stink bombs by the 7-Eleven. Playing Poohsticks. You?”

 

Harry was actually more likely to spend his days in his room, doing Choose Your Own Adventure books and drinking Ovaltine, but he quite fancied Jemima, so he liked to try and impress her.

 

“Just chillin’,” said Jemima, by way of reply.

 

“Here, you can borrow my cardigan,” said Harry.

 

“What?”

 

“You said you were cold.”

 

“No, I meant... oh never mind.”

 

Jemima took the proffered cardigan and put it on, just so she didn’t have to try and explain anything.

 

 

3.

 

When he got to school, Harry stepped into the cave, flung off his satchel, picked up a spear and sat down on a rock. As always, there was no teacher, nor indeed any students, but this didn’t stop Harry playing up in class. He flicked around bits of wet dirt, heckled the teacher and passed around rude notes written on non-existent scraps of paper to his non-existent classmates.

 

Jemima came in and said, “Where have you been, Harry?”

 

“In Science,” said Harry, as if that should have been obvious. “Quick, sit down, before Sir notices!”

 

“This isn’t our classroom,” said Jemima.

 

“Of course it is,” said Harry, raising his eyebrows.

 

 

4.

 

“The thing is,” said Jemima, as she led Harry to what she called their ‘actual’ school; “if you don’t go to... where we’re going... you’ll get into trouble.”

 

“With who?” asked Harry.

 

“Your teachers, your parents, the police - you name it,” said Jemima.

 

“I don’t want to get into trouble,” said Harry; “and sent to the workhouse or something.”

 

“Um... no,” said Jemima.

 

“But if I go with you to this ‘actual’ school,” said Harry, “won’t I get into trouble with the teachers at the other school?”

 

“Do you trust me?” said Jemima.

 

Harry was not sure that he did - but, as has been mentioned, he quite fancied her, so he decided to chance it and go along with her.

 

They arrived at the gates of the school they had both been going to for the last few years.

 

“Oh my,” said Harry, followed by, “Gosh,” as they passed through the wormhole portal, into the foyer on the Moon.

 

 

5.

 

Harry presumed the tribe’s shaman must have put something in this morning’s bowl of nettle tea, for that was the only explanation he could think of for all the magical occurrences which were of no apparent concern to or seemed to go unnoticed by those around him. For example, the writing stick which Jemima used, without any requirement of dipping such in a pot of ink!

 

“And we shall now enter a virtual representation of the 1960s,” said the weirdly dressed man at the front of the ‘classroom,’ who Jemima had told Harry was the teacher.

 

Harry had understood almost nothing of what the ‘teacher’ had said thus far, including this latest proclamation, but what happened next made him feel a bit better.

 

Harry woke up from the Sleep of the Shaman, to find himself in a proper classroom - that is, not one with oddly shaped furniture, pictures on the walls that moved and people dressed in ridiculously shiny and colourful clothes.

 

Harry allowed himself to smile a little, and Jemima, who was sitting at the next desk along, tentatively smiled back at him.

 

The teacher was now dressed in a more teacherly brown suit (not what had looked like a silver onesie), including leather elbow patches on his cardigan. He started to talk about something, but Harry, as per the norm, ignored him.

 

“Jemima!” Harry whispered to Jemima.

 

“Shush, Harry, I’m listening!”

 

“But Jemima!”

 

“Oh what, Harry?”

 

“Do you want to meet at the milk bar after school, then catch the new Bond movie at the Odeon?”

 

Jemima nodded and sighed.

 

“I hear they’ve got a new Bond!” said Harry, excitedly. “He’s called Roger Muir or something.”

 

Jemima shook her head and sighed.

 

 

6.

 

“Where’s the moving picture house?” said Harry.

 

“I think it closed 200 years ago,” said Jemima.

 

Harry frowned. He was always a bit confused by Jemima’s sense of time. You’d think she lived in the future or something! On account of the fact that he quite fancied her, however, he decided to let this one go and agreed to go for a walk instead.

 

“I wasn’t fond of that milk,” Harry declared.

 

“I told you,” said Jemima; “it wasn’t milk, it was coffee. They don’t have milk bars anymore.”

 

“Well that’s stupid,” said Harry. “Everyone loves milk.”

 

Jemima really didn’t feel like explaining to him, again, the Anti-Milk Laws of 2117, instigated by the Cow Protection Lobby.

 

 

7.

 

When he got home, he found a little present on his bed, wrapped in antique wrapping paper. He excitedly tore off the paper, to find a pair of X-ray specs and a note from his mum:

 

Happy birthday, my angel - it said.

 

“Thanks mum,” said Harry, who had forgotten it was his birthday. Then he smiled, popped on the specs and looked forward to many happy hours of looking through things.

 

[ the end of the first tale of Anachronistic Harry ]