24 Hours to Nowhere

Chapter One

The Awakening

He stood on platform 2 in the warm night air while scanning up and down the empty rail tracks. The night was still and silent and, except for the heavy smell of grease and smoke that arose from the tracks, he would be forgiven for thinking he was looking at an oil painting. This was no ordinary station, he thought, there is something not right about it. Whatever it was escaped him as he tried to pinpoint what was wrong. He checked the time on his watch and found it to be 2:15am.

He started to wonder where he was and as that question faded another quickly came to the fore. Who am I? He thought.

With the sudden realisation he did not have the answers to those questions more started coming thick and fast. What am I doing here? Where did I come from? Where am I going? Fear arose from realisation that he did not have the answers but he managed to beat off the emotions and retain his composure to address the circumstances with logic rather than panic.

Should he go to the nearest police station for help? He asked, and then argued, what if he was wanted for a crime, a crime so heinous that his mind had erased it along with all other related memories.

As he stood frozen to the spot as his mind went into overdrive and, after, what seemed to be ages he was determined to set off on a journey of discovery, for good or bad. He was not looking forward to finding out the answers for he anticipated an uncertain destiny lay ahead. Looking down at his watch again only two minutes had elapsed, he noticed he was a man of good taste for the watch was a solid gold Rolex.

The stranger made his way to a footbridge that spanned the platforms; this would allow him to reach the station exit on the other side of the tracks. As he walked along the platform his mind started to race again, he desperately tried to recall any details that would give him a clue to who he was. In the distance he could hear the engine of a heavy goods vehicle slowly shifting through low gears as it strained to pick up momentum with its heavy load. Walking over the bridge he searched his pockets in his quest of discovery. The left jacket pocket revealed a third class carriage rail ticket from Malvern Link to Malvern, and then he noticed the station name on platform 1.

So how did I manage to arrive at this rural station called Great Malvern, he wondered? He crossed over the platform when he descended the platform bridge he stood under the first platform light to look at the ticket more closely, and was surprised to find the price displayed on it was 3d. This cannot be right, he thought, we went decimal on February 15th 1971.

He felt confused at the conflicting evidence he faced. If he cannot remember anything about himself then how did he know things were not as they should be? He continued walking the length of platform 1 and suddenly heard the music of the big band sound era, ‘And the Angels Sing’ by Benny Goodman. As he neared the source he heard someone whistling along to the tune and could also see a yellow light spilling out from the Parcel Office onto the platform.

There has to be someone there? He thought. He stopped walking momentarily under the smoke stained station clock as he searched his inside pocket for any identification. His luck was in as he could feel the outline of a wallet, his started to pump faster at the expectation of discovering who he was. Carefully withdrawing the wallet he walked over to another light and examined its contents. He pulled out a wad of notes comprising of ten shillings, one pound and five pound in notes and counted twenty-three pounds and ten shillings in all.

While replacing the money he observed a folded envelope with a hand written name and address on the front. George Adamson he read aloud. That must be me.  He concluded. George Adamson. He repeated over and over again to see if the name felt comfortable, but it had no value to him. George Adamson and he remained strangers no matter how many times he repeated it, but what the hell it is a name after all. I am George Adamson, he insisted, until someone convinces me different, or at least I get my memory back. George then read the address at the front of the envelope, ‘Kirkwood Manor, Norton on the Wolds, Hampshire.’ He smiled, Well George, you have a nice address, he chortled, so that has to be my first destination.

George decided to read the letter later and replaced it inside the wallet, then replaced the wallet carefully back in the same pocket where he discovered it. Having satisfied himself the wallet was secure, by patting his jacket from the outside; he headed to the parcel office. When he walked a little further toward the source of the music he could hear the noise of someone engaged in what assumed to be moving things.

George stood in the doorway and saw a porter with his back to him stacking parcels. The porter was oblivious to George’s presence because the music masked any external sounds.

“Hello.” George said loudly.

The porter carried on stacking parcels on a station trolley still unaware of George.
“Excuse me.” George shouted much louder.

The porter, startled to see anyone on the platform, turned quickly. “Hello sir.” he greeted him with a northern accent. “We don’t get many people on the station this time of a morning.” He claimed. “How can I help you?”

George looked at the man who appeared to be around thirty five years of age.  He was of average build with slightly greying hair and sported a moustache. “I was wondering what time the next train would be?” George asked politely.

The porter reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a fob watch. “Goodness me!” He exclaimed. “Is that the time?  He asked aloud as he flicked open the lid. “According to my reckoning the next passenger train won’t be here for another four hours yet.”

The disappointment of having to wait another four hours was written over Georges face.

“Where are you heading for sir?”

“Norton on the Wolds in Hampshire.” George replied.

The porter removed his cap and scratched the back of his head as he contemplated the best route for George to take then announced, “I think your best train would be the 9:43 to Cheltenham then catch a train from there to Salisbury.”

“So that means I have got 6 hours to wait.” George calculated. “Is there anywhere I can get some refreshments?

“No sir, I am afraid not. The station buffet does not open until nine o’clock. The porter claimed then added, “You see we don’t get many passengers here at this time of a morning.”

“Well is there anywhere in the village?” He asked in hope.

“I am sorry sir; we don’t have a village café.” Came the unwanted reply.

George resigned himself to the fact he was not having a very good day. In fact, he thought, I am not having a very successful life considering it only started at about 10 minutes ago.

The porter observed George’s disappointment and threw him a lifeline, “I tell you what sir, I must get these parcels on platform 2 for the 2:30 mail train.”  He declared while pointing to the trolley that was over laden with packages. “Now if I put the kettle on by the time the train has gone it should have boiled and we can both have a nice cup of tea.”

George felt some relief at getting a cup of tea and observed the porter filling the kettle from a tap suspended over a small square but dirty and cracked white ceramic sink. He then placed the kettle on a round coal burning stove in the corner of the office.

“Now all you have to do is just sit and watch the kettle boil as I get these parcels over to the other platform.”  He started pushing the trolley out of the parcel office.

George was listening to the porter’s progress along the platform because one of the trolley wheels was squeaking intermittently. He heard the trolley rattle as the porter pushed it across the tracks and the continuing squeak as the trolley was pushed along platform 2. The squeaking then suddenly stopped.

I suppose he has reached his destination. George concluded. He looked around the parcel office and spied a small mirror hanging on the wall. I wonder what George looks like? He wondered. The curiosity got the better of him so he walked over to gaze into the mirror and was pleasantly surprised by his own reflection. “You are really quite handsome George.” He muttered as he strained to recognise himself. He tried to fix the reflection in his mind and worked out that he was around forty years old, about 6 feet tall of medium but muscular build, with light brown short cropped hair. While he was looking at his reflection he noticed a calendar on the opposite wall and turned to have a closer look.

“1956!” he read loudly. “No that is impossible. It can’t be.” He insisted. “It must be an antique calendar.” He reasoned. He then became aware that the dates had been crossed off all the way up to June 21st.  At this point he heard a puffing sound in the distance, the sort of noise that is associated with a steam locomotive.  He turned and quickly went outside to see what was going on and noted that the signal was pegged to indicate a train would be arriving shortly. There was no sign of the porter on the other platform but the now empty trolley was parked about 2 feet from the edge of the platform. He then saw a light in the distance heading toward the station and the puffing sound emanated from the source of the light.

As the noise became progressively louder he could see the outline of a steam train heading toward the station and then the singing of the lines. In no time at all the train approached the station but it did not seem to slow down to pick up the parcels which the porter had taken over to the platform. George watched as the train sped by, steam hissing from the pistons, the smell of a combination of steam and smoke, then the carriages flashed past briefly illuminating the shiny rails of the station. He observed the red oil lamp on the end of the rear carriage as it dimly glowed in the distance accompanied by the rhythmic beating of the wheels passing over the points and uneven rail tracks. George’s attention was drawn toward the sound of the trolley wheel squeaking again as the porter pushed it over to a net full of parcels that was situated further up the platform.

“I will be with you as soon as I collect these parcels sir.” The porter promised.

“Would you like me to give you a hand?” George shouted back.

“No sir, this is no job for a gentleman such as yourself.” the porter insisted, “You could check to see if the water is boiling though.” He advised as the trolley arrived under the parcel net.

George turned and entered the Parcel Office to check the kettle that was now showing signs of steam gently rising from the spout. I am a gentleman, he thought as he sat in one of two vacant leather chairs. He let his mind drift as he watched the steam rising from the spout then remembered the letter, this would be a good time to read it. He retrieved the wallet, got the envelope out then placed the wallet on his lap. George took a deep breath then proceeded to pull the letter out of the envelope and unfold it to read, however, he could not see the writing properly. Reading glasses, he thought and started feeling his other pockets for any cases that may contain glasses. “Ahh,” he said aloud, when he discovered a likely container in his other inside pocket. After putting on his glasses he saw the letter was type written with a printed letter heading, ‘The Wolds Health Clinic.’ Quickly scanning down to the bottom of the page it was signed by Dr James Kilpatrick, Consultant Psychiatrist who’s title was Director of the Clinic. The letter was addressed to him and read, Dear George, I would like to see you at your earliest convenience so that we can discuss your case in more detail. Please telephone to arrange an appointment with my secretary.

Look forward to seeing you soon.

The letter was signed off with his first name ‘James.’

George rested the letter on his lap as he wondered what it meant. I would like to see you so I can discuss your case. He reminded himself. Whatever does that mean? Have I seen him already and am I returning home, or am I on my way to see him now?

George considered the options that immediately lay ahead. Should he go to the clinic in his present state and risk being locked up for being insane or should he go home and seek sanctuary there until he regained his memory. Either way he needed help from someone else because he cannot find his way alone.

“I see the kettle is boiling nicely sir.” A voice interrupted his thoughts.

George was so deep in thought that he had not heard the squeak of the trolley as it was pushed back to the Parcel Office.

“What, oh yes I am looking forward to the tea.” He confessed.

The porter started making the tea and while doing so looked at George then asked, “Do you mind if I ask you sir.” he stopped and considered whether he should.
“Ask me what? George urged.

“Well it’s just that I can’t help noticing that you appear to be troubled in some way.”
George looked directly at the porter, “You are very perceptive.”

“Well ... We get all sorts of people here, most appear to be in a hurry to get to their destination but with you ... He stopped again to consider how to phrase it properly. “If I may be so bold sir, I have observed that you are in a hurry but your purpose seems to be different.”

“In what way do I appear to be different?” George was curious to know.

“When the others are delayed for hours they get anxious or agitated in some way, they become emotional” He then concluded. “But with you sir, well you appear to be not looking forward to getting to your destination. He then washed two mugs and dried them.

George contemplated telling the porter why his observations were right.

“How do you take your tea?” The porter inquired.

“N.A.T.O. standard.” George replied instantly.

“I beg your pardon sir but what does that mean?” The porter asked with a puzzled expression.

George smiled, “I do apologise it’s a military term for milk and two sugars.”

“Are you a military man then sir?” the porter was curious to know.

George was now placed in a difficult position of bluffing his way through or being open and honest. He decided to risk the truth as he would have ample time to make good an escape should it be needed. “To tell you the truth I don’t know.” He confessed. “Up until half an hour ago I did not exist.”

“What do you mean sir?” The porter asked still retaining the puzzled expression.

“Half an hour ago I found myself standing on Platform 2 without any memory of who I was or where I came from.” George confided.

The porter handed George his mug of tea. “Get that down you sir; it will make you feel much better. My wife always says there is no problem that cannot be overcome once you’ve had a cup of tea.”

“Your wife is very astute.” George commented then added. “Would you do me a favour and stop calling me sir.”

“As you please.” The porter replied.

George took a good gulp of the tea and felt it was the best thing that happened to him so far. This is pure nectar from the gods. He thought.

“Lost your memory you say. Then how do you know you need to go to Norton on the Wolds? If you don’t mind me asking.” The porter asked trying to help.

“I found this letter with an address on the envelope in my pocket.” George replied as he waved it in his hand.

“Well let’s see if I can help in some way.” The porter offered. “Now you found yourself standing on platform two half an hour ago you say.”  He recalled. “Well the last passenger train that came through here was the 10:30 pm to Cheltenham.” He informed George. “I know you did not get off that train otherwise I would have noticed you on the station in all that time.” He claimed.

George felt hopeful that he was getting somewhere.

“And I remember you asking me if there was a café in the village, so I can only assume that you got here by some other means as you cannot see the village from here.” The porter insisted. “Perhaps you drove here looking for a cup of tea.” He added.

George began to get excited and replaced the letter back in its envelope. “You may be right.” Then replaced the envelope back in his wallet and replaced the wallet back in his inside pocket. Eagerly he started searching all his other pockets for any car keys and was disappointed when he found nothing.

“Oh well, not to worry.” The porter said, and then suddenly had a flash of inspiration.  “Perhaps you left the keys in the car outside the station?”

George felt hopeful again. “I will have a look as soon as we have finished this tea.” He was not that eager to meet disappointment again.

They both sat supping from their mugs of tea.

George remembered the calendar on the wall, “Is that calendar up to date?” he asked tactfully.

“Yes.” The porter replied. “I marked today off when I started work last night. So today is Friday 22nd of June 1956.” he stated then added. “It must be terrible not being able to remember.” The porter said sympathetically. .

“It is frightening.” George confirmed.

When they both finished their tea George stood up, “Let’s go and see if my car is outside.”

The porter followed George out of the Parcel Room and caught him up as they walked along platform one. When they stepped outside the station the porter pointed to a light grey Austin A50 Cambridge parked in the corner of the station car park and asked, “Is that your car over there?

“I don’t know,” George declared, “but if it has keys in the ignition it must be mine.” He claimed, as he walked swiftly toward it.

George opened the driver’s door and was relieved to find some keys in the ignition. He turned to the porter and with a smile thanked him for his help and bid him farewell as he jumped in the car.

The porter wished George well and made his way back to the station.

George searched the glove compartment for any more clues to his identity and was shocked to find a .32 Smith & Wesson revolver. There was also a map with a circled area that was only six miles from the station. George made the decision to go to the circled area on the map before driving to Norton on the Wolds. He turned the ignition key and the car sprang into life and in no time at all he was well on the way to his first destination.

George was becoming increasingly concerned by the new clues to his identity. What would he find? Why is it necessary to have a gun? Why has he got amnesia? Why did he feel familiar with the area he was driving to?

It was not long before he arrived at the area highlighted on the map. He drove the car carefully along narrow dirt track full of pot holes. He stopped when he noticed something in the distance on the track that was illuminated by his headlights. It appeared to be a pile of clothes so he got out the car and walked over to examine them for more clues but as he walked nearer he realised that they were not clothes but a body. He could now see that the person had been shot twice in the back, he looked closely at the middle aged man but did not recognise him. He panicked and ran back to the car, jumped in, and immediately switched off the headlights, and just sat there for a few moments as he tried to gather his thoughts. 

When George had calmed himself he reversed down the track toward the road but the task was made harder without any lights. He finally got on the road and at that moment made the decision to go back to the railway station. He felt the answer may be there and the porter may have known more than he was willing to share.
When George arrived back at the station dawn was just starting to break, he checked his watch to find the time was now 4:40 am. He suddenly had the urge to check the gun in the glove compartment, he smelt the barrel and rotated the chamber then concluded it had been fired recently and there were two spent cartridges in the gun. He placed the gun in his jacket pocket and made his way back to the Parcel Office where he found the porter engaged in some paperwork.

The porter looked up and noticed George appeared agitated. “Are you alright?” he asked.

George needed to play this carefully; if the porter is in someway involved in the scheme of things then he did not want to arouse his suspicion. “I just ran over a dog.” He claimed.

“Sit down and I will give you another cup of tea.” He instructed.

George sat down and took the tea from the porter when it was offered.

“Nasty business running over a dog.” The porter claimed.

“I do not know what to do for the best.” George said, in hope of getting the porter to let slip some valuable information. He took a couple of gulps from the mug of tea as he observed the porter’s facial expressions.

“Well, did you bring the dog with you?” The porter inquired.

“I am not talking about the dog; I am talking about whether I should go to Norton on the Wolds.” He is very good. George thought.

“What else can you do?” The porter asked, not giving George a chance to test the truth.

“I could go to the Police Station and ask them for help.” George said in order to test the porter’s reaction. He took another couple of gulps of tea while at the same time observing the porter’s reaction.

The porter stared at George for a few moments, there appeared to be a long silence as the two men weighed each other up. George was overcome with feeling of drowsiness and felt an overwhelming urge to close his eyes.


George awoke and as soon as he focussed his eyes he noticed the porter slumped over the station trolley with two bullet holes in his back. Adrenalin surged through his body as he saw the handgun on his lap. He hurriedly got up from the chair and ran out of the Parcel Office to find sanctuary in the car. Fortunately, there was nobody around so he felt there were also no witnesses to what had just taken place. Looking at his watch it showed he had been asleep for 30 minutes. He started the car and started to drive through the village.

The gun, he thought, I have left it behind with my fingerprints all over it. He turned the car around and headed back to the station. On his way back he was surprised to see the cars in the driveways of the houses he passed where modern vehicles displaying modern number plates. So now George was in a position where he was on the run for two murders, in a vintage car that stuck out like a saw thumb. Not bad for a mornings work, he concluded with a sense of irony.

He parked up in the station then raced to the Parcel Office while leaving the engine running to make a quick get away on his return. To his surprise the Parcel Office was boarded up, the boarding had the appearance of being undisturbed for many years. He scrutinised the rest of the station for any indication that it was in service but everything pointed to the station being derelict and in a state of disrepair with tell tale signs that it had not been used for many years.

Confused and agitated George walked slowly back to the car at the same time reflecting on what had passed. Had I imagined all that went before? He wondered No, how could he have imagined it? He asked himself.

He recalled that when he asked the porter whether the calendar was showing the right date he was told it was. Whatever is going on the porter was part of it he decided, if only he could have retrieved more information from him.

He stopped and sat on a dusty bench while he tried to work out what was going on. Doubts began to set in. What about the dead porter slumped over the trolley? What about the body marked on the map and the gun which was no longer in his possession, had he conjured up all these things in his mind? At that moment he heard the familiar sound of the squeaking of the trolley wheel he remembered as it was being pushed up the platform. Turning toward the sound he quickly realised it was the wind blowing an old railway sign suspended over the platform.

Someone has to be playing mind games or I am crazy. Wait a minute, he argued, I am driving an old Austin A50 Cambridge therefore it must have been real, it must have happened. He walked out of the station but there was no car to be seen. No! I know I was driving the car, I know everything has happened.

As he continued to walk toward the town he felt some relief that the incriminating evidence against him had all disappeared. How could he be wanted for the killing of two people if it did not happen and if it did happen then someone had already tampered with the evidence by removing the body, the weapon, the crime scene, and even the mode of transport was removed. He also assumed that the body in lane that was marked on the map was also removed.

What purpose is being served by someone playing these games he wondered as he continued his walk to the village? Then he remembered the ticket and feeling through his pockets thought this will prove him right. He was not too surprised to find the ticket was no longer in his posession.

What about the money? He suddenly remembered and immediately retrieved his wallet. Opening it carefully he was surprised to find two hundred pounds in new money, mostly twenty pound notes, and a receipt from a jewellers in Salisbury for a Mens Gold Dial Rolex Datejust President, the price he had paid was eighteen thousand three hundred and ten pounds. What about the letter? He suddenly thought. The letter had gone from the other compartment in the wallet but he did remember the name and address on the envelope and the name of the clinic, The Wolds Health Clinic and Dr James Kilpatrick. Ah, he thought, at least my memory is okay if I can recall these details. Then he recalled the address on the envelope was Kirkwood Manor.

George walked slowly up Avenue Road, and then turned right over the road bridge spanning the railway lines. He passed Malvern Girls College on the other side of the road as he continued hoping to find somewhere open. He checked the time on his very expensive new timepiece and hoped, for the price he paid the time shown, 5:30 am, was correct. At least it is a nice day he observed, it could be throwing it down with rain. He saw a newsagents further down the avenue, Ah Life. He thought. He entered the newsagents and saw a young man feverishly trying to mark up the papers for the boys to deliver.

“I won’t be long; I just need to finish this.” The man said as he lifted a pile of newspapers into a bag.

George smiled and replied, “That’s okay, I am in no hurry.” He approached the counter to view the topics for today’s newspapers. The first thing he looked for was the date which stood out like a beacon, Friday June 22nd 2007.  He flicked through the papers on the counter looking at the celebrities complaining and politicians promising things they cannot deliver. He felt comfortable with the names of these people and became aware that this is his period. He knew about Tony Bair and George Bush and all the other celebrities, the only person he did not know anything about was George Adamson.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting.” The breathless shopkeeper apologised. “Now what can I get you?”

“I would like this can of lemonade please.” He replied while picking it up off the display stand close by. He looked around for something to eat. “I will take this packet of potato chips as well.” as he retrieved them from another stand.

“That will be ninety pence then.” The shopkeeper claimed, holding out his hand palm upward.

George asked as he retrieved his change, “How long as the station been closed?”
The shopkeeper replied, “Well it closes after the last train at night but it should be open by six.”

George was confused, “When I went up it looked all derelict – as though nothing has been through for ages.” He said.

“You must be mistaken.” The shopkeeper insisted. “I know it looks untidy sometimes but I would hardly describe it as derelict.”

“In that case give me a I will take this newspaper to read while I wait for my train.” George added as he handed over another pound. After taking his change George bid the shopkeeper good day then walked back to the station. It was just after six o’clock when George arrived. The day was now getting warmer as the sun was rising in the sky. George entered the station and was surprised to find the ticket office open.

“A single ticket to Salisbury, please.” George asked, as he approached the counter.

“That will be £32, change at Reading and Basingstoke.” The ticket collector replied as he passed the ticket under the glass.

George handed him some money. “What time is the train to Reading?”

“Seven Fifteen on platform 1.” The man replied almost instantly.

George thanked him then found his way to a vacant seat on platform one and noticed a marked difference in the way the station appeared less than one hour ago. He resigned himself to the fact that the only explanation to what was happening is there was no explanation. He found a seat at and started reading the newspaper while sipping from the can of lemonade and occasionally dipping his hand into the bag of potato chips.

It did not seem an hour had past but he was made aware of this when the station speaker announced the imminent arrival of his train. He stood and placed the empty can and crisp packet into a litter bin then folded the newspaper under his arm while waiting for the train to stop at the platform. He watched the commuter train slowly approaching and finally coming to halt. Climbing aboard he occupied a seat by the window and settled back as the voyage of discovery began. Staring out of the window his mind drifted as the green countryside passed by. He noticed a young couple holding hands and gazing lovingly to each others eyes. George closed his eyes and wondered if there was a woman waiting for him at home and whether anyone had reported him as a missing person by now. The combination of the rhythmic beating of the train wheels and having his eyes closed served to help him relax for the first time since his new life started this morning.