Chapter 9: The Awkward Year

July 1967, age 12

It was the summer of love, apparently. The London suburb of Wimbledon didn’t seem to be any more or less loving than normal, but I did at least go and buy the Beatles record Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, which became the soundtrack to the summer. I spent lots of time singing along to Lucy in the sky with diamonds and With a little help from my friends, learning beyond doubt that my singing voice was best saved for the shower!

As the school year gradually drew to a close, there came an evening when I made a startling discovery. I found myself mentioned in the future history books. That didn’t make sense because the books were written in Grandpa’s lifetime, when Harrison Holdings, which was mentioned, hadn’t existed.

When I asked Grandpa about it, his first response was: “Finn, you mustn’t read about yourself. No one should know too much about their future destiny.”

“But how come I’m in the book at all?”

“It’s complicated”, he replied, unsatisfactorily. “Look, those books I brought with me from 2027 are about the history of my timeline. But my timeline doesn’t exist anymore. We’ve changed the way fate wanted things to go. So the history books of 2027 will change as we rewrite history. Do you understand?”

“Not really.’

“Look, when you first found out about Jimmy Savile, the books would have said he died in 2011. But if you go back and look again now, they’ll say he died in 1966. Every change we make to the timeline will cause a change in the history books because the iPad and the books on it reflect how things end up in 2027. That make sense?”

I nodded. I kind of got it, and it blew my mind.

“While we’re talking about this,” Grandpa continued, “there are two other things you should know. The iPad was built by a company that doesn’t exist yet, called Apple. It is very, very important that we don’t interfere with Apple’s future. That’s why I was concerned a while back when you said you wanted the company to get into electronics. If Apple’s future changes, they might not invent the iPad. That would mean that our iPad would just vanish from history. You wouldn’t have had it to find out about Jimmy Savile. I wouldn’t have had it to help me build up the company. It would create a paradox, like an impossible time loop. Changing something now affects the future, which affects the past.”

Wow. I actually understood that, mostly, and it was scary as hell. Rewriting history was dangerous.

“Then there’s me. I’m from the future, and I should be affected by changes to history too. But I’m not, because of this.” He pulled up his shirt sleeve and showed me the gold bracelet he always wore. “This is a temporal shield. It’s what allows me to live in the past without causing a time loop of doom. I still remember my lifetime, living in the orphanage for eight years and so on, even though we’ve changed history so that never happened. I can never take off this bracelet. Even after I die, it has to stay on my corpse. Otherwise, very bad things would happen. Dan know’s what to do, so don’t worry about that. I just wanted you to know.”

Thanks. Like I didn’t have enough to think about!

School was finished, and our six week summer holiday began. This year we were following the pattern of two years earlier, with the first half spent at home while Harry and Ester visited, and the second half abroad in a more exotic climate. So we did three weeks of relaxing in the garden and day trips to London and the like, then we were off to Heathrow for a flight to Italy.

Our destination wasn’t all that far from the Swiss alpine resort where we usually went skiing. But instead of flying to Bern, we flew to Milan. From there, we drove an hour north-east to Lake Como, which is just stunningly beautiful, being located on the southern edge of the Alps and so surrounded by high mountains. We were renting a private lakeside villa, equipped with every possible toy-for-boys. We sailed, windsurfed, water-skied, and swam to our hearts content. By the time we returned home at the end of August I had an awesome tan!

I made a completely innocent, not at all strategically calculated comment to Grandpa that it was really beautiful there, and perhaps we should buy a holiday villa.

In September 1967, the new school year was the beginning of what I can only call ‘my awkward year’. It was the year when my voice started doing odd things, squeaking at inopportune moments; it was when I started a growth spurt that had me tripping over my own feet; it was when my face decided to embarrass the hell out of me by periodically presenting a huge red spot on my skin.

On a more positive note, brace yourself, I found my first few hairs growing below the waist. A momentous discovery indeed!

School was school: tedious and hard. Much though I hated having a tutor work with me at home every afternoon and on Saturday mornings, I wouldn’t have survived grammar school without him.

The monotony of school was broken at the end of September with the premiere of Oliver, for which we got Harry down from Sheffield. During our single day at the studio, we’d heard little bits of ‘Consider Yourself’ being rehearsed and filmed, but the rest of the movie was completely new to us. (After all, twelve-year-old boys don’t read Dickens, unless maybe it was made into a comic book! There’s an idea... )

As we watched the film, I found that I felt a certain affinity for Oliver Twist. Though we were from different times, the story of the boy escaping an orphanage to make something of his life was strangely familiar. Perhaps that made Harry the Artful Dodger, and Grandpa Fagin? Or was I Dodger and Harry Oliver? I don’t know.

The rest of 1967 ticked along nicely, punctuated by a visit to Sheffield at October half-term, and Christmas gathered at home in Wimbledon. It felt nice to be normal for a while.

In January 1968 there was an interesting development in my personal life. It was my friend Peter’s thirteenth birthday party, which he was having at a bowling alley. Ours was an all boys school, but Peter being Peter had invited just as many girls as he had boys. Mid-way through our first game, Peter told me: “Ellie fancies you”.

Those three little words caused both excitement and consternation! I was nearing thirteen too, but girls had not yet become the all-encompassing obsession of teenagerdom. I remembered Ellie from primary school, but as I sneaked looks at her, I discovered that she had grown up considerably since then. That was interesting!

In 1960s England, twelve-year-old boys didn’t ask girls out on dates. It just wasn’t the done thing. So my options were limited. I summoned my courage, threw caution to the wind and went over to start a conversation with Ellie. That was daring, believe me.

“Hi, Ellie. How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

The girl next to her giggled, but I remained focussed on Ellie.

“I’m great, thank you. Did you have a good Christmas?”

I was about to answer when someone called to me that it was my turn at bowling. Bad planning! Terrible! I made my apologies and left her, never to return again, as after that she was always in a huddle of giggling girls. I wasn’t brave enough to run that particular gauntlet. I got the impression that I was being talked about, but couldn’t work out whether that was good or bad.

When my own thirteenth birthday came in March 1968, I too invited girls to my party, including Ellie. I wasn’t quite brave enough to make it a pool party like the previous two years — that really would have been daring! Instead, we loaded everyone into a couple of minibuses and took everyone to Marvel Tower, where the still empty top floor had been set up for a disco with an awesome view. I got some nice presents and even nicer kisses on the cheek.

At Easter, Grandpa took us ‘villa shopping’. He had taken my hint and run with it, not being one to procrastinate over a good idea. He had a shortlist of three places that we viewed, and we unanimously settled on one that was on the north-east bank of Lake Como. The position had the benefit of being further away from the big towns at the lake’s southern end, so there should be fewer tourists around. The villa was on a wooded peninsula hidden from the road by a high wall for security, and although the garden went right down to the lake, the swimming pool area was completely hidden from possible prying eyes in passing boats. The whole house, garden and setting were just beautiful, and I hoped the boathouse meant I might have lots more opportunities to do water sports.