Terry Pratchett - Johnny And The Dead

'Why?'

'Well ... it says here, the next day the first motor car ever to arrive in Blackbury crashed into it and caught fire. They used the water to put the fire out. Says here, the Council praised Alderman Bowler for his forward thinking.'

They looked at the microfilm viewer.

'What's a horse trough?' said Bigmac.

'It's that big stone trough thing that's outside Loggitt and Burnett's Building Society,' said Johnny. 'The one that's been filled with soil for a tasteful display of dead flowers and lager cans. They used to put water in those things for coach horses to drink out of.'

'But if cars were just coming in,' said Bigmac slowly, 'then building things for horses to drink out of was a bit—'

'Yes,' said Johnny. 'I know. Come on. Let's keep going.'

... WHEEEsssh ... we built this city on ... ssshshhh ... on the phone right now ... wheeesshhh ... that was at Number Two ... ssshwupwup ... told a meeting in Kiev ... wsswssshsss ... Prime Minister ... shsss . .

. today ... shhssss ... scaramouche, can you ... shssssss , . .

The tuning knob of the little radio behind Mr Vicenti's grave turned back and forth very slowly, as if it was being moved with great effort. Occasionally it would stop on a programme, and then move again.

... ssshhhwwwss ... and the next caller ... shhwwsss ... Babylon . . .

And around it, for quite some distance, the air was cold.

In the library, the boys read on. Silence surrounded them. The Assistant Information Officers grew worried, and one of them went to find the

cleaning fluid and the bent paperclip for get- ting chocolate out of keyboards.

'Let's face it,' said Wobbler, eventually, 'this is a town where famous people don't come from. It's famous for it.'

'It says here,' said Yo-less, from his viewer, 'that Addison Vincent Fletcher of Alma Terrace in- vented a form of telephone in nineteen twenty- two.'

'Oh, great,' said Wobbler. 'Telephones had been invented years before that.'

'It says he said this one was better.' 'Oh, yes,' said Wobbler. He dialled an imaginary number. 'Hello, is that— Who invented the real telephone, anyone?'

'Thomas Eddison,' said Yo-less. 'Sir Humphrey Telephone,' said Bigmac. 'Alexander Graham Bell,' said Johnny. 'Sir Humphrey Telephone?

'Hello, Mr Bell,' said Wobbler, speaking into an imaginary mouthpiece, 'You know that telephone you invented years ago? Well, mine's better. And I'm just off to discover America. Yes, I know Christopher Columbus discovered it first, but I'm discovering it better.'

'It makes sense,' said Bigmac. 'If you're going to discover somewhere, you might as well wait until there's proper hotels and stuff.'

'When did Columbus discover America, any- way?' said Wobbler.

'Fourteen ninety-two,' said Johnny. 'There's a rhyme: In fourteen hundred and ninety-two,

Columbus sailed the ocean blue.'

Wobbler and Bigmac looked at him.

'Actually, he could have got there in fourteen ninety-one,' said Yo-less, without looking up, 'but he had to sail around a bit because no-one could think up a rhyme for "one".'

'It could have been Sir Humphrey Telephone,' said Bigmac. 'Stuff gets named after inventors.'

'They didn't name the telephone after Bell,' said Wobbler.

'They named the bell after Bell, though,' said Bigmac. 'Telephone bells. Proves my point.'

'Telephones haven't had bells on for years,' said Wobbler.

'That,' said Yo-less, 'is due to the famous inven- tion by Fred Buzzer.'

'I think it's impossible for anyone famous to come from here,' said Wobbler, 'because everyone around here is mental.'

'Got one,' said Bigmac, turning the microfiche knob.

'Who? Which one?'

'The footballer. Stanley "Wrong Way" Round- way. He played for Blackbury Wanderers. There's his obituary here. Amost half a page.'

'Any good?'

'Says he scored a record number of goals.'

'Sounds good,' said Wobbler.

'Own goals.'

'What?'

'Greatest number of own goals in the history of any sport, it says. It says he kept getting

over-excited and losing his sense of direction.'

'Oh.'

'But he was a good footballer, it says. Apart from that. Not exactly a Hall of Fame, though—'

'Here, look at this,' said Yo-less.

They clustered around his viewer. He'd found an ancient group photograph of about thirty sol- diers, all beaming at the camera.

'Well?' said Wobbler.

'This is from nineteen sixteen,' said Yo-less. 'They're all going off to war.'

'Which one?' said Wobbler.

'The first one, you nerd. World War One.'

'I always wondered why they numbered it,' said Bigmac. 'Like they expected to have a few more. You know. Like Buy Two, Get One Free.'

'Says here,' Yo-less squinted, 'it's the Blackbury Old Pals Battalion. They're just going off to fight. They all joined up at the same time

Johnny stared. He could hear people's voices, and the background noises of the library. But the picture looked as if it was at the bottom of a dark, square tunnel. And he was falling down it.

Things outside the picture were inky and slow. The picture was the centre of the world.

Johnny looked at the grinning faces, the terrible haircuts, the jug-handle ears, the thumbs all up.

Even today nearly everyone in the Blackbury Guardian had their photo taken with their thumb up, unless they'd won Super Bingo, in which case they were shown doing what the photographer thought was a high kick. The newspaper's one

photographer was known as Jeremy the Thumb.

The people in the picture didn't look muct older than Bigmac. Well, a couple of them die There was a sergeant with a moustache like scrubbing brush, and an officer in jodhpurs, bu| the rest of them looked like a school photo.

And now he was coming back from wherever! he'd been. The picture dropped away again, came just an oblong on a page on a screen. Hei blinked.

There was a feeling, like—

—like on an aeroplane when it's about to land, and his ears went 'pop'. But it was happening with his brain, instead.

'Anyone know what the Somme is?' said Yo- less.

'No.'

'That's where they went, anyway. Some place in France.'

'Any of them win any medals?' said Johnny, struggling back into the real world. 'That'd be famous. If there's someone in the cemetery with a lot of medals.'

Yo-less spun the wheels of the viewer.

Til look ahead a few issues,' he said. 'There's bound to be something if— Hey ... look at this

They all tried to get under the hood at once. Silence came back as they realized what he'd found.

I knew it was important, Johnny thought. What's happening to me?

'Wow,' said Wobbler. 'I mean - all those names

. everyone killed in this big battle ...'

Without saying anything, Johnny ducked into the other reader and wound it backward until he found the cheery photograph.

'Are they listed in alphabetical order?' he said.

'Yes,' said Yo-less.

Til read out the names under the photo, then. Um ... Armitage, K... . Atkins, T... . '

'Yes ... no ...' said Yo-less.

'Sergeant Atterbury, F... . '

'Yes.'

'Hey, there's three from Canal Street,' said Wobbler. 'That's where my gran lives!'

'Blazer ... Constantine ... Fraser ... Frobisher ...'

'Yes ... yes ... yes ... yes ...'

They carried on to the end of the caption.

'They all died,' said Johnny, eventually. 'Four weeks after the picture was taken. All of them.'

'Except for Atkins, T.,' said Yo-less. 'It says here what a Pals' Battalion was. It says, people all from one town or even one street could all join the Army together if they wanted, and all get sent to ... the same place.'

'I wonder if they all got there?' said Yo-less. 'Eventually,' he added.

'That's dreadful,' said Bigmac.