Chapter 2
Dunwich
The sleepy hamlet of Dunwich, pronounced "Dun'ich", lay roughly eight miles west-north-west of Trayne. The main road westward out of Trayne ran through the neighbouring villages of Stouch and Oppley, from each of which secondary roads led to Dunwich. The village itself was therefore at the apex of a road triangle which had Oppley and Stouch at its lower corners; it's only other highway being a lane which rolled in a Chestertonian fashion some five miles to reach Hickham which was three miles north.
A triangular Green ornamented by five fine elms and a white-railed pond stood at the heart of Dunwich. The war memorial stood in the church-ward corner of the Green, and spaced out round the sides were the church itself, the vicarage, an inn, a smithy, the post office, a shop, and a number of cottages. Altogether, the village comprised some sixty cottages and small houses, a village hall, Kyle Manor, and The Grange.
The church was mostly perpendicular Gothic, and decorated architecture, but with a Norman west doorway and font. The vicarage was Georgian; The Grange Victorian; Kyle Manor had Tudor roots with numerous later graftings. The cottages showed most of the styles which had existed between the two Elizabeths, but even more recent than the two latest County Council cottages were the utilitarian wings that had been added to The Grange when UNIT took it over for research.
The existence of Dunwich had never been convincingly accounted for. It was not in a strategic position to hold a market, not even across a packway of any importance. It appeared, at some unknown time, simply to have occurred; the Domesday survey noted it as a hamlet, and it had continued as little more, for the railway age ignored it, as had the coach roads, and even the navigation canals.
So far as was known, it rested upon no desirable minerals: no official eye ever saw it as a likely site for an aerodrome, or a bombing-range, or a battle school; only UNIT intruded, and except for the laying of fibre optic cables to the village for telephone and internet connectivity, the reconditioning of The Grange had little effect upon the village life. Dunwich had lived and drowsed upon its good soil in Arcadian undistinction for a thousand years; and there seemed no reason why it should not so to do for the next millennium, too.
This didn't mean however, that Dunwich was altogether without history. It had had its moments. In 1931, it was the centre of an untraced outbreak of foot-and-mouth disease. And in 1916 an off-course Zeppelin unloaded a bomb which fell in a ploughed field and fortunately failed to explode. And before that it hit the headlines . . . well, anyway, the broadsheets . . . when Black Ned, a second-class highwayman, was shot on the steps of The Scythe and Stone Inn by Sweet Polly Parker, and although this gesture of reproof appears to have been of a more personal than social nature, she was, nevertheless, much lauded for it in the ballads of 1768.
Then, too, there was the sensational closure of the nearby St Accius' Abbey, and the redistribution of the brethren for reasons which have been a subject of intermittent local speculation ever since it took place, in 1493.
Other events include the stabling of Cromwell's horses in the church, and a visit by William Wordsworth, who was inspired by the Abbey ruins to the production of one of his more routine commendatory sonnets.
With these exceptions, however, recorded time seemed to have flowed over Dunwich without a ripple. Nor would the inhabitants have had it otherwise; most of them having lived there for numerous generations in a placid continuity which had become a right. Relative newcomers to the village included the Vicar and his wife, the inhabitants of Kyle Manor, the local GP, the district-nurse, and, of course, the researchers at The Grange.
Being on the edge of the London commuter belt, and having broadband connectivity, a number of new families had moved into the village where they could work mainly from home and commute to their workplaces once or twice a week. Indeed, there was a young architect who had married his secretary and moved to New York where he worked for the award winning firm, Freecell Architecture. After gaining a few years experience and making a name for himself, they had returned to Great Britain and bought one of the cottages on the Green.
Kyle Manor and its associated cottages were owned by author and Justice of the Peace, Gordon Zellaby. Although he and his wife Angela were newcomers, because of his position and learning, he was seen as a pillar of the community, and was regularly called upon to mediate in disputes between local farmers and residents. Their 21 year old daughter, Ferrelyn also lived with them at the Manor.
The village doctor was Doctor Charles Willers, who's surgery was just along from the Green on Stouch Road. He and his wife Milly had lived there for over twenty years, but were still seen as newcomers by the senior residents who had been born there. However, they were not seen as outsiders. He was a well loved and respected family doctor, who had overseen the antenatal care of most of the young people in the village, and treated their various childhood illnesses.
The surgery also served patients from the adjoining villages of Otterly and Stouch, and although Doctor Willers had over a hundred and fifty patients registered with him, the surgery was rarely full. Apart from the occasional influenza or winter vomiting bug outbreak, the locals were usually fit and healthy.
The elderly patients with chronic illnesses such as diabetes, heart disease and lung diseases, were looked after by the district nurse, Nurse Daniels, who did home visits when they were unable to attend the surgery.
Reverend Hubert Leebody was the vicar of Dunwich, and had lived at the vicarage with his wife Dora for as long as most people could remember, but he hadn't been born there, so had the dubious title of "the oldest newcomer". It was a Dunwich thing. He was a tall man with a full head of grey hair, warm, brown eyes, and a compassionate face which showed a life dedicated to the care of people's souls. The Leebody's niece, Polly Rushton was staying with them at the vicarage whilst she worked at The Grange.
The Grange in Dunwich was a grey stone Victorian building on Hickham Lane, which had a gravel drive which led up to the gabelled entrance. At the rear of the building, two wings had been added that were more functional than aesthetic, and contained laboratories and engineering workshops. The director of research was the renowned theoretical physicist Professor Arthur Crimm, OBE. The staff consisted of a number of civilian and UNIT scientists, as well as officers and soldiers.
Crimm was presently in one of the high security workshops, standing in front of a mirrored icosahedron with his hands in the pockets of his white lab coat. He was a short, chubby man with an egg shaped face and head with male pattern baldness. The brown hair that he had on the sides of his head, stuck out like a typical mad scientist. Polly Rushton, a UNIT engineering undergraduate, was attaching flat discs to each of the triangular sections and wiring them up to a control console.
'There we are Professor, all the induction coils are in place and we're ready to power them up,' Polly announced.
'Right you are then,' he said with a smile. He looked over to the technicians who were standing by the computer monitors. 'Are we ready to proceed?'
'All sensors are on line and ready to go,' the lead technician replied.
'Good. Polly, set the generator to five milliamps at five millivolts and hold it there whilst we calibrate the sensors,' Crimm commanded.
'Yes Professor,' Polly responded. 'Current, five milliamps, potential difference, five millivolts.'
There was no discernible difference in the alien artefact, and the technicians tapped keyboards and adjusted controls.
'Okay. We've got a baseline,' the lead technician told them. 'You can start to ramp it up.'
Crimm stood beside Polly and looked at the digital generator. 'Let's set it for one milliamp and millivolt per increment and wait for the sensors to start registering an effect.'
'Okay. One on one . . . and away we go,' Polly said, pressing the green start button.
Crimm went over to the monitors and watched the readings on the screens. There were numbers scrolling slowly in one window, an oscilloscope display in another, and a three dimensional graph in yet another.
He looked over to Polly. 'Hold your hand over the abort button. At the slightest hint of anything untoward happening, kill the power.'
Polly held her hand over the big red button on top of the generator. 'Standing by.'
At a poetically coincidental thirteen minutes and thirteen seconds, a teacup rattled in its saucer. Panes of glass rattled in their frames, and racking against the wall started to sway slightly.
'Killing the power!' Polly called out and hit the red button. She watched the racking come to rest. 'What the hell was that?'
Crimm was inspecting the information on the screens. 'If I didn't know better, I'd have said it was an earthquake.'
The junior technician was wide eyed in amazement. 'This thing creates earthquakes? That is awesome.'
'Awesome indeed,' Crimm said in agreement. 'I think we need to see if we can get the panels off and have a look inside.'
Torchwood Special Operations Unit.
Torchwood Tower, Canary Wharf.
Tuesday 24th September.
09:42.
Blue Watch Supervisor, Rose Smith, the blond haired, hazel eyed beauty, left the supervisor's office and went to the kitchenette to pour two mugs of tea. One for herself, and one for her husband, the brilliant and foxy Doctor John Smith. She knew he had arrived because they shared a telepathic bond, and knew he would have his usual cup of tea in Special Operations before he went up to his laboratory on the eighth floor.
The Standby Room had one wall which contained the tall windows which looked out across South Colonnade towards Jubilee Park and Middle Dock, and the domed entrance to the underground station could be seen on the edge of the park. The wall to the right of the windows contained the video wall which displayed a view of the Standby Room in Torchwood New York. To the right of the video wall was the glass fronted Supervisor's Office.
Opposite this was the status wall, a collection of video screens which displayed the current status of the Special Operations Unit and the agents in the field. And finally, to the left of the status wall was the glass fronted Despatch Office, which led to the Communications Hub. This area looked just like the room you see behind the newsreaders on the television, all desks and media screens. To the left of the Despatch Office was the kitchen area and the short corridor leading to the doors of the unit.
In the centre of the Standby Room were a collection of sofas, comfortable chairs, round, glass dining tables and chairs, and low tables with newspapers, magazines, plates and mugs. Andre, Angel, Other Craig and Amy were out on "shouts". The rest of the Watch were relaxing on the sofas and the chairs, chatting amongst themselves and with their counterparts in New York.
John walked through the doors of the Standby Room wearing his usual tight, brown pin striped suit. His hair was standing up in its usual unruly fashion. He strolled over to the kitchen area and accepted the offered mug of tea.
'Ooh you beauty,' he said, and Rose wasn't sure if he was talking to her or the mug of tea. He kissed his wife on the lips, and they felt the floor wobble slightly and the crockery in the kitchen area rattle.
The members of the Watch looked around and muttered 'tremor' and 'earthquake?'
Rose pulled out of the kiss and frowned. 'Did you just feel the ground move?'
John gave her a lopsided smile. 'That normally only happens in the bedroom.' He glanced over at Gwen O'Toole and gave her a cheeky wink.
Gwen covered her mouth and snorted a laugh. Rose blushed and playfully slapped John's arm. John didn't notice though. He was looking at the video wall, and the reactions of the New York agents. He walked over to the wall and had a drink of his tea.
'Did you guys feel that?' he asked.
One of the agents, whose digital label above his head said "Brad", walked towards the screen. ['Yeah Doc. A small tremor.']
'Hmm,' John hummed in thought. He went over to the Despatch Office, where Julia De Graff was at the high tech desk.
'Julia. Who's the supervisor on duty in Mumbai?' John asked.
'Morning Doc. Er . . . It's Ragesh this morning. Oh, sorry. Their afternoon I should say.'
John smiled at her correction. 'Can you give him a call please?'
'Yeah, sure.'
Rose came and stood at John's shoulder. She didn't need to ask him what was going on. Over the last few years, their telepathic bond had deepened, and she was able to follow his thought processes as he tried to solve a problem. In fact, she had realised in a pub quiz, at one of the Torchwood social evenings, that she knew answers to questions on subjects she wasn't even aware of.
An Asian man's head and shoulders appeared on a screen in front of them. He had neat, black hair and a trimmed beard.
['Hi Doc, Rose. Haven't seen you for a while. How are things?'] Ragesh asked with a beaming smile.
'Hi Raj. Good to see you. Things are good thanks. Just a quick call to ask if you've had any seismic activity over there recently,' John said.
Ragesh looked puzzled. ['A minor tremor about a minute ago. How did you know about that?']
'Because we felt it too,' John replied.
Rose had followed John's reasoning and anticipated his next questions. She was using a mouse and keyboard next to Julia, and looked at the information on a screen in front of her. 'Minor tremors reported all over the planet. No large quake, and no apparent epicentre.'
John smiled at her and raised his eyebrows in admiration. 'Interesting, don't you think?'
'Yeah. I wonder what it was?' Rose asked.
'No idea, but I think we should keep a look out to see if it happens again,' John said, looking back towards Ragesh.
Ragesh nodded. 'We'll keep a close eye on the seismographs.'
'Thanks Raj. See you soon,' John said and ended the call.
'I'll have a word with New York and ask them to stay alert,' Rose told him.
'Thanks for that Love. I'll nip up to my lab and see if I can glean any data out of the seismographs.'