When I awoke the next morning, there was a breakfast tray by my bed and freshly washed and ironed clothes hanging in the wardrobe.
The breakfast consisted of fruit, freshly baked rolls, butter, a selection of homemade jams, and a large cup of French café au lait, probably prepared by Aunt Gladys, the former Comtesse de LaPorte. The breakfast was delightful; they knew all my preferences, and everything was vegetarian. After a hot shower, I changed into clean clothes and was ready to leave. Two minutes later, I was standing outside Albert's door and knocked politely.
"Do come in, dear boy; do come in," came Albert's voice.
I opened the door and, at Albert's invitation, sat down.
Very punctual, Peregrine, but there's no time for formalities; time is of the essence. As an introduction to inter-dimensional travel, we will journey today through a special portal. Not only will we traverse into another dimension, but we will also travel back in time to a point I have chosen in Earth's past. We cannot physically interact with the environment; altering the past is impossible, but we can observe. There is much for you to learn, and I promise you a most interesting experience.
"Ernest told me about the time you visited London on Earth, Major, in the year 1664."
"Yes, I remember it. Awful coffee and awful people. Ernest bought a book while we were there, but it wasn't particularly good."
"But you just told me that you cannot interact with the past?"
That's right, but we did not go to the past. We were actually in London in 1664, on a matter of business, if I recall correctly. Ernest hated the place, and we never went back. It may have changed by now, of course, but I am not inclined to return.
"May I make a request, Albert?"
"Yes, of course, anything you like. Ask away."
"Can Montana come with us on this trip?"
Montana? I am not sure. She is undertaking a separate induction course under Aunty's supervision. But if Aunty does not object and Montana wishes to come, she is welcome to join us.
Albert went to see Aunty and ten minutes later, returned with a rather bemused Montana.
"Peregrine," she said. "What a great idea! I can't wait to get going."
"Time for a chat later; we really must hurry."
He made it clear that the conversation was over, and we left Albert's comfortable quarters, walking down a narrow corridor until we reached a beautifully polished mahogany door. Set in the centre panel was an exceptionally fine wood etching of a stooped old man dressed in a floor-length brown robe, carrying a scythe and an hourglass.
"Chronos", said Albert, nodding towards the figure as he searched in his pockets for the key, or "Old Father Time", as he is better known.
"Ah, here it is."
He produced a key and unlocked the door.
We found ourselves in the kind of clothing outfitters common in any prosperous city centre, with all types of garments hung in long, tidy rows.
"Gentlemen on the left. Ladies on the right," said Albert.
We must dress the part, you see. People there will be unable to see us, but there may be other travellers like us passing through, and we don't want to stand out. There are many unsavoury characters among the time-travelling fraternity whom we would do well to avoid.
Albert gestured to my frayed jeans and oversized T-shirt.
"I'm afraid they won't do at all."
"What time are we travelling?" I asked as I watched him flick through assorted items on the nearest rail.
"Earth Major. Mid-twentieth century," he said.
"Now these will pass," and he handed me a pair of baggy flannel trousers and a blazer. On my other arm, he placed a formal white shirt with a collar and a striped tie.
"No time for fussing, Peregrine; just go over to that changing room and try these on.
Montana, please make your selections from the rows indicated. Now I must choose something suitable for myself.
I did as he asked and put on the white shirt, then changed into the jacket and trousers, but I had no idea how to knot the tie and carried it in my hand. It felt as if I were going to a fancy-dress party. When I stepped out, Albert had already changed into a green and brown-flecked three-piece suit with a stiff collar and tie. He glanced at my feet.
"No, not trainers, Peregrine," he said. "Put these on."
He handed me a pair of black leather shoes and said, "And turn around while I fix your tie."
Stepping back, he examined me critically. "Oh, dear. Your hair is far too long," and passed me a jar of white, sticky stuff.
"Brylcreem," he said.
. "A hair oil used for flattening unruly hair and popular in England at the time. Now put plenty on and comb your hair into a side parting."
Montana took a bit longer than me to get dressed, but when she emerged, she looked beautiful, even though her clothes looked strange at first.
She wore a tailored tweed jacket paired with a high-waisted calf-length skirt. Beneath the jacket was a pale cream blouse featuring a small embroidered motif of a sprig of wheat above the breast pocket. Her shoes were leather loafers with a modest heel, and she carried a simple leather bag over one shoulder. She looked as though she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine of the era.
"Wow!" I said, "You look great, Montana."
"You, too," she said. "We are like characters from one of those old British black and white movies. You as well, Uncle Albert; you are very smart."
"Right," said Uncle Albert. Ready to go?
"The portal is the bright yellow door in the far corner."
With a reassuring smile, Albert opened the door, and as he crossed the threshold, our bodies shimmered, but we felt no sensation of movement. We stepped out to find ourselves beside a busy road on a lovely summer morning. It was that simple. This was incredible—my first experience of portal travel!
"Where are we?"
"In the High Street of the University City of Oxford on Thursday, June 9th, 1949.
To your left is the Porter's Lodge of Magdalene College, where, at this moment, in C.S. Lewis's rooms, a group of writers called 'The Inklings' are reviewing the final draft of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
"You are familiar with the book?"
"Of course, The Chronicles of Narnia were a great favourite of mine when I was younger," I said.
"Me too," said Montana. I had the complete set.
Glad to hear it. Also, in attendance this evening will be the man whom we call the 'Father of Modern Fantasy Literature', J.R.R. Tolkien, author of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, and Mr Roger Lancelyn Green, famous for his stories of Robin Hood, King Arthur, and the Knights of the Round Table.
An extraordinary range of talent is all gathered in one place. The authors of children's books whose rich and fertile imaginations stem from innocence. A trait that makes them uniquely open to the fantastic. Once read, the magic remains with the reader for the rest of their lives, although some people encounter the stories as adults when reading books to their children.
C.S. Lewis has just handed out the first proof copies of his new book, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Shall we join them?
"Come on."
Montana took me by the arm, and we followed Albert as he drifted down the corridor and walked straight through the door of Lewis's apartment.
"It feels like floating through water," Montana giggled, "or being inside a no-gravity spaceship!"
The air in the room was thick with pipe smoke, and on a side table lay empty plates and the remnants of a sandwich buffet. The men lounged in armchairs, each nursing a large whisky and holding a copy of Lewis's manuscript.
"Where do you want to stand?" Albert said. I'm afraid it is rather difficult for us to sit."
He guided us so that we were behind J.R.R. Tolkien, who was looking directly at Lewis. Both were oblivious to my presence.
"Well, this is your last chance, gentlemen," said Lewis from his chair.
You have seen this work before, and we have discussed it at length. I have made alterations based on our conversations, while leaving other parts unchanged.
Now I am happy with it; if any author can honestly say he is entirely satisfied with his work, but I have finished with this now.
"Jack!" said Tolkien. "I have to say that despite my protests, you have retained the character of Father Christmas. You must realise that a character from human legend does not belong alongside mythological creatures. This muddle of myth and legend just won't do. The character of Father Christmas undermines the integrity of the story, and I would be interested to know the reason you decided to keep . . ."
Tolkien suddenly stopped mid-speech, and the room fell silent and still. The men assumed either relaxed or guarded poses of thoughtfulness and amusement. Although they were among friends, there was always an undercurrent of rivalry within this elite circle of literary talent, and guards were never entirely lowered. But now, they all appeared slightly silly, with fleeting expressions frozen in mid-gesture and facial muscles contorted into strange shapes. Albert turned to me in apology.
Sorry, you two. I should have warned you, but this is a good moment to make a quick point, and it would have been rude to talk over Mr Tolkien.
'Have you stopped time, Albert?'
There was a lot more to this old man than I thought.