We sat right by the window, our faces less than a yard from the track, staring up at the carriage above and listening to the water gushing into the tank beneath. Once it was full, the top carriage started to descend towards us and ours began to rise. The sea and the beach came into view below as we approached the Leas above. James’ legs swung over the wooden slatted bench, not quite reaching the floor. Neither of us dared to utter a word as we listened to the chug and chunter of the wheels on the tracks and the banging of pipes and screeching of cogs in the pump room. James’ little balled fists clung to the hem of his shorts and he looked at me, blinking. Hard blinks just like he did after mummy died. Fast and relentless as though he was hoping to blink his way back to the past, rewinding until she reappeared before his eyes. I quickly stepped across the carriage, sat down next to him and put my arm around his shoulder.
‘It’s OK, James,’ I said, not really knowing if it was.
I looked out at the metal sea, the greedy waves pouncing and gobbling the shingle beneath. My eyes shifted to the foreground and I watched a gull battling the wind, trying to fly home but getting nowhere despite its strong wings and I suddenly had the feeling that I might have left my stomach at the bottom of the lift as the rest of me rose up towards the sky.
This was our first time in the lift since it opened six months ago. James had been so excited when Daddy told us he was in charge of building a railway in the cliffs called a funicular. He said it sounded like something from the future and I remember thinking what a curious word it was with fun and peculiar all squished together.
‘But what if it breaks and comes crashing down or goes whooshing up into the sky?’ asked James one evening, bombarding Daddy with questions before he’d even come through the door and got his boots off.
Daddy’s eyes opened wide, revealing bright white lines where the fine folds of skin were usually hidden by a sun protective squint. He leant back, one hand clutching at his heart, the other holding down his cap as though the shock might make it ping off.
‘How dare you?! I don’t build things that break, boy!’ he bellowed.
We smothered our giggles as his wild, wiry blond eyebrows bunched and wriggled as he spoke in that animated way reserved specially for us. His face then softened and his giant hands grabbed each of us by the shoulder, the smell of oil and tobacco hanging in the air.
‘Listen, this lift is special. It’s rare for a start,’ he said. ‘Do you know what that means?’
I nodded but Daddy continued excitedly. ‘It means there are not many others that exist. This lift will go down in history, I just know it will.’
‘And up!’ I blurted, pointing my finger to the sky and James and I both burst out laughing.
Daddy stood up, straighter and taller this time. He puffed out his chest and lifted and replaced his cap as if to let out some of the pride that was filling up inside of him.
‘My men are some of the best builders in the country. It’s not going to break. It’s going to last forever.’
Aunt Martha grunted. She didn’t like fuss and commotion. She plonked a steaming pot on the table and went back into the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron, the bang of her footsteps echoing out behind her. Daddy chuckled as he sat down at the table and ladled stew into his bowl.
‘Whooshing off into the sky indeed!’ he said to himself.
But I saw his eyes flick sideways to Aunt Martha as she took her seat. Her lips were pressed together so tightly that tiny lines spiked out around her mouth and a thick dark hair on her chin stood proud.
‘Daddy, if it lasts forever, then maybe in the future people will be able to ride it back to the past?’ I said. ‘Or even the other way. Into the future,’ I added, remembering the crazy bedtime stories we made up with Mummy about travelling far into the future where giant crabs and fish evolved to walk on two legs.
Daddy’s caterpillar eyebrows moved in procession across his forehead as he leaned over his stew and Aunt Martha’s throat made a rattling sound.
I looked at Daddy and a wry smile crept across his lips. I was so enraptured by the idea that Daddy’s special lift could take us to any point in history that I wanted to run away to a quiet place and bathe myself in it, savouring every detail. But I would have to wait for bedtime when I could allow my thoughts to run away to happier times.
For now, the sting of reality pricked at my eyes. I looked down at my bowl hoping to distract myself with finishing my food but all the pieces of meat had turned into little brown bricks and my throat ached from swallowing the emptiness where tears were not permitted. I put my spoon down.
‘What if…’ James was saying, ‘What if there is someone from the future that has already come back? It could be anyone among us…’
Daddy winked at me and cocked his head in Aunt Martha’s direction.
‘What if –‘ James begun as he sprung his arms up in excitement, knocking his spoon from his bowl, carrots and gravy splashing across the tablecloth.
‘Don’t be so ridiculous and don’t you encourage them,’ Aunt Martha spat, shooting out of her chair and jabbing her spoon at Daddy.
‘There ain’t no going back,’ she said, gathering up her apron to wipe the gravy from her chin. ‘And the sooner you accept that the better!’
Her words were punctuated by the roar of her chair being scraped across the floorboards as she tucked herself back in to the table. We ate mostly in silence then, save for Aunt Martha pushing air out of her nostrils every time James slurped his stew.
I pushed my bricks around, remembering the time just after Mummy died, when Aunt Martha was preparing dinner at the stove, I’d squint and try and imagine she was in fact Mummy. At any moment, I’d say to myself, she’s going to turn around, and say ‘Hello, Bear’ and I’d run into her softness and she’d tuck my hair behind my ears and kiss my head, her powdery scent chasing away all the sadness.
Aunt Martha made it clear she disliked the new arrangement as much as we did.
‘Only for a while,’ I’d overheard Daddy say at the wake. ‘Until the lift is done, then I’ll take them off your hands. You’re the closest thing they’ve got to Edna now.’
‘And I’m the one who has to pay for my sister’s stupidity. Women shouldn’t be bathing out in the open, let alone trying to rescue children –’
‘Please Martha,’ I’d heard Daddy say.
The funeral guests paid their respects and praised Mummy for her bravery and the sacrifice she made saving the holidaymakers’ son, a boy the same age as James, who got out of his depth. Then they all went home and dried their eyes while Daddy’s sobs, thick and deep, went on and on.
I had no desire to ride the lift. In a strange way I hated it for taking Daddy away from us. I only agreed to it for James’ sake.
We were approaching the top of the tracks now. The wheels slowly trundled the last few yards and as it reached the end of the line, a rush of heat filled the carriage and swathed us in warm sunshine.
The guard ushered us through the open carriage door, the red gate and onto The Leas. We stayed close to the lift entrance, knowing we’d be collared by an officer if we hung around too long. I’d heard of parading ladies with parasols, their children pushed along in fancy prams by governesses. Gentlemen with pocket watches and canes taking leisurely strolls and Lord Radnor’s force patrolling the prom, with its beautifully planted flower beds, ornate bandstand and grand hotels; keeping the riff-raff out.
Instead, crowds of people lined the lawns along the whole length of The Leas. But there were no ladies with parasols, no fancy bustles or bodices or feathered Gainsboroughs but men with trousers which stopped short of their knees and sleeveless vests in all colours and patterns. No canes or coats or top hats but bare heads and ankles. And ladies in scant slips with their busts and arms uncovered and legs without stockings or boots. It was as though the whole town had come out to gather in their underwear. Aunt Martha would probably have fainted of shock by now and my hand automatically sprung up to cover James’ eyes. He quickly peeled it away. The sun was blazing and my woollen dress became suffocating while my stockinged toes felt as if they were swimming in sweat. My throat tightened and I became aware of the thumping noise coming from my chest which grew ever more violent when I noticed that the people on the lawns were swaying and bobbing in time to its wild pounding.
‘What’s that banging?’ James asked.
Just then, a deep and rhythmic beat of many drums grew loud and I heard whistles blowing and imagined they must be to warn the crowds of an impending stampede of elephants or wildebeest. Yet the crowds of people were anything but frightened. They were smiling, waving flags, bouncing excitedly and turning their heads towards the approaching cacophony.
‘What’s going on, Mary?’ James’s nails were digging into my arm.
‘I – I don’t know,’ I replied, trying to make sense of what we were seeing and hearing.
It was then that I noticed a lady waving at us. Her smile was so welcoming and familiar, I was instantly mesmerised. Without thinking I grabbed James’ arm and stepped out on to the prom towards the woman. But, at that moment, the deafening percussion struck up right by us and James yanked me backwards as a procession of drummers came dancing past, swaying from side to side in unison and beating enormous drums which hung from their necks. They were dressed in red and black flowing smocks and their cheeks were streaked with bright paint.
James’s mouth dropped to the floor when Punch, Judy and a crocodile, all ten feet high, came floating along. I nudged him and pointed to the human legs and torso that were supporting one of these giant structures and a bearded man smiled out at us as we stared, mouths agape.
I caught sight of the lady again, her face appearing and then just as quickly disappearing in the gaps between the heads of the dancers and musicians as they bobbed past.
‘James, look!’ I pointed to the woman as I caught sight of her again. She waved, her neck straining to stay above the rippling throng.
The flow and swell of the procession suddenly settled and great numbers of children in bright hats with tassels stopped before us. Each of them held a giant models of crabs, jellyfish, seahorses and fish made of sticks and paper and I was struck just how similar they were to the imagined sea creatures of Mummy’s bedtime stories. They began thrusting them up and down, blocking our sight of the lady and I heard James cry out each time they swallowed her up in their dance.
The drums intensified, whistles peeped and trilled, and I realised this was our moment to make a dash across to the other side before the procession started up again. I grabbed James’ hand and prayed we’d make it before the parade swept us away from her forever.
No sooner had we started than a hand grabbed each of our shoulders and spun us round, pulling us in to a soft, powdery embrace. The woman’s eyes were closed as she kissed the top of James’ head and open when she looked into mine.
‘Hello, Bear,’ the familiar voice said.
THE END
Meet the author: Louise Burgess
Louise is a writer who grew up in Folkestone and has lived in the town all her life. She was inspired to write a story about the iconic Leas Lift, built in 1885 at the height of Folkestone’s popularity as a tourist destination, but which has been sadly closed since 2017. Louise has many happy memories of riding on the lift and hopes her story will bring it back to life for the listener.
Her story is read by Folkestone actor Lucille Ferguson who is much loved by the town for her role as Mother Christmas, opening each evening’s event for the Folkestone Living Advent Calendar. Lucille is also well known as a storyteller and theatre maker, and curated Folkestone 48, a play festival in 2019 at The Quarterhouse.