Finding Harry

Chapter 1

I had travelled back in time. It was May 1956 and I was walking my way down the short, narrow streets of Chessunt, Hertfordshire, where I knew he would be. I had gathered bits of information as my preparation before making this trip, and I vaguely knew what his house looked like. I surveyed each street for a small red door, a banged up yellow automobile of some description, and a neat vase of flowers by the front door step. That was all I knew, and I thought it was going to take hours for me to find. But it didn't, I was lucky.

On spotting the twee little terraced house that I knew was his, my heart began to race. My steps quickened and I soon found myself on the doorstep. I knocked three times, hoping someone was in. I was nervous, and fixed my eyes to the ends of my twisted shoelaces, trying to think desperately of what exactly I was going to say when someone did open the door.

Too late. I jumped as the door opened with a creek, and a little, dark-haired lady looked up at me through wide, glass-covered, brown eyes.

"Can I help you?" she asked, in a kind, polite voice.

"Um...yes...sorry...I seem to be lost," I said, stuttering, and feeling rather embarrassed.

"Who are you looking for?" she asked, taking pity on the helpless traveller standing at her doorstep.

"I'm looking for a friend – his name's Harry...Harry Webb..." I said, eagerly awaiting a response.

"Harry? Why, he's my son..." said the woman, slightly bemused.

"Oh, phew, then I did get the right house! Hello," I said, shaking her hand gently, "I'm Hannah...and you must be Mrs. Dorothy Webb?" She looked astounded.

"Yes," she said, "Who are you? Are you a school friend of Harry's?"

"Old school friend," I said, "I doubt he'll remember me, it was that long ago!" I laughed, and managed to win from her an approving smile. With that, she welcomed me into the house, and sat me in a small, yet cosy, sitting room. It was so strange, coming back from the 21st century, with all its technology and gadgets, to a time when household televisions were a rare find, and family interaction was so much more important.

"Harry!" she called up the stairs, "Harry, you have a friend here for you!" I sat, nervously, playing with my hands and staring at the patterns on the carpet. It was not long before I heard footsteps on the stairs. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to imagine what he looked like at the tender age of 16.

Dorothy poked her head round the door, "I'll leave you to it," she said. I smiled, and looked up to see a confident, yet respectful teenage boy walk into the room. I could tell he was confused, but he hid it behind a polite front.

"I'm Hannah," I said, reaching out to shake his hand. He did, and I tried not to look too excited as I had my first taste of heaven.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember you..." he said, trying to be as courteous as possible.

"No, I didn't suppose you would – we were friends a while back, when you first came to live in England...I didn't stay in Waltham for too long, because my dad got a post up-north."

"Aah..." he said, "So to what do I owe the honours of this reunion?"

"Oh, well you see, we've been having a few family troubles, and my mum left home," I said, looking down at the floor, desperately trying to make up a plausible story, "I was left with my dad, and, well, to be honest, I didn't much like him – he could get a little aggressive...so I left home. I've been up and down the country, but no one will let me stay with them, even my closest friends have abandoned me. I then remembered you, and, well, I was just wondering if I could stay for a couple of days – it wouldn't be too long – I'm a very hard-worker and I'll be sure to find myself a job and a place to stay in no time..." I faked some tears and a quivering voice, and, to my luck, he interrupted.

"You poor thing," he said, "Come to think of it, I do remember you...yes, I remember playing a few games as kids – tag, that sort of thing... hey, listen, don't cry, you'll have to ask my parents, of course, but I'm sure they'd be more than willing to let you stay here for a couple of days. You sound so lost, it's the least we could do, especially since you've come all this way." I looked up from the floor, and gazed into his deep, brown eyes. I gave a weak, shaky smile, and wiped away my tears.

"Thanks," I said, and, to add more conviction to my authenticity, I asked, "When does your dad, Rodger, usually get back from work?" I saw the look in his eyes. He believed me, I knew it.

"Not until 7...but I'm going out in a second to meet up with the gang, at Joe's Café, you can come if you want."

"Wow, thanks, that'd be great!" I said, smiling widely. He gave a friendly wink, and got out of his chair. I heard him briefly chat to his mother, and he came back and guided me to the door. I noticed his shoes had pointed toes, and I smiled as all those images of the 50s I had seen in books all turned into reality. I noticed for the first time what he was wearing, too. He had sandy, beige drainpipe trousers, neatly tailored at the hems; a white, slightly crinkled shirt, and a cream-coloured cardigan. His hair was slightly curly, and formed an impressive quiff over his clear, spot-less forehead. He looked so young, so full of energy, so fresh, it was weird to know how his life was going to turn out. I was dying to tell him of all he would achieve, and all he would soon become, but I knew that such actions could have disastrous consequences.

He opened the door, and signalled for me to exit first. I had forgotten - these were the days of the civilised, gentlemanly manners. I was in for a treat!

"This is my car," he said, pointing out the small, rusting car by the front gate. He opened the door for me, and I climbed in. It was a comfortable little car, very basic, with a manual radio, and no little gadgets or digital screens to look at, but it felt safe, nevertheless. Besides, there were so few cars on the roads, it didn't feel much of a threat.

He walked round and got into the driving seat. On starting the engine, he tuned the radio and did up his seat-belt. The engine revved, and we rolled off down the street. The music on the radio was a massive change to what I was used to. The songs we heard were Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole-type numbers. There was no oomph, no excitement, no energy...no rock 'n' roll. But I knew that that was soon to come...