Back to Folkestone - Jacob Saywell
In the early years of the 34th century Sir Herbert Oliver put the first town on wheels. What had only been a fantasy, dreamt of in books, before now, took the world's imagination. Sir Herbert's project ended the world as we knew it, and thrust us in a different direction. At the time of these developments towns belched out huge black clouds of smoke and deep gashes were carved in the earth from the gigantic wheels that carried the monstrous meshes of steel that held the towns as they moved across the British landscape.
A disruption followed the town's changes in position: life and work in Britain could not continue as before. People would go on holiday to Birmingham to find themselves hopelessly lost and hundreds of miles from their desired town. The breakdown of work was first seen in the postal service where thousands of letters were cast into the empty pit where Plymouth had stood. Just as the postal service had become confused about the whereabouts of towns, Government was soon to follow. All communication broke down, and the wildlife became disrupted. No one knew which land belonged to whom, and it didn't matter anyway; towns, villages and cities trundled through anyhow. All towns in Britain were on wheels by the 35th century, except London, which was too heavy to move mechanically. The Capital was soon almost fully abandoned, for most Londoners now sought the thrill of living in a moving city.
The fashion for mobile towns soon caught on all over the world. Mayors would take their town from one country to another, and borderlines were completely forgotten. People no longer knew which country they were in, because the diversity of languages and cities was so varied. Swedish cities migrated to the warmer atmosphere of India, overpopulated China moved to the open spaces of Russia. If you had looked down from the timeless worlds of space, onto the polluted atmosphere of our Earth you would have seen our planet in disarray and confusion as towns dawdled across the face of the earth. By the 37th century man's infinite pleasure of going to and fro across the globe came to an inevitable halt. The huge expenditure of fuel used by the moving towns had become too much, and the oil was running out. Great Britain and the world were a different place; the map had completely changed. Towns were now situated in very different places: Liverpool was in Manchester, Edinburgh in Colchester, Bournemouth in Cardiff. The British lifestyle as we knew it was at an end. The upheaval throughout the world had changed all of mankind forever.
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It has been four years now, since I climbed down from that rusted iron framework that was holding Folkestone in place. I still remember, as clear as yesterday, my flight from that threatening, overshadowing town. Folkestone had been situated near Newcastle for just over 300 years. It had broken down in the later years of the 37th century and while other towns trundled on, vainly seeking ideal surroundings, Folkestone settled down satisfied with their new environment. However, 300 years further on, much of Folkestone's population were dissatisfied with the resultant lifestyle in that part of the country, and I was included amongst them. I, George Wells, was born in Folkestone 4093, the very end of the 41st century. My mother and father, of whom I know nothing at all, abandoned me at 16 months of age to fend for myself. The first few years I was taken in by a Mr Maudie, but on my fourth birthday I was, without delay, returned to the streets. My neglect was a direct result of the astronomical cost of bringing up a child. Caring for a child was so costly that it was rare for parents to keep their child. Many foundlings were a result of this merciless predicament and this had made a large population of young, starved children in a dangerous, modern world. The morning of my disappearance in Folkestone happened as follows.
It was a sultry day in the middle of July and the shops were just opening. I was with four other foundlings and we were bouncing a tennis ball sluggishly to each other. We, as usual, were hungry and would occasionally steal from the opening stalls and shops. As we went down the crooked streets we would reach out and pinch an apple or a bread roll, rarely, if ever, being seen. All of us were still drowsy and James, the eldest of us, held a bottle of alcohol, which he'd got yesterday, and was near drunk. As we plodded down the main road we took little notice of the town awakening. Foundlings were 'no good', and though this was the public opinion, few people would bother us. The only thing a foundling had to do was keep low when police were about. To a foundling there were three types of policemen. There were those who couldn't be bothered to acknowledge a foundling, and this was the majority. Then some police would give chase for a few streets, but soon give up. Very few officers would give a long chase and even fewer would catch one of us.
