The Lannan Memoirs

CHAPTER ONE

Boss said he wanted to see you as soon as you came in, Callum.

That was the greeting I received when I walked into the reporters’ room at the Daily Post that Friday afternoon just after four. It came from Stella Cameron, the young assistant fashion reporter and the only occupant of the room. Eighteen, blonde and beautiful, Stella had set the heart of every man in the building a-flutter in the three months that she’d been with us. Even I, six months married to Dawn and still very much in love, had fallen victim to her charms. For better or worse we were all doomed to disappointment. She had eyes for nobody but her footballer boy friend.

Any idea what he wants? I asked. I wasn’t best pleased at the summons. I was off duty Saturday and Sunday for once and Dawn and I had planned to take the hopper across to Moyala that evening and spend the weekend with our grandparents.

Not a clue, was Stella’s cheerful reply. He doesn’t take me into his confidence.

He doesn’t take anyone into his confidence, I remarked with some asperity as I dumped my notebook on my desk. I’d spent the afternoon at the courts trying to raise some interest in a couple of cases of shoplifting and one of breach of the peace. Thankfully it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to write half a column. Depending on what the gaffer, as we called him behind his back, wanted I might yet be back home before five. With some trepidation I walked up the corridor to his office and knocked on the door. A gruff command told me to enter.

Charlie Crawford was only the third editor in the fifty year history of the Post. He’d been in the job now for eight years and was generally liked. He knew the newspaper business backwards and was fair if brusque with the staff. He had two idiosyncrasies: he insisted on calling everyone by their surnames and he was one of the few people I’d ever met who smoked a pipe. This was going full blast as I walked into his office and the room was filled with smoke. I was invited to sit down and subjected to a keen scrutiny from china blue eyes. Our editor was solidly built though by no means fat and of medium height. Surprisingly for a man who spent most of his life indoors he had a ruddy complexion and at forty-eight his hair was still its original light brown colour.

Finally he spoke. I won’t keep you long, McLennan. I know you’ve got a long weekend planned. He paused and studied some papers on his desk. As I’m sure you’re aware, in two months’ time Lannan will be celebrating its fiftieth birthday. I plan to run a series of articles to celebrate the occasion and I want you to prepare them. Starting on Monday pass all your other work over to Baines and Mason.

I was stunned. This was a major project and apart from Stella and Mason I was the youngest and least experienced of the fifteen strong reporting staff. Added to that I’d only been with the paper for seven months. A ghost of a smile appeared on the boss’s face.

You look surprised, he said.

I am, sir, I replied. I would have thought this was a job for one of the senior staff.

That was my first intention. Then I realised that you had all the right connections. Your grandfather is Pat McLennan, who was once a part time reporter on this paper and has done a lot of work for the Supreme Council over the years. Your wife’s great uncle is Andrew Henderson, a prominent member of the first ever Supreme Council and your cousin Lara is chief coordinator at the Department of Internal Affairs. That gives you a head start on anyone else on the staff. As to content, I want plenty of variety. Obviously we need some history of the half century and some statistics, but I also want the human touch. Get out and interview prominent people past and present. I’m not setting any specific number of articles: we’ll see what you come up with and plan accordingly. But I do want the final piece or pieces to be a look into the future. Think about it over the weekend and we’ll talk in more detail on Monday afternoon. Come and see me at two o’clock. That’s all.

Back at my desk I wasn’t sure if I was on my head or my heels. It was a breathtaking assignment, the sort of thing that only comes along once in a lifetime. If I made a success of it I would be set up as a journalist for life, while failure would be a setback but not the end of my career. There was just one fly in the ointment and that was my cousin Lara. We had never got on, right from the early days of our childhood.

Lara was a year older than me and hers was a sad story in its way. Her father had drowned in a boating accident when she was three. Her mother, my Aunt Carole, had taken it badly and almost withdrawn from the world. She moved from their home in Moyala, taking Lara with her, to a remote village on the Eastward Islands and cut herself off entirely from family and friends. Mainly by the efforts of my Aunt Melissa the two of them had returned to Moyala when Lara was eleven. Lara had been allowed to run wild as she got older and inevitably got in with a bad crowd. She was smoking and drinking by the time she was thirteen and before her teens were out she’d appeared in court on shoplifting and assault charges. Although she managed to get on passably well with her other cousins for some reason she took a dislike to me. She taunted me at every opportunity and slapped and punched me at the slightest excuse. Thankfully once she reached seventeen she rarely attended any family gatherings and I’d seen little of her in the past eight years. I wasn’t looking forward to having to meet her. From all I’d heard she’d changed little since we’d last met.

I wrote up my notes and put the finished article on the main computer. Stella had left by the time I’d finished, though young Mason had come in. I gave him the glad news that he was taking over my work, handed him a list of engagements for the following week and left the building at exactly two minutes past five. I was meeting Dawn at the hopperport. We needed little in the way of luggage. As frequent visitors to our grandparents’ home we had our own room there and kept enough spare clothes and toiletries for weekends. In a way this visit was providential as it meant I could talk over my assignment with Grandad and get some much needed help and advice from him.

I find it hard to be unbiased in describing my wife. To me Dawn is the most beautiful girl in the world. She’s quite slim and small, five feet three inches without heels. Her face is a perfect oval, surmounted by jet black shoulder length hair. She has warm brown eyes and perfect features, plus a soft musical voice and a great sense of humour. She is also very strong minded as I’ve found out to my cost whenever we disagree on something. Currently she’s working in a hairdressing salon as we are still paying off our flat in the Levenglen area of Zephyr City, but she wants to study accountancy and has set her sights on a partnership in her father’s firm. To that end she intends going to university next year. We plan to start a family in about five years’ time.

Dawn was waiting for me at the hopperport and we had just three minutes to make the next flight to Port Dorothy, where we’d change hoppers for Moyala. As soon as we were settled in our seats for the forty minute journey I told her my news. She was as excited as I was. When we’d first met some eighteen months previously she’d been lukewarm on the idea of journalism as a career. Gradually though she’d come to realise that my heart was set on it and that it was the only thing I wanted to do in life. When I’d got the step up from a local paper to the Post and started getting my name on by-lines she almost became enthusiastic.

The trip to Moyala had been planned a fortnight in advance. Dawn had become interested in genealogy and was building up a family tree. She had for some time wanted to see what my grandparents knew about their own background. I was only able to tell her about those still living. My grandparents were Pat and Sarah McLennan. They had had three children; Carole whom I’ve already mentioned, my father Tommy and Melissa. Lara was Carole’s only child. Tommy had married a former schoolmate, Julie Monteith. At twenty-three I was the oldest of their family. Next came my sister Melanie, twenty, then Robert at nineteen and Clara fifteen. Because of her sweet tooth Clara was always known as Candy and Robert soon became Rab. Like other siblings we had the odd squabble, but generally we got on pretty well. Melanie and I were particularly close. If pressed I would probably describe my childhood as a happy one though I suppose we were like most families. Our mother, an only child, had had an excessively strict upbringing and she applied similar principles to the four of us. As a result we were being continually lectured and punished for perceived misdeeds. I was thankful to move into a flat of my own when I was nineteen.

Aunt Melissa had married Iain McCreadie, son of one of our grandad’s closest friends. That union had produced a boy and a girl, Steven and Joanne respectively. Family gatherings were always great fun, especially when Lara didn’t come. Though I was the main recipient of her insults none of us really liked her. We usually had at least three a year at New Year, Easter and in midsummer. They were always held in the big house at Moyala. When we were young it was exciting. The seven of us children slept in one room on camp beds. Nobody seemed to mind if we stayed up playing half the night or even if we trashed the room, as we did on occasions.

Dawn had been able to go back one generation further. She’d known her great grandparents as they’d come to Lannan in the early days. John and Margaret Henderson were dead now, but had only passed away in the last few years. Margaret went first in year 42, followed by John in year 47 at the age of a hundred and two. They’d had three children, all boys. Andrew had been on the first Supreme Council, Bruce had masterminded the emigration from Earth until year 13 and Simon had arrived on Lannan in year 4 and set up an accountancy business. His son Alan was Dawn’s father and had followed him into the business.

I always enjoy the fifteen minute walk through the town centre from the hopperport to Grandad’s house. Though it is home to more than forty thousand inhabitants Moyala still has the feel of a small country town. The streets are spotlessly clean and everyone seems to be smiling and happy looking. As usual we received a warm welcome from Gran and Grandad and Aunt Carole. I’m always amazed when I look at my grandparents. Though they’re both seventy-nine now they could easily be taken for a couple in their early fifties. Gran’s face is unlined and her hair is still a lustrous dark brown. Dawn, who knows about these things, assures me that it is natural and not out of a bottle. Grandad has one or two wrinkles and his hair in the last couple of years has started to turn grey, but he’s still slim and has all his own teeth, a full set at that. He plays golf four or five times a week off a handicap of seven and several times has shot below his age. In many ways Aunt Carole looks older than her mother, but I suppose that is understandable given the tragedy of her early widowhood.

A meal was waiting for us and over it I told Grandad about my assignment and that I would appreciate some advice from him.

Tell you what, he said with a smile. I’m sure the ladies will want to go shopping tomorrow morning. Let’s you and I head to the golf course and we can discuss it then. I agreed readily, even though I knew that I wasn’t in his class. I still play off fifteen and struggle to maintain that.

Later on that evening Aunt Carole came and sat beside me. You said you’d be seeing Lara at some stage, she began abruptly. Go easy on her. I haven’t seen an awful lot of her recently, but I get the impression she’s trying to turn over a new leaf. One or two people have told me that she has been far less confrontational in the last few months. I’ve not given up hope of bringing her back into the bosom of the family and if you can make your peace with her that would be a big step forward. I promised I would do what I could, but said frankly that I didn’t hold out too much hope. The rift between Lara and myself was deep and couldn’t be healed easily.

Grandad had obviously been thinking about my assignment overnight. After we’d negotiated the tricky first hole he launched straight into the subject. One thing sticks out a mile, Callum. There’s not a lot you can write about this world’s history. Not a lot has happened in the fifty years since Lannan was first settled. On Earth there was a constant succession of wars, natural disasters, exploration, space travel, political shenanigans, booms and recessions and so on. Thankfully none of these things have happened here. There are two or three things that you can squeeze an article out of. Referendums have played a major part in everyday life. In particular the one on religion in year 18 is worth studying. I’ll put you in touch with Keith McAndrew, who handled what threatened to be a tricky situation. The revolt of the football clubs in year 35 is also worth covering. You know Joe Baillie so go and see him. He was the association’s PRO at the time. Then there’s the big storm of year 28. You were a baby at the time so you won’t remember that. The land reclamation projects that have given us Thousand Island and Eastward Island should provide a story now that they’re just about completed. And you must visit Mainland. That’s probably our greatest social achievement since we came here. Giles Colclough, who masterminded the whole thing, is still alive in his nineties and still very sprightly mentally and physically. I know him quite well and I’ll tell him you’ll be coming.

Our editor suggested interviewing some well known people, I said as he paused for breath. Andrew Henderson is an obvious choice and first on my list. Can you suggest any others?

There was silence as he prepared to drive the par five fourth hole. Once he’d sent a ball arrow straight down the middle of the fairway and I’d sliced into the left hand rough he answered my question.

Famous people on Lannan are few and far between. On the political side, apart from Keith McAndrew, you must talk to Helen Ferguson. She’s by far the most charismatic Supreme Councillor we’ve ever had and brought a number of new ideas to the top table, not least the new towns. Sheena Thomson was the first person born on Lannan to become a Supreme Councillor. Other than political figures Elizabeth Simpson is an obvious choice. I looked blank and he laughed. You’ll have heard of her as Elizabeth Ann McCarten, the first baby ever to be born on Lannan. She’s well used to giving interviews: she’s been doing it all her life. Then there’s Ronald Latham, one time adventurer. He’s in his nineties too and not in the best of health, but he still enjoys the limelight and has some good tales to tell. Think about some other firsts. I can’t remember offhand who the first Lannan-born boy was to play senior football but you should be able to find out fairly easily. I do recall that Helen Fraser was the first person born on Lannan to win a tennis tournament and the first to win the world championship. There’ll be other ‘firsts’ that come to mind I’m sure if you think about it long enough.

That was certainly enough for me to be going on with. We talked about other things for the remainder of the round, in which I was heavily defeated even with the four strokes my grandfather had given me. When we got back to the house I found Dawn in the kitchen helping Aunt Carole prepare lunch.

That smells good, I said as I gave her a kiss. What is it?

Lamb stew with doughballs, she informed me. And by the way, Melanie’s here. She’s with Gran somewhere.

I had a pretty good idea of where to find them and I wasn’t wrong. I ran them to earth in Gran’s study enjoying a quiet cigarette. Gran had been a lifelong smoker, while Melanie was the only one in our household to indulge, having started just before she left school. She was in the second year of a two year catering course. Just as I was always set on being a journalist, so Melanie had set her heart on making cooking her life’s work.

This is a nice surprise, I told her as we hugged each other. What brings you here?

She smiled. When I heard my favourite older brother was here I couldn’t miss the chance of spending some time with him. The ‘favourite older brother’ was a longstanding joke between us, going back to when Melanie was four or five. She solemnly informed me one day that I was her favourite older brother. I pointed out that I was the only older brother she had, but she simply said that it proved she didn’t tell lies.

How’s the love life? I asked her. Are you still seeing that art student, George whatever his name was?

Melanie gave an unladylike snort. George Findlay. Did you not hear what happened? I shook my head. I took him home to meet the family one weekend just over a month ago and he fell head over heels for Candy. Straight after tea the two of them went off to a disco and the next time I saw him was on the hopper back to Uni. After that I’m off men altogether.

Gran was listening to us with an amused look on her face. You know, when I see the two of you together it makes me regret I was an only child and never had the sort of relationship that you have. Although I had friends it wasn’t until I met your grandfather and joined the Guardians that I understood what real intimacy was. And I don’t mean that in the sexual sense.

Lunch was a festive affair which dragged out for over an hour. Grandad asked if I wanted to go to a football match with him in the afternoon or stay with the ladies. I opted for the latter. I saw little enough of Melanie now that she was away from home and I wanted to spend some time with her. I’ve never been all that keen on football anyway. Ice hockey and tennis were my main sporting interests, the former to watch and the latter to play. In fact it was at an ice hockey match that I first met Dawn. We were sitting next to each other in the Hyperdrome and naturally got talking. By the end of the second period we’d made our first date and the rest, as they say, was history. Three months later she moved in with me and within six months we were engaged.

CHAPTER TWO

I went back to work on the Monday morning with some trepidation. The thought was at the back of my mind that my senior colleagues would resent my selection for such an important assignment. I needn’t have worried. Every last one congratulated me and wished me well. I was swamped with offers of introductions to anyone I wanted to interview. In view of this my first approach was to Graham Montgomery, our senior sports editor. A former rugby player, Graham looked as if he could still pull his weight in the scrum, even though he was approaching fifty. I told him about my search for ‘firsts’.

He frowned in thought for a moment. You’re not going to be too lucky in that respect. The first boy born on Lannan to play in senior football was Josh Traynor. He appeared in the third division for Marliebar at the age of sixteen years and two hundred and thirty days. He went on to make a good career for himself, but sadly he died in a climbing accident when he was twenty-eight. First in the First Division was Willie Sievewright who was four days short of his seventeenth birthday when he appeared for Central City. He played a few games, but never really developed. After a couple of years in the lower leagues he gave up the game. I don’t suppose there’d be much point in interviewing the next in line, even if I could find out who it is.

Clive McKee was the first male Lannan born tennis player to win a major, I believe, I said.

That’s right, in year 33, Graham replied. But you can forget about him. He doesn’t give interviews. The media gave him a rough time a few years back over his extra marital affairs and ever since then he’s refused to talk to radio, TV or newspapers. In fact the last reporter who tried to talk to him was ‘Pearly’ White of the Record. He finished up in hospital with a broken jaw, the result of a perfectly placed McKee right uppercut. You’ll have better luck with Philip Coulter, the first Lannan born winner of a major golf tournament. I’ve met him several times and he’s a real gentleman. There are other ‘firsts’ in other sports of course, but you don’t want to overload the series with sport. Helen Fraser and Philip Coulter will give you just the right balance and you’ll get good copy from both.

I thanked him and looked at the clock. It was a quarter to ten. My meeting with the editor wasn’t until two o’clock, so with some reluctance I decided to get what could be an unpleasant encounter out of the way. I’d go round to the Department for Internal Affairs and confront cousin Lara. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but it had to be done. The D.I.A. offices were only a five minute walk away. It was quite mild for November and I enjoyed the stroll through the crowded city centre. As I turned the last corner a hundred yards from the offices I saw Lara come down the front steps and light a cigarette. Even though I was biased from all the years of bad feeling I had to admit that she was a good looking girl. Facially she resembled Aunt Carole, but she was three or four inches taller and a fraction slimmer. Her hair was long and black and she was wearing a plain black knee-length dress that showed off her figure to perfection. She spotted me almost immediately and as I got nearer I could see her face break into the mocking look I remembered so well.

Well, well, well. If it isn’t chubby cousin Callum the boy reporter, she greeted me as I drew close. I’d always hated being called chubby. I did have some surplus weight in my early teens but that had long disappeared. I was about to retort in kind when I recalled what Aunt Carole had said to me. I decided to make the attempt at conciliation and settled on the direct approach.

From somewhere I manufactured a realistic sigh. Lara, we’re not kids any more. Can’t we let bygones be bygones and make a new start? Damn it all, the same McLennan blood runs in our veins. There’s no reason why we should always be at odds with each other.

She took another lungful of smoke and for a moment I thought my