The Last “Hoorah” of the British Empire

[Estee]

1: Britannia, on a Beach


The Good Old Days lie out of reach,
the white cliffs crumble at her back;
she buried tank traps on the beach
and graced the sky with RAF and flak.

No battle cry, no rousing speech,
no trident, shield - in steel mill forged -
she stands in silence on the beach
to gaze at waves that, once, she ruled.

The blue birds have all flown the trees
and Autumn leaves lie on the lines
beside closed pits and factories;
that undermine her place in time.

Our island fortress’ gates flung wide;
no more "Once More Unto The Breach"
we’ve sabotage the peace of mind
of Britannia, waiting on a beach.

She stands beneath a crescent moon,
mascara tracks on ashen cheeks,
for Father Time can’t heal the wounds
of Britannia, weeping on a beach.


2: The Last “Hoorah” of the British Empire


“It would seem our once great nation is doomed,” opined Postlethwait, his bespectacled eyes scanning a bank of monitors for some small sign of hope. “Moscow is razed. Washington aflame. Europe is reduced to a radioactive wasteland and the Orient… well, let us not dwell on the fate of those poor, unfortunate fellows.”

Caruthers stepped forward, a sombre expression hewn upon his ashen features. “Is there nothing to be done? Is the whole of humanity destined to be crushed beneath the heel of these infernal beasts?

Professor Postlethwait raised a hand to his face. “I fear there remains but one course of action left open to us,” he said, combing his greying handlebar moustache with finger and thumb. “We must employ the temporal claw, that we might raise an army against these creatures.”

“Are you absolutely certain, Oswald? I know that we have worked tirelessly and meticulously towards this day but, the claw! It remains as yet -”

“You would have us take it for a test drive? At this late hour! No, my friend, time is not on our side. And yet, time may well be all that we have.”
The professor reached into his pocket, retrieved a flash drive and passed to his young assistant. “This contains all of the coordinates I've been able to retrieve at such short notice. If we are to test the device, then there is no time quite like the present. I shall be in the main hall, awaiting the arrival of our guests. Please escort them to me as soon as they are assembled. There is not a minute to waste.”

“How far back did you managed to -?”

“The fifteenth century.”

“The fifteenth! But what of Boadecia, Alfred and -”

“We shall simply have to make do without them, James.”



*


Within the space of five hours, the walls of the institute’s vast assembly hall were vibrating with the sounds of nervous anticipation.
Standing with his back to the window, Professor Postlethwait raised his right hand to call for silence. Behind him, the evening sky was an eerie, fiery red. The enemy was at hand.

“Friends… countrymen and countrywomen. Great Britons. If I could I have your undivided attention for a few moments.”
The throng fell instantly into silence and the professor gestured towards the window.
“My apologies for having brought you here at this ungodly hour but, as you can so clearly see behind me, the devil himself is at the door.”

Shakespeare coughed quietly to clear his throat. “What light through yonder window breaks? It is from the east! Can it be the sun?”

“Yes, what is this terrible light that is thrown upon man?” asked Darwin.

“Aliens,” replied the Professor.

“Foul Spaniards!” exclaimed Drake, reaching to his scabbard.

“Would that it were. No, these are invaders from beyond the stars, the like of which our world has never seen.”

“Had I not witnessed this with my own two eyes I would never have believed that the world of man could so easily be subdued,” muttered Herbert Wells. “Who can know for certain how long these creatures have watched us from across the gulf of space with their envious eyes while we, serene in our assurances of empire over matter, busied ourselves about our petty concerns and affairs. These aliens are most assuredly intelligences far greater than that of man, who will no doubt have studied our world as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the creatures that swarm in a drop of water.”

Henry V strode purposefully towards the window. “And now all the youth of England are on fire?”

“Not all,” replied professor Postlethwait. “We few, we gallant few yet remain to fight the good fight in the name of Britannia.”

A youthful Queen Victoria stared caustically at the scene beyond the glass. “I am far from amused by these events. The Queen is most anxious to enlist everyone in checking this mad, wicked folly.”

Horatio Nelson offered a reassuring smile. “Fear not, your highness. Desperate affairs require desperate measures. England expects that every man assembled here will do his duty.”

“Indeed, have no fear, ma’am, each of us will play his part,” said an emphatic Churchill. “And never in the field of human conflict will so much be owed by so many to so few.”

“The art of war consists of getting at whatever is on the other side of a hill,” suggested Arthur Wellesley with supreme confidence. “I have often said that the only thing I fear is fear itself. Our enemy lies just beyond the brow, and I know not what effect the men gathered here will have upon these aliens but, by God, they frighten me.”

Sir Francis Drake fingered his beard and looked towards the horizon, where the sky appeared as a raging inferno. “From whence the beast?”

“We do not know,” replied Postlethwait. “We have received no communication from the creatures.” He indicated a bank of monitors, the majority of which either flashed with static or were black. Dead. However, a few continued to display scenes of chaos and destruction. Mankind’s annihilation was not yet complete.
“They landed five days ago. We received no warning. There has been no declaration of war, no opportunity afforded for parley. They simply move from country to country, destroying everything in their path.”

Wells averted his gaze. “It is systematic genocide of the entire human race.”

“Indeed.”

“To what end?” asked Captain Robert Scott.

“We can but speculate,” replied Caruthers. “After all, what is it that drives any nation to trample upon another?”

“The very fact that it can,” suggested Queen Elizabeth I, raising an eyebrow.

“Much might be wrested from a sure defeat,” offered Thomas Lawrence nonchalantly.

“We are not interested in the possibilities of defeat. Defeat is a word which does not exist in our vocabulary,” bellowed Queen Victoria. “Defeat is a most un-British word.”

“Be not too harsh on the fellow, my sweet Queen,” whispered King Henry. “Thomas is a man of few words. And I believe men of few words to be the best of men.”

“He fears a rout, ma'am. The hardest thing of all, for a soldier, is to retreat,” offered Wellesley. “And yet… there in nothing more melancholy as a battle won.”

Unheralded, a war-machine appeared on the skyline, funnels belching thick smoke as it strode across the fields towards the institute. A monstrous quadruped higher than the tallest building, its black metallic hull in stark contrast to the blanket of snow that lay white and crisp upon the land.
Raising itself to its full height the machine flourished its heat weapon high in the air.
With a deafening roar the heat ray swept across the institute’s outer wall incinerating concrete, steel and many of those inside.
Peering through the remains of the window, Charles Chaplin observed the war-machine in silence.
Once more the terrifying weapon was flourished and the invisible heat ray leapt from Raleigh to Newton to Cook. There was a dazzling flare as each of them ignited.

“Well this is a bloody rum deal!” exclaimed Montgomery, as he, too, was engulfed by flames.

Horatio Nelson drew his sword and turned to rally the remaining Britons. “I have yet my legs and one arm. Let me at these foul creatures, for I shall not, if I am in the field of glory, be kept out of sight.”

“When the blast of war blows in our ears, then shall we imitate the tiger,” declared Henry V. “Let us stiffen the sinews and summon up the blood. Unto the breach, dear friends, that we might close up the wall with our English dead.”

Fearlessly, Shakespeare stepped forward, placing a hand upon the King’s shoulder. “A fine speech, noble Henry. One that I have a mind to inscribe when our work here is done.”

“Good Lord, yes! In the excitement I had almost forgotten,” exclaimed professor Postlethwait. “James, dear friend, please escort William, Herbert and the rest of the non-combatants to the temporal chamber. Have them returned to their own time periods before it is too late. For each of them still has much to contribute to this nation's glorious history. Oh, and James… go with them. Escape into the past, my friend. Save yourself.”

“But what of you, Oswald, what shall become of you?”

“Me? I shall stay behind and fight, of course. I shall fight until the bitter end. For is it not fitting that we should make our final stand here, in the meadows of Runnymede? Here, where the seal of King John was placed upon the Magna Carta.”

“But what of their heat ray, Oswald? You cannot hope to -”

“Do not concern yourself with my fate. If I am to burn, it will be with fire in my belly. Here, in the ashes of our proud Empire, standing shoulder to shoulder with our nation's greatest heroes.”

“Then you expect to die?”

“Aye. Ashes to ashes. Yet unlike the legendary phoenix we shall not rise up. Our kind shall not grace this isle again.”

“Then what was it all for? I believed there remained some small hope… believed that we might -”

“Alas, dear James, this venture was ever doomed to failure. As was the human race the day it sat its children in front of television sets and threw away their history books. No, this nation was never destined to be saved. I merely wished for us to go out in style.”
And, with those parting words, Oswald Postlethwait smiled a knowing smile and turned to march unto the breach.


After Words:

Will there be blue birds over
the white cliffs of Dover, tomorrow?
Will there be love and laughter
and peace ever after, tomorrow?

Will the shepherd tend his sheep
as valleys bloom again
and will Tommy ever get to sleep
in his own room again?
Tomorrow?
Just you wait and see.

And will Britannia rule, once more,
in England’s green and pleasant land?
Will eagles soar, and will lions roar
in all English hearts again?

Is tomorrow to be a lovely day?
We all must wait and see.


*

[Boneman]

Hah, hope you're going to give Jeff Wayne a credit... almost a straight lift from War of the Worlds and I could hear Richard Burton's voice!

Unheralded, a war-machine appeared on the skyline, funnels belching thick smoke as it strode across the fields towards the institute. A monstrous quadruped higher than the tallest building, its black metallic hull in stark contrast to the blanket of snow that lay white and crisp upon the land.
Raising itself to its full height the machine flourished its heat weapon high in the air.
With a deafening roar the heat ray swept across the institute’s outer wall incinerating concrete, steel and many of those inside.

You don't actually say what you'd like us to look at, but as a piece of whimsy, I enjoyed it. Nothing like good stereotyping of Brits at their best (?).

“How far back did you managed to -?”

Should be 'manage'....

And why didn't they use the Temporal Claw to go back in time and be ready for the invasion???

[Estee]

Boneman, thank you for commenting.

What do I want? I wish only that you should enjoy my whimsy.


Managed - manage. Thank you. Can one edit here on SFF?


Why didn't they use the Temporal Claw to go back in time and be ready for the invasion?
Because I merely wished for “US” to go out in style.

Regards
Estee.

[iansales]

Originally Posted by Boneman

Hah, hope you're going to give Jeff Wayne a credit...

Shouldn't that be HG Wells? He did write the book, after all.

[Peter Graham]

I rather like this, although I do think that you rely too heavily on the "famous lines" - I liked the Romeo and Juliet reference, but when each character came forwards to say their piece, it dragged a bit.

But, to comment in the spirit on which this extract is written, it's a bally poor show not to spell a chap's name right. Postlethwaite, surely. It needs the "e" on the end. "Thwaite" is Old Norse for "clearing", don't you know.

And it's Boadicea. Or, better still, Boudicca. And Carruthers.

But your greatest sin is in the poem:-

The Good Old Days lie out of reach,
the white cliffs crumble at her back;
she buried tank traps on the beach
and graced the sky with RAF and flak.

For this to scan properly, RAF has to be pronounced "Raff". Raff? Raff? That might be alright for the grease monkeys, air crew and the Rock Apes, but hang it all, it's otherwise always "R.A.F" (Arr Ay Eff).

“Hoorah” of the British Empire

Surely "huzzah".

Joking aside, it's pretty good. You drift into info dump (masquerading as dialogue) at the start, you don't really develop the plot beyond the one-liners and you rely on a Neverland vision of Britain and the British which probably resonates far more with non-Britons than it does with actual Britons, but it's nicely written in a quirky, home grown way. Good stuff.

Regards,

Peter

[Estee]

Peter.
Thank you for pulling me up on Boadecia - quite right of you to do so.
As for Postlethwait - Postlethwaite & Caruthers - Carruthers, are you suggesting that one of the variant spellings sounds more British than the other?
Although "huzzah" most certainly does.
My only concern with changing the “Hoorah” is that it might damage my chances of getting my work published outside of the UK (he says, tongue firmly stuffed in cheek).
In future I will be placing RAF in speech brackets in order to emphasise the way we common grease monkey pronounce it. Should I have gone for WRAF? You graced our sheets with WRAF on backs!
I much enjoyed your (British) review. God bless you.

Regards
Steve.

[Estee]

Originally Posted by Boneman: “Hah, hope you're going to give Jeff Wayne a credit…”
Originally Posted by iansales: “Shouldn't that be HG Wells? He did write the book, after all.”
I was going to mention that myself, but didn’t want to sound too picky over my first review.
As it is, both Wayne and Wells should be crediting me, as I wrote it first. They merely improved upon my rather splendid idea! Time traveller, eh?

[Nik]

Slightly OT but, IMHO, this would make a rather good stage-play for a local theatre group...

( Period costume, grand speechlettes, DWMs etc: Tick all the boxes. )

[Estee]

Thanks Nik. You've got me thinking!

All the best,
Steve.

[Teresa Edgerton]

Originally Posted by Estee

“It would seem our once great nation is doomed,” opined Postlethwait,

...

“Yes, what is this terrible light that is thrown upon man?” asked Darwin.

“Aliens,” replied the Professor.

“Foul Spaniards!” exclaimed Drake

...


“To what end?” asked Captain Robert Scott.

“We can but speculate,” replied Caruthers.

“The very fact that it can,” suggested Queen Elizabeth I, raising an eyebrow.

“Much might be wrested from a sure defeat,” offered Thomas Lawrence nonchalantly.

“We are not interested in the possibilities of defeat. Defeat is a word which does not exist in our vocabulary,” bellowed Queen Victoria. “

“Be not too harsh on the fellow, my sweet Queen,” whispered King Henry. “Thomas is a man of few words. And I believe men of few words to be the best of men.”

“He fears a rout, ma'am. The hardest thing of all, for a soldier, is to retreat,” offered Wellesley. “And yet… there in nothing more melancholy as a battle won.”

This is very amusing, but I agree with Peter that you're relying too much on the one-liners instead of developing a plot. Even in a piece of whimsy you need a bit more, I think.

There are places here (see above) where the saidbookisms come far too thick and fast. (A saidbookism -- often abbreviated as saidism -- is any word you use in place of the word "said.") Some people take an extreme view and jump on every one of them they find. I'm in favor of them if handled judiciously, but you use so many of them in a row that it grates even on me. Sometimes writers use too many saidbookisms to boost the effect of their dialogue but it generally has the opposite effect because it can be so distracting, and your dialogue is good anyway. For more on this subject you might want to read this article http://www.fmwriters.com/Visionback/Issue%205/tags.htm , which is only one of dozens (possibly hundreds) of similar articles you can find on the net.

In some places the saidisms are even redundant. "Opined" for instance, when it's plain that he's giving an opinion. ("Opined" always sounds affected anyway.) Or where Drake "exclaims." The epithet, "foul spaniards" already gives that away, and so does the exclamation point.

Also, the characters do come across a bit as talking heads. Obviously, because we all know what most of them look like (I assume that our UK members can picture all of them, but as an American I'm a bit hazy on a few), you don't really have to describe them, but I think you could do with a little more movement and body language (you may be vaguely aware of this yourself, and compensating with all the saidisms, but they aren't a good substitute). And though description isn't absolutely necessary, it could create a more colorful effect, considering that you have a roomful of people wearing costumes from many different periods. Queen Victoria's little widow's cap would make a pleasing contrast with Drake's peascod doublet and the Duke of Wellington's regency attire.

[Estee]

Teresa, thank you for making some very valid and thought provoking comments.
This is a story that I keep going back to and adding in little bits to make it more of a story and less of a list of famous quotes. The idea of adding in descriptions of the various and varied costumes present in the hall (a veritable rainbow!) will certainly give far more depth to the scene I'm trying to create.
I take on board your view towards saidbookisms and am still working on adding more background info (see my “Punctuation Expert” thread) to help break up the endless lines of He Said/She Said.
Of course, when dealing with so many characters it's difficult to know how to indicate who's talking without a He Said or She Did. Although I am toying with the idea of: A bloke in Wellington boots chipped in, “Who's for calamari?”


Thanks again,
Steve.

[Teresa Edgerton]

Originally Posted by Estee

Of course, when dealing with so many characters it's difficult to know how to indicate who's talking without a He Said or She Did.

I think in something like this with so many characters in the scene, you definitely have to identify the characters by name each time they speak.