Jeremy's Databases

Jeremy was a precocious child. His mother had always read a story to him after he finished eating his lunch, but from the age of four Jeremy insisted on reading it himself. By then, he had already outgrown the usual children’s literature and had progressed to books more suitable for adolescents. At first this confused the local librarian, who thought he was choosing novels for an older sibling. Finally, Jeremy’s mother had confided that he was an only child and that medical problems meant he could never have a brother or sister. The librarian had been suitably sympathetic and fell into the habit of putting appropriate books to one side, so that they would be available whenever Jeremy and his mother called in.

To avoid checking out the same book twice, Jeremy used his pocket money to buy a large spiral-bound notebook and a decent pen and started writing down the title of the novel and the author’s name. Every detail was painstakingly added in his round, slowly fashioned handwriting, followed by a tick if he liked the work and a cross if he did not. This habit progressed to adding a precis of the storyline just in case he forgot it in the future.

All was well until he began primary school and his reading was far in advance of his classmates. The school library was fairly small, but it included some factual books, such as encyclopaedias, dictionaries and works on geography, history and science. Suddenly a whole new world unfolded under his fingertips and his eager eyes.

“I’ll have to start a separate section in my notebook,” he thought, closely followed by, “or should I start a new one?”

He was still pondering this momentous question whilst sitting at the dinner table that evening.

“Penny for your thoughts,” his mother commented.

“Mum,” he began, in his most serious voice, “I have a problem.”

“What is it?” She racked her mind, wondering if someone was bullying Jeremy at school, whether he had caught nits in the playground or if his dinner money had been stolen.

He explained his predicament as briefly as possible, before adding, “What do you advise, mum?”

Gazing at his features, she could see how serious he was and so she stifled a giggle.

“Having a separate notebook sounds the most sensible idea to me. Why not use one in the same style, but a different colour?”

Jeremy thought for a few seconds, mulling the suggestion over. “I could use a different coloured ink too. Blue for novels and black for everything else!”

The next time they went into town, they called into the stationer’s and purchased the new notebook and a packet of black biros. Jeremy rapidly filled its pages and added it to the growing stack in his bedroom.

As he learnt about computers in primary school, he realised they could help him rationalise the lists of books that he had read. This coincided with his father buying a new laptop, so Jeremy asked if he could have the old one.

“Yes, provided you help you mum with the housework over the next month,” was the reply.

Over the next four weeks Jeremy became a dab hand with a duster, learned how to sort the washing into different colours and fabrics ready for loading in the washing machine and mastered the intricacies of stacking the dishwasher. In return for his hard work, his father helped him to draft a database onto which Jeremy transposed all the information from his pile of notebooks.

From that point, Jeremy could easily identify which books he had read already and as he progressed through primary school and onto secondary school, he could search for sources to help with his homework. He regularly came top of the class whenever there were mock exams and often won prizes at the end of year prize giving ceremony. Luckily, he had a sweet-tempered and helpful nature and was always willing to aid his schoolfriends with their studies, without, of course, cheating. This meant he was never bullied and if anything, it endeared him to them.

Everything would have remained predictable and regimented in Jeremy’s life, if his father had not had ambitions of his own. The latter had always loved nature and as a child had wanted to work with animals and the environment. His own father however, had persuaded him to train for a “sensible career with prospects and the chance of advancement.” As a result, he had become an accountant, a job that he disliked, but grudgingly admitted that it paid the bills. However, he knew something was lacking in his life and so in the little spare time he had, he studied land management and environmental science with an online university. Finally, after years of study, he received his degree and began looking for a position that would allow him to use his new knowledge.

Jeremy’s mother had relatives in Scotland, one of whom emailed details of a job she had seen advertised in their local press. A trainee warden was needed for a nature reserve on one of the Western Isles. The salary was modest, but accommodation was provided, a small village lay a few miles away, with a town and a school at the other end of the island. It was not totally isolated, as there was a regular ferry service to the mainland.

Everything seemed ideal - to Jeremy’s parents at least. They checked their finances and if his mother found a part-time job on the island, they could cover their bills with a little to spare. She had trained as a nurse, so there would surely be work available at the local surgery or a nursing home. The only grey area was Jeremy’s schooling. There was only one school on the island, but when they searched the league tables and the other official write-ups on the internet, they found it had a solid reputation and enviable exam results. The question was how would Jeremy react to the suggested move?  

“I think we should tell him straight that we’re going there, provided I get the job of course.  We’ll never get a chance like this again!” his father said.

“I know, but ….” his mother left the sentence unfinished, knowing what he said was right, but still having a nagging doubt at the back of her brain.

“I’ll complete the job application form this evening and we can tell Jeremy tomorrow at breakfast.”

Jeremy’s reaction was muted. “Why there?” he asked. “It’s so far away. Isn’t there something more local?”

“No, there isn’t and the job looks ideal. If they ask me to go for an interview, we’ll all go together so we can all look round the island and see what we think.”

It was a logical argument and with Jeremy’s penchant for neatness and rationality, he could find no objection.

Three weeks later an email arrived. Jeremy’s father was on the shortlist, but there was a change in plan. There would be no interview in person, just a chat over the internet and a quick walk round of the estate and the accommodation being provided. On the day, Jeremy and his mother sat in, marvelling at the scenery and the wildlife – clear blue skies, white sandy beaches, mountains, deer and golden eagles.

The accommodation was a sturdy but low crofter’s cottage, with white painted walls, a thatched roof and small, black framed windows. A vegetable garden stretched from the back door down to the loch, with a small greenhouse to one side. It looked idyllic, but it gave no inkling of the gales, torrential rain and snow they could expect in winter, with the possibility of power cuts and blocked roads.

Jeremy and his mother left the room, so his father could answer the interview questions uninterrupted. They sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee and watching the minutes tick by on the clock. Finally, Jeremy’s father came in.

“Well, I’ve done everything I can. I answered all their questions, explained why I would like the job and told them you’re both looking forward to moving to the island. We’ve just got to wait now.”

The wait did not last long though. At the end of the week another email arrived, formally offering Jeremy’s father the job, with a probationary period of six months. A place was available for Jeremy at the local school too.

“Why don’t we rent out our house out for six months?” Jeremy’s mother suggested. “If things don’t work out, we can come back.”

“It’s a great idea even if things do work out. The rent will more than cover the mortgage, so the house will provide an extra income.”

Everything progressed swiftly from that point. Jeremy’s parents handed in their notice, his school was informed they were moving, an estate agent was appointed to handle the rental of their home and then packing began. Two months later, they followed the removals van onto the ferry taking them from mainland Scotland to their new island home.

The journey had been long, so they ate their dinner in the village pub, before stumbling into bed and a well-earned sleep.

Jeremy woke early the following morning, as the spring sunshine was streaming through his window, accompanied by the raucous calls of the seagulls. He peered out across the open countryside, watching fluffy cottonwool clouds scud across the sky and white horses breaking along the loch-side. It felt totally unfamiliar, so he decided to try and recreate part of his normal routine by checking his emails and then reading an eBook. They had been told that the cottage had internet access, but that it could be slow. That was an understatement. The little white circle that slowly span round (or the “doughnut of death” as he had christened it) whirled away merrily, without anything else happening for at least ten minutes. When his emails finally appeared, they downloaded slowly and jerkily. Jeremy began checking all the other applications that needed internet access. He could reach his existing eBooks, but when he attempted to download a new one, he failed.

A sense of panic rose as he realised that some of his records and in particular his databases of the books he had read, were stored on the cloud. He frantically tried to open them, only to find that the internet access had dropped completely.  Jeremy felt bereft. All those years of cataloguing and arranging that information were in danger, or so he thought during a minute of numbness. Then he remembered that everything was still safely stored in the ether, if only he could find a way of reconnecting with it.

He mentioned the problem to his father over breakfast.

“Apparently the internet plays up when the weather is windy. It’s one of the things they mentioned during the interview. It’s something to do with the position of the cottage, but I was told if you stand on top of the mountain behind us, the signal is better.”

“What?” Jeremy exclaimed. “I’ve got to lug everything up there every time I need to use the computer?”

“Not every time, just when the weather is like this!”

After breakfast Jeremy put his laptop in a rucksack and headed off for the mountain. Firstly, he followed the burn that ran alongside their garden and then turned up a steep path that lead through the trees. Later this opened out into rough heather and moorland, interspersed with outcrops of rock. When he finally reached the summit, he looked back and saw his new home far below him. It seemed so small and insignificant, like a random pebble on a sandy beach.

Jeremy sat on a boulder and removed his laptop from the rucksack. The internet signal had improved and he was able to do everything he wanted. He checked his emails and his usual social media sites, responding to any messages he found. Normally he would have surfed the internet for a while, but if the truth were told though, he did not feel inclined to do that on this particular morning. Imperceptibly a change had come over him since he had left the croft.

He sat there, gazing in one direction across the sound to the mainland and the misty blue mountains. In the other direction the Inner and Outer Hebrides stretched out before him, peeking out of the sparkling sea and beyond them lay the open Atlantic.

On reflection, may be their move would prove to be the best thing so far in his life.