Changing times

Georgia lands at Heathrow Airport after a 14 hour flight from Sydney Australia. She wore a hat to help cover her bushy hair from getting into her face.

“Can you tell me where the Plaza Hotel is?” she asked the man at the paper stand on the pavement. They sold books, coffee, newspapers, lollies and lots of other things.

He couldn’t understand what she was saying. The assistant understood her accent said that she could take a right then a left at the next street.

“Thank you, young man.”

She grabbed a copy of the London Times and asked for a hot chocolate then handed five pounds to the assistant.

“Keep the change.”

Sitting on the nearby bench, she opened the newspaper.

Why is it an old paper? she thought.

Looking at the top right corner she read the date.

1897

“Eighteen ninety seven,” she read out loud.

There was a photograph of her on the front page. The heading read.

“Woman wanted for murder. Large reward for information leading to her arrest.”

She couldn’t move her legs and seemed stuck to the bench.

I need to go to the library and check the records. It must be an ancestor be an ancestor, she thought.

“Could you point me in the direction of the records for this newspaper. The London Times. 1897.”

Georgia handed the librarian the newspaper. Looking at the photograph on the front page, the librarian then looked at Georgia with interest.

“I just need to make a call,” said the librarian.

She covered the phone with her hands, so Georgia could not see.

“Could I have the police please, this is an emergency.”

Noticing a message board on the near the entrance to the library, there was a photograph of her pinned to the chalkboard.

It read. “Woman wanted for murder. Large reward for information leading to her arrest.”

Georgia dipped her head under her hat and made for the door. She didn’t notice an off duty police man following her as she made her way back to Paddington station.

What should she do now? 

I need to disguise myself, she thought.

Walking through Trafalgar square, she removed her hat and jacket and threw it into a nearby bin.

“Excuse me, madam, I found your jacket in a bin. It’s got pigeon droppings on it, so I’ve tried to remove some of it,” said the off-duty police officer. Grabbing her arm the police officer and twisting it behind her back, so locking it into a no movement position.

“This man has a gun, he’s trying to rape me,” said Georgia in an attempt to get away from him.

A large man punched the police officer in the jaw and again in the kidneys. Dropping, Georgia was free. She ran towards Paddington station and found the toilet. She gave the attendant five pounds, which was way too much, then opened the second cubicle, locked it and sat frozen on the seat.

What do I do? I didn’t commit murder. And why are they chasing me, even that a person in 1897. I need to get out of here, she thought.

Georgia waited in the toilet until she heard the announcement for thee next train. She didn’t care where she was going. The electric trains would be quick and she could hide at the end of the train.

“Hello darling,” her mother answered on her landline phone.

“Did you arrive okay? Why did you take so long to let us know that you’re okay?” her mother continued.

“Mother, there is someone very wrong. I’m being accused of murder? There is a newspaper, the London Times, dated 1897 with my photograph on the front page that there is a large reward for any information. An off-duty police officer has been following.”

“The next train for Reading leaves in 2 minutes on platform four.”

“Mother, I’ve got to go. I’ll text you when I can. Bye. Love you,” she said and disconnected her mobile.

Opening the cubicle door, washing her hands, drying her hands with a clean towel, she walked out the female toilets.

Horror greeted her.

She was at Paddington station, but it looked very different. She shook her head, blinked, wiped her eyes, and went back into the female toilets.

“What the hell is going on?” she asked herself.

Slowly opening the door and peeping out, she saw a coal engine with woman dressed in wide dresses and men dressed in predominately brown suits. The station was dark and dingy, filled with smoke in the air.

A gentleman was sitting reading a newspaper on a bench outside the gentleman’s toilet.

“Excuse me,” said Georgia.

He looked up at her and kept staring at her clothing.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Could I look at something on your newspaper?” she asked.

“You can buy a newspaper at that stand,” he pointed.

“I’d just like to see the front page for a minute,” she used a flirting smile.

The gentlemen held onto the edge of the front page of the newspaper, stopping Georgia from taking it from him. They both looked at the front page, and on it was a photograph of Georgia with the words, “Woman wanted for murder. Large reward for information leading to her arrest.”

She knew that the year must be 1897, and the typing at the top right of the page confirmed that it was indeed 1897. She took out her mobile phone, and knew it wasn’t going to work. On the screen were the words “We are watching you.” It was not a text, but more like a background.

London in 1897 was more black and white, but in 2020 had more color.

“That’s you,” said the gentleman, grabbing for her arm but caught her blue tights.

“Let me go. That’s not me, it’s my ancestor.” 

Realizing that it can’t be her ancestor, because she herself was her own ancestor. If she went back into the ladies toilet and out again she would be faced with police in 2020.

She decided to make a run for it.

Surely, the city hasn’t changed that much, she thought.

Out into the dirty smog of the city, she saw horseless carriages, people riding on horses, horse dung on the so called road.

Suddenly she was grabbed by the shoulders and arms by two bobbies. They tied her up in handcuffs and walked her to the police station where she was interviewed for 2 hours.

“She needs to go to the main station in the city. Take her to Paddington station and hand her over to the station commander,” said the Sargent.

Arriving in a police van pulled by four horses, the police officers helped her out.

“Right, come with us.” they said.

Platform 4 was familiar.

“May I go to the ladies room, it’s my time of the month and I’m bleeding?” Georgia asked.

“Okay.”

“Undo the handcuffs, you ignorant officers.”

It had been two weeks since she had been thrown into 1897.

Georgia walked into the ladies toilet and walked back out into 2020.

She needed to catch a flight to Sydney Australia to be truly free.