Pythagoras and Maisie.

Is time travel possible? (resubmitted after amendment)

 No Critique please. (comments welcome)

Tom Brewer, is what you would call a know it all. He is also known as Mr Pontificator, but not to his face. I suppose we all know at least one; he knows everything about everything, and is never wrong. The vicar, on the other hand, is a hard working guy, pandering to his church duties and flock by day, and unwinding a little at night. Harry Oats, is known as Mr Pipe – but not to his face either; he never says much at all, he always has his flat cap on and his pipe in his mouth. One can tell if he is in tune with conversation by the way his pipe traverses his bottom teeth. If he is interested in anything his pipe reciprocates faster. Maisie Simmons is the odd one out, she is about 35 and very attractive. Maisie arrived at this Yorkshire village a few days after the reported siting on the moor. She apparently represents a government department. So there you have our quartet. They have formed a strange group, who of late have met each evening for a drink or two, in the local hostelry.

On this particular evening Tom had just finished explaining to the vicar how to run his church, in between drinking his Lager. The vicar was sipping his medium white wine and smiling kindly. Mr Pipe was obviously not overly impressed at the conversation, his pipe hardly moving; only removed from his mouth enough for him to take sips of his Barley Wine. Miss Maisie was drinking a Sherry and occasionally interrupting Tom to correct any particularly inaccurate statements. Mr Pontificator was stopped in full flow when the pub door opened and in walked the stranger. He was a tall well-built man with a confident manner. He stopped after a couple of paces into the pub, looked around at the eyes that were perusing him, and at the now silent mouths; he bowed in greeting, and proceeded to the bar. The talking now continued and eyes returned to their original places. (This is the normal procedure for any stranger entering a Yorkshire hostelry).

He was greeted courteously by the landlord, and offered a room for the night. In answer to his question about food, he was offered – ham and eggs, tomato’s mushrooms and chips. The stranger then went to his room to change and shower, he would be down for the meal in twenty minutes. The landlord was just bringing the food to the dining room table as the stranger came down. He now looked more casual and took his seat with just the merest glances from the regulars. The stranger ate his meal with relish, and washed it down with hot tea. After a few minutes he stood up and walked to the bar, and asked for a pint of best. He was presented with a pint of ‘Old Peculiar‘ took a sip, smiled, then turned and glanced around him. The vicar caught his eye, stood up and asked the stranger if he would like to join them. The stranger nodded and walked over to their table.

“This is Maisie Simmons – Tom Brewer, Harry Oats and I am the local vicar.” 
The stranger shook their hands in turn and then introduced himself – “I am Pythagoras Rosso.” Harry Oats pipe was now slowly traversing his bottom teeth. The vicar remarked – “What a magnificent name”. Miss Maisie gave a very slight smile but Mr Pontificator launched straight in –  “Ah Pythagoras, I know about him. It was him that got a bath one night, noticed the water spilling over the side, and worked out a formula.” Maisie was quick to reply. “I think you have the wrong man Tom, that was Archimedes. I have always been interested in Pythagoras Mr Rosso, was it not he who taught about the transmigration of the soul? If I remember correctly his philosophy also influenced Plato to some degree.”

“You are correct Miss Simmons, but I do believe he had a flair with numbers also,” replied Mr Rosso with a slight wink. Maisie smiled at Pythagoras and Tom said– “Well yes I knew all that,” before taking a long drink, realising he was way out of his depth. Pythagoras appeared to be greatly impressed by Maisie’s knowledge, and obviously realised that she was a very educated young woman. She was in fact in Yorkshire investigating a reported siting of a meteor impact. The vicar was one of the people who claimed to have seen the impact; he was a keen stargazer. The Yorkshire moors are known to be one of the best spots for watching the heavens on a dark evening, there being no distracting ground light. The site of the impact, which the vicar and a few others had claimed to see, had not yet been discovered. Maisie had some scientific instruments with her, and apart from being out alone, she had spent some time on the moors with the vicar. The vicar was adamant that there had been an impact, but there was still a vast area to cover. The vicar then asked Pythagoras if he would care to join him on the moors the next day, it being the vicars day off. He said he would be delighted to, and then asked to be excused because he was tired and wanted an early night. Shortly afterwards Maisie went to the ladies room, followed soon after my Mr Pipe who went to the Gents. A few minutes later Mr Pipe returned to his seat, he was clearly agitated; the pipe was now traversing at a great speed across his bottom set. “What on earth’s the matter with you Harry” exclaimed Tom.

“Well when I came out of the Gents and passed the stairs to the bedrooms, I could hear Maisie talking to that Pythag bloke up at the top ”

“It wouldn’t have been Maisie,” said the vicar “why would she go upstairs to talk to him? It must have been the landlord’s wife checking he was ok” Just then Maisie returned sat down and finished her Sherry. She then asked the vicar if maybe she could join them on the moors the next day. This was arranged, and she then asked to be excused as she had some work to do. Harry was clearly still affected by something, his pipe still moving rapidly. “Sumatt funny going on here he muttered,” without removing his pipe from his mouth, “I am sure it was Maisie talking up the stairs.” He would have thought there was something-funny going on if he could have seen through the ceiling above his head. 
Maisie was just removing her last garment before climbing into bed with Pythagoras…


Mendip Hill is a Royal Airforce establishment by name. It is however the home for one of the worlds largest Communication and signal tracking stations. The base is actually run by American civilian, and service personnel. It is at Clayhouses in North Yorkshire, England. It is also very near to the moors and the village. It is claimed that Mendip Hill can access any radio signal, analogue or digital. It can apparently access any computer traffic. It can also, it is thought – with the help of British intelligence decipher any coded messages. I must add here that people have been protesting at this base for years, the protesters want it closed down. They now fear it is part of some star-wars programme. It was to be expected then that Mendip Hill was certainly aware of the alleged meteor landing. They not only knew about that, having tracked it in, but were also aware of radio signals from the area which they so far had not been able to de-code. Mendip Hill was certainly not asleep.

Pythagoros, Maisie, and the vicar met outside the church as arranged, checked their equipment (one doesn’t venture on to the moors, even for just a day without certain precautions) All was in order and the three set off. Pythagoros was keen to know where the vicar placed the location of the apparent impact. It seemed that his siting was about three in the morning. The vicar had found out about the expected shooting star display from his Internet contacts; he had also read about it in the papers. It had been eagerly anticipated. The best views would be on the moors, as high as possible, between two and four in the morning. The vicar explained that it had been a superb display, and about half way through there seemed to be an impact. He had been back to the area alone and with Maisie a number of times looking, but admitted he could be miles out with his estimation. 
Maisie then shocked the vicar. “No vicar you are not miles out, in fact you are very near. I have been waiting for clearance to tell you.” Pythagoras then nodded at Maisie and she continued. “What you saw was not a meteorite or meteor; we carefully picked that time of meteorite activity for our arrival, hoping we would not be observed.”

Pythagoras then interjected – “What you actually saw was the arrival of a time machine.”

Continued:- Maybe…


© gerry 2023
Views: 3052
No critique.
Notify of
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments

Nice read. Only one incorrect verb choice. Perusing means reading.

Flag Content