This charming chappy came to visit us today. He was around the size of a gentleman’s thumb.
With his handlebar mandibles and waistcoat wings, he really does look smashing!
The Sunnyport Shadow: Chapter 2
“Insufferable, pompous, arrogant, debauched idiot,” muttered Sir John as he sat in the breakfast room of the Shalimar.
“Are you still going on about Lord Hollingbury?” said Marie.
“Well of all the nerve,” said Sir John.
“Can I get you tea or orange juice,” said Mrs Pimplenick, landlady of the bed and breakfast.
“Do you ‘ave any coffee?” asked Marie. Mrs Pimplenick looked aghast.
“We have tea,” she said.
“Can I get tea and orange juice,” asked Sir John.
“It’s one or the other,” said Mrs Pimplenick in exasperation, pointing at a small menu on the table.
“Two teas then,” said Sir John. “For a change.”
“Two teas.”
A man came into the breakfast room wearing overalls. He carried a large box which had the warm odour of smoked mackerel.
“Here you go Mrs P,” said the man. “This month’s delivery.”
Mrs Pimplenick looked put out.
“This should really be delivered via the tradesmens entrance,” she said, suddenly acquiring the diction of a minor royal.
“Its bloomin’ heavy though,” said the man as Mrs Pimplenick rolled her eyes.
“There’s been another one you know,” he said.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Mrs Pimplenick, trying to indicate Sir John and Marie by a tilting of her head. The gesture seemed to go unnoticed as the man continued.
“Another disappearance Mrs P,” he said, “another fisherman who didn’t come home. That’s the third this month. Mr Wombly this time.”
The landlady made a snorting noise and her accent descended several social strata.
“We’ll they’ll be mourning that loss in the Cock and Bull,” she said. “He never seemed to be out of there. I’m surprised he lasted this long.”
“That’s not true anymore,” said the delivery man. “He is, well he was, a reformed character. Went to that new church that Rev Phillips runs. He got right off the booze and on the straight and narrow. Tragedy is what it is.”
“Excuse,” said Sir John. “What disappearances are these?”
The delivery man turned round and saw the Jennings for the first time. He face dropped in shock.
“Oh, oh, its nothing,” the delivery man said. “Just some local gossip.”
Mrs Pimplenick walked off shaking her head and carrying the large box of mackerel easily in her large arms. When she reached the kitchen the man leaned over the Jennings.
“But the gossip is there’s something not right about the water. Ever since they made that promenade, people have been disappearing. Fisherfolk and the like. All locals, never the tourists. Which is just as well as people here don’t want it getting out. Bad for business see. Don’t tell anyone I told you.”
At this the man left, looking about himself as he did.
“That must be what that lunatic was talking about yesterday,” said Sir John. “Something wrong with the water eh, maybe…”
“Mon cher,” said Marie, “we are supposed to be ‘aving a holiday.”
Just then Mrs Pimplenick returned with two cups and a teapot.
“I’m afraid I’m out of milk,” she said, “so you’ll have to have it black. Also the sugar doesn’t come until Tuesday.”
Thanks For Dropping By…
Thanks for coming…you’re welcome…come by again…
Yes, sadly The Benthic Week is all over. There has been laughter and tears, music and dancing and an overconsumption of jelly (or jell-o if you will). But, we are stacking the chairs, sweeping the floors and handing out goodie bags (1 slice of cake, 1 plastic octopus, some wakame flavoured sweets and a “Clackprattle and Pook” colouring book).
Normal service, such as it is, will now resume. Stories will be back to Tuesday and our usual posts on a plethora of topics will be at the weekend.
We only have time to leave you with two more things. We are now fully into the modern way of things by having joined something called Twitter @thebenthictimes
https://twitter.com/thebenthictimes
And finally, a lovely combination of shops I discovered round the corner from our new house. One featuring a painting of an octopus and the next with the sign “Be unique”. I could barely think of anything more Benthic. (With the possible exception of this book of course…)
UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B071V9PP6F
US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071V9PP6F
Have a wonderful weekend!
Only Howarth Kids Remember This
“Like if you remember one of these, share if you used one”
So over on the nightmare of horrors that is Farcebook, we are enjoying having retro pictures from Benthic Times past. You weren’t aware we had a Facebook page? Oh yes, we are here:
https://www.facebook.com/thebenthictimes/
Come join us where you can say “greetings my good man” and enjoy some retro fun.
And on the topic of retro fun, if you wish to catch up quickly and easily with the first four stories, you may do so here.
The Sunnyport Shadow: Chapter 1
The rain lashed down on the window of the Friendship Tea Rooms as Sir John and Marie stared out.
“Perhaps it will brighten up this afternoon,” he said morosely. “How long until we can return to the bed and breakfast?”
Marie looked at the clock on the wall, with the numbers 4 and 6 missing.
“About seven hours I think,” she said.
Sir John took the last sip of lukewarm tea in the cup in front of him, and put the cup down on its chipped saucer. Almost immediately the waitress appeared.
“Can I get you anything else,” she asked blankly.
“I think we’re alright for a moment,” said Sir John.
The waitress immediately glanced at a sign saying “no loitering”. Marie looked around the room, empty save for a dishevelled looking man in a gaudy outfit nursing a cup of tea. The waitress peered out at the rain.
“You’ve been unlucky with the weather,” she said. Sir John sighed.
“Two more teas, please,” he said and the waitress went away.
“Two Teas”
“We can’t stay here seven hours,” said Sir John. “We’ll be bankrupt by teatime.”
The other man in the cafe turned his tea cup upside down and spun it round. Sir John looked on curiously.
“Is he alright do you think?” he said. The man turned his cup back up and peered at his saucer. He look surprised then glanced toward Marie and Sir John. Sir John looked down quickly as the man walked over.
“Please excuse me,” said the man, “but I do believe we have a common interest. My name is Lord Hollingbury, and, if my Aunt Mabel’s parlour trick isn’t mistaken, at least one of you is, shall we say, in possession of special talents.”
Sir John looked confused at the apparent gap between the man’s appearance and manner.
“I beg your pardon,” he said.
“Well, if you need me to pardon you, you must have done something very wicked,” said Lord Hollingbury sitting down.
“Two teas,” announced the waitress as she returned. She looked distastefully at the development of social intercourse in the tea rooms and beat a hurried retreat in case it was catching.
“Let me get down to brass tacks,” said Lord Hollingbury. “I am, shall we say, gifted myself in certain areas. One might call me a magician, if you like, but I prefer the term Nouveaumancer. You are … well one of you … and I think I know who, is most certainly gifted.”
“The tea leaves tell you this?” said Marie.
“Indeed, I was carrying out a little old-fashioned divination” said the Nouveaumancer. “I think even magic has a certain … terroir, ne c’est pas?”
“Now look here,” said Sir John, “I don’t know who you are…”
“Yes, you do,” said the Nouveaumancer, “I told you. The reverse is true, I don’t know who you are.”
Sir John’s mouth opened and closed.
“I am Marie Jennings, and this is my ‘usband Sir John Jennings,” said Marie. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Enchanted,” said the Nouveaumancer, “and enlightened. You’re the investigators of the paranormal, aren’t you? I read about you in the papers. I had no idea that you were … poachers turned gamekeepers.”
“Now look here!” said Sir John.
“We’ve done that part and moved on a little,” said the Nouveaumancer. “Do try and keep up. So I presume you’re here to investigate the disappearances.”
Sir John looked confused and aghast.
“You can’t say things like that to a chap’s face,” said Sir John.
“Well which part of a chap should I address these remarks to?” said the Nouveaumancer.
“Please, both of you,” said Marie, “Lord Hollingbury … what disappearances?”
“Oh, I see,” said the Nouveaumancer, “so you ‘don’t know about the disappearances’ and I’m guessing you’re ‘just here on holiday’.”
“Yes, exactly,” said Sir John.
“Oh, well that’s a shame,” said the Nouveaumancer, “I was rather hoping to pool resources. Oh well, if you change your mind, you can probably find me at the Cock and Bull. It really is the only place in town to get half decent scotch.”
The Nouveaumancer stood up and left the tea rooms. As he walked through the rain it seemed to somehow fall around him.
“Has he gone?” said the waitress who had appeared mysteriously.
“I believe so,” said Sir John.
“Well you can have his bill then,” she said, passing the couple a small piece of paper.
Welcome to Sunnyport!
“Tatty Seaside Town”
So readers have been asking in their droves: where is Sunnyport? Those photographs seem familiar…
A cursory glance at a map of Southern England will reveal no such place. It is of course a fictional location, but as all such places, one rooted in some real experiences. We thought it might be informative and enlightening to list some of the ideas that run behind the town.
Inaptronymic placenames: it is the author’s general experience that the pleasantness of English seaside town-names is indirectly proportional to how agreeable the towns really are. Thus “Claphole-by-Sea” would be perfectly nice, but “Haven Bay” would be a crime-ridden rat-infested nightmare. Incidentally, the same applies to hotels and public houses. Any public house called The Friendship will have an undercurrent of violence, and any hotel called the Bella Vista will face a gasworks.
Sunnydale: which holds a special place in our hearts even twenty years on.
Innsmouth: “you’ll never leave” – a local town for local people.
Seaside holidays in the nineteen seventies: for many reasons the author does not wish to relate his experience of holidaying in B&Bs of various kinds, nor expand on the manner of hospitality extended in such places. To our readers who visited the English seaside in decades past, I am sure the reasons are clear. To those who missed such an experience, the first chapter of Bill Bryson’s “Notes from a Small island” should serve as an introduction.
And one thing that is not an influence on the fictional town of Sunnyport…
London-by-Sea: The self confessed “tatty seaside town” of Brighton (and Hove) will quite often be the “location shots” for Sunnyport. As a previous resident of this wonderful and unique town I can wholeheartedly state that Sunnyport is not Brighton. Brighton is much, much weirder.
Don’t forget – the first four Jennings and Jennings stories can now be purchased from Amazon…
UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B071V9PP6F
US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071V9PP6F
The Sunnyport Shadow: Prologue
“Diverse Diversions”
Dear Mr Sir Jenkins
We are delighted to accept your booking at the Shalimar Bed and Breakfast in Sunnyport. We are looking forward to seeing you in May at our most salubrious establishment, which we feel certain will be ideally suited to a gentleman of your refined tastes.
You neglect to mention in your booking request if you have visited Sunnyport before. I have taken the liberty of assuming that this is your first visit to our seaside paradise. Forgive me, then, for any redundancy and permit me the time to avail you of some of the town’s attractions. For in truth, I delight in such a task.
Sunnyport is one of the premier resorts on the south coast of England. It benefits from an unusually sheltered aspect leading to a microclimate which, I truly believe, can be described as mediterranean. The town itself expanded around one hundred years ago when the healing powers of the unique sea air were discovered to have been responsible for the extended lifespan of its inhabitants, then mostly fisherfolk. As you can imagine, people flocked from far and wide to breath the healing air. That gifted the town its first wave of tourists and such seekers of the healthy airs still regularly make the pilgrimage to our town.
But there is more to Sunnyport than fine air! Indeed, the town and its surrounds are of such an unnatural beauty that many a soul has been moved to tears on first arrival. You may recall that the poet Samuel Porlock wrote his famous “Ode to a Roman Ruin” here and the composer Edward Engerland wrote “Oh Stormy, Stormy Sea” in the Cock and Bull public house.
Sunnyport truly has it all. Indeed, any coastal resort would swell with civic pride if only it had our advantages. But the town fathers of Sunnyport are not the kind of men to rest on their laurels. No sir, for they have of late fashioned a most wondrous promenade replete with bandstands, teahouses, and diverse diversions to entertain our guests.
So whether you are exploring Sunnyport’s heritage in the old harbour, marvelling at its lighthouse, promenading with your good lady on the front, taking the sea air, or simply basking in the sunshine I guarantee you will find your stay in Sunnyport an experience you will remember all your life.
In order to secure the reservation we require settlement of the account plus a deposit equal to one half the value of the account, a local tourist tax fee equal to one quarter and finally a linen and cleaning charge equal to one quarter. You may check in to the establishment any time between the hours of two and four in the afternoon and checkout is by nine am strictly. Guests are requested to vacate the premises between the hours of nine thirty and five in the afternoon to permit cleaning. Guests must wear formal dress in the communal areas at all time and noise is strictly prohibited between the hours of ten at night and eight in the morning. Failure to comply with any of these rules may lead to ejection from the premises and loss of fees.
Yours most cordially
Mr Francis Pimplenick
Proprietor and owner Shalimar Deluxe Bed and Breakfast
Stop the Press!
No, wait, start the press – or the virtual one at least. For the wondrous behemoth, Amazon has spoken, and our book is available! For 3 British Pounds, or your local currency equivalent, you can read the first four Jennings and Jennings stories on your electronic reading device! Delight to these four comedy paranormal steampunk novelettes! Relive the thrill of Sir John and Marie’s adventures, even when you’re travelling by locomotive or on an airship! Rejoice, my friends, rejoice! If you find these adventures a joy, please do us the honour of reviewing them in Amazon, too.
UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B071V9PP6F
US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071V9PP6F
For those souls expecting to be reading the start of the Sunnyport Shadow, I beg some patience. Todays news was too exciting to contain and you only have one day to wait in the Benthic Week!
The Benthic Week?
Ah! You noticed our little teaser … and the prolonged gap between posts. Let me furnish you with an explanation for all of the above.
First, The Benthic Week…
We here at the Benthic Times are tickled pink to announce the commencement of our latest venture, The Benthic Press. We are now in the business of publishing, and our initial publication will be the much anticipated collection of the first four Jennings and Jennings stories. This is working its way through the behemoth called Amazon even as we speak.
We are also thinking to produce an anthology of other writers’ stories, offer some editing/proofing services, build a small artificial island with a giant laser on it and so forth. In short, we have big dreams.
Yes, yes, that’s all very well, I hear you mutter, but what’s this Benthic Week malarkey? Well, to celebrate the creation of the press and the immanent release of the book, we have decided to have one whole week of daily posts. Now, we see you gasp in amazement! Yes, it’s true. We have already started with the epilogue for The Cornish Curse and will start, from tomorrow, our latest story: The Sunnyport Shadow.
This new story is inspired by two sources of existential dread and horror, by two elements which cause one to question one’s meaning in a cruel universe, one’s significance in the face of total indifference, and even one’s sanity. I refer to firstly, the writings of HP Lovecraft and secondly, a British seaside holiday in inclement weather.
Ah, now everything is clear, you say. Of course, the pause in posts was merely to create anticipation for this schmorgasbord of Benthic delights. Sadly, there we must hang our heads and confess. For in truth, the Benthic Times has relocated home once again and whilst we try to prevent personal obstacles from blocking our posting habits, this time it got the better of us. We trust that the Benthic Week, culminating in the release of the book, will suffice as apology and recompense.
Yours
Paul Michael and Josephine Pichette
The Cornish Curse: Epilogue
Sir John and Marie sat in the front room of their home in London with Phlebotomous Bosch. Marie was crocheting, Phlebotomous was tinkering with some mechanical device and Sir John was reading The Times when Miss Henderson came in. The room was quiet apart from the rhythmic snoring of Morag, lying by the fire.
“The afternoon post has arrived,” Miss Henderson announced and handed Sir John a letter. He took it and opened it.
“Ah, it’s from the Mallums!” he said. “They send their greetings to everyone, including you Miss Henderson, and thank us again for our help.”
“That’s generous of them,” said Miss Henderson.
“Well, we only uncovered their, er, problem,” said Sir John. “They go on to especially thank Morag for giving them the details of the tincture which reduces the symptoms of their daughters’ condition. Apparently they are now able to function normally during a full moon without, well, transforming.”
Morag lifter her head up from where she had been dozing by the fire.
“Ach, it’s nothing,” she said, “just a case of balancing the silver out with some extra gold.”
“Yes,” said Sir John, ”they mention how pleased they are that their farm labourers have returned to work for them as the gold is quite expensive. Apparently, the girls all asked to be remembered to Phlebotomous and reiterated their sorrow and embarrassment at the final night.”
Phlebotomous looked a little awkward.
“It was quite a scare,” said the vampire. “It’s made me think about possible future romantic attachments. I think it wise if I keep to the bachelor life. However attractive I may be to these girls, I think it’s for the best all round.”
Miss Henderson unfortunately had a small coughing fit at that point, which she covered with a handkerchief. Marie stared quite determinedly at her crochet as her shoulders gave a small shake.
“Sounds very sensible Mr Bosch,” said Sir John. “They also say that they fear news of the incident may have spread. Apparently Marsh left their employment shortly afterwards and started working for Lord du Bois. Now, Lord du Bois is rarely seen in their house. Mr Mallum is somewhat distressed by this and fears the worst.”
“I imagine Mr Marsh is more comfortable under Lord du Bois,” said Miss Henderson. Sir John looked at her quizzically.
“He seemed more like a man’s man,” she said, by way of explanation.
“Yes,” said Sir John,” I believe you are right. Anyway, they conclude by saying all is well and we are welcome to visit any time.”
Sir John folded the letter and put it down.
“Another satisfied customer,” he said. “Miss Henderson, perhaps we could have some tea and biscuits.”
“Yes, Sir Jennings,” she said and left.
“Oh. They have informed us that the payment will take a little time to arrange,” said Sir John sounding glum.
“Well, we have plenty of money after the alchemist, ne c’est pas?” said Marie.
“Indeed,” said Sir John, still looking at the letter and sounding glum.
“What is it?” said Marie.
“In lieu of the first payment they have sent us this drawing by Prudence,” said Sir John. “It’s of Mr Bosch.”
Marie and Phlebotomous looked at the drawing. They both frowned in unison
“I think it’s what you call the … modern style,” said Sir John.
“Modern Style”
*With apologies to Pablo Picasso…
The Benthic Times 