Apart from possibly the first few sentences, this story which I hope to re-invent as I go along, is fictional.
UNEXPLAINED :- Part One
He arrived in London to start his college career. The scholarship grant covered little more than tuition fees. It was intended to be supplemented by parental contributions but following a year of increasingly hysterical rows with his mother over a girl, that wasn't going to happen. At least there was a room reserved for him in Clapham or so he thought. They informed him some woman had phoned and cancelled it and it was re-let. He dragged his unnecessarily heavy suitcase to Hyde Park and sat down to consider his next move. The situation was both ironic and sad. Many years previously when his mother was a young child, she practically worshipped a much older brother; also very much into music and also disowned by their parents (his grands) over a romantic affair. He ended up sleeping rough in the same Hyde Park and eventually contracting tuberculosis which proved fatal. How strange his mother couldn't make the connection. It must have been something in the family genes. But he had grown up in the so-called Black North and they can fight dirty there too. He made a decision and took himself off to the College.
The secretary when she heard the story looked at him as if he was mad. Under pressure she called in their Welfare Officer. That lady looked up his audition report and raised her eyebrows. "They thought very highly of your Chopin playing and have reserved a place for you with what we're hoping will be our next top teacher; a Polish concert pianist no less. I might be able to get you some work with a young lady who is planning on starting her own ballet school. We only have one offer of a room left but had to turn it down. A lady of about sixty but frankly I don't think she's all there. Perhaps a mental breakdown or something", She reluctantly gave him the address.
He eventually made it to the house, situated beneath Alexandra Palace on its hilltop ; the location of the world's first television service, started by the BBC in 1936. It seemed like fate. He knocked a few times. A frail lady eventually opened the door and reacted as if she was seeing a ghost. She took a few steps backwards, staring at him almost in terror. He explained his mission. She said nothing for ages. "Might your name be Alan?" "How could you know that?" The only answer he got was "I'm Susan. Come in.". She thrust a beaker of wine into his hand and armed herself similarly. "It's a very tiny room. You can have it for £5". "£5 !!". He couldn't take advantage of her like that. "Is it too much? I'll make you breakfast. And wine and sandwiches for supper. Is it a deal?" She put out her hand to shake on it which he accepted, somewhat to his shame.
He arrived in London to start his college career. The scholarship grant covered little more than tuition fees. It was intended to be supplemented by parental contributions but following a year of increasingly hysterical rows with his mother over a girl, that wasn't going to happen. At least there was a room reserved for him in Clapham or so he thought. They informed him some woman had phoned and cancelled it and it was re-let. He dragged his unnecessarily heavy suitcase to Hyde Park and sat down to consider his next move. The situation was both ironic and sad. Many years previously when his mother was a young child, she practically worshipped a much older brother; also very much into music and also disowned by their parents (his grands) over a romantic affair. He ended up sleeping rough in the same Hyde Park and eventually contracting tuberculosis which proved fatal. How strange his mother couldn't make the connection. It must have been something in the family genes. But he had grown up in the so-called Black North and they can fight dirty there too. He made a decision and took himself off to the College.
The secretary when she heard the story looked at him as if he was mad. Under pressure she called in their Welfare Officer. That lady looked up his audition report and raised her eyebrows. "They thought very highly of your Chopin playing and have reserved a place for you with what we're hoping will be our next top teacher; a Polish concert pianist no less. I might be able to get you some work with a young lady who is planning on starting her own ballet school. We only have one offer of a room left but had to turn it down. A lady of about sixty but frankly I don't think she's all there. Perhaps a mental breakdown or something", She reluctantly gave him the address.
He eventually made it to the house, situated beneath Alexandra Palace on its hilltop ; the location of the world's first television service, started by the BBC in 1936. It seemed like fate. He knocked a few times. A frail lady eventually opened the door and reacted as if she was seeing a ghost. She took a few steps backwards, staring at him almost in terror. He explained his mission. She said nothing for ages. "Might your name be Alan?" "How could you know that?" The only answer he got was "I'm Susan. Come in.". She thrust a beaker of wine into his hand and armed herself similarly. "It's a very tiny room. You can have it for £5". "£5 !!". He couldn't take advantage of her like that. "Is it too much? I'll make you breakfast. And wine and sandwiches for supper. Is it a deal?" She put out her hand to shake on it which he accepted, somewhat to his shame.
M