the Village - an inside story

a short story by David A. Stimpson

The sun shone brightly in an almost cloudless sky. The surrounding hills and mountains are covered in an abundance of beech and silver birch trees. The open country (what little there is of it) is covered in a deep blanket of heather. It is a warm afternoon, a perfect summer’s day. Birds soar high overhead, bees busy themselves amid the profusion of flowers and plants and colourful butterflies flit hither and thither, often stopping to extract nectar from the masses of hydrangeas which grow so profusely here. It is quiet and peaceful at times with only the call of birdsong breaking the silence; the jackdaws (large ugly black birds as they are) are the noisiest of all! Then, a two-tone tannoy breaks the quietness followed by the dulcet tones of a female voice announcing that the flavour of the day is “Raspberry” and that the weather will remain fine and dry. Then a brass band began to play Strauss’ ‘Radetsky March’. “What was that you were saying?” a voice asked. “Oh yes, an international community, well it’s certainly very cosmopolitan! There are people here of all nationalities, of all cultures. People from all walks of life and of all ages. But the people here all have one thing in common. Once they arrive here they cease to have names and become numbers! Citizens here are either prisoners or warders and you don’t know which is which, but of course you already know that, don’t you?” asked the voice. “Oh, you didn’t. Then you must be ‘new’ here!” “How can you tell who are the prisoners and who are the warders? Well I could tell you because a way was found to tell the difference but it raised another question... who can you trust? My tip is don’t try and only trust yourself!”

“My, you’re full of questions aren’t you?!” “Yes, I do know who runs this place but you have to earn my trust before I tell you! Whose side am I on? No-one’s, I can promise you that. I simply exist. If I didn’t you wouldn’t be here but it would hardly be fair to blame me for your imprisonment here.”

“No, names are not used here for some reason or other. Only numbers are used here, everyone has a number. Well, everyone except that butler and me of course! You must have seen him about. A short, rotund, balding fellow dressed in black tails. It’s odd though, because wherever he is, whenever you see him and whatever he is doing, the butler can always be seen wearing his black leather gloves! At the beck and call of Number 2 he is, night and day. Still he has only himself to blame, that’s what I say. He should speak up for himself more!”

“Did I tell you about Number 2?” the voice asked. “No? Well we’ve had some right ones here, I can tell you. Number 2 is chairman of The Village, and second only to one so it’s quite a responsible job. So with that in mind you would think that only ‘top’ people would attain the position of Number 2. Well I can tell you, some of them haven’t been much good!

One Number 2 suffered from an ulcer. You could tell that by the amount of milk which he drank. His ulcer was no doubt caused by stress. There’s a great deal of stress connected with the position of Number 2. Well, this one was given only three days to obtain Number Six’s resignation secret. Well to tell the truth he thought that Number Six was going to sell out. Three days, I ask you, he had no chance, especially when Number Six cottoned on to what was going on. But to be fair he was brought back and given a second chance but that time he appeared to be more of a headmaster because with the aid of the Professor, Speedlearn and the General, he seemed determined to re-educate the citizens of The Village. Greek independence was assured and guaranteed. Russia, France and Britain... oops! It must have been more effective than I thought! Where was I? Oh yes, Number 2. There was only one other Number 2 to be given two bites of the cherry, so to speak. He is a likable chap really. Stout, about 5 feet 6 inches tall, sporting a beard and he has a real bellicose laugh. He died you know, oh you didn’t! Yes, died he did but they wouldn’t let him rest in peace, resurrected him, they did. But I must say he felt and looked a ‘new’ man! He built up a real rapport with Number Six he did. Even ‘winked a blind surveillance eye’ as Number Six built his boat, sorry... sculpture! Yes, I liked him and after he left here I did miss him. It was his banter I missed, I suppose.

“What were the others like? You want to know so much, you do! Well, I’ll tell you about a couple more very quickly. Well I can’t spend all day chatting to you.”

“Well there was one particular Number 2 who was a real nasty piece of work, a damned sadist he was. I say this because he probably ended up in a straitjacket in a padded cell! He caused a woman to commit suicide. Jumped from a hospital window, she did. But he paid the price in the end. Number Six saw to that and it all came about because he was afraid of his master and trusted no one, not even his right-hand man Number 14. He was a weak link alright. I never did take to him. Bloody paranoid he was, good riddance that’s what I say. Oh, they aren’t all bad these Number 2s. The first one seemed a real gent, very polite as I recall but another failure. The second Number 2 should have been given another chance I feel. Well, he didn’t fail did he because he proved to that Number Six that escape is not possible, didn’t he?”

“Would I like the job? No not me. Wouldn’t last five minutes. No sooner do people get settled into the job than they’re kicked out.” “What happens to them?” “That’s what I want to know!”

“You’re not going are you? Well, let me tell you about Number 6.” “What do you mean, who? Surely you’ve heard of Number 6, seen him about The Village, you must have! Now let me see... oh, there he is look, just coming out of The Village stores with the latest issue of The Tally Ho. Six foot three inches tall he is, very handsome, don’t you think? No? Oh well. Keeps himself to himself he does, doesn’t let anyone get close to him. He keeps himself fit, has a gym in the woods, built it himself.  Antisocial I call it.  Bit of a non-conformist is our Number 6, minds his own business and expects others to mind theirs. If you take my advice you’ll keep well away from that one, always trying to escape he is. Almost successful once, there was a group of them, they were very well organised. If it hadn’t been for the Rook I think that they just might have got away with it.”

“Do you know Number 6 took an instant dislike to his new surroundings which I took as a personal insult! Well wouldn’t you in my position? He has been given a lovely cottage, finished exactly like his London home, a real ‘home from home’ it is, but does he appreciate it? Not one bit. He hadn’t been here five minutes when he attempted to escape, got down onto the beach he did, stole one of the Village taxis. I could have told him that escape is impossible but perhaps it was best for him to find out for himself in the end! Anyway, the taxi hit a bump and Number 6 fell out. It was then that he had his first confrontation with the Village guardian Rover! Number 6 being afraid of nothing attacked the guardian but Number 6 came off worst. Well you would wouldn’t you? Against a horrible balloon type thing! Take my word for it and keep away from the damned thing. Oh look, there goes Rover now, a huge white amorphous mass rolling and bounding across the lawn. Oh I pity its next poor victim. Suffocates them it does and it has a blood-curdling roar. No-one has ever escaped, not with a thing like that about, they’re brought back, not always alive!”

Anyway. I cannot understand why anyone would want to escape from here. “What do you mean, you can? What’s wrong with it? There’s everything you could ever possibly want here” the voice said. “The atmosphere is quiet and peaceful, almost like a world on its own, a bit like a holiday camp wouldn’t you say?” “Oh, you wouldn’t, no pleasing some!” “The scenery is not unpleasant, the architecture is pleasing to the eye and so varied you could be almost anywhere. The brightly coloured buildings blend in so well with the gardens and surrounding woodland, which you are at liberty to explore. But don’t go into the outer zone or you’ll cause an orange alert which in turn activates Rover and you don’t want to be doing that now, do you?”

“It’s boring? Boring! How can you say that? There’s plenty to do, all kinds of activities to keep you out of trouble and keep the citizens amused. For a start there’s the regular brass band concerts, you can even ask for a request to be played, they have a very large repertoire you know. Oh yes, you play chess don’t you? Well then, you can take part in a human chess match, there’s a game being played at the moment, can you see? No, I don’t know who’s winning because I can’t tell one from the other!”

“Oh, you don’t fancy that, well go water skiing. Well... go when the tide is in! There’s the swimming pool, you like a swim! It’s in your file, that’s how I know! Well there’s plenty more to keep you occupied. You can go to the Cat and Mouse and pretend to get drunk! The Palace of Fun? What about the Palace of Fun?” “Where is it? There isn’t one! Yes, I know it’s on the Village map but I tell you it doesn’t exist! Well who would know better than I? Why would it be put on the map if it doesn’t exist? I don’t know, I didn’t build this place. Go ask the man who had this place built or the chap who drew up the map! Better still, why don’t you go to the Recreation Hall, there’s an exhibition of Arts and Crafts you can look around. Or go to the gymnasium where you can shoot and fence. Yes, everyone is catered for here you know, oh yes. That’s the stone boat, the old people can clamber about that all day long to their hearts content.” “Why do they do that? How should I know? They just do that’s all!”

“What was that? Yes, everyone does seem happy don’t they? But I have found that the happy holiday camp atmosphere does tend to hide the underlying feeling of unease and trepidation. People who arrive here are treated in much the same way as ‘new arrivals’ were to Nazi death camps. At first everything appears to be peaceful and pleasant and people appeared to be happy. It was a false image hiding so many unspeakable horrors. Everyone here is here for a reason. They all have something to give or in the case of the old people, they have already given it! And that includes you my friend. You have some sort of information which Number 2 wants otherwise you would not be here, would you? If you give them what they want freely then this can be a very nice place in which to live out the rest of your life.” “What’s the alternative? They will simply take what they want! But cheer up, getting somewhat morbid, we are. Can’t have that can we? You will learn that there is no politics here or religion for that matter. They’ll tell you that they are democratic (in some ways) but don’t believe a word of it.”

“Had elections once, they did. Number Six decided to run for office. Thought that once he held the position of Number 2 he could organise a mass breakout. Got it wrong, he did. Number Six was hoodwinked and drugged because it turned out that the so-called ‘free elections’ were nothing but a complete farce! So don’t fall for that one and be careful of what you drink, you can’t tell if it’s the cocoa that’s drugged or the water out of the tap!”

“Privacy? There’s no privacy anywhere, especially here. See that bust on top of that small Doric column? Yes, I can see it’s rotating, that’s because it’s got a camera in one of its eyes! They’re very big on surveillance here. There are hidden microphones all over the place. Observers do nothing but sit watching everyone’s movements and listening to every conversation. Well they do see and hear everything you know. Well, except for in the bathroom and toilet, even then you can never be too sure! Or is that just me being paranoid?”

“There are all the public amenities here of course, as you would probably expect. A town hail, citizen’s advice bureau and social club (members only). Oh yes, and a labour exchange!”

“What do we need a labour exchange for? Well numbers have to work you know, well except that Number Six! Not done a day’s work since he came here, he hasn’t. Look, there he is at the brass band concert reading his Tally Ho. I don’t know how he gets away with it!”

“What do you mean? Of course numbers have to work. Then they are paid work units so that they can pay for goods from the Village Stores, taxi fares and issues of the Tally Ho. Yes, yes, of course you can pay later but that’s not the point is it? Someone has to tend the gardens and woods, carry out repairs and maintain the place. Surely you don’t expect me to do it!”

“Yes, it is a beautiful day but there will be showers later I expect, there usually is!”

“How long has this place been going? Oh a very long time.”

“How long have I been here?  Don’t want to know much, do you?! I’ve been here ever since it was first built!”

“Where are we? You don’t really expect me to answer that, do you? Of course I know where we are. Surely you would expect me to know that. If not me, then who?”

“Who am I?  Why I am the Village!”

Be Seeing You…  Won’t I?

© David A. Stimpson 2001

Alan comments

Thanks to David for another entertaining short story. We are always happy to print fictional pieces from readers though strangely, despite the Prisoner being a piece of fiction (oh yes, it is... honest!), most articles received are of a factual nature. So, let’s  throw the gauntlet down...

If you would like to submit a piece of Prisoner/Portmeirion related fiction, maybe a short story, cartoon or comic-style page, then please ‘feel free’ to do so. Go on, it will make a pleasant change from trying to find links between the Prisoner and religion, drug taking, pop culture, Vietnam war, wife swapping, toad sexing or whatever. It means what it is....