Counter Culture

This story was originally part of my latest novel The Experience [to be published 2025]. It is one of five ‘outtakes’ that were originally threaded through the novel’s opening chapters. The job of these stories was to reflect or counter the nature of the narrative’s ‘reality’. Their style and viewpoint being contrary to that of the novel’s. It was eventually decided to remove them, simply to keep the continuity of The Experience’s particular style. Please feel free to comment. 

• Tim Bragg

I arrived at a signpost with paths leading off in different directions. The day was warm, not hot. Spring was in full bloom. It felt as if the world was content with itself. As if there were no wars raging. The globe felt like it was alive and full of energy but at peace. All the destructive forces of humanity channelled into the delicate petals of flowers. The trees were in light leaf, some more than others. Each spring I felt hope and optimism for the future. It was natural.

The signpost was wooden, with its fingers pointing out and destinations carved. I looked up and was confused. There were five paths and on the signs was carved: The same way, A different way, An alternative way, The future, The past. I’d never seen such a sign. I half-smiled. Was it a joke? Someone’s or some council’s ‘bit of fun’? Was it cryptic? The air was still but from the trees that surrounded this meeting of paths came the melodies of birds. I looked down the paths that all began, at least, straight. Dividing the natural, organic nature of the wood.

I had no clear intention of where I was heading. I’d parked the car and left it in the carpark. I saw no-one. Earlier I’d dropped off my wife Hannah, with our twins, at the station. She was going to see her mother in the south of the country. There was nothing for me to do and no pressing engagements. I’d always wanted to see the castle ruins and check out the wood, maybe it was a forest, that surrounded. I had no communication device, just the original sign that pointed from the carpark. ‘Nature Trail’ it read and I followed it. There was no real intent to go anywhere. I imagined that the trail would be circular and maybe there’d be a picnic table somewhere for me to rest.

As I walked along, a whole host of thoughts passed across my mind. Jumbled and incoherent. But the more I walked the less jumbled they became and slowly my mind marshalled them into a coherent narrative. The problems I’d faced, I could view with rationality. Maybe it was the regularity of my steps on the earthen path. Sometimes my attention was disturbed as I found a stone or rock jutting out. But mainly I was lulled into making sense of things. Was life a chaotic mess – or was there order? Order behind it all at least.

I don’t know how long I’d been walking when I reached the sign at the five ways. The path I’d taken had led me there. I suppose I could have left it and gone into the wood. But walking along calmed me and I had the sun above in clear blue skies. Looking up at the sign I was half-amused and half-confused. It would have been reasonable, I presumed, to follow the sign which read ‘The same way’. That would suppose that I was on the right way. And I had no prior intentions as to where I was going. I was just meandering along, with my thoughts, as much as the path allowed. So, I could continue in the same direction or go a different or alternative way. ‘The past’ and ‘The future’ signs were more intriguing. The ‘different way’ would, I presume, take me to a different location, or just a different way to the same place. Taking either the past or the future meant I would have a different experience. ‘An alternative way’ would certainly suggest arriving at the same destination. The question was – what did it mean by alternative? No, I was more charmed by either the future or the past. There I was at the five ways in the present. At the present? What does it even mean ‘the present’? I’d never catch up or slow down enough to be in that present. The present was as elusive…well as elusive as the butterfly that delicately flew before me as these thoughts were forming.

‘The past’ was simply pointing back to the way I had come. But at the start of the path it had signed to the future or even the present. Therefore I was intrigued to think that if I went back the way that I came that I might find the path changed in some way. I couldn’t help imagining that if I returned maybe the path would be changed radically, or I would be changed. It was tempting. If I turned back and found both the path and myself changed then would I even know where I was. And if I panicked and went down the same path again, as I had done originally, would I end up somewhere completely different? Then again would it even be the same path?  Was the past and the future set?

I decided to take ‘The future’. In many ways this seemed to be the logical path to take. The future was inevitable, wasn’t it? Thus, I was compelled to take that way. I might have thought more deeply about this and even considered taking the path to the past was also, in some way, the future. But I was content enough with my decision. And in curious but good spirits I began walking this new way. This future path began in much the way as my old path had been. Trees were either side of me and I could hear the birds singing and the sun was above me shining brightly. And yet everything seemed new to me. Familiar but at the same time strange. As if I were not sure of my place in the world – I felt slightly apprehensive.

As I continued to walk, I noticed from time to time, paths leading off from the one I was on. There were no signs. The paths appeared like the one I was on except some were more used than others. I had no idea where they led so presumed whoever had used them previously knew where they were going. Or perhaps they had simply walked into the wood on a whim, or seen or heard something that they followed. In which case the first person to walk into that now path had randomly or suddenly veered off. Then I thought that all paths began with a single person doing this. There had to be something about that way, or decision, that led others to do exactly the same before the path was used enough to become, well, a path. A recognisable way.

I was thinking all of this when I noticed a figure in the distance before the path turned to the right. It cheered me seeing a fellow human. As I got closer to the figure, I could see it was an old man, dressed in fairly baggy trousers and an old worn tweed jacket. He also had a worn black hat on his head. As I approached I smiled and said hello.

‘Hello,’ he answered.

‘Where does this path lead to?’ I asked.

The old man looked at me. A smile further crinkled his lined face, ‘Don’t you know?’ he asked.

I shook my head and said, ‘I don’t.’

‘Why, tis the future,’ he began, ‘the path here leads to the future. Didn’t you see the sign?’

‘Is that the name of a pub?’ I asked, presuming he wasn’t referring to the sign at the five ways.

‘A pub? You mean a public house?’

‘Yes.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t drink. Never have seen a public house where I live.’

‘You live in a dry town?’ I’d heard about such towns and villages but thought they belonged in the past.

‘No idea what that is,’ he said. ‘Gets good and proper wet at times,’ he smiled.

‘What’s the name of the town you live in?’

‘Tis no town, tis a village,’ the man said.

I was feeling a little exasperated, ‘Well the name of your village.’

‘It’s called Foresite. There’s a manor house there, Foresite Manor.’

‘Thank you. How far is it?’

‘Far? Tis no distance,’ he said, ‘tis no distance at all.’

‘Thank you,’ I said again. He touched his hat and we continued on our ways. As we passed, he looked at me with a smile. He seemed familiar. He could have been my grandfather. I smiled back.

I walked on and when I thought it proper, turned and looked back. But the old man had disappeared. The path had turned slightly, so I ran back farther to see where it was straight and a good view beyond where we’d stopped and talked. Nothing. I imagined him sprinting down the path and out of sight. Then I laughed, he was probably in the wood somewhere relieving himself, or maybe he’d taken one of the turnings between the trees. Walking at a brisk pace, feeling somehow renewed, I carried on. I even began whistling. I didn’t normally whistle. Eventually I came to a village.

There was no sign telling me what the village was called. It wasn’t on the path but rather the path forked and it lay to the left. Once houses appeared the path became a road. Not much of a road. No cars about either. The houses were cottages for the most part. They looked old – they were old. What was I thinking. As I continued, I could see a square ahead. And a church spire suddenly became apparent. How had I missed that? There were shops either side of the entrance to the square. I knew they were shops but they looked empty.

‘Looking for anything?’ came a voice. I looked around and across the square with its plane trees and wrought-iron benches. The church was at the top right, its huge wooden doors and metal rivets clearly visible even from where I was. ‘Looking for anything?’

I then realised the voice was coming from an upstairs window above the shop on my left. Looking up I could see a young man staring down at me. ‘Hello,’ I said.

For the third time he asked, ‘Looking for anything?’

‘Is this village called Foresite?’

‘Yes, it is,’ said the young man. ‘Have you come from the past?’

‘The past?’

‘Yes the past,’ he called down. ‘Wait there.’

I waited outside, there was still no-one around. I heard the jingling of a bell and the shop door opened. The young man stood there gazing at me. ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Come in.’ I followed him inside the shop. It wasn’t empty but sparsely stocked with what looked like wooden gadgets. If they were toys I had never seen their like.

‘Forgive me,’ the young man said. ‘May I touch your face?’

I recoiled slightly, then realised he was blind. ‘Of course,’ I said.

He felt the shape of my head and face, his touch was light and sensitive. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I can gain a sense of someone’s spirit in this manner.’

‘By touching their face?’ He nodded. ‘I didn’t know you were blind,’ I said.

‘Thank you, though it is of little consequence. I have been blind all my life and know this shop and this village as if I could see. Though I don’t know what it is to see. People try and describe sight to me but it makes no sense. I see with my hands and with my body. I can feel when things are around me. When it rains the sound of the rain hitting the rooves of houses or the branches of trees gives me their shape and position. Or I can hear when the wind blows through branches, and if the trees are leafless I can hear the creak of a bough.’

I was impressed. But I had to ask, ‘You asked me if I were from the past.’

‘Yes indeed, but follow me, I have rooms upstairs.’

Deftly, he weaved between obstacles then climbed the old, winding stairs. I followed tentatively. I had some story to tell my wife and the young twins would be spellbound. I watched as he entered a room and bid me follow. ‘Please take a seat,’ he said. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘If not too much trouble,’ I answered awkwardly. He smiled. There was no look of a blind man about him. His face and eyes appeared perfect.

‘The past,’ he said.

‘Yes, in a manner,’ I replied hesitantly.

‘I presumed you were from the past. The way you sounded as you moved and waited by the shop. And then when you said ‘hello’ I knew for sure.’ Handing me a drink of coffee, which he’d poured from a pot, he also sat down at the table. I wanted to ask him how he knew when to stop. But I thought that impolite. When he spoke he looked directly at me. His eyes were a cool blue colour and betrayed no blindness.

‘I’m not really from any past,’ I began. ‘I don’t think.’ I recalled I was following a sign to the future but surely this village was from the past, rather than me. It certainly felt that way. ‘I suppose, technically, we’re all living in a kind of past,’ I explained.

‘What year is it?’ he asked.

‘1979,’ I answered.

He seemed very happy. ‘Then you are from the past,’ he exclaimed. ‘I thought so, my senses never let me down. Rarely,’ he added. ‘We haven’t introduced ourselves,’ he said. ‘My name is Root. And yours?’

‘James,’ I said.

‘This is quite exciting,’ he said, ‘it’s been a long time since I’ve talked with someone from the past. I was beginning to think I never would again. I always think it strange that you find this village though.’

I was somewhat perplexed. ‘I rather thought this village was from the past,’ I said. ‘It looks quite an historic place.’

Root laughed. ‘Of course not,’ he said exuberantly.

He asked me many questions about my life in 1979 and what I remembered from my past. He was very curious. He wanted to know many details. I was fascinated by this young man and I was more than willing to give him information. He really wanted to know details about my childhood during the war. And as I told him I was taken back into the past.

Abruptly he stopped speaking. I looked into his eyes. Then turned my gaze away for fear that some magic existed inside them and that he could ‘see’ me without seeing.

‘I have to show you something,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’ He retraced his steps to the shop’s front door. I wanted to ask him about the wooden gadgets but he was swifter than me and ushered me outside. As we stepped out, the village seemed full of people. They looked at me quizzically. At least I thought they looked at me, but as I walked with Root in front, they often bumped into me. Eventually I asked Root, ‘Are all the village folk blind too?’

He laughed. ‘No. No, not at all,’ he spoke with an air of playfulness.

‘But they keep bumping into me,’ I said.

‘Yes, of course,’ he replied. ‘Hold my arm,’ he said. I thought it was for me to guide him across the square, milling with people. But I soon realised it was him guiding me. We reached the church doors, the huge doors I had seen from the other side which I now saw contained a smaller door which was left ajar. ‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘It’s very dark inside.’

I smiled.

We walked in and he gently let go of me. I looked around, adjusting my eyes to the lack of light. It was a spectacular cavern of a church. I wanted to shout out or sing.

‘This way,’ he called. I followed him holding on to the end of a pew when he made a sudden turn. We went close to the alter where there was a huge case and many lit candles.

‘This is wonderful,’ Root said. Quickly, he opened the dark-wooded case and searched for something. Instinctively I wanted to help him. Yet, he seemed dexterous, as if he could see in the dark. I even grew suspicious of his professed blindness. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Here.’ He took a huge heavy book and rested it down on the flat surface in front of the case’s opened doors. Lying the book down – he seemed to know where to turn to – he held out his hand to beckon me closer.

‘Please, tell me,’ he said. ‘Tell me.’

The darkness meant I had to take my glasses case from inside my jacket. Opening it, I took the glasses out and rather self-consciously put them on.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘look.’

And I looked. I peered close to the page he had turned to.

‘Tell me what it says.’

I started to read but I was quite shocked and unnerved as I did. ‘James William Holden a member of this parish, born 1933, died 2013.’

‘You see?’ he asked.

I looked around, a little confused. Whoever this was had the same year and the same date of birth as me.

‘You see?’

‘I’m not sure what I’m meant to see,’ I began.

‘It’s you. You. I knew. As soon as you said ‘James’. I knew. And I’m the only one who can see you.’

‘You can’t see me,’ I said. ‘You’re blind.’

‘I am blind,’ he said gently. ‘But I can see ghosts.’

‘Ghosts?’

‘Yes, ghosts like you James. Dead people. From the past. It’s been some time but they all arrive here eventually. You’re one of the last. Wonderful,’ he said.

I stepped back. Was he a madman, or was I a dead man? Was any of this real?

‘They, you,’ he said, ‘have to come back while you’re alive. But in fact you are really alive and dead. Both at the same time. It’s fine,’ he reassured. ‘You’ve come home,’ he said.

‘But I have no recollection of this village,’ I said.

‘Step outside with me.’

Carefully closing the book and then returning it to the case, Root led me from the dark interior of the church to the outside, where I was blinded by strong light.

I opened my eyes and found myself in my childhood home’s village. Exactly as it was. It could have been before or during the war. People smiled at me but stared straight through Root.

‘Hold my arm,’ I said to him. ‘I’ll take you back.’

He laughed.

Some boys came running through the square. They stopped, saw me. ‘Jimmy,’ they called out. ‘Jimmy where you been?’

I looked at the boy. ‘Root? Is that you Root?’ He laughed out loud. I felt my arm grow heavier and when I turned from the boys, my guide, Root had disappeared.

‘Come on Jimmy, come with us, we’re going to play hide and seek in the wood.’

For a moment I thought I had lost my mind. I could feel my glasses case now in a pocket. But my vision was as sharp as an eagle’s.

The hesitation I felt evaporated. ‘Coming!’ I called and found myself running hard to catch up with my friends.

Overhead a bomber flew low.