Jimmy's Secret Weapon

"Leave it out, Jimmy: it's only five pee, ferchrissakes!"

"Yeah, burrit's my five pee, innit?"

The small coin landed on its edge and rolled away from Jimmy and Pat as they carried their fishing tackle along a deserted Prescot Road, heading for Newsham Park. It was still full dark: bright moonlight picked out the glistening rim of the coin as it toppled over the edge of the kerb into the gutter.

"See? Told you! I can get it now!"

Putting his tackle box to one side, Jimmy stooped to retrieve his trophy. A wave of dizziness caused him to stagger slightly as he grasped the errant coin.

"Ow! Gerroff!"

Startled by the tiny, tinny truculent voice, Jimmy's fingers jerked wide open: the coin spun two or three times before landing once more on his now outstretched, open palm.

Even through the thin material of the fingerless mitts he wore, Jimmy felt an angry glow of heat. He peered more closely at the coin. Something wasn't quite ‘right' about it ........

As he stared, it flipped once more on his palm, showing the ‘Heads' side.

"Are you deaf? Put me down! Who said ...!"

Jimmy clenched his fist tightly, cutting off the sentence in mid-flow.

"D'you hear that, Pat? Or am I .... ?" He stopped. Pat was nowhere to be seen. He was still on Prescot Road, at the junction with Green Lane, but suddenly he was on his own.

The angry muttering inside his gloved hand continued unabated, though the words were unintelligible. The heat was becoming uncomfortable. Reaching into an outer pocket of his parka with his free hand he took out a disgorger, opened his fist slowly, and grasped the coin firmly in the jaws of the tool. He perched on the edge of his tackle box and held it up, inspecting it.

The stream of abuse (because that was what it sounded like) had stopped, at least for the moment. The ‘Head' side of the coin, as with all coins of the realm, showed a profile of .... no, it wasn't Elizabeth II: it was a male monarch! Turning it once more he studied the ‘Tails' face. Odd ...... whatever it was, it wasn't a 5p coin. It was clean, undamaged, and appeared newly minted.

"Three pence: 1940" Jimmy breathed, not understanding.

He looked around once again: Pat had to be fooling around, hiding somewhere.

It was dark: darker than it should be, surely? And wasn't the street lighting on a minute ago, when they'd walked past the "Kwikkie" .... ?

 "Listen, whoever you are!"

Jimmy's attention was forced back to the coin he held. Turning it again to study the front, and the monarch's image, he saw mobility around the mouth and eyes as the tinny voice continued:

"What are you doing out at this time of night? What about the Curfew? Don't you know there's a war on?"

"Curfew? What's that? What war?"

Jimmy was more confused than ever. He'd heard the word Curfew before, but only had a vague idea what it meant. And as for a war ........ !

"We've been fighting Gerry for two years now, sonny!"

The date on the coin made sense, thought Jimmy, but there was a lot which still needed explaining.

The face on the coin seemed to be studying him covertly.

"Where'd you get that uniform? You're too young to be in service!"

"It's only an ordinary parka."

"Looks like army issue to me. And put me down somewhere: you're hurting me with those pliers!"

Jimmy was canny enough to whip off his warm woolly hat and lay it on top of his tackle box before placing the coin in it, fairly sure this would make it difficult for the coin to leap off and roll away from him.

The single visible eye of the monarch's profile glared at him still.

"You know who you're talking to, I hope?"

Jimmy peered closely at the inscription around the coin's rim. It read: Geo.VI.

He had enough schooling to know that one, at least.

"It says: George the Sixth. And the date on the back says 1940"

"That was last year, but at least you have the name right. You haven't told me yours, though. You are carrying your ID Card, aren't you?"

"Jimmy: Jimmy Doherty" he replied, and continued:

"Where .... or, perhaps, in the time I come from .......  we don't use ID cards. Even my Mum and Dad never had to carry them, but I know about them from hist'ry lessons."

The Head seemed unprepared for his answer, but responded in a calmer tone:

"Look around. Does this look like the Liverpool you know?"

Jimmy had to admit that it didn't. The supermarket had disappeared, replaced by what looked like the sidings of a railway yard.  He suspected this would be the tram sheds he'd heard his Grandfather mention. The street lighting looked a strange, unfamiliar shape. Was this what gas lighting would have looked like, before the introduction of electric lighting? And the traffic lights: still, if there was no electricity to power them ........

"Well, Jimmy Doherty? Does this look like your Liverpool?"

"No, it doesn't. And where's Pat?" All of a sudden Jimmy felt isolated, alone.

"As far as I can tell, there's only you and me around. If you were with someone else, I don't know where he might be, I'm afraid."

The voice was much calmer now: even kind, reassuring.

"Where were you going?"

"We were just going fishing, down Newsham Park."

"Pick up your tackle and carry on: I'll tell you more on the way. Don't worry! I won't try to roll away from you again! Trust me?"

"I suppose I've got to trust  ... my King? Is that who ..... ?"

It sounded strange, but the light peal of laughter from the coin was genuine.

"If you're from another time - which I suspect is true, considering your speech and your clothes! - then you'll have one of my descendants as monarch, depending on when you came from!"

Jimmy nodded.

"Queen Elizabeth, She's been Queen since before I was born."

During the silence which followed this exchange Jimmy picked up his equipment, flipped the coin back into his mitted palm, and carried on walking.

"As your King, I need you to tell me today's date: can you do that?"

"When I left home to go fishing with Pat, it was about five o'clock - morning, that is! - and the date was May 1^st: a public holiday, we're off today!" Jimmy added. If he was really talking to a King, he didn't want anyone accusing him of sagging off when he should have been in school.

"I hope that means it's the same date in 1941: if you see an adult, or an open shop, check. It's more important than you'd guess!"

Jimmy was about to reply that there wasn't likely to be anyone to ask when suddenly there was a rattle of hooves. A dray horse pulling a milk float appeared from a side street. Clutching the coin to conceal it, Jimmy asked the milkman.

"First of May, sonny! And the coarse season don't start yet, y'know! Still, I won't tell the beat bobby. Anything to help your Mum stretch the ration card a bit further, eh?" he chuckled, and led his horse up the incline towards Old Swan. 

"Why's the date important?" Jimmy wanted to know.

"Carry on to the park lake. I'll tell you then: I don't want any interruptions."

Jimmy had to be satisfied with this pronouncement from the coin's image.

At George's insistence Jimmy checked all around the spot he'd chosen, close to one of the small islands on the lake, before setting up his rod and making his first cast. Vaguely he remembered reading somewhere that madness was an occupational hazard with monarchs throughout history. He wondered if this might have applied to King George VI. Mentally, he shrugged. There wasn't much he, a boy not quite into his teen years, could do about it: and what physical danger could a small coin present, anyway?

He sat on his tackle box and gave his full attention to the coin, which now rested in a scoop he would otherwise have used to scatter groundbait.

"Jimmy, I'm giving you a vital job to do, one which will save hundreds of lives."

The voice was calm, measured, steady: yet Jimmy felt a stab of ...  fear? excitement? He listened attentively.

"Four days from now, Germany plans to bomb Liverpool into surrender. You must persuade someone to listen, and act. Don't ask me how I know!" the voice snapped, "You'll just have to take it that as King I sometimes get to know certain things in all sorts of ways I could never explain to anyone else!"

The voice lost its harsh edge again as it continued, after the briefest of pauses:

"I'm sorry to spoil your fishing trip, but time is short. Go to the police station at the top of Derby Lane on your way home. Tell the Desk Sergeant what I told you: it's vital that nobody is sent to the shelter in St. Luke's church at the top of Bold Street on the night of May 4^th. It's too late to prevent the raid, but the church is going to take a direct hit."

"How will I get him to believe me? I'm just a kid .... !"

"You'll think of something. For some strange reason I'm certain you won't let me down"

Instinctively, Jimmy sensed that the voice had spoken to him for the last time. He put the coin into a zipped pocket on his left sleeve, one he rarely if ever used. Returning to reality, he discovered that his hands had automatically packed everything away while he was getting instructions from the King of England. He toted the strap of his tackle box across his shoulder and marched off across the still-deserted park, heading for home.

The Desk Sergeant listened to Jimmy's account without comment, writing swiftly as the boy spoke. A telephone conversation followed - presumably an army contact, maybe even "the Government".

Jimmy wondered who "The Government" might be:  a thought struck him.

"If Mr. Churchill and the Government are using the Exchange Flags HQ, they'll also be in danger, won't they?"

He had recently (in his own time, he had to remind himself) been on a class trip to the War Rooms museum which had been one of the closest-guarded secrets of the Second World War.

The Desk Sergeant looked at him in a curious fashion, then spoke briefly into the telephone receiver. After a few moments a man in a suit appeared from a discreet back office and sat on the bench beside Jimmy.

"You seem to know a lot for such a youngster."

Jimmy shrugged.

"It might be hard for you to understand: it's not easy for me" he admitted. "This is like living in a history lesson .... look, will this convince you?"

He thrust forward a bus ticket he'd found in his pocket, crumpled but clearly showing the time, date and price. The suit took it from him for a closer inspection. 

 " ......... Jimmy? You all right?"

Slowly, his vision cleared.

He felt a hand at his back: Pat's. A torch glared in his eyes. His head throbbed.

"You took one helluva tumble for the sake of five bloody pee! There's a lump the size of an egg on y'r forehead orreddy!"

Jimmy touched it instinctively and winced. His hand came away unbloodied: apparently, the skin was unbroken. He opened his other hand to look at the cause of his injury. Pat leaned forward for a closer look, playing his torch on it.

"Wasn't even worth the trouble, our kid! Look at it: it's not even a five pence coin."

Looking as clean as if it had only just been minted, the coin on Jimmy's palm read:

"Three Pence: 1940"