The Writing Bureau: a short story

8/6/2019 The Writing Bureau: a short story

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The Writing Bureau

Ellis sat in front of his computer staring at a satellite map of Polynesia. He was

looking for a small deserted island, about a day’s sail from civilisation. It had to have

an entrance from the ocean to a lagoon and some palm trees for shelter. Access to

some fresh water would be important, though it would narrow down the range of

possibilities considerably. Before him, like a string of pearls floating on a blue ocean,

lay a galaxy of small atolls basking in the sun. For no particular reason, he zoomed

down onto one small atoll; it was almost a perfect circle with a narrow pass from theocean into the lagoon and an area of vegetation. According to a description of the

region, it had a supply of fresh water and there were no known occupants apart from

visiting fishermen. Overlooking the pass into the lagoon, Ellis could see what

appeared to be several large blocks of coral and beamed with pleasure. This was it.

The atoll was perfect for what he had in mind. All he needed was its latitude and

longitude. He was not remotely interested in its name.

‘Ellis! Are you going to be up there all day? Your dinner is ready.’ From the kitchen,

his mother’s voice rudely interrupted his thoughts.

Ellis’s mother was a patient woman. Her husband had left home years ago and all she

had left was her son. A brilliant but idle dreamer who had never held down a steady

job or found a partner to share his life. It was difficult to image that anyone would

want to share his casual and aimless existence, but someone might show up one day.

In the meantime, she encouraged him to go out daily in search of employment, and he

seemed to go willingly enough.

After everything was cleared away, Ellis took the half empty teapot back up to his

room. With a paintbrush he lightly brushed some cold tea over a sheet of writing

paper, and placed it on some tissues to dry. He then took an A to Z down from the

shelf and opened it at the index of place names. Flicking through the pages, he closed

his eyes and stabbed at the lists with a pencil. The pencil point landed neatly on the

name of a small village near Dover called Guston. This time, he was only interested

in a name. Unlike the atoll, the village itself was of no special concern to him. The

name Guston would be most suitable.

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While the paper was drying, he composed the following letter:

! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! The Mill House! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Guston ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! 18 September 1951! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Dear Bill

Long time no see, but I’ve heard that you haven’t been so well. Didn’t we have some good times, and good finds, down in the South

Seas all those years ago? Then the war came along and we neverwent back. We should have gone, though, because we know what’s waiting there. We could have lived like millionaires. Too late now and the young ones would never believe us. Do you still remember thelittle atoll with its beautiful blue lagoon? Here’s a copy of a map I made at the time. I think we buried the stuff a few yards north of the blocks of coral overlooking the pass.

Say hello to any of the old gang you meet and keep smiling.

Ralph

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Later, when the stained writing paper was dry, he copied the letter in pencil and

added a small map showing the blocks of coral and the pass into the lagoon. Next to

the atoll were the figures 16 44 S and 144 16 W. He studied the finished letter and

was pleased with the result.

The next day, Ellis placed the folded letter in his top pocket and set off in search of

somewhere to leave it. Leaving weird or cryptic notes around the town amused him

and helped to occupy the time as he searched for vacancies. He posted up ridiculous

diets where the the school run brigade parked their cars and waddled with their kids

to school. Another favourite, left folded near cash points, was ‘Help Me! I’m held a

prisoner in a room above this bank’. Then there was ‘I have just bumped into your

car and the people watching think I’m leaving my name and address.’ This was

usually reserved for badly parked vehicles. His ideas were endless and the treasure

island was the latest nonsense.

Ellis toyed with leaving the note in an old library book, but the library was closed.

Then, while passing a charity shop, the kind where people donate unwanted goods,

which are then sold to raise money for a good cause, he saw an old writing bureau in

the window. Inside the shop, he inspected the bureau, and noticed that one of the

struts holding the desk flap was loose. When no one appeared to be watching, he

lowered the desk flap carefully, and slipped the letter under one of the small drawers.

As he raised the flap again, a young woman appeared at his side.

‘It’s a pity about the loose strut,’ she said, ‘But we don’t have anyone who can put

these things right.’

Ellis replied that it would be a fairly easy job. It just needed a blob of plastic wood in

the screw holes. When it was dry, new screws in the strut would hold the flap

securely again. In fact, he offered to call back later with some materials and fix it.

The young woman, who was called Polly, was delighted.

Well, one thing led to another, and although there was no paid work at the charity

shop, he enjoyed calling in to replace watch batteries, test old radios and check

cameras. Sometimes, it seemed as if the charity shop was just used as a dump for

unwanted rubbish, but there was usually something that he could rescue. Polly, a

volunteer assistant, usually came in a couple of days each week, and Ellis made sure

that he made his visits on one or other of those days, or both. After a few weeks, the

manager of the shop asked him if he could drive a small van. One of the van drivers

at the main warehouse was retiring and the charity needed someone to replace him.

The wages were not very high, but it was a full-time job collecting and delivering

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items around the handful of small shops owned by the charity. Ellis jumped at the

opportunity and was offered the post. Mother was pleased.

So Ellis finally had a steady job and things were working out very nicely between

him and Polly. The days of drifting aimlessly around the town and leaving silly notes

to fool people were in the past. Polly was applying for the post of assistant manager,

and there was a chance that Ellis might take over the work of the warehouse manager

who was thinking of leaving. Then, one morning, he received a call at the warehouse

to collect some unwanted furniture from a manor house in a village just a short drive

from his home town. Among the items waiting to be collected from the house was an

old writing bureau. As he lifted it into the van, he discovered that it was the same one

that he had seen in the charity shop some months earlier; the one with the loose desk

flap. Back at the warehouse, he lowered the flap and lifted out a small drawer in the

upper shelf. There, underneath the drawer, was nothing but a thick layer of dust; the

letter had gone. Ellis smiled to himself and continued unloading and storing the

furniture ready for transfer to the different shops. For some reason, the warehouse

manager selected the bureau for transfer to the shop where he had worked briefly

with Polly.

When he called at the shop to deliver the writing bureau, he asked Polly if she

remembered it.

‘Was that the one with the loose flap?’ she asked.

‘The same one,’ replied Ellis, ‘The one that got me my job.’

‘And brought us together,’ said Polly, as she helped him place it in the window.

‘Well, I think you should put the price up,’ said Ellis, ‘It’s hardly been used since it

was here last. It’s got more dust inside but the desk flap still works.’

‘Why don’t we buy it?’ suggested Polly, ‘I get a discount for working here.’

The manager left her have it for a song, as a wedding present, and Ellis delivered it to

their appartment.

Some days later, when they were having a drink in a bar, Polly asked him where the

writing bureau had come from. Ellis replied that it came from the large house in

Bayfield village just a few miles away.

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‘Well, isn’t that a coincidence?’ exclaimed Polly and pushed a copy of the local

newspaper in front of him. The headlines reported a heated argument in a meeting of

the local council.

‘What am I meant to be looking at?’ asked Ellis, rather puzzled.

‘Look further down the page at the photo of a family standing with spades outside a

large house. It must be the house you visited at Bayfield to collect the furniture. ’

Ellis glanced at the photo and then stared at the news item beneath it.

Chance discovery of an old letter leadsfamily on the adventure of a life time!

‘It’s an opportunity to go and do somethingdifferent with the rest of our lives.’

Next week the owner of Bayfield Manor and his family are bound for theSouth Pacific. There, in the sands of a deserted atoll, they hope to finduntold wealth!

Tony Crowley (c) 2011

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The Writing Bureau: a short story