Mike usually picks up our mail from the box at the institute on his way in from school. We receive so little that Tor and I seldom think of checking when we're up there. One afternoon he runs down the dock waving an envelope.
"Look, dad! You got a letter from England!" He's as excited as I am curious. Ripping open the envelope I find an acceptance in my name for a seminar in advanced photographic techniques. It's then I remember that the last time we were at the university, Joynes had shown me a brochure of the work being done by a private company in Oxford. While the major work of the company is in special effects for the movie industry, they also have a small division specializing in the type of work I do. Joynes was grumbling that he couldn't get off to attend, so I'm guessing he sent my name instead.
"Are you going?"
"I'd like to. It covers some areas I need to learn more about."
"Can I go, too?" Mike is bouncing up and down on his toes.
"You'd miss school and I'll be working most of the time."
"Aw, gee, it would teach me more than school. Besides, if Tor goes where will I stay?"
"You want all of us to go?"
"Sure. Tor can show me things while you're studying."
"Hey, I haven't said I was going yet. We'll have to sit down and work this out together if I decide to go."
Mike's still excited when Tor comes in. "Dad's going to England."
"Yeah?" He raises an eyebrow in my direction. "When did you decide to take a trip?"
"I haven't. I received an invitation to a seminar in Oxford. Joynes must have sent my name in. Mike wants us all to go."
"If we all go, I'd hate your having to work while Mike and I are enjoying ourselves."
"The seminar is only four days. As long as we're there, we could take another week and be together. There should be enough around Oxford to keep you guys busy the days I'm working."
Before this goes any further, I mention it to Martha. She's enthusiastic. "It will be a marvelous opportunity for Mike. It's past time for you to begin to broaden his experiences. If Tor will use the time to teach him the history of the places you visit, it will benefit him in school. I'll recommend that he be allowed to go. His teachers can give him assignments to be completed while he's away."
With her approval, I send a note of intent to the sponsors of the seminar.
The British Tourist Office is quick in replying to Tor's phone call and we spend several evenings with the material spread out on the table trying to decide what to see in such a short time. But our enthusiasm is cut short one evening when Tor slaps his forehead. "Oh, hell! Passports! We've got to apply and fast."
"How?"
"I think we get the forms from the clerk of court, but we've got to have pictures and birth certificates. I know you can do the pictures, but the problem is Mike. I don't know if he has to get a passport of his own or if he can go on one of ours. In any case, what do we do about his birth certificate? We all have to send one in with our applications. I mean Mike's a minor, his real name's not the same as either of ours, and we're not exactly his legal guardians. Jeez, this could open up a whole can of worms."
"Damn! I'll have to get one in my real name, too." I turn over the possibilities, not liking what I come up with. "Let's talk to Doug. Maybe he can tell us what to do."
"We'll have to take Mike out of school for half a day in order to see him at his office."
"So what? I'll give him a call."
I tell the school it's a custody matter, so they make no objection when we stop to pick Mike up.
When we arrive at Doug's office, his secretary tells us he's still in court and directs us to the courtroom. Mike tries to hold back a little when we enter and find seats in the rear.
Doug looks a little grim sitting there in his black robes and staring down over his half glasses at a kid of twenty or so who is shuffling his feet and looking at the floor.
"Are there any mitigating circumstances of which I should be aware before passing sentence?"
"My client has no previous record, your honor," the kid's lawyer says, "and he does come from a broken home."
Doug nods, then says to the kid, "Have you anything to say?"
The kid shakes his head, still staring at the floor.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you." Doug's voice is sharp.
The kid raises his head and brushes his long hair back with his hand, saying nothing.
"I view drug dealing with the same seriousness that I view murder. Were you merely a young man caught up in a vicious habit, I might be inclined to leniency, but as one who recruits others to buy and sell, you are not worthy of consideration. You are hereby sentenced to twenty years in the state penitentiary." The guard grabs the kid's arm and hauls him out.
Doug calls the bailiff to the bench, points to us, and whispers something to him before dismissing court. The bailiff comes over and tells us Doug will see us in his chambers, to follow him.
As we get up, Mike grabs my hand. I can see fear. "What's wrong?"
"Is he going to put me in jail?
"For what? Don't you remember when Doug spent the weekend with us? I thought you liked him. We're here to see if he can help you get a passport to go to England."
"Oh."
Once Doug's removed his robe and we're seated, Mike calms down and gives Doug a smile when he mentions the trip. There's a bad period while Mike tries to remember where he was born, but he finally comes up with a guess and a name he thinks his mother might have used.
Doug explains that while it's possible for Mike to be entered on my passport, under the circumstances it would be better for him to have his own. When Mike protests that his name is Torrence, Doug tells him he will have to use his real name, if he's remembered it correctly. It's so apparent Mike's not happy about that, Doug tells him that after the search for his birth certificate is complete, he can add Mike's real name to ours, if he wants, and legally change it as he's going to do for me. Though it's unusual, he says he can issue a court request for Mike's and my passports to keep any question from arising over the changed names. With his help, we fill out the passport applications Doug has had the clerk of court send to his office. Mike and I sign blank ones with our names the way we want them changed, which Doug's secretary will fill in after Doug officially approves our applications for the changes. Fortunately Tor and I have copies of our birth certificates, so I hand them to Doug with the photographs I made of us, following the instructions the clerk of court gave me.
We have several anxious weeks while we wait for Doug to let us know that he's been able to locate Mike's birth certificate. His secretary calls us one afternoon and asks us to be in his office the next afternoon. I speak to the principal about the necessity for another absence when we stop to pick Mike up at school.
When we're seated in Doug's office, he looks at us solemnly. I see Mike squirm and know he's as apprehensive as Tor and I. Doug opens his desk drawer and tosses a heavy brown envelope to me with a smile. When I rip it open, three passports fall out along with a certified copy of Mike's birth certificate and a legal change of name for both of us. It's a joy to see that my name is now legally Andrew James Halloran Torrence.
When Mike opens his passport, he grins and holds it out for me to see. His name is given as Stephan Michael Anson-Torrence.
"Is that the way you wanted it, Mike?" Doug asks.
"It sure is. How'd you do it?"
"I'm a superior court judge."
"Gee, thanks! Now I can go with dad and Tor."
Doug takes us all to dinner as a celebration.
Dr. Curtis' talk with the principal and Mike's high grades in advanced classes ease the approval of his absence for the trip, so three weeks later we leave our car at Doug's and he drives us to the airport. Despite the hassle I'm given at the airport when the metal in my fake leg sets off the alarm, it still seems unreal to me until we've boarded the British Airways plane for the five-hour trip and are finally in the air. Fortunately, the movie they show is one none of us has seen, so after a decent meal we settle back to enjoy it before trying to get some sleep.
After we get off the plane and go through passport control, we get our luggage together and find the train from the airport to London's Paddington station where we'll get the train to Oxford. Even though we have to change twice, it strikes me as awfully efficient to have the subway trains run to the airport, but, then, the US has never been noted for good public transport.
The intercity train is my first real train ride. I'm amazed at the speed and comfort. Once we're out of the city and barreling along through the countryside at high speed, we're all enchanted by the beauty passing our window. I'm especially amazed at how compact the small towns are and the clear dividing line between town and the gently rolling countryside, so different from the flat landscape and beaches where we live. Tor shakes his head as we glide to a stop in a small town.
"I don't see how people can stand to live in rowhouses," he says, pointing to a residential block. "I hope the walls between them are thick. If they aren't, the noise would be more than I could take."
"I expect they are, considering how old a lot of them look," I reply. "But look at how each of them has its own little yard filled with flowers."
"Did you see all the window boxes and hanging baskets?" Mike says in awe of the beauty he's seeing. "I'd like to do something like that on the rear deck."
"I'll help you when we get home, if you really want to," Tor says to my surprise.
"Great. Can we have flowers like those?" He points to a window box at the station.
"I'm sure we can get things like the geraniums and ivy."
"When did you get into gardening?" I ask him.
"I used to help Vince's gardener in the solarium when I had time. It's relaxing."
I couldn't be more pleased with the small family-run hotel in a residential area of Oxford the tourist office recommended to us. Our suite of rooms is reasonable in price and quiet, just what I need for the concentrated study I'm going to have to put in. By the time I get back there after the first day of the seminar, I'm ready for a shower and a drink. Despite the jokes I'd heard about the whole of England coming to a sudden halt at teatime, that seems to have changed. England appears to have taken on a lot of American habits, for those guys at the cinematographic institute really push during the workday.
Tor's slouched in a chair, feet propped on the windowsill, reading a guidebook when I get in from work. He gives me a nod.
"Where's Mike?"
"He wanted to go out and look around some."
I begin to worry a little when he's not back by the time Tor and I go down for a drink, though Tor dismisses my concern. "Cut the kid some slack, he's fifteen already. It's not as if the language is all that different. He'll get back okay."
There's a small garden off the hotel's dining room and, as the day is nice, we'll have the high tea I've ordered out there. It's hard to get Tor to understand that tea is a meal instead of just a drink, because the Brits still have dinner much later than we're used to. I'm beginning to relax when I hear a bunch of kids coming down the sidewalk on the other side of the wall that surrounds the garden.
"Way to go, Yank," "Good show," and other terms of approbation fill the air as they pass, then Mike is standing by us, surrounded by ten more kids, all grinning as broadly as he. He's wearing a soccer shirt and shorts matching theirs, streaked with dirt and grass stains as are they. The clothing he was wearing when he left the hotel is rolled into a bundle he drops on a vacant chair.
"Hi, dad. I asked the guys along for tea. You don't mind, do you?"
There's nothing I can do but signal the waiter. In seconds a long table is pushed up against ours and the waiter is busily placing small sandwiches, scones, cakes, and tea in front of the boys, though the plates are empty almost by the time they hit the table. The kids are an engaging lot and exceedingly polite, thanking Tor and me as they take their leave. I enjoy listening to them speak with their entrancing accent, though a few of the words are colloquialisms that I don't understand.
"And just how did you manage that?" Tor asks Mike as I pour the last of the tea into my cup,
"I was coming back when I passed their school. I stopped to watch and when their goalie got sick and had to leave, Mark asked if I played. I got the shirt and shorts from a store across from their school and played with them. Mark borrowed their goalie's pads for me." He gives us a smug look. "We won by three. They want me to play with them again day after tomorrow if their guy isn't better."
"Then you'd better get those clothes off and let me see if I can get them laundered. You could stand a bit of a wash yourself."
When I approach the hotel desk after Mike has gone to shower, the owner smiles when I request a fast wash of Mike's shirt and shorts. "Of course, Dr. Torrence. Absolutely no bother. I hear that your son played with Mark's team. Quite a goalie Mark said. We shall have them for him tomorrow morning."
The next morning when I arrive at the institute there's a discussion of the game also. One of the directors seeks me out. "I believe your son played in a football match yesterday."
"Mike? He got in a soccer game with some kids from a school near our hotel."
The man gives me a slight smile. "Quite. We call it football here. I understand your football is quite different. However, I'm told they trounced the other team neatly. We'd be delighted to have your son visit, if you think he'd be interested."
"I'm sure he would, especially the special effects group." I haven't asked to bring Mike because I was let to know on my first day visitors are not welcomed.
"As my son is on the team your son played with, I'll ask him to accompany your son so that you will not have to interrupt your schedule."
"Thank you. If I might impose, I would like to include my brother in the invitation as well."
"Is he a photographer also?"
"A marine biologist. We work together."
"Then you must be the Dr. Torrence of whom I've heard Hunter-Smythe speak so highly. He's delighted that you accepted our invitation and asked me to convey his regrets that he had to be out of the country and unable to greet you in person. Dr. Torrence may certainly come with your son should he be interested."
Tor's interest is mild and, after looking over the work I'm doing, he goes along with Mike who's thrilled at the prospect of seeing how many of the gruesome effects in horror movies are done.
The weather takes a sudden turn. It becomes unusually warm for Britain, so I'm hot and sweaty when I get in from the studio. Tor and Mike are not around, so I grab a shower and go down to the bar for a drink. When they haven't shown up by the time I'm having a late dinner, I get concerned. After I've eaten, I go to the desk where the innkeeper greets me with a warmth he seems to have reserved for us ever since Mike got into the soccer game. He's about to reply to my question when Tor and Mike come in, arms around each other, excitement radiating like a beacon.
"Dad, you'll never guess what! Mr. Walton told us about the train museum in York. It's super. We even had dinner on the train."
"Yeah," Tor adds, "we spent the whole day and still didn't see everything the way we wanted. It's a whole history of railroads in Britain. Some of those old locomotives are really beautiful. I wish you'd been with us." He turns to the innkeeper. "Thank you for putting us on to it."
"My pleasure, Dr. Torrence, especially as you seem to have enjoyed it so. As the York festival is just on, I believe you might find York worth another visit, especially if you didn't find time to visit the Minster."
"There was a poster advertising a performance of Britten's Noyes Fludde at the Minster. Can we go, dad? Please?"
"When?"
"Tomorrow night."
"I think I have a light day, so I can probably get off at noon if you want."
Mike's face lights up and I'm about to ask Mr. Walton about tickets when he quickly offers and picks up the phone.
It's only a few blocks from the station into the city center and we have a little time, so we walk from the station to the kiosk to pick up the reserved tickets and cross the street to the ancient cathedral. Even Tor's subdued when we enter the magnificent structure. The chancel is obscured by the huge sets spread across the crossing and choir screen for the production. We find our seats and I look over the programme. I know York is a fair sized city, but I'm surprised to find the performance professionally staged with the soloists from the London opera augmented by local choirs, orchestra, organ, harp, handbells, and two boys choirs.
Though the English in which the work is written is Middle, it's easy to understand, especially as an English accent seems to make sung words easier to understand than they would be in American English. Soon we're lost in the glorious music surrounding us. Mike shivers with delight when the organist lets go on the big 32 foot pedal stops to simulate thunder when the deluge begins. I'm no less taken with the handbells whose crystalline notes echo in the vastness and the beauty of the boys' treble voices. I'm surprised when Tor becomes enchanted by the harp most of all.
It seems we've just gotten settled in our seats when the production is over. Over an hour has passed unnoticed in our pleasure. We remain in our seats until the crowd has thinned out. When we reach the cross aisle, Mike pulls us to the side aisle to look at the massive organ console. He's bent over the bench reading the stop list when a thin man no taller than I comes up and looks at him.
"Do you play?"
"I'm taking lessons, but I read about this instrument and wanted to see it. It was wonderful in the performance."
"If you would care to hear it alone . . . " He slips on the bench and plays several short pieces by Clarke and Purcell. Even Tor gets a thrill when he throws on full organ and the tuba major blasts out clearly over the already deafening sound rolling around in the empty building.
He switches the organ off and slips from the bench with a smile. "We'll leave through the close. The sexton has locked the doors."
Mike's still almost speechless as we pass through the gate into the street, but he manages to add his generous thanks to the organist with ours.
On the late train back to Oxford, Mike takes the seat facing Tor and me and leans forward. "I'm ready to go home now."
Tor's as surprised as I. "Why? There's lots we haven't seen yet."
"Nothing else can be as wonderful as the past couple of days. I'm happy just remembering them." He squeezes my hand. "Thanks for bringing me along, dad."
Tor grabs my other hand and squeezes it as well. "Yeah, dad. Thanks for bringing me along, too."
"Aw, come on you guys."
Tor shakes his head. "I mean it. If you and Martha hadn't insisted, I'd of stayed home with Mike and we'd have missed all this."
Tor and Mike take off on their excursions early each morning, while I go to the studio. By the time my course is finished Friday at noon I'm almost registering an overload. It's all information I'll find quite useful, especially as I have a strong suspicion that Joynes will have me lined up for some lectures on it.
We spend the weekend in York so Tor and Mike can take me through the train museum. I have to admit they haven't exaggerated a bit about its interest. After a guided tour of the Minster, we take a couple of hours walking through the Shambles, that narrow streeted complex of ancient buildings just off the Minster square where we each treat ourselves to a lovely sweaters at the Scottish Woolen Shop. Sunday morning we attend Mass at the Minster so Mike can hear the organ again. The music from the choir of men and boys is sublime. For the first time I'm really sorry that Tor and I can't join Mike at the rail for Communion.
The extra week we take is filled with as much sightseeing as Tor can squeeze in for us. We stop in a little town to see the ancient cathedral. The streets leading up to the cathedral are paved with cobblestones. Tor looks up and remarks on how the second storey of some of the houses extends out beyond the first floor, overhanging a portion of the street.
I look up remembering something my English literature professor mentioned in class. "That should tell you why a gentleman is always supposed to walk on the street side of a lady."
I immediately have Mike's attention. "Why, dad?"
"Look up. What do you see?"
"I'm under the overhang."
"Exactly. You see, in the days when these houses were built there wasn't any plumbing, and sanitation was pretty poor. People kept chamber pots under their beds so if they had to go at night they just got out of bed and sat on the pot."
"So?"
"Then they would open the window and throw it out in the street."
"You gotta be kidding!" Tor exclaims.
"No way. Look it up for yourself."
"Oh, shit."
"Exactly. That's what you'd get hit with if you were unlucky, but the lady would be protected."
Mike shudders. "So much for the good old days."
"Yeah," Tor adds. "I'm glad that don't happen any more."
Though he's allotted us the last three days to see London, we buy passes on a tour bus the first day to get in as much as possible. Then we use the remaining time to make longer visits to the places that interest us most. Even so, those last two days are filled with our trying to absorb as much history as possible.
The three of us are exhausted by the time we get on the plane to return home. Even though we all sleep for much of the flight, it takes a couple of days for us to get over our fatigue and readjust to the time difference.
I'd let Mike have my small automatic camera for the trip and he managed to shoot the ten rolls of slide film I gave him. We invite the Curtises to dinner and have a showing. Mike's taken careful notes so there's no question as to what each slide shows. After I help him weed out all but the very best shots, he takes them to school and does an hour's program for his history class. He must have been impressive in his presentation, for his teacher tells him that it will stand in place of the history term paper he was supposed to have written, and didn't, during the two weeks he was away from school.
The one thing he has begged me for is a recording of the Britten work we heard at the Minster. With his birthday coming up, I make a phone call to a record shopping service mentioned on the PBS radio station we listen to constantly. They promise to try to locate one, and I keep my fingers crossed.
Two weeks pass with no word. Now, with only a day left, I have to find something else to give Mike, and, since it's almost impossible to get Tor into a store to shop, I have buy Tor's gift to him as well. I'm disappointed, of course, as he wanted the CD so much. While I'm wrapping his gifts, I feel our boat rock slightly, then there's a tap at the door. The UPS man hands me a small package. When I rip it open a CD of Noyes Fludde falls into my hand. I'm disappointed that it's not by the same group we heard in York, so I hope Mike's not unhappy with it.
Since they're Mike's godparents, the Curtises host our little party at their house and Mike is pleased with his gifts, but I can tell he's a little disappointed after he opens them all. I pull the wrapped CD from my pocket. "Is this what you wanted, babe?"
He rips the paper away and stares at it. "Oh, wow! You got it! Gee, thanks, dad. I can't wait to hear it."
This last year has passed so quickly, I can hardly believe Mike's graduated from high school and will be leaving us in a couple of days. I look across at him once more, thinking how much I'll miss him, thankful for the joy he has brought me and Tor. I can't help but wonder too, what would have become of him if our paths hadn't crossed that day six years ago.