Table Of ContentAMORALITY TALE
DAVID BISHOP
Published by BBC Worldwide Ltd,
Woodlands, 80 Wood Lane
London W12 0TT
First published 2002
Copyright © David Bishop 2002
The moral right of the author has been asserted Original series broadcast on the
BBC
Format © BBC 1963
Doctor Who and TARDIS are trademarks of the BBC
ISBN 0 563 53850 3
Imaging by Black Sheep, copyright © BBC 2002
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham Cover printed by
Belmont Press Ltd, Northampton
Alison, for loving me
Contents
Introduction
Prologue
Wednesday, December 3, 1952
Thursday, December 4, 1952
Friday, December 5, 1952
Saturday, December 6, 1952
Sunday, December 7, 1952
Monday, December 8, 1952
Epilogue
Historical Note
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Religion blushing veils her sacred fires, And unawares morality expires.
Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left nor
glimpse divine!
Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word;
Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall And universal darkness buries us
all.
Alexander Pope, 1688-1744
Morality Tale: n. a kind of drama (popular in the sixteenth century) in which the
characters represent virtues, vices etc.
Prologue
London – December, 1946
Ernie Evans stamped his boots on the stone steps outside St Luke’s Church,
trying to keep his feet warm. The temperature was close to freezing and Ernie’s
breath hung in the air like a cloud. The short, pinch-faced man blew on his icy
fingers and pulled the heavy greatcoat tighter around his chest. In the distance a
bell mournfully chimed twelve times.
Ernie had been waiting for nearly an hour and his patience was wearing thin.
Five more minutes and he was leaving. Didn’t matter how good a deal the Yank
was offering for the hooky cigarettes, it wasn’t worth freezing outdoors in the
middle of winter. You could catch your death of cold doing this. Ernie was just
about to give up and go home when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps,
coming from the west. The black marketeer slipped back into the church
doorway, melting into the shadows.
A lone figure was walking along Old Street from Charterhouse. The man was
tall and broad-shouldered, with a face some would consider handsome. His black
hair was swept back from his forehead with Brylcreem, making it shine beneath
the street lights. Metal buttons glinted on his American army greatcoat. The end
of a cigarette glowed red in his left hand. The soldier stopped outside the gates to
St Luke’s and took one last draw on the cigarette before crushing it underfoot.
He turned and looked up at the church entrance.
‘You got the money?’
‘What took you so long?’ Ernie demanded.
‘Had to dodge the military police.’ The soldier smiled wolfishly. ‘Apparently
there’s a crackdown on American troops fraternising with your wives at night.
We’ve been leaving behind a few too many unwanted pregnancies.’
Ernie emerged from the shadows and skulked down the steps. ‘Bloody Yanks.
The war’s been over a year – why don’t you go back home?’
‘My unit’s shifting back to the States next week. Soon enough for you?’
Ernie shrugged his round shoulders. ‘Got my stuff?’
‘Got my money?’
‘You first.’
The soldier pulled a carton of cigarettes from within his coat.
‘The rest is nearby in a truck. Now where’s the money?’
Ernie dug a roll of bank notes from his pockets and began counting them out.
‘One hundred, like we agreed.’
‘Two hundred. The price is now two hundred.’
‘You what?’ Ernie squinted up at the American. ‘That’s well out of order!’
‘Take it or leave it. I’ve got plenty of buyers if you’re not interested.’
‘Flaming daylight robbery, that’s what it is!’ Ernie grumbled, digging into
another pocket for more money.
‘Not at this time of night.’
Ernie pulled out a second roll of notes, much larger than the first. The soldier’s
eyes widened at the size of the roll – it was big enough to hold several thousand
pounds. Ernie counted out two hundred pounds and offered it to the American.
‘Here’s your money – I hope it chokes you!’
The soldier’s face hardened to a malevolent glare as he pulled a revolver from
his pocket. ‘Change of plan. Give me all your money and I’ll let you live –
probably.’
‘You bloody...’ Ernie began as he stared at the gun. ‘You won’t get away with
this. I’ve got friends who don’t take kindly to strangers with shooters invading
their patch.’
‘You forget, I’m being demobbed back home in a week. I’ll be long gone before
