Bound For The Dark Side
BOUND FOR THE DARK SIDE
By Brian Cross
CHAPTER ONE
A Saturday morning in April 1959, and rain begins to sprinkle onto the pavements of a
middle class residential street in Chelmsford, Essex. A pretty eight year old girl is pushing
her model pram and burbling to herself as the droplets begin to fall on her long black curly
hair. As she nears home, the precipitation begins to intensify and a concerned mother can
be seen at the gate of a spacious detached property beckoning urgently to her daughter.
Barbara Blandford does not know it yet, but as she hurries along, this overcast and wet day
would mark a beginning - a formulation of an attitude and outlook which was to have far-
reaching effects not only on her own existence but that of so many others…
‘Barbara - I told you not to stray…’
‘Sorry Mummy.’ Dark eyes widened appealingly within an angelic face, as she confronted
her mother before turning away and pointing along the street, 'I was only playing with…’
'Yes well come inside, it's pouring.’ Dianne Blandford rushed her young child up the
broadening path, 'Look at your hair it's soaking wet,' she chastised, 'you're asking for
another cold - up to the bathroom with you my girl and dry it thoroughly.'
'Alright.’ A small hand stretched out for the bannister and running upstairs, she paused at
the top, sneaking a glance back to ensure that mother had returned to her chores before
enquiring eyes gazed to the left, to her parents' bedroom, where the door was ajar. Halting
outside for a moment she knocked and pushed it cautiously open expecting to find her
father who she'd not seen that morning.
Empty -
Perhaps after all he was downstairs. Though he always visited her room first thing in the
morning, except that today he hadn't. She trudged through to the bathroom and duly obliged
her mother by towelling her hair furiously. As she did so, Barbara heard the sound of the
front door opening and closing, followed by the recognition of her dad's voice, raised in
greeting. Failing to hear a response from her mother the youngster flung herself hurriedly
down the stairs and into his arms: 'Hey angel, steady on,' he hoisted her up, 'you'll be giving
me a hernia the way you're growing.’
'What's a hernia Daddy - and where have you been - you always…’ the girl stopped in mid
sentence as the scullery door opened and her mother appeared, the look on her face
looked severe to say the least, putting it mildly, she seemed cross, as cross as Barbara
could remember.
‘I think you'd better run along to your play room angel,' her father who always appeared so in
control, suddenly seemed worried. At that instant, glancing between them uncertainly,
Barbara for the first time experienced an apprehensiveness, a curious anxiety was forming
within and, though the sensation manifest itself in her dark eyes, Dianne and Martin
Blandford were too enveloped in their own burdens to detect it.
Barbara slipped silently away, passing through the dining room and heading for the
conservatory to which her play room was annexed. But she didn't complete the journey - at
least not immediately - because on her passage through she began to make out her
mother's agitated voice as she made for the scullery closely followed by father.
Barbara returned to the door she had just closed and hovered. She'd always been taught
not to eavesdrop, but something was wrong in her organised and safe little world; she
perceived it with all the keenness of her young mind. She could hear murmurings, but was
unable to make them out. Her parents' voices weren't raised, she could never recall them
being so, but nonetheless there seemed an intensity about the tones - mummy's voice
sounded angry - Daddy's in contrast apologetic.
They were returning. Barbara hurried through the conservatory and into her play room,
closing the door. She could hear nothing now, but as she gazed out onto the
carefully cultivated lawns, with their array of daffodil, crocus and tulip swaying in the
strengthening wind, creating a cascade of colour, a vision of a different kind came to her -
She could see - deep inside she could see - a vision that was to linger long after most
childhood memories had faded. The landscape had been green and pretty - Barbara liked
pretty things, but before her eyes the colours had seemed to begin changing - first to a
parched brown as if every drop of moisture was being extracted from the ground as she
watched. Then came the transformation into an all encompassing greyness which seemed
to extend from the soil to the very heavens. The roadway that led between this landscape
had been smooth but now it seemed to heave and contort like a stressed bridge in an
earthquake, until it became the only discernible feature, very hilly and with its uneven surface
meandering without apparent direction. She wanted to go back the way she'd come - to
return to her comfortable terrain; to be away from this nasty new world which didn’t seem
real, only something wouldn't let her.
*
Dinner that evening had been late - over an hour later than normal before her mother called
them through, her voice sounding soft and strained though Barbara had been alarmed at
the strange hardness in her eyes.
Father sat opposite her at the table. In the eyes of an eight year old he was handsome. He
always wore a jacket at dinner, normally a light coloured one that matched his fair hair, and
never failed to have something funny to say. Today though he was not smiling, in fact his
eyes seemed heavy, with bulges beneath she couldn't remember seeing before. And he
was not wearing a jacket, but a dirty green jumper she'd often seen him gardening in.
There was a silence, mummy and daddy didn't seem to want to speak, and she'd hardly
seen either of them all day. It had made her feel strangely lonely. Then mummy looked at
her and the stony expression seemed to change - 'Are you alright Barbara dear - you seem -
well - down -'
Barbara nodded, but there was no immediate reply. She was thinking how pretty her mother
normally looked, her black hair cleverly tied with a braid and pony tail, though tonight it
wasn't like that. Tonight it was scraggly and didn't seem to have been combed, more than
that she seemed tired.
Suddenly though, the eyes widened and mummy's face seemed more lively -
'So this -this business meeting that kept you over - was it a success - I mean will it stimulate
growth?'
‘Oh I should say so -' Martin Blandford pushed away his plate, the meat on which, he'd
hardly touched.
He felt his wife's gaze on him, was not unaware of her accusing stare, then finally became
conscious of the strange blend of earnestness and uncertainty on his daughter's face, 'Yes,
yes, no doubts on that score, none at all.' He reached for his paper, gathered up his
spectacles and scanned the pages, 'Now look, we all seem a little out of sorts - who
wouldn't with this dismal weather. Why don't I take you two lovely ladies out to the theatre -
there's a wonderful adaptation –‘
‘I think not, I've had a very trying day,' Dianne Blandford cut her husband short, lowering her
eyes before glancing at Barbara with a slight smile, 'but if it's fun and enlightening please do
take Barbara, though try not to keep her out too late Martin.'
The young girl's gaze swung between her parents. She did her best to appear enthusiastic
about the unexpected evening out but too many things had traumatised her, and, looking up,
she had a feeling the apathy she felt had not gone unnoticed by her mother.
Just what was taking place here - why didn't they simply come out in the open and tell her?
She was a bright child and it was as plain as anything that something was very wrong.
'I'll go and get changed then mummy, what should I wear?'
Barbara looked back, there was no reply - both parents were engaged in stifled
conversation…
By Brian Cross
CHAPTER ONE
A Saturday morning in April 1959, and rain begins to sprinkle onto the pavements of a
middle class residential street in Chelmsford, Essex. A pretty eight year old girl is pushing
her model pram and burbling to herself as the droplets begin to fall on her long black curly
hair. As she nears home, the precipitation begins to intensify and a concerned mother can
be seen at the gate of a spacious detached property beckoning urgently to her daughter.
Barbara Blandford does not know it yet, but as she hurries along, this overcast and wet day
would mark a beginning - a formulation of an attitude and outlook which was to have far-
reaching effects not only on her own existence but that of so many others…
‘Barbara - I told you not to stray…’
‘Sorry Mummy.’ Dark eyes widened appealingly within an angelic face, as she confronted
her mother before turning away and pointing along the street, 'I was only playing with…’
'Yes well come inside, it's pouring.’ Dianne Blandford rushed her young child up the
broadening path, 'Look at your hair it's soaking wet,' she chastised, 'you're asking for
another cold - up to the bathroom with you my girl and dry it thoroughly.'
'Alright.’ A small hand stretched out for the bannister and running upstairs, she paused at
the top, sneaking a glance back to ensure that mother had returned to her chores before
enquiring eyes gazed to the left, to her parents' bedroom, where the door was ajar. Halting
outside for a moment she knocked and pushed it cautiously open expecting to find her
father who she'd not seen that morning.
Empty -
Perhaps after all he was downstairs. Though he always visited her room first thing in the
morning, except that today he hadn't. She trudged through to the bathroom and duly obliged
her mother by towelling her hair furiously. As she did so, Barbara heard the sound of the
front door opening and closing, followed by the recognition of her dad's voice, raised in
greeting. Failing to hear a response from her mother the youngster flung herself hurriedly
down the stairs and into his arms: 'Hey angel, steady on,' he hoisted her up, 'you'll be giving
me a hernia the way you're growing.’
'What's a hernia Daddy - and where have you been - you always…’ the girl stopped in mid
sentence as the scullery door opened and her mother appeared, the look on her face
looked severe to say the least, putting it mildly, she seemed cross, as cross as Barbara
could remember.
‘I think you'd better run along to your play room angel,' her father who always appeared so in
control, suddenly seemed worried. At that instant, glancing between them uncertainly,
Barbara for the first time experienced an apprehensiveness, a curious anxiety was forming
within and, though the sensation manifest itself in her dark eyes, Dianne and Martin
Blandford were too enveloped in their own burdens to detect it.
Barbara slipped silently away, passing through the dining room and heading for the
conservatory to which her play room was annexed. But she didn't complete the journey - at
least not immediately - because on her passage through she began to make out her
mother's agitated voice as she made for the scullery closely followed by father.
Barbara returned to the door she had just closed and hovered. She'd always been taught
not to eavesdrop, but something was wrong in her organised and safe little world; she
perceived it with all the keenness of her young mind. She could hear murmurings, but was
unable to make them out. Her parents' voices weren't raised, she could never recall them
being so, but nonetheless there seemed an intensity about the tones - mummy's voice
sounded angry - Daddy's in contrast apologetic.
They were returning. Barbara hurried through the conservatory and into her play room,
closing the door. She could hear nothing now, but as she gazed out onto the
carefully cultivated lawns, with their array of daffodil, crocus and tulip swaying in the
strengthening wind, creating a cascade of colour, a vision of a different kind came to her -
She could see - deep inside she could see - a vision that was to linger long after most
childhood memories had faded. The landscape had been green and pretty - Barbara liked
pretty things, but before her eyes the colours had seemed to begin changing - first to a
parched brown as if every drop of moisture was being extracted from the ground as she
watched. Then came the transformation into an all encompassing greyness which seemed
to extend from the soil to the very heavens. The roadway that led between this landscape
had been smooth but now it seemed to heave and contort like a stressed bridge in an
earthquake, until it became the only discernible feature, very hilly and with its uneven surface
meandering without apparent direction. She wanted to go back the way she'd come - to
return to her comfortable terrain; to be away from this nasty new world which didn’t seem
real, only something wouldn't let her.
*
Dinner that evening had been late - over an hour later than normal before her mother called
them through, her voice sounding soft and strained though Barbara had been alarmed at
the strange hardness in her eyes.
Father sat opposite her at the table. In the eyes of an eight year old he was handsome. He
always wore a jacket at dinner, normally a light coloured one that matched his fair hair, and
never failed to have something funny to say. Today though he was not smiling, in fact his
eyes seemed heavy, with bulges beneath she couldn't remember seeing before. And he
was not wearing a jacket, but a dirty green jumper she'd often seen him gardening in.
There was a silence, mummy and daddy didn't seem to want to speak, and she'd hardly
seen either of them all day. It had made her feel strangely lonely. Then mummy looked at
her and the stony expression seemed to change - 'Are you alright Barbara dear - you seem -
well - down -'
Barbara nodded, but there was no immediate reply. She was thinking how pretty her mother
normally looked, her black hair cleverly tied with a braid and pony tail, though tonight it
wasn't like that. Tonight it was scraggly and didn't seem to have been combed, more than
that she seemed tired.
Suddenly though, the eyes widened and mummy's face seemed more lively -
'So this -this business meeting that kept you over - was it a success - I mean will it stimulate
growth?'
‘Oh I should say so -' Martin Blandford pushed away his plate, the meat on which, he'd
hardly touched.
He felt his wife's gaze on him, was not unaware of her accusing stare, then finally became
conscious of the strange blend of earnestness and uncertainty on his daughter's face, 'Yes,
yes, no doubts on that score, none at all.' He reached for his paper, gathered up his
spectacles and scanned the pages, 'Now look, we all seem a little out of sorts - who
wouldn't with this dismal weather. Why don't I take you two lovely ladies out to the theatre -
there's a wonderful adaptation –‘
‘I think not, I've had a very trying day,' Dianne Blandford cut her husband short, lowering her
eyes before glancing at Barbara with a slight smile, 'but if it's fun and enlightening please do
take Barbara, though try not to keep her out too late Martin.'
The young girl's gaze swung between her parents. She did her best to appear enthusiastic
about the unexpected evening out but too many things had traumatised her, and, looking up,
she had a feeling the apathy she felt had not gone unnoticed by her mother.
Just what was taking place here - why didn't they simply come out in the open and tell her?
She was a bright child and it was as plain as anything that something was very wrong.
'I'll go and get changed then mummy, what should I wear?'
Barbara looked back, there was no reply - both parents were engaged in stifled
conversation…
