The Extraordinary Tale of Abigail F__

By Wayne Harrison

Presenter’s Preface

The most interesting thing that I can say of myself is that I collect diaries. That is not much to brag of, I will admit. In the current circumstances however it is quite noteworthy as will become apparent. I proffer myself as a presenter rather than an author or editor because, apart from this preface and the title, I have neither written nor altered a single word, not even spelling or grammatical errors.

Last summer I had the great fortune to visit London England and its many used book stores. A favourite play and movie from my younger days is 84 Charing Cross Road, involving a bookstore at that address. One of my first outings was trip to that location. Imagine my disappointment to discover that, while there had indeed been a used book shop there until a few years earlier, it was now the site of a McDonald’s restaurant. I had very much wanted to buy a book there for sentimental reasons. Not to worry, however. Just down the street towards Trafalgar Square there were a number of other used book shops also on Charing Cross Road. It was in one of these that I found my treasure!

On a back shelf among a number of beaten up journals I found a small leather bound volume. On the first page in a rather ornate script was written ‘Journal of Wm Nicol, Gentleman scientist & philosopher, May 1842-October 1846’. Opposite, on the inside of the front cover was the price of 6 pounds. I bought it along with a couple of small books of poetry.

I began reading it that night and discovered that William Nicol had an easy to read style but most of his entries were rather mundane, if not dull. As a diarist he would never rival Pepys. There were three entries that stood out which will make up the body of my story:

Mon. April 10, 1943

Following a breakfast of oatmeal and smoked herring, I was occupying my time reading a monograph by a Mr Darwin regarding the formation of ocean reefs. His ideas were very interesting and original and I found this to be a thoroughly enjoyable read. As I was about to put the volume down in favour a constitutional stroll, Mrs Gordon came in to my study to announce the arrival of an unexpected visitor, a Miss Abigail F_. I agreed to meet with her and had Mrs Gordon bring her in and sit her at the chair which I reserve for guests.

She turned out to be remarkable appearing woman, almost half a head taller than myself. She was probably in her late fifties but had the look of a hard life. Her green eyes shifted nervously and she seemed to be on edge. Her hair was long and gray, tied up in the back and she was wearing a very simple black dress.

I greated (sic) her with a smile and asked her what business she might have with which I might be of assistance. She seemed pleased by my friendly reception and started to relate an almost unbelievable tale. Still there was something in her demeanour that made me accept her words as fact, or at least fact as she believed it to be.

I will try to reproduce what she told me in her own words as nearly as I am able, beginning with her incredible opening statement:

Your honour, if it please you, I am a traveller from the past. From the last decade of the past century to be precise. In my native time the monarch is His Majesty George III and the younger Mr Pitt is his Prime Minister. I comes from a time when your modern miracles such as steam locomotives and daguerreotypes don’t exist.

Somehow, starting from my early childhood I come to notice an amazing process. Slowly but steadily I was moving from my native time into the future. Every day I would find myself transported forward in time by twenty-four hours. At first I says nothing to nobody, thinking maybe I’s confused. I was afraid to let on to nobody excepting they think me mad. Then one day at the age of fourteen or fifteen I goes to our parish priest and tells him what I was going through. Once I was able to convince his worship that I was telling the truth he told me that this was either madness or the devil’s work and forbad me to ever speak of it again. Since that day I have carried it as a curse within my heart. I do not know if it is the travel itself or the effect of keeping this great secret, but there are ill effects. I once had black hair and smooth skin. I had great strength and vitality, but now I am gray and have sore joints. One day I fear I shall pass away from my troubles.

I have wondered if the priest was wrong and that my time travels could be a gift from God. Perhaps I were sent from my time to do some great deed in this, the future. One day I saw a child playing in the street unattended. I horse and cart were coming at a great speed and I pulled the child to safety. If I had not been there he almost certainly would have died. Clearly a traveller from years before he was born arrived through time to save his life. If only more dangers could be revealed to me, so that my presence in this time could make more of a difference.

At this point she sat back in the chair and sighed, like someone ho had just put down a heavy load. She asked me if I believed what she had told me. I told her that I wanted to, that she seemed to be very sincere. Her story seemed very remarkable and I told her that as a scientist I had never heard of such a thing, or even dreamt of anything like it.

She then made a suggestion. She asked me to draw a sketch that somehow represented what she had told me and to put it in a safe place. I would later discover the reason for this. I therefore took out paper and some charcoal and sketched two copies of an hourglass and a chariot, to mean time travel. She thought that this was excellent and asked me to fold one up and put it away. I foled (sic) it in half and placed it between the pages of Mr Darwin’s book on coral reefs. The other copy she placed in her handbag.

Suddenly appearing startled, she looked at my clock and told me that she had much to do before departing this day for tomorrow and she bade me farewell.

Fri. September 5, 1845

I had a very remarkable day today. Mrs Gordon came to the games room in the evening where I was playing cards with a physician friend, N_ W_. A messenger had brought a letter with the return address Abigail F_ ,16__ D_ Lane. I reproduce the contents below:

Professer Nicol,

My travels have finally caught me up. I have fever and water on my lungs. The doctors say I won’t last much more. This is as proof of the tale which I told you a few years back. You may remember a woman who asked you to draw a picture and who took a copy. This is written on that copy and you may compare the two. I have taken what you gave me into the future and still have it with me to show that she and I are one and the same individual.

I wish you all the peace in the world,

Abigail F_

I quickly ran to my study and consulted my journal for that uncanny day. I found in which book I had stored the drawing, pulled out the volume and retrieved the drawing. I returned to the games room and laid out the two pages in front of W_. Sure enough there were two matching drawings of an hourglass and a chariot. The picture from over two years ago matched the one brought to me from the present day Abigail F_. The woman who sent it me was the same who was alive in my study in the past. She journeyed through time to send me the proof of her story.

Fri. September 12, 1845

By the time I was able to find Abigail F_ she had left this earth. Her time travels had come to an end. Today I attended her funeral. Following the funeral N_ W_ and I had dinner at the club. After the meal Dr. W_ provided me with one final piece of this puzzle that sent a chill down my spine.

The story as I related it to him had reminded him of something and went he went home he consulted an old issue of the British Medical Journal from October of 1889. It contained a case report of a a young girl of the same name, Abigail F_. She had been struck down by a carriage and rendered unconscious on May 22 of that year. The amazing thing was that when she recovered, the date had changed to May 23. The attending physician reported this as an unusual derangement of the brain caused by the trauma.

N_W_ and I looked at each other knowingly but dared not speak the truth of which we were both aware. Somehow this accident had somehow dislodged our Abigail F_ from her normal in time and left her to drift helplessly into the future where I was to make her acquaintance. We knew that to speak of this to anyone was as likely to have us placed in an asylum as would claiming to fly to the moon. Instead I can only record her tale for prosperity and hope that some future reader may believe the truth of it.