The Good, The Bad and The History (Chronicles of St. Mary's #14)

by Jodi Taylor

‘I don’t think I’ve heard many gunshots,’ I said. Seriously, I am never going to heaven. On the other hand, there was no point saying I’d never heard a gunshot at all because this was St Mary’s and gunshots and explosions happened all the time.

One of these days I really must make a list of all the people – good and bad – I’ve lied to over the years. And the centuries in which I’ve done it.

Our two swan-shit-covered rascals were eventually rescued, hauled before Dr Bairstow and subjected to massive sarcasm, the gist of which seemed to centre around the stupidity of being caught rather than the original transgression.

Fortunately, there seemed to be a general feeling that a bored Maxwell boded badly for everyone.

I suspect Dr Dowson is psychologically incapable of seeing a blank bit of wall and not shoving a bookcase against it.

As Dr Bairstow always says – it’s important to have a true record of events. Not the political version, not the religious version, not the version put about by the winners – and definitely not the bought-and-paid-for version – but the actual, warts and all, correct version.

The purpose of St Mary’s is to investigate major historical events in contemporary time. To discover what actually happened, and record and document these events as they occur. Brace yourselves. It’s TIME TRAVEL, people.

Bloody hell, that felt good – I’m going to do it again. It’s TIME TRAVEL, people. I’d better stop now before I become overexcited.

‘Torture me as you will – I cannot tell you a thing.’

‘No husband is happy with his wife having a more impressive arrest record than he himself.’

History books say the first women were allowed to vote in 1918, but I always think that assumes who could vote and at what age was the prerogative of men in the first place. That prerogative had to be wrested from them. There was no allowed about it. Women won the vote, gentlemen, and don’t you forget it.

Dear God – I’d experienced World Naked Gardening Day and now there was this.

what did you save him from?’ ‘I think you mean from what did I save him.’ ‘What?’ I intoned, He looked startled. ‘You sound like a Rider of Rohan.’

Or were they being extra polite to each other in that special English way that says, I detest you and will rip out your heart at the first opportunity. May I pour you another cup of tea?

I’d describe all politicians as a bunch of over-promoted, under-talented twats with egos directly proportionate to their incompetence and I personally wouldn’t have one in the house.