By now, the snow was falling fast, so I decided that I should be satisfied with this discovery and turned back towards Spitalfields. I crossed the road to read a metal plate there which, contrary to my expectation, explained this was the site where the letter was read discovering the Gunpowder Plot. Walking past the Job Centre and Hackney College, I quickly found numbers 74 and 76, but to my disappointment I saw a recent housing development on the other side of the street without any numbers. Hoxton St has even numbers on the east side and odd numbers on the west. Although Pollock’s Toy Theatres survived at this address into the twentieth century, I knew the shop was gone but I wanted to find the site. So you will understand why it was of interest to me to find 73 Hoxton St. I too was an only child who was enchanted by the magic of toy theatres, especially at Christmas and it was the creation of these dramas that led to my first career, as a playwright. Stevenson was an only child who played with toy theatres to amuse himself in the frequent absences from school due to sickness, when he was growing up in Edinburgh. “If you love art, folly or the bright eyes of children speed to Pollock’s” he wrote in his essay “A penny plain, tuppence coloured” – referring to the prices of the printed sheets in their hand-coloured and plain versions. If it still wants chow-" He shrugged.Yesterday as the first snowflakes of the winter spiraled out of a pale sky, I walked up through Spitalfields towards Hoxton following in the footsteps of Robert Louis Stevenson who came here to 73 Hoxton St in 1884 to visit Benjamin Pollock’s Toy Theatre Shop. "If it's under there I've got a good chance."ĭon't look right at it, the colors make you loopy" "I'm going to swim for it right now," he said. He had also succeeded in scaring himself. "Next month, yeah," Randy said, and shut his mouth with a snap. leave us alone." Deke said, "Maybe pigs will-" "It's moving," Randy said. His nose flared with pain, he felt blood run warmly down his face, and then he was able to step back, crying out: "Don't look at it Randy realized he was going to fall over, fall right into it, he could feel himself tilting out- With the last of his strength he brought his right fist up into his own nose-the gesture of a man stifling a cough, only a little high and a lot hard. It rose and fell with the waves and that changed the colors, made them swirl and blend. It came with an oily, frightening speed, and as it did, Randy saw the colors Rachel had seen-fantastic reds and yellows and blues spiraling across an ebony surface like limp plastic' or dark, lithe Naugahyde. He thought he could see Deke's Camaro, but he wasn't sure. The trees behind it made a dark, bulking horizon line. He looked toward the shore and there was the beach, a ghostly white crescent that seemed to float. It just floated there, not coming any closer, but not going away, either. He looked away instead, back at the dark circle on the water. "If there's a caretaker, he probably pops by here on a bimonthly basis." "Nothing to steal, nothing to vandalize," he said.
His short hair was still dripping a little. She looked at Randy, her eyes telling him he could come back, put his arm around her, it was okay now.ĭeke stood thoughtfully, head bent. So she sat down, arms crossed over her breasts, hands cupping her elbows, shivering. For a moment it seemed to be piling up there, thickening, and he had an alarming vision of it piling up enough to run onto the surface of the raft. He saw the thing nuzzling the side of the raft, flattening to a shape like half a pizza.
"What's this shit, Pancho?" Randy looked-he looked very carefully. "It's trying to get under the raft," Deke said grimly. "Did it go under?" LaVerne said, and there was something oddly nonchalant about her tone, as if she were trying with all her might to be conversational, but she was screaming, too.
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