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BBC Sounds.
500 Words.
The Bedtime Stories podcast.
Welcome back to Bedtime Stories from 500 Words, where we bring you some of your incredible stories read by the BBC Radio Drama Company.
I'm Dick and he's Dom and today's theme is The Big Smoke.
What are you wearing?
Oh, well, this old thing.
Oh, it's my Hamlet costume.
You know, Shakespeare and all that.
Yes, it's a very velvety cape.
Thank you.
Do you like my hat?
Watch what you're doing with that feather.
It's tickling my face.
Sorry, I chose the biggest feather there was.
It's a bit over the top, I know, but... Over the top and down to the floor.
To be or not to be.
That is the question.
To what and who?
It's Shakespeare, Dom.
Shakespeare.
Come on, Hamlet.
I'm rehearsing.
Oh, sounds cool.
For what?
We've been asked to do a play.
I see.
Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer.
That's exciting.
It is.
I got a letter.
Look.
Dear Dick and Dom, please can you rehearse a play to perform at a very special party at the Shakespeare Globe in London.
From a mystery fan?
Ooh, right then.
That sounds very important.
We'd better get going.
Ahem.
Romeo.
Oh, Romeo.
Wherefore art thou, Romeo?
Hey, what are you doing?
That's not even the right play.
The 500 Words Bedtime Stories Podcast with Dick and Dom.
The spirit of the globe.
I stared, mesmerised by the story unfolding on the stage.
I watched the actors weave their play into a web to catch the audience's attention.
I looked around in awe.
Although I'd been to the Globe many times, it never failed to impress me with its bright spirit and elegant structure.
The actors leapt up and danced jovially, contrasting with the tragic play.
I sighed sorrowfully.
It was almost over.
The actors bowed and the crowd clapped in delight before leaving.
I remained, observing the stage with its towering columns and shining wooden floor.
For my entire life, all I had wanted was to act on that stage.
It was my dream.
Why should being a girl stop it from happening?
My mind drifted away, full of imaginings, of acting.
Hey, we're closing.
Move.
A gruff voice yelled.
Reluctantly I headed home.
As I trekked through the dark, dismal and dingy streets of London, my thoughts strayed back to the play.
It had been so tempting to go up onto the stage and perform.
My nose twitched at the acrid, festering smell of smoke.
Slowly, I looked up from the filthy cobbles and gasped.
A beast of raging flames was charging towards me, consuming all in its path.
I knew it had already changed everything I cared for into a heap of ash.
Apart from one place.
I turned back again towards the majestic shape of the globe in the distance and ran, taking me closer to my dream.
Surprisingly, the theatre doors were wide open, welcoming me inside.
I rushed to the stage, clambering up those worn stairs.
If I was going to die, I decided it would be here.
All the years of listening to plays came rushing to me.
I knew every line.
I took a deep breath and I acted my heart out.
I danced, wept, wailed, crowed and giggled.
My soul sang with joy.
I was so immersed in my dream that I could see my ghostly audience, hear their applause.
I took a sweeping bow.
Suddenly the clapping became crackling and the monster of fire came crashing through the doors.
I felt its hot breath on me.
I watched my beautiful theatre fall apart.
I faced the fire.
It spiralled around me, dancing with me.
However, I knew that this peace and serenity would not last.
The fire embraced me fiercely.
And I, having fulfilled my dream, hugged it back.
I am still here, watching you.
The globe has been destroyed many times now, but I have stayed with it.
To go anywhere else would be like going to hell.
I love the globe.
Many things have changed since my time and London's great fire.
Finally, girls and boys can express themselves through acting.
But if you could see me, you would see my smile.
Never forget how privileged you are.
But when no one is around, if you listen, you might hear me speaking my lines just a whisper on the wind, performing to my imaginary audience.
BBC Radio 2's 500 Words Bedtime Stories Blood-swept lands and seas of red.
I had no idea that I could become something so beautiful.
I began life as a brownish lump in the cold earth until I was dug up and taken to a place called Derby.
Here, human hands massaged, moulded and shaped me.
I sunbathed in a hot cave that dried me like the desert sun.
Finally, I was covered in red paint and glistened like a rare ruby.
I was beautiful.
But I wasn't the only one.
There were thousands just like me, but not one of us was the same.
We were unique.
The journey in the bumpy lorry was fun.
Us brothers and sisters were safely wrapped up in cushions of bubbles.
But where were we going?
Eventually, the lorry stopped.
The back was thrown open and there before us loomed a ginormous tower.
Gentle hands like feathers took me from my slumber into the bright sunshine.
My red coat gleamed in the sun and I felt warm again.
It was amazing.
There were so many humans carrying us all towards the tower.
I could see that lots of my kind was already standing proudly to attention round the building.
I heard my humans say that I was number 10040 and that I would be the first poppy that she had planted.
So that's what I was.
As I was planted back into my home, the human had water in her eyes.
What was this?
With my petals open to the sun, I took my place next to my family, where I belonged.
Many days and nights passed with swarms of humans coming to gaze upon us.
There were so many different sounding voices.
Boxes were pointed at us that flashed in the sky and many humans had water in their eyes as well.
My poppy family soon learned why we were here and what we were for.
We were made to celebrate and remember all those humans who fought during the First World War that begun in 1914.
Each of us represented a brave, faithful soldier who died for our country.
888,246 of us were planted. making a sea of red around the famous Tower of London.
We looked like the land had been swept with blood.
As sad as this was, we were all so beautiful.
I was so honoured.
I stayed with my poppy family for weeks, until one day I was raised from the earth and embraced again by my cushion of bubbles.
Once more I was taken in a lorry, but this time I was alone.
After many hours, I found myself being taken carefully out of my soft cocoon to be gazed upon by a little human girl.
She smiled and took me to a place where I could see out, into a beautiful garden where the wind gently blew the flowers away.
So here I stay, wondering where in the world the rest of my poppy family are.
Shh, they'll hear us.
What are we doing?
Putting my clever plan into place.
Uh, why?
Because my plan is this podcast takeover.
Ooh, right.
So I sent them a letter pretending I want to have them perform at a party.
So whilst they are busy rehearsing for a pretend show, they won't have time to do this podcast and we can take over.
We can deliver some fantastic stories just for a change.
Ha ha ha ha!
Brilliant!
Wahoo!
Great!
Okay, what should we do?
Well, first, we've got to set the scene.
Great!
What about the seaside?
No!
How about the North Pole?
What was that?
I've no idea.
Move on.
No, not the North Pole.
Look, we've got a whole box of these stories already waiting for us.
About the big smoke.
London, you ice cream brain.
Look out, here come two stories now.
BBC Radio 2's 500 Words.
Bedtime Stories with Dick and Dom.
The London Underground.
I barely hesitated as I spurred my wary horse Buttercup down the neatly chopped marble stairs after the robber.
Unfortunately, Buttercup did stumble a bit on the descent, causing my rather splendid hat to slip gently off my head and land at the bottom of a dusty rubbish bin.
This rather ruined my entrance and I felt a bit unprofessional without my hat, but I'm sure I'll get a new, far more feathery one, after I mask this fiend and claim my glory.
As I entered the large grand station I was greeted with numerous shocked faces, some gasps, even a rather rude shriek and some points.
But I reassured the gobsmacked citizens with a wave of my hand.
"'Ladies and gentlemen, don't panic.
I know there is a crook in your midst, but the situation is entirely under control.
You may call Scotland Yard if it reassures you, but this conundrum causer will be brought to justice', I said in my smoothest, most pleasant voice, making sure to accompany it with a dashing smile that has been known to make ladies swoon.
Buttercup snickered in response' although i wasn't sure if it was to satisfy the terrified people or to demand them to get out of our way.
Suddenly, amongst the mass of people, i spotted the person i'd been looking for a smartly dressed man clutching a dull briefcase.
He was heading for a weird-looking staircase.
I couldn't really tell what it was from this distance, Aha.
I cried, as spurred Buttercup towards him, unsheathing my sword for effect.
Some people in the crowd screamed and I saw some take out a sort of strange rectangular-shaped device and point at Buttercup and I.
However, I didn't have time to wonder what it was.
Bringing a thief to justice was my top priority right now.
Then I saw it.
The staircase was moving.
Gosh, what has technology come to these days?
The robber however, was standing on it unfazed as it moved down to the next spotless level.
I wiped a bead of sweat off my brow and patted buttercup's glossy flank.
This was a worthy opponent.
I took a deep breath and nudged buttercup on to the moving stairs.
I'm not going to lie.
She objected at first, even in front of an audience.
How distasteful.
But a smart rap on the bottom jolted her onto the contraption.
I lurched forwards in the saddle and waited for what seemed like an age as the machine slowly edged downwards.
The crook had now stepped off it and was walking towards a spiky hurdle that rotated when someone pushed it.
It was all very strange, and Buttercup and I were out of our element.
Just as we reached the bottom, we were hailed by a ruddy-looking man in a peculiar blue uniform clutching a fat whistle in one of his hands.
Excuse me sir, he said nervously, but I'm afraid that you can't take your horse down the London Underground.
BBC Radio 2's 500 Words Bedtime Stories The day London stopped working.
Everything in London ran like clockwork.
The buses, the boats, the school children, the Queen and the MPs were always right on time.
And the reason for this was Big Ben.
His huge golden clock face shone over the people and never let them down.
Until, that is, the day when disaster struck.
What started as a normal bit of rain and a light wind gathered pace and turned into a once-in-a-blue-moon hurricane.
All the people in the street ran for cover.
From the London eye, their tiny umbrellas looked like beetles and sweeties, and before long the streets were empty.
The next day dawned bright and blue and everyone thought it would be a normal day.
However, it wasn't normal at all.
Everything went utterly wrong every second.
The teachers were late for school.
The children were there before dawn.
The ice cream van came round while they were still in lessons.
The morning newspapers arrived after lunch.
The tubes kept almost crashing.
The Prime Minister had her full English at 1pm.
The Queen slept in until 10am.
The milk float didn't turn up so that the children had to have dry cereal for breakfast.
And the night buses were still running at 9am.
Meanwhile... far from the chaos, right in the bottom of Big Ben, lived a family of mice.
The youngest was called Graham.
He wanted to be an air traffic controller, but his mummy said he was too small and too mousy.
She said, ''Mice belong in the cellars, not up in the sky.''
Graham was so cross and disappointed that he went out for a walk in the streets.
He soon saw that everyone was in a muddle and wondered why this was.
He saw everyone pointing up at Big Ben and when he looked up, he saw that their hands were not moving.
Thinking fast, he ran back inside and made his way up and up and up and up.
He'd never been higher than the canteen on the ground floor before.
He soon realised that he must not look down.
Finally, he made it up the 180 feet to the clock face.
It was bigger than the moon itself.
He crawled over it, trying to work out the problem.
Eventually, he saw that a pigeon feather had blown in and jammed the minute hand.
He pulled with all his might, but the feather was four times his size and stuck fast.
He wanted to give up, but he could see that the little people below needed his help.
With one last tug, the feather gave way, but so did his grip on the clock.
Next thing he knew the feather was floating him down gently all the way back to the foot of the tower and the little hole to his home, as Mummy asked where he'd been.
And he said he'd just been in his control tower saving London.
Mummy laughed and gave him a thimble of milk and a digestive crumb.
Why are we on a boat?
I thought we were going to London.
Can you slow down?
You're going too fast.
It's a speedboat, you fool.
It's meant to go fast.
And we're on the River Thames, which flows through London.
Wow, that's cool.
I thought the idea was to see the sights of London.
I have my camera all ready.
We are.
We can see lots of London from here.
Look over there.
It's Big Ben.
The Houses of Parliament.
The London Eye.
Oh.
Big Blur.
Houses of Blurrymen.
And the London Blur more like.
Will you slow down?
We're going to run out of river.
Not possible.
Did you know it's 215 miles long, this river?
Oh, look.
Tower of London!
The Oxo Tower!
We'll be reaching the end soon if you keep driving that fast!
Let me drive!
No!
I'm driving!
Stop it!
Get off!
Get off!
No!
Oh great, now look what you've gone and done.
We've crashed into the shakespeare's globe theater, oh no, we've been spotted the 500 words bedtime stories podcast with dick and dom alone.
I'm lonely, i'm cold, i'm sad.
Nobody cares about me anymore.
I wish someone would come to visit me just once.
Perhaps no one visits me anymore because I smell a bit.
I'm getting old and I'm now useless.
I used to have regular visitors.
In fact, I used to be very popular in my younger days.
But now, it's just me.
Every day.
It's not all bad, though.
I have a lovely view from my window where I live.
I can actually see the Tower of London.
How many others share that view, I wonder?
I remember once when the green grass outside my window turned to bright red as thousands of poppies were planted.
With the poppies came people.
Lots of people.
Old, young, tall, short, English, Japanese, American.
It was wonderful.
The only problem was that not one of those people even looked twice at me.
I was enjoying seeing all the new faces, but why were they all only interested in those little handheld computer things?
How very strange.
Some of them even looked like they were making telephone calls on them.
Not like in my day, that's for sure.
Why come to the beautiful Tower of London and then spend the day looking through a little screen instead of your eyes?
I'm too old to learn about new technology anyway, so I don't think I'll ever understand the attraction.
Today is one of those bright and colourful mornings and I watch the six ravens fly around the tower and I feel happy that I'm privileged to see this sight.
I've heard thousands of conversations in my time and I've heard many people say that without those ravens the monarchy would fail.
I don't know how true that is, but it's a lovely sight to see, nevertheless.
I see the beef eaters arriving wearing their smart red and black uniforms and remember how well I used to suit the colour red in my youth.
Ah, memories of a life which has passed by so quickly.
Compared with the Tower of London, my short existence has just been a tiny blip of time.
Wait, I think someone's actually coming to visit me.
Yes, it's a young man.
He's coming over with a smile on his face.
Not only is he coming to visit me, but he looks happy about it too.
How wonderful!
He walks over to me and...
Not again.
There's a puddle around my feet, and now my visitor is leaving quickly.
Please, don't go.
It's only natural.
You get used to the smell eventually.
Oh well.
Alone again.
I should be used to it by now, but it still makes me feel sad.
So sad that I don't even get excited when the smartly dressed lady walks towards me.
She won't be coming here anyway.
Or will she?
Yes.
She is.
She's here.
She's... She's lifting my receiver and making a phone call.
I am one happy telephone box.
They all see me and react.
Some respond in a fake positive way, a fawning smile or grunt, and others immediately show their hatred.
I care for neither response, to be honest.
I focus on my task.
Some of those similar to me are immediately vocal.
Those are identified quickly.
Others, like myself, prefer to be more covert, slip under the radar, so to speak.
But still, we all get noticed.
Eventually, people stare.
People move.
People shuffle away uncomfortably.
One kind gentleman gives up his seat for me.
He may live to regret it, as he is precariously close to me now, close to the blast zone.
He will be one of the first to feel the effect.
I doubt any of them know quite how close they are to the toxic meltdown that will be contained in the item, cleverly and carefully fastened around my waist.
My job is simple.
Release it when ready and create chaos.
The carriage is packed.
The panic will sweep through fast, quicker than the breeze will, in this sweaty tin.
Can they call the tube?
I bide my time, wait for the correct moment.
It will be my moment of triumph.
A feat talked of for years to come.
I wait until the doors close and we move away from the station.
The difficult to open windows and the claustrophobic effect of the train will merely add to the mass panic I shall create.
Now is the time.
Now is my chance to shine.
My chance to show the reason why I was created.
The role I was put upon this planet to do.
With a movement of my hips, a very simple, natural movement, I release it.
The airborne toxin will soon fill the carriage and all hope will be lost.
I got on this train with a task.
A job, if you will.
A job I have just completed.
Yesterday's Swede and cauliflower bake hits my nappy with a familiar moist thud.
It's a matter of time before it registers in the carriage.
They had it coming to them.
All of them.
After all, who lets babies on public transport?
BBC Radio 2's 500 Words.
The Bedtime Stories podcast.
Oh, thank goodness we got off the tube.
There was something definitely a bit whiffy on there.
Really?
I couldn't smell anything.
OK, just around this corner is the Globe Theatre, right?
Hey, what are you two doing here?
This is our podcast.
Quicks!
Come back here, you two!
Think about different locations for your story using words such as plateau ramshackle, cavern or billabong, and think about how the vocabulary can help the reader imagine these places.
Imagine your characters in the setting you've created.
What might they be doing there?
How will they react?
Try to describe what they can see, hear and smell.
And listen in again next week if you like what you hear.
From everyone here at Radio 2 and 500 Words, good luck and good night!
Through frontline reporting, global stories and local insights, we bring you closer to the world's news as it happens.
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