Podcast 21 - B2/C1 The Man Who Could Work Miracles - Part 1

Part 1

Story starts at 2:02

The man who could work miracles 1

It is doubtful whether the gift was innate. For my own part, I think it came to him suddenly. Indeed, until he was thirty he was a sceptic, and did not believe in miraculous powers. And here, since it is the most convenient place, I must mention that he was a little man, and had eyes of a hot brown, very erect red hair, a moustache with ends that he twisted up, and freckles. His name was George McWhirter Fotheringay - not the sort of name by any means to lead to any expectation of miracles - and he was clerk at a company called Gomshott's. He was greatly addicted to argument. It was while he was arguing the impossibility of miracles that he first demonstrated his extraordinary powers. This particular argument was being held in the bar of the Long Dragon pub, and Toddy Beamish was playing the part of the opposition by a monotonous but effective "So you say," that drove Mr Fotheringay to the very limit of his patience.

There were present, besides these two, a very dusty cyclist, the landlord Cox, and Miss Maybridge, the perfectly respectable and rather portly barmaid of the Dragon. Miss Maybridge was standing with her back to Mr Fotheringay, washing glasses; the others were watching him, more or less amused by the present ineffectiveness of Fotheringay’s arguing.

"Look here, Mr Beamish," said Mr Fotheringay. "Let us clearly understand what a miracle is. It's something contrary to the course of nature, done by power of will, something that couldn't happen without being specially willed."

"So you say," said Mr Beamish.

"For instance," said Mr Fotheringay, "here would be a miracle. That lamp, in the natural course of nature, couldn't burn like that upside down, could it, Beamish?"

"You say it couldn't," said Beamish.

"And you?" said Fotheringay. "You don't mean to say—eh?"

"No," said Beamish reluctantly. "No, it couldn't."

"Very well," said Mr Fotheringay. "Then here comes someone, like me and stands here, and says to that lamp, as I might do, with all my will - Turn upside down without breaking, and go on burning, and... Oh, my goodness!"

It was enough to make anyone say "Oh, my goodness!" The impossible, the incredible, was visible to them all. The lamp hung inverted in the air, burning quietly with its flame pointing down. It was as solid, as indisputable as ever a lamp was, the common and ordinary lamp of the Long Dragon bar.

Mr Fotheringay stood with an extended forefinger and the knitted brows of one anticipating a catastrophic smash. The cyclist, who was sitting next to the lamp, ducked and jumped across the bar. Everybody jumped, more or less. Miss Maybridge turned and screamed. For nearly three seconds the lamp remained still. A faint cry of mental distress came from Mr Fotheringay. "I can't keep it up," he said, "any longer." He staggered back, and the inverted lamp suddenly flared, fell against the corner of the bar, bounced aside, smashed upon the floor, and went out.

It was lucky it had a metal container, or the whole place would have been in a blaze. Mr Cox was the first to speak, and his abrupt remark was to the effect that Fotheringay was a fool. Fotheringay was not able to dispute this. He was astonished at the thing that had occurred. The subsequent conversation threw absolutely no light on the matter as Fotheringay was concerned; the general opinion not only followed Mr Cox very closely but very vehemently. Everyone accused Fotheringay of a silly trick, and that he was a foolish destroyer of comfort and security. His mind was in a whirl, he was himself inclined to agree with them, and he did not object to the proposal of his departure.

He went home flushed and heated, his coat-collar crumpled, his eyes smarting, and his ears red. He watched each of the ten street lamps nervously as he passed it. It was only when he found himself alone in his little bedroom in Church Row that he was able to grapple seriously with his memories of the occurrence, and ask, "What on earth happened?"

He had removed his coat and boots, and was sitting on the bed with his hands in his pockets repeating the text of his own defence for the seventeenth time. "I didn't want that stupid lamp to turn upside down," when it occurred to him that at the precise moment he had said the words he had inadvertently willed the thing he said.

He had not a particularly complex mind, or he might have been stuck for a time at what "inadvertently willed," actually meant. But as it was, a vague idea came to him. And from that, he came to the test of experiment.

He pointed resolutely to his candle and collected his thoughts, though he felt he did a foolish thing. "Rise up," he said. But in a second that feeling vanished. The candle rose up, hung in the air one giddy moment, and as Mr Fotheringay gasped, it fell with a smash on his table, leaving him in darkness except for the glow of its wick.

For a time Mr Fotheringay sat in the darkness, perfectly still. "It did happen, after all," he said. "And how I'm to explain it I don't know." He sighed heavily, and began feeling in his pockets for a match. He could find none, and he got up and groped about the table. "I wish I had a match," he said. He resorted to his coat, and there was none there, and then it dawned upon him that miracles were possible even with matches. He extended a hand and scowled at it in the dark. "Let there be a match in that hand," he said. He felt some light object fall across his palm and his fingers closed upon a match.

After several failed attempts to light this, he discovered it was a safety match. He threw it down, and then it occurred to him that he might have willed it lit. He did, and perceived it burning in the middle of his mat. He picked it up hastily, and it went out. His perception of possibilities enlarged, and he felt for and replaced the candle in its candlestick. "Here! you be lit," said Mr Fotheringay, and immediately the candle was burning, and then looked up and met his own gaze in the mirror. By this help he spoke to himself in silence for a time.

"How about miracles now?" said Mr Fotheringay at last, addressing his reflection.

The following thoughts of Mr Fotheringay were of a severe but confused description. So far, he could see it was a case of pure willing with him. The nature of his experiences so far dissuaded him to carry out further experiments, at least until he had reconsidered them. But he lifted a sheet of paper, and turned a glass of water pink and then green, and he created a snail, which he miraculously annihilated, and got himself a miraculous new toothbrush.

Somewhere in the small hours he had realized that his willpower must be of a particularly rare and powerful quality. The scare and perplexity of his first discovery was now qualified by pride in this evidence and by vague ideas of advantage. He became aware that the church clock was striking one, and as it did not occur to him that his daily duties at Gomshott's might be miraculously done away with, he continued to undress in order to get to bed without further delay. As he struggled to get his shirt over his head, he was struck with a brilliant idea. "Let me be in bed," he said, and found himself so. "Undressed," he stipulated; and, finding the sheets cold, added hastily, "and in my pyjamas - in nice soft woollen pyjamas. Ah!" he said with immense enjoyment. "And now let me be comfortably asleep..." [snoring sounds]

The words and expressions I have highlighted above in black would be useful for you to learn - some of these I explain during the podcast, the others you could look up in a dictionary.

Image from 1936 film The Man who could work Miracles.

Listen to part 2 of this exciting story next Friday 2nd September.