THE FORGOTTEN SON

Deleted Scenes
A lot happens when writing a books. Many
scenes don’t make the final cut. Scenes are
removed for a variety of reasons. Presented
below is a selection of cut scenes from The
Forgotten Son. A couple will be completely new
scenes to readers, while others will present
alternative takes on scenes that remained in the
book. The following scenes are presented in
their raw, unedited, first draft state, better to
convey how much is altered between first draft
and the final published book.

The first was the original prologue; literally the

very first thing written for the book in June
2014. It was removed for various reasons. It didn’t feel punchy enough,
gave away too much, and a variety of other reasons that will be lost to the
sands of time. A few things were changed for the pre-World War II sections
of the book. For instance, in the final version of the book Lethbridge-
Stewart’s childhood friend was Raymond Phillips, but in the original he
was Philip Raymond, the name he had in the very first iteration of the plot
way back in ’98. The name was changed because my editor thought, and I
think rightly so, that Phillip as name didn’t create a sense of the late ‘30s.
Of course the name has been around a lot longer, but it never quite feels
that old, but Ray somehow does. This scene also ruins the mystery of James
– on page one! Bad form, indeed. It suffers from what I call first-draft-itis.
An author putting down every thought and idea into the prologue, ideas
and information that would serve the story better if revealed later. Such
things are always changed in the redraft, and had this scene remained that
I suspect it would be changed a fair bit. As it stands, the entire scene was
removed, and thus the way in which James died was also changed.

IT WAS THE SUMMER of 1938 and for Mary it would be the last summer she would
see her family together.
Her two boys were out playing down by the local brook with their friends,
while Gordon, her husband, was enjoying a break from life as a Royal Navy
officer and was sitting in the pub garden with the Raymonds. Mary stood in the
doorway, a tankard of ale in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other. She
couldn’t believe how happy her life was, and every day counted her blessings. It
was not often that Gordon was home, even less so that he was able to get a few
weeks off during the summer. It was his naval career that brought about their
move to Cornwall four years ago; while he was on active service, they both agreed
that they wanted to live somewhere beautiful so when he returned home, their
boys and they could enjoy their time together without the hustle of city life getting
in the way.
She walked through the garden of The Rose & Crown and took her seat around
the table, placing the tankard before her husband. He acknowledged her with a
smile but did not break his stride in the conversation her was having with Harold
Raymond; they were talking about recent happenings in Germany and ruminated
on what this was going to mean for the rest of the world. Politics were beyond
Mary, so she turned to Eileen Raymond and asked her how Philip had performed
in end of term sport’s event a few weeks earlier.
Unfortunately Mary had not been able to attend as her eldest son, James, had
been in hospital suffering some strange kind of fever. He had bounced back, as ten-
year-old boys were wont to do, and was even now enjoying the summer holiday
with his younger brother and Philip Raymond.
She was unsurprised to learn that Philip had done well, came first in most of
the events, but secretly she knew this was only so because his competition, her
youngest son, had been with her at the hospital. Normally she would have left him
with friends, but he had insisted he remain by James’ side. He had become
increasingly close to James in the last couple of months, which, of course, pleased
Mary, but it was out of character. Her sons had never really been that close
growing up; James taking after her, and his brother taking after Gordon.
She congratulated Eileen. ‘I’m sure Philip was very pleased,’ she said, smiling
broadly.
‘Oh yes,’ Eileen agreed. ‘Indeed, Mister Wyndham was most pleased with
Philip’s progress in the last few months. Thinks he’s really turned a corner.’
‘No doubt. But of course, he always was a bit of a late developer.’ As soon as
she said Mary wanted to apologise, but she couldn’t deny that she felt a little
defensive after Eileen’s attempt at scoring a point.
They were the closest of friends – of everybody in Bledoe, the Raymonds had
welcomed her family with open arms and a natural friendship developed quickly
between all of them – but it did not stop them from sometimes competing through
their respective son’s achievements. Mary chuckled to herself. Their sons would be
horrified to see it – they truly were the least competitive friends ever. If only their
mother’s could learn from them.
‘Do you suppose Al—?’
Eileen’s question was cut off at the quick by a shout from the back door of the
pub. Mary twisted her head around. Standing there, cheeks as red as strawberry’s,
was Philip Raymond, out of breath, and looking around wildly.
‘Mum!’
Eileen rushed over to him. She attempted to calm him down, but was clearly
having little success in her endeavour. Harold went to stand, clearly irritated that
her quiet afternoon conversation had been disturbed, but Mary waved him back
down.
‘You two carry on. You know what the boys are like; I’m sure it’s nothing.’ She
got to her feet and joined Eileen who was now attempting to usher her son out of
the pub garden before the patrons complained too loudly.
‘Now what’s all the fuss about?’ she asked, offering Philip a calming smile.
The look of horror on the boy’s face as his eyes rested upon her made Mary
step back in shock. When later asked about this moment, and asked she was, she
could barely find the words to describe the feeling that welled up inside her. Such
terror should never be seen in the eyes of an eight-year-old, but terror it was, and
something at her core snapped. At that moment she just knew, somehow, that
something had gone horribly wrong with her happy life.
‘Philip, what is it? What’s wrong?’
The boy opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a choke of
breath, his lip trembling. Tears began to fall. He looked around, as if searching for
someone. He swallowed hard, and Mary followed his gaze. Harold Raymond was
looking over at them, clearly uncertain whether to move or not. Even Gordon was
started to stir.
Raising himself up to his full height, strengthened by the sight of his father,
Philip said, his voice still shaking, ‘It’s James. He… Something happened and
he…’
Without even knowing she was going to do so, she yelled out, ‘Gordon!’ and
darted out of the pub garden. Whether her husband was following or not didn’t
even register, all she knew was she had to get to her sons straight away.

She didn’t stop running until she saw the brook. By that time her husband and the
Raymonds had joined her. She shouted out for her sons, but no response came.
‘Where are they?’ her husband asked, his voice calm and commanding.
‘Over there,’ Philip said, and led the way.
The adults followed and as soon as Mary saw her sons her world ended.
James was lying beside the brook, his eyes staring emptily up at the blue sky.
His brother was kneeling beside him, his eyes raw from the tears that no longer
fell. Mary ran, but her legs wouldn’t take her far enough. They gave way and she
dropped onto the grass. Her heart felt like it had stopped, the world falling away
from her.
A voice called out to her. Full of fear, confusion and anger. ‘Mum!’
She looked over at her youngest son. His name barely escaped her lips.
‘Alistair.’
Blackness claimed Mary Lethbridge-Stewart.

The following scenes appears in the epilogue of the published book, but it
was originally written for chapter one, however due to other structural
changes made to that first chapter, the engagement party scene no longer
fit, so I moved it to the epilogue, as part of the wrap up. The big difference
between this version and the published version is which member of the
Travers’ family makes a cameo.

HE RETURNED TO ALDGATE and only just made it in time for his engagement
party. It was a hasty affair, one that Sally had insisted upon, and Lethbridge-
Stewart was happy to indulge her. He was not a man given to mixing his private
life with his career, but being engaged to a corporal on Major-General Hamilton’s
staff did negate the whole concept of separating his two lives somewhat. He was
still not entirely sure how such an engagement had come about, in fact, something
he wasn’t going to mention to Sally.
She hooked her arm in his as they stood by the bar, waiting for Walter Douglas
to make his toast. Dougie, as he was known to his friends, was probably
Lethbridge-Stewart’s oldest friend; they had entered National Service together and
while Lethbridge-Stewart ended up at Sandhurst, Dougie got commissioned to the
Royal Army Service Corps. They had since served together many times, but
whereas Lethbridge-Stewart now served in the Scots’ Guard, Dougie served as a
major in the West Yorkshire Regiment. It was Dougie who had introduced
Lethbridge-Stewart to Sally at a black-tie event last year, and so it was apt that he
should be the one to toast the happy couple.
‘I’m really just preparing for my best man speech,’ Dougie began and received a
few knowing chuckles from the small number of people gathered in The Unknown
Soldier. Lethbridge-Stewart didn’t have a great number of personal friends, and
most of the people attending were friends of Sally, and a few people Lethbridge-
Stewart had worked with over the years. ‘Seems a long time ago since we both
entered National Service – remember it, Al? You were so sure you’d become a
math’s teacher, while I just wanted to run a fruit and veg stall in Portobello Road.
Neither of us were career military. Fast forward nineteen years and here we are.
And not a single civilian amongst us.’ Again chuckles, even from the very civilians
that were among them. ‘But, you know, we’ve done a damn good job. You a
colonel, me a major, and now you’ve got a lovely dolly bird on your arm.’
Sally blushed at this, and looked around the room, smiling as sweetly as she
could. Lethbridge-Stewart knew it was something of a compliment, really. When
out of uniform and dolled up for a night out… well, the term certainly applied.
Although Lethbridge-Stewart wasn’t overly keen on the shortness of the skirts she
wore. For a moment he wondered what his mother would say. He supposed at
some point he’d have to introduce them, especially now that he and Sally were
engaged.
Dougie continued with his toast, which was definitely turning into a speech,
and once he’d finally reached his conclusion and the hip-hip-hoorays were given,
he turned to the man standing by the juke box who pressed a button. Moments
later Cinderella Rockefella started playing; their song. Lethbridge-Stewart and Sally
unhooked arms, and with an ‘I’m the lady, the lady-who’ she walked off to mingle
with her guests. Loads of congratulations were given, with the odd comment about
the ‘big day’ and what about children? Would there be any in the future?
Lethbridge-Stewart had not really considered either of these things. He imagined
that one day he’d like to be a father, but before such a thing he would be certain to
make an honest woman of the right lady. He just knew it would never be Sally.
He glanced over at her, and guilt washed over him at the sight of her laughing
at another of Dougie’s jokes. You’re the lady, the lady I love, Abi Ofarim was singing.
Did Lethbridge-Stewart even really love Sally? There was much to love about her,
certainly, but their relationship was not about love. He knew this. Had done since
their first date four months ago. He was, as Dougie had pointed out, career
military now, and the chances of him meeting a woman and falling in love were
slim. But he and Sally got on very well; laughed at each other’s jokes, made for
good companions… But love? No, guilt or not, Lethbridge-Stewart knew that he
was not in love.
‘There you are, Colonel,’ said a gruff old voice behind him.
He turned around to find himself looking down at Professor Travers’ beady
eyes. The professor was dressed as usual in his threadbare suit, a scarf loose
around his neck, spectacles and hat ever present.
‘Enjoying the party?’
Travers raised his beer glass. ‘Yes, must say this ale is rather good.’
‘Is it? I should try some myself,’ Lethbridge-Stewart said, only now realising he
had yet to get himself a pint. That was the downside of arriving in the nick of time,
he supposed. He had spent a lot of time with Travers in the past two weeks,
debriefing over the Yeti do, working alongside the professor and his daughter to
ensure that all Yetis were deactivated following the defeat of the Intelligence. It
only seemed right to invite Travers – he wouldn’t say they were friends exactly,
but then Lethbridge-Stewart could say the same for most of those at the party.
Speaking of… ‘Where is Miss Travers?’
‘Who?’ the professor asked, displaying his usual absentmindedness when not
engaged in constant conversation. ‘Oh, Anne! I believe your army boys are
keeping her busy. Smart girl, my Anne.’
Lethbridge-Stewart could not argue with that. Miss Travers had proven herself
much more than smart, possibly the most intelligent woman he had ever met. She
certainly stood out during the Yeti do, with one possible exception, of course. But
that exception was long gone, and if Travers was to be believed then it was an
exception that Lethbridge-Stewart would almost certainly never see again. Which
left Miss Travers. He hoped to work with her again.
‘And what of you, Professor? What’s next?’
‘Tibet,’ Travers replied without preamble. ‘I have to admit to feeling a little out
of sorts, what with the Intelligence occupying my mind for a time. Not quite
myself. So I’m going back to Tibet, join the monks at Det-Sen in a bit of peaceful
meditation.’
New age nonsense as far as Lethbridge-Stewart was concerned, but he wasn’t
going to contradict the professor. Give him a pint of beer and Lethbridge-Stewart
would wash away any cobwebs left over by alien possession. ‘Well, hope you get
the peace of mind you need, Professor, and once again thanks for all your help in
London. Couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘I’m not sure that’s true. I didn’t prove to be much help at the end.’
Lethbridge-Stewart patted the old man on the shoulder. ‘Nonsense, you can’t
be blamed for what happened. Look at Arnold – that could easily have been you.’
Travers shuddered at the memory. ‘Small mercies and all that, eh?’
‘Quite so, Professor, quite so.’

This is a scene originally written for chapter eleven, but I felt it was
delaying the main point of the scene, and that was the aftermath of the
boys’ first encounter with the Hollow Man. This was also moved because I
just wasn’t getting the rhythm I felt the scene needed.

THE THREE BOYS WEREN’T supposed to be there, but it was half term and their
parents were too busy getting ready for Christmas to notice their sons had left the
safety of the village. They hadn’t gone that far, really, only out to Draynes Wood
which was less than an hour away on foot. It had been James’ idea, of course; he
had grown increasingly rebellious since joining seniors. Raymond didn’t mind,
since it made a change for him to be part of the popular crowd – in juniors they’d
both been what their parents called ‘bookish’, which the teachers liked but not a lot
of the other pupils in their class. He and James now had many different classes,
and so they enjoyed playtime more than ever, a chance to compare stories and
tease the girls. Thus having almost two weeks to be exclusively in each others’
company allowed them many opportunities for mischief – alas, Alistair wanted to
tag along.
‘This isn’t for juniors,’ James had pointed out as they crossed the field nearest
to Draynes Wood, taking them beyond Bledoe.
Nonetheless, allowed or not, Alistair was determined to join them, and had
promised to tell on them if he was made to go home. At this James had relented,
rubbed his knuckled in Alistair’s hair, and told his brother to ‘come on then, Ali-
stare’, using the nickname he had given his brother because of the younger boy’s
ability to stare him down whenever the two of them argued.
It was barely midday, and so the sun was out, blasting through the trees,
although doing very little to help remove the cold air, as they made their way
through Draynes Wood. Despite the cold, though, all three of them were warm in
their duffle coats and woollen hats.
Alistair was hoping for some snow soon, just as Mum and Dad had promised,
or otherwise Santa would never be able to land his sleigh.
‘There is no Santa,’ James pointed out, once Alistair had explained their
parents promise.
Alistair wouldn’t be put off. ‘Yes there is. Everybody knows there is. Where
else do you think the letters go?’
James looked over at Raymond, who watched the brothers but said nothing. He
couldn’t openly agree with Alistair, as he was James’ best friend, but he did agree.
Every year the three of them sat down and wrote their lists, and every year they
put them in the fire and watched as the ashes of the letters floated up the chimney,
where they would travel through the air to Santa at the North Pole. It was magic,
and Raymond knew it was true.
‘They don’t go anywhere,’ James said. ‘Same place as all ash, up and then back
down.’
Alistair stopped and looked at his brother. Raymond smiled at James – this was
it, time for the Ali-stare. ‘I know you’re lying, because Mum and Dad told me
Santa’s real, and you know he is too.’
‘Suppose the Tooth Fairy is real, too?’
‘Of course she is. Where else does the tooth go?’
James opened his mouth to argue, but instead started laughing. ‘When you’re
in seniors’ you’ll see,’ he said, and resumed his walk through the woods.
For a moment Alistair remained where he was, snuggled inside his duffle coat,
his hands warm in his cotton mittens. Raymond walked over to him.
‘Don’t listen to James. Tries to think he’s an adult now.’
Alistair looked up at Raymond. ‘But he’s not. He’s not old yet.’
The two boys joined James and the three continued on their way. Alistair knew
where they were going because James had already told him. There was an old
house on the other side of Draynes Wood, where a grumpy old man lived with his
family. They had all heard stories about the old house – the Manor, they called it –
and they were all true. No children in their school lived in the Manor, but the three
boys had seen children playing outside the Manor before. James had wanted to go
and introduce himself, but the old man had stepped out of the gate and called the
children in. None of them liked the look of the old man, with the stick in his hand.
He looked like the sort who would happily beat a child with it.
‘What are we going to do at the Manor?’ Alistair asked.
‘Climb the wall and go scrumping.’
‘But apples don’t grow at Christmas.’
‘Who said we’re looking for apples?’
‘Maybe he’s growing mistletoe?’ Raymond suggested.
‘Yeah,’ James agreed. ‘Mistletoe. We can hang it between you and Jemima.’
Alistair didn’t like the sound of that. He knew if that happened he’d have to
kiss Jemima, and that would be yucky. He lowered his head, wondering if his
brother was teasing him again. It was no fun being the youngest.
Lethbridge-Stewart: The Series © Andy Frankham-Allen & Shaun Russell, 2015.
The Forgotten Son © Andy Frankham-Allen, 2015
Used under license, All Rights Reserved

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