Ok, I'm going to have to warn you - you're probably going to find the next part of this story confusing, unbelievable, impossible. That can't be helped. I'm just telling it to you as it happened to me.
Your concept of time is no doubt limited by your experience of it. Your idea of Time travel is probably limited to a few Hollywood movies and maybe a couple of story books. The fact is, it's not like any of those. Even Einstein only got it half right, even though he was visited more than once by several time travellers.
They always want to visit Einstein. He's a favourite destination. The trouble is, most Time travellers don't understand how Time travel works, any more than you understand jet propulsion when you get on a plane to Thailand, or some other exotic holiday destination - any more than you understand how the micro-processors in your computer really work.
I know I don't.
So I'm told, Einstein won't even see time travellers any more. He won't let them in his house. After the first two or three, they just confused and then annoyed him with their lack of understanding and complete disregard for the rules of the so-called Space-Time continuum. When the word got around that you couldn't visit Einstein any more, they started coming to him earlier and earlier to try to be the first one to see him. It got to the point where there were Time travellers hanging around the school gates, trying to catch a glimpse of the boy genius and tell him the secrets of the universe. I never went to see the great man myself. Maybe I will if I ever get out of the year 2040, which is where I'm stranded now - writing to you on a Time phone which I made, but which I really couldn't tell you how it works.
Back to the story... I'd just arrived in London 1917...
The twighlight air smelled of Autumn - wet leaves scattered on the uneven cobblestone road made it slippery and treacherous to walk as we hurried along the darkening street. Carriages rushed by , looming out of the fog with no warning but the fast approaching clatter of hooves and wheels. The 'pavement' was really just a muddy track, full of holes and puddles - no pavement at all - so the choice was either to be run over by a speeding carriage or stumble and slide along through the quagmire by the side of the road. We passed a lamplighter, lighting the gas lamps, which hissed and flickered and spat, casting grotesque dancing shadows on the shopfronts. The shop-keepers were all busy closing shutters and bolting doors before the onset of night. Only the pubs were still open, the raucous sound of mostly men and some women drinking, laughing, shouting, drifting out from behind bright frosted stained glass windows. The sound of a piano, out of tune, bashing out a cockney ballad and a chorus of drunks singing along. We turned down a side street, suddenly much darker, unpaved, and then down another, even narrower, and then down a narrow stinking alley, bordered on both sides by the backs of houses - tall, terraced, tenement houses looming dark against the yellow sky - a murky, fiery yellow, there were no starts to be seen and this was not sunlight either - the yellow sky was coal smog lit up by huge fires burning night and day in the brick works by the river.
All the while we were walking, my guide - the man who had suddenly appeared to extricate me from a difficult situation in the market, when five minutes earlier, I'd drawn unwanted attention to myself by appearing in 1917 wearing a pair of Nike Air running shoes - talked in a friendly, familiar manner as he led me hurriedly away from the scene. He was laughing and seemed genuinely delighted to see me.
'Ho ho! I thought I told you in the letter to wear leather shoes. Didn't I tell you to wear leather shoes? Comes in a pair of.. what are those..? Any way, never mind. The main thing is that you're here. How was your journey? I bet you're hungry. We've been expecting you. My wife.. Esther.. that's your great great grandma.. lovely lady.. she'll be so happy to meet you at last.. great cook, she is.. she's made a kidney pie.. you're in for a treat come, come, this way.. sorry, how rude of me, I didn't introduce myself.. don't worry.. everything will be explained.. oh, I've got so much to tell you.. It's remarkable really.. amazing.. incredible.. that you should be here.. well, of course you would be, because you were, because you are.. of course.. obviously.. that goes without saying.. but to meet you, finally.. after all these years.. do you know how long I've waited to meet you? .. no of course you don't.. how could you?.. you couldn't, of course.. that would be absurd.. impossible.. but there you go.. here you are..'
We stopped abruptly by a wooden gate, hanging lopsidedly from one hinge. He turned to face me - a broad grin on his time-worn face - he was about the same height as me and a similar build, maybe twenty of thirty years older - he looked to be in his fifties - tall and thin, but his face was more gaunt than mine, but oddly familiar. His straggly beard was mostly grey, one of his front teeth were missing and the others were quite brown, but his eyes were bright, glistening with tears of emotion as he took my hand and said, 'My name is Morris. Morris Nadler. Most people call me Mo. I'm your great great grandfather on your mother's side. I'm also your son.'
(follow the Hatman tag to read the earlier parts of the story, if you haven't yet.)