Oliver Locker Lampton of Cromer invited Einstein to stay in an isolated beach hut on Roughton Heath to evade Nazi persecution. He came along, hung out on the beach fulfilling his un-unusual hobbies of sailing and violin and, as his position became safer, even gave a speech to the locals. Inside the beach hut Einstein carried out his unusual job - experiments that lead to the first nuclear bomb, a fact that the known pacifist never reconciled himself with. This story imagines another use of his nuclear power. Here’s the News for Kids from Danielle Hancock written from the perspective of a young Einstein voiced by Bernard Chalk.
By Danielle Hancock
There’s a house on Cromer cliffs, it is wooden and small and very close to the sea. Till recently I thought it stood empty - that it was hollowed out and silent except maybe for the wind. But now, maybe not. Now, for the first time I’ve ever known, smoke rises from the chimney - every day and in many colours. Before the windows were always dark; blank-eyes that hinted at the thoughtless gaze of crouched-up spiders, backed into the frames’ tight cracks. But I walked past last night and they were lit up, flooding the beach with panels of bright light. These panels stretched out across the dark sand, the opposite of shadows; when the tide came in they shifted with its motion, they blazed across the new-lain sea. Heading home I consider telling mother but think better of it, she’ll only think of spies and tell me to stay home.
That house on Cromer cliffs, it’s still wooden and small but it’s getting brighter all the time. Now the chimney smoke has settled as pink, with glimmers of gold that seem to weigh heavy against the wind. Often, there’s flowers at the window but not like any I’ve ever seen. If they’re daffodils then they are the first of their kind - the petals are luminous, a faint mintish green hangs about each stem. They peer out to the dark sea, heads swaying as someone within grazes past. Every night now the lights burn late and faint hum comes from within. I heard music in that hum, maybe Mozart. I think of mum and hurry back against the wind.
There was a house on Cromer cliffs, it was wooden and small and today it flew away. At ten thirty this morning its rooftop was glowing, and when I looked to the windows all the flowers had turned white. Not an ordinary, dirtiable white but something much stronger. It had heat and a pulse, and a strength that hurt my eyes. I covered my face, just for a moment, and when I looked again the flowers were knocked over, their vase rolling in the sill as the whole building shook.The pink smoke came quicker and stronger from the chimney and as I watched the whole hut rose slowly from the ground. It took maybe a minute for the house to leave the cliff-face, dropping great clods of wet earth from its bottom like a dog shaking mud from its feet. As it went over the cliff and out toward sea I saw a face at the window, with a soft cloud of hair; old but not tired and smiling as he left.
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