by Gill Jepson
They slipped down the dirt path towards the railway line and crossing point, passing close to the cottage. Astonished, they gaped at the view. A working water wheel creaked and turned noisily. This didn’t exist in their century.
“Cool! Just goes to show, things don’t always change for the better!” said Danny.
They reached the railway crossing. The heavy, white gate looked the same. They walked briskly across the line, instinctively looking to their left and into the seventy yard tunnel. They passed the house next to the line; it was less decorative and more practical, somehow. There were chickens and other animals, plainly heard as the little group went past.
They pushed through the metal kissing gate, no longer rusty and broken, into the field.
“Do you know what’s weird?” asked Rebecca.
“What?” said Megan.
“There’s no noise! It’s quiet except for the birds and the animals.”
“So what?” added Danny.
“Well, even when it’s quiet in our time… it isn’t! You can hear the cars – the traffic from Abbey Road! We haven’t heard a car since we’ve been here.”
The children looked on this as a revelation and listened attentively for a minute.
“Yeah! You’re right! How strange!”
George laughed, “But not many folk have cars here! Most people walk, or get the tram or the bus. I use me bike and if we go anywhere away we go on the train.”
On cue, a high pitched whistle split the silence, like a loud kettle. Above them, on top of the railway embankment, a huge monster of a machine emerged from the tunnel they had recently passed.
The children jumped up and excitedly waved at the splendid, spitting steam train, as it rumbled rowdily along the rails. It was bursting with people, many of whom waved back. The faint oily smell mingled with the damp steam and hung in the air as the train passed by. The smoke shot out ash and the children rubbed their eyes as sparks flew like fireflies. Their hearts sang with joy at the wonderful sight. As it disappeared, thundering into the distance through the trees, they felt almost disappointed.
“WOW! That was AM-AZ-ING!!!” yelled Danny, emphasising each syllable.
“You don’t see those every day do you?” added Megan.
“I do!” laughed George.
“You are SO lucky! I’ve seen one at Haverthwaite, but to see one working on this line! WOW!” Danny added.
They began to realise how different their two worlds were. Down the valley, there were more trees scattered about than they were used to. The trees that they did recognise seemed different. Danny hit on what it was. Some were very old and must have been felled by 2005, but those they recognised were smaller and younger.
“It’s like a wood!” said Danny.
“That’s why I like it here. You can see the birds and I like to climb the trees and hide,” said George thoughtfully.
The children all looked at each other and then again at George. He looked bemused.
“What?” he asked.
“What’s your favourite tree, George?” asked Rebecca urgently.
“It’s the old oak, up by the bridge, where the trains go over the river,” he replied.
“Come on then! What are we waiting for?” said Rebecca.
George sprang into action, running towards his favourite tree. It stood on the bank above the river, old and gnarled, with a huge trunk and twisted roots running deep into the ground, anchoring it soundly.
George rushed over to investigate, touching the rough bark and examining the roots. He looked at it this way and that, trying to find an answer.
“Could you have hidden the book here?” asked Danny.
“I don’t know. I told you I can’t remember. I might have done!” He shrugged and looked up at the old tree. In a second he shinned up the trunk like a monkey, to the lower branches. He looked down at them and grinned.
“Come on then! Or are you lot too soft to climb trees?”
They needed no further invitations. They began to climb up into the tree’s canopy.
“I still don’t remember. But I play here a lot. Me and me mate, Sid. It’s a brilliant tree. It has knots and holes and I think its holl…”
“HOLLOW?” interrupted Danny.
“Quick! Show us where the holes are…”
George pulled himself up to a higher branch and lay down its full length. He reached down towards the trunk and slipped his hand down to indicate a gap where the branch met the trunk.
“I can’t feel a thing, but it feels hollow. I’m sure if I did chuck it in here we won’t get it back.”
They all looked crestfallen for a moment.
Suddenly, Rebecca cried, “We might not get it back now but what about later! Much later… in our world? Now?”
George said, “Well, it’s a start…”
“What do we do now? I’d like to look up the lane to see where our houses are… or rather, will be,” asked Danny.
“I don’t know. Do you think it’s safe to leave the abbey?” said Rebecca.
“Yeah ! Why not?”
However, before they could investigate, something distracted them. In the distance they noticed a figure. Across the middle of the field, buried beneath the grass, was the remnant of an abbey wall and a monk stood beside it. They paused momentarily. Even after the strange day they had experienced, it still unnerved them to see a fifteenth century monk in full daylight. George however, paled.
“Oh no, not him again… I saw him when I was delivering to the big house.”
“Don’t worry, George. He’s safe! He protected us from some really creepy creatures…”
“Creatures?”
“Yes! They came looking for us…” said Danny.
“What creatures?”
“Like monkeys or something… horrible things!” shuddered Rebecca.
“So they were real! I’ve seen them!” George shivered too, at the memory. “Why’s he here? They’re not around now are they?” He looked around quickly.
The children walked towards the monk. He turned and walked towards the abbey. They followed him quietly at a distance. They lost sight of him in the trees by the railway line. As they neared the line, a dark cloud scudded across the sky. They felt a sudden chill, on an otherwise sunny day. A slight wind stirred the leaves, the rustling echoing ominously.
Nobody dared speak. The only sound was the wind. Then, slowly, there came a fluttering from the branches. They hurried their pace, branches cracking beneath their feet, announcing their presence to whoever was listening. As they reached the roadside a single magpie swooped just above their heads, almost touching them. Megan and Rebecca squealed in fear. Danny and George swiftly grabbed their hands and pulled them along.
The magpie followed them. Two more swooped and flapped closely. They were almost at the gate, when Rebecca fell. She cried out in pain and the others rushed to help her. The magpies took advantage and attacked the group. Their hearts sank. A grey faded figure appeared.
The monk raised a hand, as he had before that night in the close. The children scrambled to their feet. He smiled kindly and ushered them past. The magpies cackled, flapped fiercely into the air, turned and flew into the trees on the other side of the road. They roosted, malevolently watching the children. The monk stood between them and the magpies, silently protecting them. They ran as hard as they could until they reached the abbot’s house. They skidded and slid down the slope and into the drainage tunnel. No one stopped until they reached the other end. At the entrance, panting and catching their breath, they hardly dared emerge into the daylight.
After a few moments, George spoke.
“I’m going to stay here for a bit, until it quietens down. Then I’ll go back to my place.”
“What if the birds are still there?” asked Rebecca.
“Oh, I’ll wait a bit. They’ll be gone when I leave… don’t worry.”
They said goodbye and crept out of the tunnel. They wondered when they would see George again. As they walk
ed towards the nave of the church, they noticed people moving towards the museum exit.
“It’s over… how long have we been away?” whispered Megan.
“Well, we seem to have been all afternoon in the other place, but it can’t be that long, even church doesn’t go on that long!” replied Rebecca.
What an adventure, and nobody had even noticed they had gone.
Voices called to them from the brow of the hill. It was their mothers. Unaware the children had been missing, the families walked home together. The children held their secret adventure close. Each of them wondered what the next few days would hold and they glanced at each other conspiratorially as they passed the bridge. The tree was there, but not as lush and lively as it had been in George’s time. It looked older, less leafy and had fewer branches. It needed to be investigated, but that would have to wait until another time.
CHAPTER 16
DEEP ROOTS
They knew they had to explore the tree as soon as possible. They weren’t sure whether they should do it without George, somehow it didn’t seem fair.
“But we never know when he’s going to appear, do we?” complained Megan.
“No. But he seems to turn up when we need help, doesn’t he?” suggested Rebecca. “Perhaps if we really think about him and how much we need him, he’ll come.”
“What if we go back to the river tomorrow or the tunnel, where we left him? He might come,” offered Danny.
It didn’t take long to agree. They were concerned the school holidays were ending and that time was running out. They would have less time once school began in September.
Rebecca went to bed buzzing with thoughts and questions. She was unable to fall asleep straight away. The night was sultry again, distant thunder rumbled out at sea. Rebecca counted between rumbles to see how many miles away it was, as Granddad had taught her. It was moving closer. A bright flash of white light illuminated her bedroom and she held her breath in anticipation of the next roll of thunder. She didn’t need to wait long. The huge crack rocked the walls and she shuddered, pulling her quilt tightly around her.
The rain beat rhythmically against the window. The angry growling of the thunder was deafening, the curtains rent by slashes of lightening. Rebecca stood no chance of sleeping while the storm continued. She tentatively drew up her blind and peeped out into the garden. A ziz-zag of lightening split the sky in two. The light momentarily illuminated the garden and to her dismay, Rebecca spotted the horrible creatures. They scuttled across the patio and sat hunched like small statues, watching. She pulled away from the window a little and watched, unseen through the driving rain.
They remained as still as the carvings at the abbey, strange and other worldly. They looked permanent and solid. Rebecca wondered what her mum would say if they were still there in the morning. They were guarding something, or waiting… waiting for her to lead them to the treasure!
She awoke with a start the next morning, her neck and arm aching where she had slumped into an uncomfortable sleep the night before. She raised her head above the parapet of the window and looked out. A relieved sigh escaped when there was no sign of the weird creatures. It was a beautiful, bright day. Everything was fresh and newly washed, just the sort of day to fill you with hope and expectation. Her fears melted with the warm sun of the new day.
Everyone met at Megan’s house to begin their search for the book and for George. The brilliant, late summer sunlight made their spirits soar like seagulls into the electric blue sky and they were optimistic. They walked down the lane towards Bow Bridge, hoping that George would be around; it wouldn’t be the same if he didn’t turn up.
Reaching the packhorse bridge, they noticed branches snapped by the storm and debris dipping and bobbing below in the fast, full stream. They reached the small concrete footbridge and stopped dead as a huge stick flew out from the bushes on the other side, hitting the water with a splash. They looked in the direction of the missile and laughed when they saw George.
“Ha! Your faces! Did you think it was them?” he chuckled.
“I knew you’d come,” said Rebecca triumphantly.
“Course I came, you can’t finish this quest without me… and him!” George pointed to the figure of the monk, further down the field.
Butterflies of excitement fluttered inside them. It was still a strange sensation seeing someone from an earlier century. George they could cope with, but the monk looked as though he was from the olden days and it was hard not to feel a little peculiar.
They walked down towards him, but as they got closer he seemed to dim, eventually disappearing.
“He’s a bit like a bad video recording isn’t he – flickering on and off?” observed Danny.
“I expect that’s because he comes from so long ago… he’s even older than George!” said Danny.
“Hey! I’m the same age as you lot! It’s just that I’m here… and then I’m not!” retorted George.
They halted at the bend in the river, where it disappeared under a tunnel beneath the railway line. The oak tree lay on its side, like a giant sleeping in the grass. Its roots had been wrenched from the ground by the force of the storm and its huge trunk was rent from top to bottom, where lightening had hit last night. It presented a pitiful picture, looking helpless and immobilised with its roots sticking out above the soil. Its thinly leafed branches were spread out across the grass, dangling the tips into the water.
“It looks like its washing its hair in the river,” laughed Megan.
“Never mind its branches, just look at those roots!” exclaimed Danny.
George jumped onto the trunk. He walked along its length to the branches and leaned over to feel around the hole where he had pushed the book, all those years before. He struggled and pushed and finally removed his arm from the tree.
“It’s not there! Surely, they can’t have found it yet? Can they?” he said.
The others looked at him, panic gleaming in their eyes. Rebecca shook her head and walked to the foot of the tree.
“You pushed it into the tree, but we couldn’t feel it yesterday, could we? We said the tree was hollow, well, what if it fell through to the bottom? Where would we be likely to find it now?” she reasoned.
The solution was there in front of them. George rushed over to the exposed roots. Indeed, the tree was hollow, along one side. He pushed his hand into the soil covered roots and rummaged about. Some roots were still fixed into the ground and there was a lot of leaf mould and debris. He picked up a stick and began poking about with it. After what seemed an age, he shouted, “There’s something here, but it’s attached to the root somehow.”
They all began to help, pulling and tugging at the stubborn root. Finally, it came free, sending them all crashing into each other. The object flew from his hands onto the grass beside them. Eagerly, George picked it up and held it up.
“It’s the book! It’s the book!” he yelled. “Look, it’s still wrapped in its piece of leather and it feels dry!”
“Well, don’t let everyone know, George!” reminded Danny.
They sat awhile, hardly daring to believe that they had retrieved a clue. They decided that the best thing to do would be to examine it at home, rather than risk being seen. Danny pushed the book into his backpack and then suggested they ate their lunch.
“Thing is, we need to act normal, if we rush home now, those birds might notice. We mustn’t act as if anything is out of the ordinary,” said Danny.
“Well, what do I do?” asked George, “I don’t know whether I should be seen at your house, it doesn’t feel right somehow.”
“Why not? We saw you at Aldingham, that was a different place.”
“I know, but… what if I meet someone… or something?”
“We can cross that bridge when we come to it! We can go in our shed if you want,” said Danny.
“Alright! But we need to keep our eyes peeled!”
The others weren’t quite sure what they needed to keep their eyes p
eeled for, but it made them feel excited, like being on a secret mission. George nearly jumped out of his skin when a huge four wheeled drive sped up behind them. This was swiftly followed by two more cars, all of them careering along at breakneck speed.
“I’ve never seen so many motor cars. They’re so massive an’ all! You people must be well off…”
The others hadn’t realised how different things would seem to him.
“I can’t believe all these houses! All this were fields… and where’s the railway line up to the mines? It’s amazing this is!”
He was referring to the old iron ore mine workings, now unused.
They took him into the close and hurried him down the road to Danny’s, because suddenly, he looked out of place – alien even. His clothes were shabby, old fashioned and his clogs, well, they were positively eccentric!
Reaching the shed they breathed a collective sigh of relief. Danny went to get Coke and snacks and the gang sat on the floor cushions in the shed.
“I can hardly believe that things will be so different, so rich in the future. You lot don’t know you’re born!”
“Why? We aren’t rich at all!” argued Megan.
“Well, look at these houses! They all have gardens for a start!”
“So? Lots of people have gardens, George!” said Danny, a little defensively.
“Not in my street mate!” he laughed, “We ’ave a back yard and an outside privy!”
They soon got to the question of the book. They were ready to examine it in detail, hopefully without interruption.
The pages were faded and felt fragile to touch. The writing was ornate and beautiful, but extremely hard to read. Here and there were small drawings and maps, some more recognisable than others. On the first page was an inscription, which on close examination was easy to read.
“It’s in funny language… it’s English, but it doesn’t sound right,” said Rebecca.
“What does it say then?” asked Danny impatiently.
“These be the accounts of the followers of ye sacred brother of Lindisfarne, who hath sworn to protect that treasure in the care of the white monkes of the Monasterie de Fournes in any way appropriat to their monasterie. In this the year of our souverayne lord the Kyng Henricus V111, 1537. All who have followed Brother John Stell kepe this sacred trust.”
