Buried Crown

by Ally Sherrick

  The Prime Minister reached out and squeezed his shoulder. ‘Of course. Leave it with me.’ He took back his stick and shook them both by the hand. Then, after bending to give Spud another quick pat, he spun round and headed for the door.

  As it closed behind him, Kitty stepped back over to the window and stared down at the spot where the crown had been.

  ‘I do not understand. How did it get back here? Unless—’ Her eyes flickered with a sudden gold fire.

  George shivered and glanced around the room. As he turned back, something brushed against his leg. He wheeled round. ‘Spud! You gave me a fright, boy.’ He bent and stroked his head.

  ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘Not just yet.’ George pushed Spud gently away. ‘Will you take him? I’d like to be on my own for a bit.’

  She nodded. ‘Come on, boy.’ She patted her leg. ‘Let us go and find you a drink.’ Turning, she limped towards the door.

  As it closed behind them, George sank down against the wall with a sigh. They’d had a lucky escape last night, but the war wasn’t over yet. The Prime Minister was right though. They had to keep on fighting; fighting for what was good and fair. For the truth . . .

  He slid off the ring and stared down at the inscription again. If it was bad news about Charlie, he’d do his best to bear it. Because that’s what his brother would want. And like Kitty and her granddad, he’d try and remember the happy times too.

  He rested his head on his knees and closed his eyes. A few moments later, he was sound asleep.

  A loud rat-tat sounded at the front door again. George blinked and sat up. Someone had draped a blanket over his shoulders. Kitty. She must have come back to check on him. He frowned. How long had he been asleep? He pulled out the pocket watch. Nearly one o’clock. The doorknocker sounded again. He leapt up and darted out into the hallway. There was no sound of movement from the floor above. Maybe Kitty and her granddad were taking a nap too.

  As he glanced at the front door his stomach knotted. What if this time it was a message from the airbase? He steeled himself. There was only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to it and pulled it open.

  A figure stood in front of him, silhouetted against the sunlight. George shielded his eyes against the glare. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Hello, Georgie.’

  His breath caught in his throat. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again, afraid that if he spoke his name – said anything at all – the figure might snuff out.

  A pair of strong hands gripped his shoulders. ‘I’m real. Honest I am.’

  ‘Charlie!’ George threw his arms around him and they hugged and hugged until he was sure his heart would burst.

  Later, after George had introduced Charlie to the Regenbogens and they’d plied him with tea and lebkuchen in the study, he told them about what had happened to him. How he’d flown off with the others to defend London from the Luftwaffe bombers, but then, on the way back to base, he’d been chased down by a Messerschmitt and forced to bail out.

  Ernst Regenbogen shook his head. ‘You were lucky to survive.’

  ‘I know.’ Charlie heaved out a breath and took another gulp of tea.

  George frowned. ‘What happened after you jumped?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. I must’ve got a knock on the head. When I came to, I was dangling from the end of my parachute halfway up the side of a bloomin’ great tree.’ Charlie gave a sheepish smile.

  Kitty helped him to another cup of tea. ‘How did you get down?’

  ‘I shouted for help and in the end a farmer heard me. At first he thought I was some kind of Nazi spy, but when I managed to convince him I was RAF, he went and fetched a ladder and cut me down. What with all that and then having to find myself some transport, I didn’t make it back to the base until yesterday evening. By which time they were at sixes and sevens because the Luftwaffe were busy attacking London again.’

  George’s eyes widened. ‘You didn’t go up again, did you?’

  ‘Not to London, no. The squadron leader told me and another pilot who’d gone through the same thing to rest up. Except . . . well, it didn’t quite work out that way.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘We were in our quarters doing our best to get a bit of kip when a call came through that a whole bunch of enemy planes were heading this way.’ He shot George a knowing look. ‘Though from what Mister Churchill told me earlier, you and Kitty know as much about that as I do.’

  George’s jaw dropped. ‘You mean it was you up there, fighting off those Messerschmitts?’

  ‘Me and Flight Sergeant Walters, yes. Looking back on it, we must’ve been mad. Spits aren’t much good for night flying, and the Jerry fighters outnumbered us at least five to one. There was a moment, just before the storm blew up, when I thought we were both goners. But then this dirty great cloud came rolling in and the thunder and lightning got going, and after that the Jerries couldn’t get away fast enough. It sounds daft, but we both felt at the time like the cloud was fighting on our side.’ Charlie fell silent and gazed off into space.

  Kitty made a small choking noise.

  ‘Careful, Liebling.’ Ernst Regenbogen patted her on the back. ‘I have told you before, it is dangerous to eat and drink at the same time.’ He frowned. ‘Are you all right, Mister Penny?’

  Charlie blinked. ‘What? Yes. Fine, thanks.’ He cleared his throat. Mister Churchill wants to give me and Walters a medal each, but I think these two deserve it more than us, don’t you agree, Mister Regenbogen?’ He flashed a smile at George and Kitty.

  ‘I do. But you must call me Ernst, please.’

  ‘Don’t forget Spud.’ George pulled the dog against him. ‘You saved my life, didn’t you, boy?’ Spud wagged his tail and gave a pleased-sounding yip, then rested his head on George’s knee.

  Ernst Regenbogen got up off the sofa and walked across to the desk. ‘Well, I cannot help with awarding medals, but I can offer you all another lebkuchen.’

  As the old man handed round the plate of biscuits, Charlie gave George’s shoulder a quick squeeze. ‘I’m sorry for not listening to you when you came to see me at the base, Georgie. I’ll find you somewhere else to stay, I promise.’

  Ernst Regenbogen set the plate down again. ‘But there is no need. George must stay with us, mustn’t he, Kitty?’

  Kitty clapped her hands together. ‘Oh yes, Opa! That is a wonderful idea!’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Ernst. We’ve put you to quite enough trouble as it is.’

  ‘It is no trouble. No trouble at all. We would love to have him here, though only of course if you, George, would like it too?’ The old man looked at George, his tufty white eyebrows raised in question.

  A warm glow spread across George’s chest. ‘Yes, Mister Regenbogen . . . I mean, Ernst. I’d like it very much.’

  ‘Well, it looks as if that’s settled then.’ Charlie reached over and shook Kitty’s granddad by the hand. ‘Thank you. I’ll let you have the money for George’s keep as soon as I get my next pay.’

  George gave a quick cough. ‘It’s all right, Charlie. I’ll be getting some money off Raymond Scroggins the next time I see him. He owes me . . .’

  Charlie shot him a puzzled look. ‘Scroggins? Who’s he?’

  George was about to explain when the sound of raised voices echoed up from the street outside. He leapt up and darted to the window. ‘Hey, come and look at this!’

  As the others stepped alongside him, a pair of policemen came marching down the street, a man in handcuffs sandwiched tightly between them.

  George frowned. ‘Looks like they’ve gone and arrested someone.’

  As the small group drew level with the house, Spud jumped up at the window and gave a growling bark. The man in handcuffs jerked up his head. His mean, ferrety eyes scanned the glass blindly before dropping back to the ground.

  George took a step back, heart bouncing against his ribs.

  Charlie turn
ed to him, eyebrows raised. ‘What’s wrong?’

  George licked his lips. ‘It’s Bill Jarvis.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, Georgie.’ Charlie slipped an arm round his shoulders and pulled him close. ‘That great bully ain’t going to hurt you and Spud again – ever.’

  At the mention of his name, Spud gave another bark. George reached down and ruffled his head. He sucked in a breath and peered out into the street again. But Jarvis and the policemen had gone.

  ‘Do you think he’ll go to prison?’

  Ernst Regenbogen sighed. ‘At the very least. Kitty has already told the inspector how he tried to break into the museum last night to steal – how did you put it, Liebling? Some of our exhibits. But if his dealings with Ritter ever come to light, he risks being treated as a collaborator and a traitor and that might mean the sentence will be more severe.’

  George gasped. ‘You mean he might hang?’

  ‘Possibly, yes.’

  ‘But he’s a thief, not a spy.’

  ‘And not a very good one at that.’ The old man laid a hand on George’s shoulder. ‘Look, I doubt Ritter will want to confess to the police about his business with Mister Jarvis, but if they do find out, you can always speak up for him.’

  George nodded. Jarvis had been nothing but mean to him and Spud, but he didn’t deserve to hang.

  Charlie blew out his cheeks. ‘He’s a nasty piece of work whatever way you look at it. Did he get away with anything when he broke in?’

  Kitty shook her head. ‘Spud chased him off, but he left this behind.’ She pulled a grimy patch of material from her dress pocket and gave a quick grimace.

  ‘And this too.’ George fished the pocket watch out of his trousers.

  The old man took the watch and the material from them. ‘We will hand them in to the inspector as evidence. But tell me, why did the pair of you really go across the river last night? Kitty told the inspector you were taking Spud for a walk, but then he does not know how fond my granddaughter is of fairy tales.’

  Kitty’s cheeks flushed pink. She shot George a desperate look.

  He sucked in a breath. ‘She’s right. We did take Spud for a walk. But we took something back where it belongs too.’

  The old man’s eyes flickered with a look of sudden understanding. ‘Ah yes! The little digging expedition you spoke about earlier.’ He gave George a knowing wink.

  Charlie frowned. ‘This all sounds very mysterious. You’ll have to tell me all about it when I get my next leave, Georgie.’ He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Lummy! I’d better get going. The Squadron Leader said I’d to be back at the base at four sharpish.’

  George’s throat knotted. ‘Will the Luftwaffe be coming back to bomb London again tonight?’

  Charlie sighed. ‘We’ve been told to expect them. And if it’s not tonight, it’ll be tomorrow or the day after.’

  ‘Are we going to beat them?’

  Charlie’s frown deepened. ‘I don’t know, George. But we’re doing our very best.’ He ruffled a hand through George’s hair. ‘Do you want to come downstairs and see me off?’

  The lump in George’s throat grew bigger. He’d been dreading this moment. But he had to be strong, for Charlie’s sake.

  After Charlie had said his farewells to the Regenbogens and buttoned up his jacket, the pair of them headed downstairs. As they stepped out into the light, Charlie took George’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. ‘You’ve still got the ring then?’ He glanced down at the band of gold on George’s thumb.

  George nodded.

  ‘Good lad.’ Charlie slid off his own ring and touched it to George’s. ‘Together Always.’ Remember?’

  George’s eyes stung with sudden, hot tears. He bit his lip and brushed them away, but fresh ones sprang quickly in their place.

  ‘Come on now. Chin up.’ Charlie drew him into a hug. They stayed there like that for a while, arms wrapped tightly about each other, until at last Charlie pulled free. He gripped George by the shoulders and looked him squarely in the eye. ‘I’ll come back to you, Georgie, I promise I will.’

  George drew in a deep breath and nodded.

  ‘That’s the spirit!’ Charlie gave him another quick hug. As he turned to go, a sudden thought flashed into George’s head.

  ‘Wait! I’ve got something for you.’ He dashed back into the house. He reappeared a few moments later, carrying the knapsack. Chest heaving, he opened the flap and dug around inside until he found what he was looking for. ‘Here.’

  Charlie raised an eyebrow. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A raven’s feather. A lucky one.’ George thrust it into his hands. As Charlie turned it over, it shimmered in the sunlight with a blue-black sheen.

  ‘Thanks, Georgie.’ He stroked his finger along it. ‘I’ll make sure I have it with me every time I go up.’ He smiled at him one last time, then, throwing him a quick salute, he hurried down the steps and strode away down the street.

  As George watched him go, a fresh ache started up in his chest. But this time the pain was mixed with something else too. A sort of warm shivery feeling. He didn’t know what was going to happen next. But the crown was safe. And he was going to do his level best to keep the ring safe too. As he stared down at it again, his eyes blurred with more tears. He scrubbed at them with the back of his sleeve and took another breath.

  He was about to head upstairs when a small yip sounded next to him. He glanced down. Spud sat at his feet, the lead between his jaws.

  ‘Good idea, boy.’ He stepped back inside and called up to Kitty. The sound of footsteps echoed above and a few moments later her head appeared over the banisters.

  ‘I’m taking Spud for a walk.’

  ‘All right, Saint George. But do not be long. Opa has found another jar of honey at the back of the cupboard. He says we can bake some more lebkuchen. If you are going to be living with us, you will need to learn how.’ She flashed him a grin. Then before he had the chance to reply, she pulled back her head and disappeared.

  George set off down the street, Spud trotting ahead of him, tail raised. When they reached the river, he bent and let him off the lead. As the dog scooted away up the path, George stared out across the sparkling green water at the ridge opposite. It looked peaceful in the afternoon sunshine. So peaceful it was hard now to believe that what had happened up there last night was true. But it was, and it was something neither he nor Kitty would ever forget.

  A sudden breeze rippled towards him. He shivered and whistled to Spud. The dog pulled out from the rabbit hole he’d been burrowing into. He shook himself and came bounding towards George, tongue lolling. As he reached his side, a harsh call echoed across the water. George’s heart jolted. He stumbled down on to the shoreline, shading his eyes.

  A great black bird was circling in the sky above the ridge. Beneath it, silhouetted against the sun, stood the lone figure of a man, head held high, shoulders thrown back, the folds of a dark cloak billowing out around him.

  A shiver ran up and down George’s spine. He scrunched up his eyes, trying to get a better look at him. But it was no use; the man was too far away.

  He stood there for a moment, as if watching George. Then, turning, he reached beneath his cloak and drew out a long thin blade. He thrust it up high above his head and swung it round. As the sunlight hit the blade, there was a blinding flash of red and gold light. George gasped and looked away. When he looked back, both man and bird had gone.

  A whiskery nose tickled his shins. He shivered again and ruffled Spud’s head.

  ‘Come on, boy. Let’s go home.’

  About the book

  The inspiration for my story is a real event – the discovery of the great Anglo–Saxon Sutton Hoo ship burial during the summer of 1939, just before the outbreak of the Second World War.

  Described at the time as the British equivalent of the famous Tutankhamun tomb discovery of Ancient Egypt, the burial is one of the richest ever found in northern Europe. It was discovered beneath the largest mound o
n the site by a small team of archaeologists who had been invited to come and excavate it by the landowner, Mrs Edith Pretty.

  Inside the ghostly imprint of a great wooden longship, 27 metres in length, the archaeologists found a unique collection of priceless treasures. Because of the richness of the finds, it is believed the ship burial was the memorial for a person of high standing, possibly the Anglo–Saxon king, Redwald of the East Angles (died around 624) – though no trace of a body was actually found. According to Anglo–Saxon records, Redwald was referred to as ‘Bretwalda’ or ‘Britain-ruler’ which suggests he may have been a sort of early high king of Britain. It is his ghost which Kitty believes is haunting the burial site in the story.

  The ship burial dates from a time once popularly known as ‘The Dark Ages’; a term which reflects how little we know of that period due to the relative scarcity of surviving documents and archaeological finds. The Sutton Hoo treasures are famous not just for their beauty and craftsmanship, but also because they have helped historians shine a light on the culture and beliefs of the earliest Anglo–Saxon settlers in England.

  Today, thanks to Mrs Pretty’s generosity in gifting the find to the nation, the major artefacts from the burial are on public display in the British Museum in London and are regarded as one of the highlights of its collection.

  I first learnt about the Sutton Hoo ship burial when I studied early medieval history at university. But it was when I visited the site – now in the care of the National Trust – over twenty years later that my imagination really caught fire.

  The field of around eighteen grassy mounds, set on top of a ridge overlooking the estuary of the River Deben in Suffolk, is both beautiful and mysterious. What intrigued me most though was the timing and significance of unearthing the long-lost treasure of an ancient English king on the eve of an event as cataclysmic and world-changing as the Second World War. This set me thinking about what might happen if a young boy, exiled from his home during the very darkest days of the conflict with Nazi Germany, makes a discovery, linked to the ship burial site, which has the potential to influence the future course of the war.