by Helen Watts
‘Hello there,’ said Ben, looking a bit sheepish, as Kelly got closer.
Kelly presumed that he felt bad about the way their last meeting had ended. To show that there were no hard feelings, she stepped up to him, murmured ‘S’good to see you,’ and went to give him a kiss on the cheek. As she did it, she realised that this was the first time she and Ben had been quite so close. Ben must have realised that too, because he pulled back before she could touch him, a look of surprise on his face.
Kelly felt the need to explain. ‘I’ve been worried about you, Ben Denton.’ She curled Tyson’s lead around her fingers. ‘That’s your surname, isn’t it? Denton. You never told me.’
Ben looked shocked. When he responded, he spoke slowly. ‘Yes. Denton’s my family name. I knew there had to be a connection the moment I saw those initials on the gravestone.’
‘But you knew what W. T. D. stood for.’
‘Not really. I mean, I think I just saw the D and thought of my own name. D for Denton.’
‘But you said the whole name.’
‘When?’
‘In the churchyard. Last Friday. You said William Thomas Denton.’
Ben reached down and picked up a stick. ‘Why don’t you let Tyson off?’ He waved the stick at the little dog, ‘You want to play fetch, don’t you, boy?’
‘Ben?’ Kelly didn’t understand.
‘There you go,’ said Ben, still ignoring her and unclipping Tyson’s lead. ‘Good lad. Fetch the stick!’
Kelly watched as Ben threw the stick into the trees and Tyson shot off after it, his little legs pumping furiously, propelling him at top speed through the grass. Should she press Ben further? Remembering her father’s advice, she decided to try a different angle. ‘Well, since I saw you last, I’ve been to the Records Office.’
Ben didn’t respond, but she carried on. ‘I managed to get hold of a copy of William Denton’s death certificate. The age and dates match those on the grave, and it looks like he was killed working on the railway. And if he is in a shared grave with three others, we’ve got to be talking about the same accident that’s described in that newspaper article.’
Ben was looking at her again, but she found it difficult to read his expression. Something between intrigued and anxious. Choosing her words carefully, she continued. ‘I found William in the Census records too, for 1851. He lived in your cottage, Ben, didn’t he? And he had a wife and a son.’
Ben swallowed hard. ‘It said that?’
‘Yes, it lists everyone in the household on that date. They’re your relatives, aren’t they?’
‘Apparently,’ muttered Ben, turning away.
For a few minutes the pair walked in silence along the footpath, side by side, into the wood. Eventually, Ben asked tentatively, ‘What else did it say?’
‘Not a lot, but one thing was interesting. It listed William’s occupation as a quarryman. Imagine that! He must have worked in Wilmcote quarry before he went to work on the railway.’ Kelly paused, before asking, in a small voice, ‘Do you know anything else about your relatives, then, Ben?’
‘Not really.’
Kelly wanted to get everything clear in her head. ‘Well, what do we know?’ she said, climbing up to perch on the top of a stile. ‘We know that the railway was opened on 29th September 1860, and we know that Wilmcote quarry was supplying stone for the Houses of Parliament. For a job as big as that, as far away as London, the new railway line must have been a real bonus. It would have been by far the quickest way to move the stone. Far better than moving it by canal. Yes?’
Ben nodded, climbing up to sit alongside her. Tyson sniffed about beneath their dangling feet.
Kelly carried on. ‘And now we know that on the day before the railway officially opened, four men died—and at least one of them was a railway labourer. So chances are they all were, if they were buried together. They were certainly all local. They could even have been friends.’
‘Yes I think they were,’ said Ben, looking at his hands.
‘Yet there is hardly any information about the accident that we’ve been able to find. There was no detail on William’s death certificate, no mention on the internet—just that newspaper clipping you found. And there was nothing obvious on the men’s gravestones, not even their full names. How weird is that?’
‘Very,’ said Ben. ‘You would think the victims deserved to be named at least.’
‘Exactly!’ said Kelly, delighted that at last Ben seemed to be on the same page as her. ‘But why? It’s like someone was trying to gloss over it. Make as little fuss as possible, or deliberately make the details hard for people to trace. Who could have something to hide, do you think?’
‘Someone with the power and influence to cover up four deaths.’
Kelly shivered. ‘Ooh, that’s quite a scary thought. Almost as disturbing as that hangman’s noose in the old shed!’
Ben sprang off the stile as if an electric current had passed through it. Tyson gave a yelp of protest.
‘Hey, watch out!’ cried Kelly. ‘You trod on his tail!’
Ben spun round. ‘Why do you have to keep going on about that noose? I told you it gives me the creeps. Besides, what can it possibly have to do with anything?’
‘Sorry.’ Kelly’s apology dripped with sarcasm as she climbed down to scoop Tyson up into her arms. ‘I forgot you were such a baby about that.’
Ben didn’t look amused, so Kelly decided to let it drop.
‘Whatever,’ she resumed. ‘There must have been plenty of people in Wilmcote who knew what went on. An accident like that couldn’t have been swept under the carpet completely. People talk in small communities, don’t they?’ She plopped Tyson into Ben’s arms, forcing him to give the dog a conciliatory cuddle. ‘Mum suggested asking somebody local. Someone who might have a good knowledge of history round here—a storyteller or a local historian or someone like that. But I don’t really know anyone in the village, apart from you.’
‘Nor do I,’ said Ben.
‘But you’ve lived here all your life!’
‘I know, but I don’t have any school friends, and my parents…well, they’re always busy on the farm. They don’t socialise much.’
The two friends fell silent, contemplating their next move.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ announced Kelly. ‘I think we should go to the pub!’
‘What?’ asked Ben, placing Tyson back on the ground. ‘Why?’
‘Because if you’re looking for locals—I mean, old folk who have lived here a long time, people who might have relatives who told them stories about this place—it’s not a bad place to start. The landlord is bound to know who’s who in the village. He might be able to suggest someone we could talk to. Come on!’
Kelly patted her leg to summon Tyson to her side and began to walk off in the direction of the village. Ben hung back. ‘I can’t go into a pub.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, my mother will kill me for starters. She hates those places. Besides, children aren’t allowed in, are they?’
‘I’m thirteen next month,’ laughed Kelly. ‘Hardly a child, and neither are you. Anyway, we aren’t buying drinks. We just want to ask a few questions, see who’s in there. Surely we can do that.’
She waited for Ben to reply, but could see that he wasn’t convinced.
‘Oh, you can wait outside, then!’ she said impatiently. ‘At least I’m going to try.’
Wilmcote had two pubs. The biggest and usually the busiest was the Mary Arden Inn, which was popular with tourists. Kelly aimed for the smaller pub, the Mason’s Arms, which was more popular with the locals. She had been in there with Mum and Dad and her brother for a Sunday lunch a couple of times. They did the biggest Yorkshire puddings Kelly had ever seen.
There was a public footpath across the fields which came out into the centre of the village along the back of the Mason’s Arms garden, and a gap in the hedge where you could get through. It took a good half hour for the two friends to
get there, and by the time they reached the gap in the hedge, Ben had fallen quite a way back. Kelly waited for him to catch up.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she scoffed, when he slouched through the hedge and flopped down on a bench tucked away at the end of the pub garden. ‘You can’t be that tired, surely?’
‘I walked nearly all the way to yours. Anyway, you might as well have gone ahead and gone inside. I’m not coming in.’
‘Oh, Ben! Your mum doesn’t need to know. You really can be a baby sometimes.’
Ben simply shrugged.
Kelly rolled her eyes. ‘Oh well, it looks like it’s Kelly Hearn or nothing. If you’re staying here, you might as well make yourself useful. Look after the dog.’ She tied Tyson’s lead to the leg of the bench and, without another word, strode round the corner and up the path towards the rear entrance of the pub.
Inside, the Mason’s Arms was dimly lit but welcomingly warm. A log fire crackled in the grate on the far side of the room and huddled around it were a few old local chaps enjoying a pint. Besides them there were two couples having a pub lunch, but apart from that it was fairly quiet.
Nervously, Kelly approached the bar. She recognised the landlord, put on her best smile and nodded a greeting to him.
‘Can I help you, young lady?’ he asked, his expression not matching the welcoming ambience of his pub.
‘I’m not sure,’ Kelly stammered.
‘Then maybe you’d better come back with your parents, hey? I can’t serve kids, you know. And I’m not giving out any free glasses of water either.’
‘No, I mean, I don’t want to buy anything. I’m looking for someone. I was hoping you might be able to help.’
‘Oh aye,’ remarked the landlord, dubiously.
‘I’m working on a school project, about the history of Wilmcote, and I need to find some local people who have lived here a long time. Ideally, people with relatives who have lived here since the Victorian times. When the quarry was open.’
‘Look, love, we might be called the Mason’s Arms, but that doesn’t make me an expert on the quarry.’
‘I know. But I thought perhaps you would know someone who might be.’
The landlord sighed and rolled his eyes. Grumpy old fart, thought Kelly, convinced he was about to send her packing. But then he gestured to an old man sitting in the corner, in the alcove next to the fire, nursing his pint.
‘I suppose you could ask old Jim. His family have been here for ever. I think his great granddad used to work the quarry. But you’ll need to be quick. And you’ll have to speak up. He’s as deaf as a post.’
‘Perfect!’ exclaimed Kelly. ‘I don’t mean perfect that he’s deaf.’
The landlord smirked.
‘Oh, you know what I mean. Thank you. I’m really grateful.’
Kelly crossed the bar, feeling very uncomfortable. She felt as though everyone was staring at her. She wished Ben had come too.
Jim had a friendly, white-whiskery face. He smiled at Kelly, with glassy blue-grey eyes, and smacked his lips as he placed his pint glass down on a beer mat.
‘Hello,’ said Kelly, speaking as loudly as she dared. ‘Do you mind if I sit down? The landlord said you might be able to help me with some questions I have about Wilmcote history.’
Old Jim raised his eyebrows and smiled, relishing the opportunity to be useful to someone. ‘I can certainly try, my dear. Please…’ He gestured to Kelly to pull up a chair.
Slowly, she told the old man all about her school project and asked if he knew anything, in particular about the history of the quarry and the railway.
‘Yes, yes,’ Jim replied, folding his arms and chuckling. ‘My grandfather used to work in the quarry. But it’s all a long time ago. I don’t remember much. I’m ninety-six, you know.’
‘Wow,’ said Kelly, ‘that’s not bad going.’
‘No, indeed. Not bad at all.’ He picked up his glass and winked. ‘I put it down to a drop of the old ale. A pint a day keeps the doctor away. Isn’t that what they say?’
‘Something like that,’ Kelly chuckled. She liked Jim already.
‘My grandfather used to come here to the Mason’s too. This was his seat. I always sit here. I see it as carrying on a family tradition. And I’m ninety-six now, you know.’
‘Yes, you said.’ Kelly glanced over at the bar and, seeing the landlord eyeing her, decided to get old Jim back on track. She was about to ask a question when he picked up his thread.
‘Oh yes, this place was full of quarrymen in my grandfather’s day, and labourers from the railway. He used to tell me a thing or two about what they got up to in here.’
‘Did your grandfather ever mention any names? A William Denton perhaps? He worked in the quarry and on the railway.’
‘Denton, did you say?’
Kelly nodded.
The old man screwed up his eyes and scratched his beard. ‘I don’t know. It’s a long time ago. I was only about your age when my grandfather died.’
He took a slug of his beer, and Kelly watched as he licked the froth from his moustache. Then she saw a flicker in his eyes.
‘Nah, I don’t remember any names, love, but I’ll never forget the story of those chaps who got killed.’
‘On the railway?’ prompted Kelly.
‘Aye, that’s right. On the railway. Four of ‘em wiped out at the same time. Terrible it was. Not many people know about that.’
‘I do,’ announced Kelly, inching forwards onto the edge of her chair, ‘and I’m trying to find out what happened. Oh, please tell me you know some details.’
Old Jim lent towards her, and lowered his voice to a whisper, clearly relishing the chance to impart some of his knowledge. ‘They said it was just an accident. But it wasn’t. It was downright negligence.’
Kelly’s eyes were wide with anticipation. ‘Go on,’ she whispered back.
‘They shouldn’t have been running trains on that track at all that day. There were still repairs to do. Some folk tried to blame the driver, but the poor bugger didn’t have any warning. He had no idea there were men on the track. If he had he’d have blown his whistle, wouldn’t he?’
Kelly’s hand had gone to her mouth. ‘So what are you saying? The men were working on the track and got hit by a train?’
Old Jim grimaced and nodded. ‘Completely splattered by it, they were. Bits everywhere. Couldn’t even tell who was who.’
‘Oh my God!’ Kelly exclaimed, her heart thumping. ‘So who was to blame?’
‘There was talk that it was the railway company’s fault. It was a new line and they’d been rushing to get it finished in time for an official opening. Lots of VIPs were coming, and all that jazz. Cutting corners they were. Running trains along the line before it was ready.’
Kelly exhaled. It was too horrible to imagine.
Old Jim went on. ‘And I don’t think the labourers had a look-out either.’
‘A look-out?’
‘Yes. Someone posted further up the track, to look out for trains coming. To tell the workers to step aside.’
‘So what happened?’ asked Kelly. ‘How come the rail company didn’t get into trouble?’
‘Oooh, I don’t know, my dear. It was a long time ago. Things were different then. They didn’t have all this health and safety nonsense. These companies could get away with murder.’
‘Literally,’ agreed Kelly.
‘I think there was an inquest or something, but I don’t know what happened with that.’
‘I do. They decided it was just an accident. I’ve got an old newspaper cutting about it. There was an inquest but no one was considered to be at fault. The verdict was accidental death.’
Jim snorted. ‘Hmm. That’d be right. The big boys always manage to get away with it, don’t they? No one cares about the poor working folk. Ah well. It’s all water under the bridge now.’
‘Maybe,’ pondered Kelly.
Behind her, someone turned up the volume on the television. The h
orse racing was about to start at Newmarket. Jim’s attention immediately switched from her face to the large plasma screen on the wall over her shoulder. Kelly could tell she was not going to get any more from him today. Besides, he had turned out to be amazingly useful, ninety-six or not.
‘I’ll leave you to it, Jim,’ she shouted, getting up from her chair. ‘Thank you so much. You don’t know how much you have helped.’
Old Jim held out a liver-spotted hand across the table to shake Kelly’s. ‘My pleasure, my dear. Any time…but don’t leave it too long, I’m ninety-six, you know.’
When she got back outside, Kelly found Ben and Tyson waiting patiently in the autumn sunshine. Ben was still perched on the bench, stroking Tyson who was on the wooden seat alongside him.
As Kelly approached, Ben looked up apologetically and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, Kel. I’m not much help to you, am I?’
‘It’s okay,’ she replied, giving Tyson a biscuit from her pocket. ‘It was fine. More than fine, actually.’
‘You were gone a long time. I guessed you had found someone to talk to.’
‘I did. A lovely man called Old Jim.’ She giggled. ‘He was ninety-six, you know.’
‘And?’
‘We’ve definitely got ourselves a cover-up. The four men were run over by a train, Ben. That’s how they died. It was awful. Old Jim said the railway line wasn’t even officially opened yet. They were still working on the line. And the railway company was either cutting corners because they had a deadline to meet, or hiding the fact that they had started to use the track before it was ready—or, who knows, it could have been both. I’m sure what Old Jim said wasn’t just gossip. I believe him. And the more I think about it, there has to be a reason why there’s no mention of how those men died on their gravestones, not even their full names. It’s like someone wanted to bury the truth along with them.’
‘But there was the inquest,’ Ben said.
‘Yes, but how on earth did they reach that accidental death verdict? From what Old Jim says, there were some serious questions about why those men got killed. I think I’m going to have another look on the internet. Perhaps I’ve missed something. There’s got to be some more details somewhere.’ Kelly picked up Tyson and placed him back on the ground. ‘Come on, I’ll tell you everything Old Jim said while we walk back.’
