Stone of Destiny

by Ian Hamilton

  John Josselyn was the most spectacular of all the people who concerned themselves with the Stone. Like the rest of us, he was small in stature. He had tiny twinkling seaman’s eyes, and from his chin jutted a rough and glorious beard, which stuck before him as though its ends had been heated red hot and hammered into shape on an anvil. His enemies, and they were many, hated him and would have killed him; his friends, and they were legion, would have died for him; he himself lived in a world of his own, cherishing the bizarre and deriding the commonplace. He never did a moderate thing in his life, and I loved him like a brother.

  His recruitment must be the shortest contract on record.

  ‘Are you doing anything over New Year?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Aye!’ said Joss. He loved to affect Scots speech. ‘A’m going up to Mull.’

  ‘Would you not rather come south to bring back the Stone of Destiny?’ asked Bill.

  ‘Aye!’ said Joss. ‘A would that.’

  Back in Bertie Gray’s office we were having great difficulty in getting hold of a car. His own car was of little use, as it had gone sour with age and could not be expected to stand up to a 1,000-mile non-stop trip. It was too late to hire one, as the garages would all be closed for the holiday, and there was no one else in the plot who owned a car. Cars were not all that common. Had we told what we wanted one for, we could have had a whole fleet of them, but telling was a risk we could not idly take. Too many people knew already. Again our minds turned to Alan Stuart.

  He was at that moment provisioning a car for the trip north to see Kay, the trip we all looked on with so much misgiving. We had hoped that we should not again have to call on his family’s generosity, but it seemed that there was to be no other way, so we telephoned him at his house. He was just leaving as our call came through, and he assured us that he would be with us in half an hour.

  While we were waiting for him, Bill returned to report his successful interview with John Josselyn. There was only one drawback. Joss could not drive. That meant I would be expected to drive all the way non-stop. A thousand miles at an average speed of 25 or 30 miles an hour. The arithmetic lost me, but whatever the result it was too much. I would have to set aside all my cautious thoughts about Alan. Alan would have to come.

  Shortly afterwards, Alan himself arrived. He saw the arguments that it might endanger Kay if he went north. He was a little more reluctant to go south. He would have gone to the South Pole to get the Stone. It was the car he was worried about. Already he had ‘mislaid’ one of the family cars. The Anglia was hidden in some garage in Birmingham, and his father had had every right to read the Riot Act and had not done so. Now Alan was being asked to take a much more expensive car, a 14-horsepower Armstrong-Siddeley, and dash fiercely over icy roads with a snow warning out and all Scotland Yard’s bloodhounds howling behind. It was his choice.

  Being Alan he chose the dangerous course, risked the car and his father’s wrath, and brought the Stone home. On this trip, fear of his father was a very real thing with Alan. And while I am certain that both he and his father will look back on that fear and smile, it was no laughing matter at the time. When we returned with the Stone, Alan was torn between the need to tell his father that all was well with the Stone, and the desire not to tell him how all had become well. In the end all was forgiven, but we pushed Mr Stuart’s generosity to the limit.

  Little now remained to be done. Bill and I had dined amply off fish and chips, and the car was provisioned with food and flasks of hot drink. Joss was waiting in my lodgings. We had enough money to cover most contingencies; we had road maps; we now had a car. Plans we had none, for we had no time to make them. Our operation was simple. We had to bring the Stone back. The lack of any definite plan was no drawback. We did not know what we would have to meet, but our arrangements were flexible, and we could mould them to meet any situation.

  Bertie went off to deliver our petition to the press. There was one of us who was glad to see the back of it, and that one was me. After that he and John could only wait in anxiety, while once again we set off south. We were crossing Douglas Moor before I remembered that I had been reviving my social life and was due to go out to dinner that night. I hadn’t had a chance to make my excuses to my dining companion, and I stood her up, poor girl. When I came back I telephoned her and told her I had been away south bringing back the Stone of Destiny. She was not amused. She was even less amused when she learned some months later that I had told her the truth. She never spoke to me again.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  After the old Ford, the Armstrong-Siddeley was the last word in comfort. It was frightfully well bred; not quite out of the top drawer, but getting on that way. It held the doubtful roads well, the steering didn’t have three inches of play in it, the doors and windows fitted so that it was draughtproof, and, above all, it had a heater. After the gusty winds and freezing cold of the Ford, it was bliss. John Josselyn and Bill Craig had the best of it. They did not suffer the cold we first four had endured.

  Joss was waiting in my room and was very pleased to see us when we picked him up. He had been waiting so long that he was beginning to think that it was some elaborate practical joke, but when we assured him that it was no joke and that we were going to start immediately, his eyes sparkled, and he was silent for joy, the only time I ever knew him to be without a word. He just could not believe it.

  Bill had given him only a few of the details, and while we filled in the blanks for him, I rushed round the room and packed all my available grips and haversacks with a miscellaneous collection of shirts, socks and suits. It occurred to me that now that we were travelling in style, we had better have the impedimenta of style, so in went my dinner jacket too. It might help to convince any police patrol that we were what we claimed to be. What precisely that was going to be would have to fit the circumstances of the time.

  We had now only one call to make, and we proceeded to make it as quickly as possible. Gavin was still under the impression that he was accompanying Alan north on the trip to Inverasdale, and it was necessary to call at his lodgings to tell him that this trip was cancelled.

  I could see that both Bill and Johnny were worried, and I knew what was on their minds. Only four could go on the trip south, and they both felt that Gavin had a better title to be one of the four than either of them had. Gavin had been one of the first four, and he was a driver. We sent Bill in to speak to Gavin and waited in the car for his return. No doubt Johnny felt that as last comer he was likely to be the one to be jettisoned, and as a particular friend I felt for him. Bill returned with Gavin, who had agreed not to insist on his right to come with us. He wished us luck and told us to ca’ canny. Alan let in the clutch, and we set off on our second adventure within a week.

  It was not a happy night for driving. The sky was overcast with cloud, and although the temperature had risen considerably the roads were still ice bound. There was every indication that we would get snow before morning. However, we were in fine spirits. If to travel hopefully is better than to arrive, setting off on a journey is better still. I do not believe that pleasures are stronger in anticipation than in realisation. That is a philosophy of the defeated. The tremendous rush of preparation is to be borne only as a means to the gusty appreciation of the result. We were again tasting result. We were travelling south to bring back the Stone of Destiny.

  We all enjoyed each other’s company. Johnny sang what he said was a Gaelic song, although he had not a word of that language, and I recited ‘Edinbane’. Then we sat and talked about the police and what fools they were making of themselves. If they were no cleverer than they appeared to be, we should have no trouble. And so the hours passed. We sang our way southwards, and all the world was young.

  Yet as we wore the heel out of the night we sang less and less. A thousand miles is a long way non-stop, and we had no intention of stopping. Finally we paired off; one driver accompanied by a talker, whose job was to keep the driver from falling asleep. Bill was my partn
er, and we talked about many things as the headlights cut swathes in the icy darkness and the snow crunched under the wheels. Bill had a degree in history, and was due to sit his finals in economics that spring. He had many new ideas about the Scotland we would build when we had taken control of our own destiny into our own hands, and ceased to permit our nearest neighbour to grow weeds in our garden. Remember that we were still intoxicated with success. We were young. We believed that our actions had taken Scotland a long way along the road she must one day travel to the end.

  At Carlisle we stopped and filled the car with petrol, for although it was powerful, it also had a great thirst. One of our fellow students lived near here, and we determined to call on him. His father was a doctor with a country practice so he travelled a lot over the Border roads. He would know what police patrols were out, and whether or not it would be possible to slip through them unobserved.

  We had some difficulty in finding the house, and finally we stopped and Bill put through a telephone call, so that when we eventually arrived our friend was waiting for us on his doorstep. Johnny, Alan and I sat in the car while Bill went out. The student was thoroughly trustworthy, but it was fairer to him as well as to us to let him know as little as possible. He was a friend of Bill’s, and Bill alone need deal with him.

  In a short time Bill returned to report that all was well. Police activity had slackened in the area and there was every chance that we would get through. The road from Longtown to Langholm seemed the best bet, since it was one used much by local people and little by long-distance traffic. Our friend was certain that if we crossed the Border there, we would not be stopped. To make doubly certain, Bill had arranged one of his code signals to be used if we were in any doubt. We were to telephone this man and ask him how his auntie was keeping. If the roads were clear, his auntie was well; if they were completely infested with police his auntie was very ill; gradations in her health between these two states would indicate how active the police were being. Fortunately the police kept within doors that weekend, so our friend’s holiday was not clouded by family sickness. We drove south from Carlisle knowing that our intelligence arrangements were in good hands.

  Our trip from Penrith over the Pennines to Scotch Corner was less eventful than when we had travelled in the Ford. True, there had been a heavy snowfall, but the wheels of much traffic had hammered it flat. Although we skidded occasionally and had much wheel spin we were never in danger. If the roads were no worse than this we would make good time.

  Up on the roof of England we halted to stretch our legs. The sky was overcast but a hazy glow came through from the lowland towns. Darkness is a decreasing phenomenon. On all sides stretched a measureless waste of snow, which shone wan and uneasy under a clouded sky. There was complete silence, except only for the crackle of the ice under our feet. We were frightened a little as though something were watching us, and we were glad when we piled into the car again and closed the doors against the cold mystery of the moor.

  We continued to make good speed. Alan and I changed with each other fairly frequently so we did not tire. We ate hugely of the store of food that was in the car, and looked longingly at the gill of whisky that Alan’s father had given him; but we did not drink it. We were preserving it for a special occasion. Of sleep we had little, as both Johnny and Bill were fresh and their remarks lit the night with humour. Time and again, when sleep was almost there, laughter would come and destroy it. We did not mind. We were making good time. It was a time to laugh.

  We stopped at Doncaster for a cup of tea. It was still early morning but the cafe was thronged with football fans on their way by bus to a game. They had early morning papers, and were talking more about the Stone than about football. Ruat coelum! If we were ousting football from its proper place the world was swinging off its axis. We buttoned up our accents and asked for tea and rolls in monosyllables, and urged Johnny to do most of the talking; but our ears were open and we were delighted to note the interest our actions had aroused.

  Dawn had scarcely begun to show itself when the first flurry of snow swept across the headlights, blotting out the way ahead. At first the only hindrance was to visibility; each snowflake was a reflector which turned the headlights back into the eyes of the driver. Soon we were reduced to a crawl by our inability to see. Carried by the wind, the tiny snowflakes slid across the road until they found a hollow to lie in. In half an hour the drifts were several inches deep and the back wheels began to skate and spin. Snow built up under the mudguards and tore at the wheels. When dawn broke, and the snow was still falling, we knew that we were going to have to find a garage and have chains fitted. Outside Newark we stopped to pick up a lassie with a shopping basket who was waiting in the snow, hoping her bus was still running, and she was able to direct us to a garage where we would get good attention.

  We found this under the shadow of Newark Castle. The mechanic assured us that he could attend to our wants, so we left the car in his charge. It was now coming on for ten o’clock and the nearby hotel rather brusquely refused us breakfast, so we had a wash and shave in their toilet and left under a barrage of frowns. We were still hungry, and on enquiry were directed to a small eating house full of stuffed birds and filth, where we had the worst breakfast in England for which we were charged the ruinous price of three and sixpence each.

  For the last few hours we had held constant discussions on the best place to stow the Stone in the car. Underneath the boot there was a receptacle for the spare wheel, and it seemed to me that, if the Stone would fit in there, it would be an ideal hiding place. We had some argument on the subject, and to settle the matter once and for all I bought a ruler to measure it. Then we discovered that none of us could remember the measurements of the Stone, so we had to buy a morning paper to find out. The papers contained a very full description of the Stone, including the exact measurements. I do not know if this description ever assisted anyone else, but it certainly proved invaluable to us.

  The car was now ready and we went to collect it. The chains swallowed up a fair proportion of our fast-dwindling money. We found, however, that it was worth it. Although the snow had stopped falling it still lay deeply, and indeed we heard later that the roads we had travelled were classed by the motoring associations as impassable. It was not until we were well south of Stamford that we could stop to take the chains off.

  This was now my opportunity to stop and measure the spare wheel aperture, and to my intense chagrin it was, as all the others had maintained, too small. It seemed that there was no alternative but to put the Stone in the boot. I did not like this. If the police stopped us, that would be the first place they would look. I wanted to have a chance to bluff it out even if we were stopped.

  I checked over the car and discovered that the front passenger seat was separate from its backrest. The seat could be lifted out, springs, upholstery and all. We moved the backrest to the limit of its travel and removed the seat, measured the space carefully, and discovered that there was ample room for the Stone. True, the passenger would be uncomfortable. He would have to sit with his legs straight in front of him, but with a travelling rug over the Stone, and a coat over his knees, nothing would be visible unless the nearside door was opened. We would have to keep it locked.

  At Letchworth we stopped, and Johnny and I got out to search for a travelling rug to cover the Stone in its new capacity of a car seat. The travelling rugs were more than we could afford, and we had to make do with a second-hand coat. Thus the Stone of Destiny came back to Scotland clad not in the purple of kings, but covered humbly with a commoner’s cast-off overcoat.

  It was growing dark when we arrived in London, but we were very cheerful. It had taken us 24 hours to cover 400 miles, but we had kept ourselves fresh for the night’s work that lay ahead of us. We had plenty of time, because we did not wish to arrive at Rochester until late in the evening; the later we were, the fewer people there would be abroad. We headed for the West End and parked the car in the Strand. It will
be remembered that on Christmas morning Bill had wired £10 to Gavin at the Strand post office. Gavin had returned to Glasgow and this money had never been uplifted. We determined to retrieve it now. Bill went into the post office, presented proof of Gavin’s identity, signed Gavin’s name and collected the money. Thus we added forgery to our many other heinous offences.

  We bought papers and proceeded to a cafe to read them and to have a meal. The Star carried a headline: ‘STONE: ARRESTS EXPECTED SOON’. We laughed a little uneasily about this. It seemed a long time since we had left Scotland, and we wondered if there had been any new developments. Then we read on and found that the police were still dredging all adjacent stretches of water. It seemed a cold pastime for that season of the year.

  Towards 8 p.m. we took the road to Rochester. Alan and I had lost ourselves so often on this road that we had little hope of finding it first time. London is not so much a city as a desert of houses crowded together. Outside the West End there is no character whatsoever, only an unvarying monotony of houses. I am sure that it is easier to be lonely in London than anywhere else on earth. Certainly it is a featureless wilderness to the comparative stranger. This time, however, we were lucky, and in an amazingly short time we were passing the familiar Elizabethan roadhouse and shooting along the avenue of poplars.

  It was a dark night but not too dark for our purpose. The snow had not reached as far south as this, but there was a hint of it in the air. The temperature was a few degrees below freezing point, and occasionally the back wheels swung across a patch of ice. The weather seemed to have frightened most motorists indoors so we were agreeably surprised to find the road almost deserted. We were getting close to the hiding place.