The Way, the Truth and the Dead

by Francis Pryor

  ‘And do you agree, Alan?’ Candice asked, almost imploring. ‘It matters so much to us here.’

  Candice’s eyes were wide when she finished the question. Yes, Alan thought, it does matter to you, doesn’t it? The cynic in him detected self-interest – she and her husband were, after all, running the Fursey Abbey Visitor Experience – but he also thought he detected something else, something he at least could identify with: a love of the past and the people who inhabited it.

  ‘Yes, Stan told me quite a lot about his work. I was intrigued by some sherds of Iron Age pottery he showed me the last time we met. This wasn’t run-of-the-mill stuff. It included high-quality cordoned jars dating to the late BC, early AD, I even thought that one sherd might have been from an imported vessel. It looked quite similar to stuff I’d seen from Barry Cunliffe’s excavations at Hengistbury Head …’

  ‘But that’s in Dorset, isn’t it?’ John was now fascinated.

  ‘Yes, and it’s a very high-profile site indeed. In fact, it was a major port in early pre-Roman times, before Caesar’s two visits. Now, I’m not saying that Fursey is another Hengistbury, as that would be ridiculous – we’re too far inland here – but it’s perfectly possible that the top people living at Fursey had contacts with very high status communities elsewhere in Britain.’

  ‘Like Hengistbury?’ John suggested.

  Alan was determined that the archaeological project should continue after Stan’s death. The site was potentially so important, he had to encourage their enthusiasm.

  ‘Or more probably Welwyn or Colchester, which were the main regional tribal centres in the late Iron Age. Colchester was, of course, the precursor to Roman London. So, yes, I think the site is potentially very important indeed. I’d have thought it was just the sort of project that people like English Heritage ought to be supporting …’

  At this point a large man in a sober tweed suit quietly materialised alongside them. He smiled at Alan. ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I thought it would be a good idea if we started to get things moving.’ He looked significantly at Candice. ‘The contractors will be here at six and I think Stan’s parents are looking very tired.’

  ‘Of course,’ Candice replied. ‘I’ll be right over.’ She turned to Alan. ‘Before you leave, Alan, I must have a quick word with you, is that OK?’ Her look suggested it was important.

  John said quietly, ‘I think Candice wants your advice about the archaeological project. She’s a huge fan of yours, you know, she loves Test Pit Challenge. You can’t drag her away from the TV on Sunday evenings.’

  Alan smiled, he was slowly getting used to the fact that he was becoming something of a very minor TV celebrity. The viewing figures for Test Pit Challenge had been steadily climbing year on year, and he was a regular member of the team. But John hadn’t finished.

  ‘That big man earlier was my brother Sebastian. Sorry about the interruption, but I think he’s a bit anxious about the wedding reception tomorrow. The groom’s a very important contact for the estate and the shoot: a major property developer from London, and everything’s got to go smoothly. We can’t afford any slip-ups.’

  Things were beginning to make sense for Alan.

  ‘That’s a relief, for one moment I thought you’d hired this smart marquee specially for Stan’s wake.’

  John smiled. ‘No, but it seemed a terrible shame not to use it. And I have to admit, Candice was right; it’s ideal, isn’t it?’

  Alan was forced merely to nod his assent, because Candice had just asked everyone to be quiet to allow Stan’s father to say a few words of thanks. It was time for the formal speeches.

  * * *

  Stan’s father described a young man who was rather different from the Stan Alan had known at Leicester. He’d toyed with joining the Church at the time of his confirmation and had even contemplated taking up medicine, but was daunted by the science. He was a boy who was also good at sports, but one who never seemed to enjoy winning. Beating somebody else gave him no satisfaction. Was this a strength or a weakness? Alan was in little doubt: it was why they had become so close. Fish and Chips. All those years and some grim sites together. Typical bloody men, Alan thought, we never discussed ourselves. And was he regretting it now? Did he wish that they’d both shown more of their more sensitive, ‘feminine’ sides? No. Absolutely not. He was certain of that; some things are best left unsaid.

  When Stan’s father had finished, Candice stepped forward. ‘And finally, my friends, my husband John would like to say something about how we plan to remember dear Stan.’

  John Cripps rose and explained that the new restaurant and shop would be in the Victorian cow barn and the Stan Beaton Museum and Archaeological Research Centre would occupy the much larger 17th-century reed barn. Both buildings were on schedule to open at Easter. The entrance lobby to the museum would include a plaque in Stan’s memory, together with a picture – he held it up of Stan smiling slightly shyly – taken during last summer’s excavations.

  At this point waiters appeared with glasses of Champagne.

  After the toast to Stan’s memory, Alan looked around at the throng. His eyes narrowed: there was Peter Flower. He had barely aged since they had confronted each other across the table at his PhD interview. His paper-thin smile concealed a cold man, certain of his own infallible authority. He was in deep discussion with John and Lew Weinstein, executive producer of Test Pit Challenge. Small world. Alan hadn’t expected to see him here, although he knew he had been at Cambridge with Peter Flower. He noticed Candice pointing across to him and his heart sank as someone tapped his shoulder. He looked round and found he was staring into a green tweed waistcoat. The very large man was, of course, Sebastian Cripps, John’s brother, who currently ran the estate.

  ‘We meet again, Alan.’ The voice was slower, calmer now. ‘I’m Sebastian, as John no doubt told you. And this is Sarah, who manages me, my life and the estate.’

  ‘No, Bas, you exaggerate,’ she broke in. ‘I merely oversee the shoot and make the tea.’

  The lady who stood before Alan, was in her mid-forties and, despite being smaller than her husband by some six inches, now dominated the conversation. Her smile was judiciously broad, but her well-made-up eyes had a steely stare. She had a neat figure and Alan reckoned she was very fit. Her hair was fashionably blonde, but grey-brown eyes and darker eyebrows suggested she was naturally brunette. Her voice could best be described as unpretentious Sloane: a few ‘OK, yahs’, but certainly not gushy. To Alan, her way of talking suggested private education, tempered by the reality of running the shoot: essentially a small business in the early 21st century. Privileged, but realistic – possibly even ambitious.

  ‘I’m so sorry I interrupted you just now. I hope you didn’t take it amiss, but it’s essential that we keep to schedule, and dear John and Candice do so love history. I was worried when I saw they had started talking to you, that they’d never stop.’ Sebastian spoke quite fast. It was as if he was used to saying a few well-chosen words to many different people at gatherings such as this. But Alan also detected just a hint of shyness or reticence. Despite his size, this was not an over-confident man.

  Alan was keen to put him at his ease. ‘Think nothing of it. I fully understand: you had to get things going. And I should warn you, we archaeologists love to talk, so you may well have to throw some of us out when the time comes.’

  ‘No, I’m sure it won’t come to that.’ He paused, obviously trying to work out how to steer the discussion in a slightly different direction. He clearly wasn’t a very comfortable conversationalist. ‘The thing is,’ he continued, ‘I didn’t want you to think that somehow I wasn’t interested in history. Like Candice, I’m a keen follower of Test Pit Challenge and I firmly believe that a society only holds together if it shares a common past.’

  ‘So what aspect of history interests you?’

  His reply was not what Alan had expected. ‘I know that the goings-on at Court were always very exciting and I understand
why television costume dramas love them so much, but I could never identify with what was happening far away in London. Somehow it all seems – no seemed – so remote.’

  ‘Rather like today?’

  ‘In fact, if anything, things are getting worse, not better. Westminster is more haughty and remote than it has ever been.’ This was certainly not what Alan had expected to hear from a tweed-suited country gent. ‘So I’m far more interested in landscape history …’

  ‘W.G. Hoskins?’ Alan broke in.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Sebastian’s eyes came alight. ‘Wonderful book. I must have read it a dozen times. No modern authors can touch it. And a few have tried.’

  ‘Yes, sadly – and at enormous length. And of course your family comes from the one English landscape that has changed more than any other.’

  Rather to his own surprise, Alan found he was enjoying their conversation. He always liked meeting people who had discovered history for themselves. Their take on the past was always far more creative and unusual – if not always academically kosher or PC.

  ‘I know, and I do get fed up when people dismiss the Fens as flat and boring. Those old dykes out there have witnessed more history, drama and excitement than many a town or city.’

  Alan could forgive the slight hyperbole. He shared Sebastian’s enthusiasm.

  ‘So although I’m a staunch Royalist, I’m also a huge admirer of Cromwell.’ Again, this was unexpected from a fully paid-up member of the landed gentry. ‘Without Cromwell’s reforms and the release of capital tied up in the useless, self-indulgent and thoroughly corrupt monasteries, the Fens would never have been drained. Were you aware, for example, that the Duke of Bedford made use of funds derived from the ­Dissolution of Thorney Abbey to …’

  His flow was broken by Peter Flower, who, together with Lew Weinstein and John, had just joined them. Weinstein looked slightly embarrassed, but Flower, as ever, was master of the situation. He adopted a school-masterly tone.

  ‘Oh, come now, Sebastian, you know the history’s not as simple as that. We’ve discussed it over and again, but you won’t listen to reason.’ He was smiling hugely, as he refreshed both their glasses. ‘When you climb onto your hobby horse, there’s no holding you back, is there?’

  This annoyed Alan. He hated academics who patronised. But to his surprise, Sebastian was only slightly embarrassed.

  He turned to Alan as he began to withdraw. ‘Peter’s quite correct. I love the Fens and their history and I’m inclined to get a bit carried away. Now, I think you all have more pressing matters to discuss.’

  And with that he left and, as if choreographed, Candice materialised, joining their small group.

  Slightly at a loss, Alan started the conversation. ‘I hadn’t expected to see you here, Lew – I didn’t know you knew Stan?’

  ‘Sadly I didn’t, and it does seem a real tragedy that he died. But I’d been seeing my friend Peter in Cambridge’ – he turned towards Flower – ‘and he suggested I come along here …’

  There was the briefest of hesitations before Flower finished the sentence. ‘To see you, Alan.’

  Alan was aware they were all looking at him. ‘Bloody hell, what have I done?’

  That lightened the mood, and they all chuckled before Flower resumed. ‘Alan, we four fully appreciate that you have every reason to dislike me and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if at the end you told me to get lost. But I would very much like to say that I regret what happened. At the time I was completely convinced that my suggestions were reasonable, but now I have to confess I have become less certain about many things in life; and your subsequent work has shown that you are the most able prehistorian currently working in the Fens. So I intend to do my very best to make up for what happened fourteen years ago.’

  Alan was taken aback. And, yes, it had been 14 years ago. He was astonished that Flower remembered with such accuracy something that Alan had expected he would simply have shrugged off.

  John seemed to have taken on the role of chairman. ‘Thank you, Peter. That was well said.’ Then he turned to Alan. ‘I know this might seem a little strange, given that Stan was taken from us barely a month ago, but we all agreed that he would have wanted us to approach you, Alan. The thing is, he spoke very highly of you indeed, and your two visits here a year ago did a great deal to raise Stan’s morale.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Flower cut in. ‘As he said to me, you were the only person currently working in the Fens who had any experience of the huge complexities of the sort of deeply buried deposits he was just starting to encounter. As you know, I worked with him on the first draft of the Fursey project Survey, which I also helped him edit.’ Alan smiled, he was aware of Stan’s dyslexia. ‘And I’m sure it’s going to make a big impact when it reaches English Heritage.’

  ‘When do you plan to do that?’ Alan was genuinely interested.

  ‘With luck, before Christmas. But I need someone to write a general overview of prehistoric research in the region. I’m very aware that at present the project sits in splendid isolation. It desperately needs archaeological context.’ As he said this he fixed Alan with what might be called a significant stare. Alan pretended not to notice. Flower continued, ‘Anyhow, I slipped an early draft to Lew here, who was, I think it’s fair to say, rather excited.’

  Weinstein smiled broadly. ‘No, Peter,’ he said. ‘That’s not right. I was wildly, not rather, excited. We media folks are less restrained than the residents of Second Court.’ He turned to Alan. ‘Peter’s still in Second Court and we had rooms opposite one another in …’

  ‘K Staircase,’ Flower broke in to remind him.

  ‘That’s right. Also in Second Court, at Fisher …’

  ‘But back in the Bronze Age,’ Flower interjected, smiling broadly.

  ‘The thing is, Alan.’ It was Candice’s turn to speak. ‘I have long thought that the story of the abbey would make a good topic for a television programme and I tried to persuade Stan to have a word with you. But he seemed reluctant. I mentioned it one day to Peter, who you should know has been the Fursey project’s historical consultant …’

  ‘And this includes archaeology, Alan,’ Flower interjected, and they both smiled. Archaeology and history have not always been very comfortable bedfellows.

  But Candice would not be diverted. ‘… Since Fursey Heritage Development’s first board meeting back in June, 2006. He co-ordinated all the early surveys and a year later it was he who suggested we hire Stan, after, that is, we’d received our first English Heritage grant.’

  ‘Yes,’ Flower added, ‘that was three years ago. And I’ve never had any reason to regret the decision. I concede it would have been nice to have had mainstream television involvement, but that was not to be. I think we all respected Stan’s decision.’

  ‘Indeed,’ John added. ‘The important thing was the research, and Stan was doing a superb job. Our visitor enterprise …’

  ‘You mean the restaurant and the farm shop?’ Alan wasn’t quite clear.

  ‘Yes.’ John continued, ‘They were doing quite nicely thank you, largely due to the top-quality produce from the farm and, of course, Candice’s magic in the kitchen.’

  She ignored her husband’s flattery and added, ‘But even so darling, we both knew we weren’t making enough of those magnificent abbey ruins, so the archaeological project came along at precisely the right time.’ She turned to address Alan. ‘You see, somehow we’ve got to build up our local trade.’

  Weinstein glanced down at his watch, then said to Alan, ‘I’ve got a big meeting at T2 tonight, so if you’ll forgive me I must, er, cut to the chase. Peter has completely sold me on the project, but it was immediately clear to me that it’s far, far bigger than one of our normal fifty minute shows. So I’ve been thinking about other formats; in fact, that’s what I’ll be discussing with our commissioning editor at T2.’

  ‘So what sort of format are you thinking about, Lew? Something live, or maybe a longer doc or mini-series?’ />
  ‘All of those things, Alan, but the channel have made it crystal clear that whatever we negotiate with them, we have got to retain the successful dynamism of the TPC brand.’

  Whenever Weinstein used the acronym, Alan knew he was getting serious. ‘Do you mean the logo, the sig tune, the theme music – that sort of thing?’ Alan queried. He had doubts. He didn’t like the corporate world and this sounded too heavily branded and marketed.

  Weinstein could see he had misgivings. ‘Obviously all those things, but they stressed that the programme is as much about the people doing the research as the research itself. We must retain archaeological credibility. So obviously Craig will continue as presenter, but we also need regulars from the current series and, of course, you are one of them. In fact, your shows in series three consistently rated above average with the viewers. You may not be aware of it, but you’ve become quite a big name on Twitter …’

  ‘Oh, no …’ Alan couldn’t conceal a groan.

  ‘Yes, Alan, there’s even a person out there who tweets as @AlanFrown.’

  Alan was aware that he had a ‘trademark’ frown when he was confronted with an archaeological problem on camera. From time to time he’d tried to get rid of it. But it always returned.

  Weinstein continued, ‘Last time I looked, he had 4,000 followers.’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’

  ‘So we want you to be the Test Pit Challenge archaeologist …’

  Alan had to interrupt. ‘Lew, that’s very flattering. But archaeology isn’t like that. I’ve got nothing official to do with the project here; I can’t just swan in and pretend I’m a dig director, when there’s somebody else doing the job. That would be phoney; and anyhow, I wouldn’t do it.’ He paused for effect. ‘Either I’m in charge, or I’m not.’

  John and Flower both started to reply, then Flower gave way. ‘No, Alan,’ John said. ‘We all agree with Lew. Peter thinks you’re the right man for the archaeology, Candice and I think you’d fit in very well here at Fursey. And that’s why we’d like to offer you the job of archaeological director.’ All eyes were now on Alan. He knew it was quite straightforward: archaeologically Fursey was extraordinary. Unique. In a class of its own. If their offer was just a simple proposition without any extraneous complications, Alan would have grabbed the chance with both hands. Plus, he needed the work. But, though the job appealed to him archaeologically, despite Flower’s earlier kind words, Alan deeply distrusted him, and that aside, emotionally there were huge problems: he felt uncomfortable about stepping into a close friend’s shoes – and so soon after his death. Then he thought of a simple practical problem, which avoided the need for any emotional discussion. ‘What about the new English Heritage grant, won’t they insist you advertise the position?’