Arthur of the Red Robe

by Gerry Spoors

  “This is written by a man of high intellect, with a sense of history and poetry. Occasionally he seems to use what I assume are Brythonic characters. Perhaps he couldn’t find a Latin word for what he wanted to say. As you can see from the top right, this appears to be scroll number nine from a series. Do you want me to start translating? Or do you want to find number one, and start at the beginning?”

  “Does it have any other number, perhaps referring to a volume?” asked Gerry.

  “Oh, I never thought about that—yes, look! There is a number seven halfway down the left margin. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It could well be a volume reference. So, do we suspect that there are other volumes?” she asked.

  “I don’t suspect it,” answered Gerry. “I know that there are at least ten or twelve other jars, which are also probably full of similar scrolls!”

  There were exclamations of incredulity from the gathered academics. “More jars! Where were they?”

  Gerry and Wilkinson now stood aside from the others and after a few minutes’ whispered discussion, announced that the scroll would be carefully locked away until all of the scrolls were recovered. Recovery was to be the priority, and would be done immediately. The jar in hand was to be re-stoppered, and as no damage seemed to be occurring from exposure to the air, it would be locked up in the safe room. It was not to be let out of the sight or possession of either Pam, Gerry, Sam or Wilkinson—under any circumstances. The intention was to recover all the scrolls and to place them in sequence, if possible, before a full translation was carried out.

  It seemed to have been understood by the group, without any formal discussion, that those present, plus Kenneth and Pam’s PhD student, would be the team and no one else would be involved. Although there would be a lot of work to do, it was necessary to minimise the number of people involved. However, it was probably inevitable that news of the find would leak out, and the press was sure to get hold of it—and no doubt completely distort the facts. Therefore, it was imperative that the rest of the jars were recovered as soon as possible, and without attracting any attention.

  Plans were made for the following day. Gerry, and Kenneth (who knew nothing about this yet), would arrive at the University early, where Wilkinson and Paul would join them. They would travel to Yeavering in two cars—Wilkinson in a trusty old Volvo that had seen many archaeological digs and Gerry in his Nissan Primera. Gerry estimated that this would give them enough carrying capacity for the remainder of the pots. They would both bring lots of packing—old rags, cushions, polystyrene foam etc. and some big old sheets to cover the horde. Gerry reckoned that it might take up to four trips from the cars to the top of the ‘Bell’ and back, with each of them carrying one jar per trip. There could be more than twelve jars, but he reckoned not more than sixteen. Gerry would bring some large, long-life shopping bags which would be sturdy enough to take a jar each. Elaine seemed to collect these for some reason, as if she thought they would be under siege one day and would need to get stocks in.

  What about the archaeology of the area of the pit where the jars had been found? Everyone was acutely aware of the potential significance of this find. But they were also aware that if this story got out, all kinds of people might descend on Yeavering Bell.

  Suddenly Wilkinson said: “Has anybody thought about the owners of the Bell?”

  “The owners?” replied Gerry, “You mean the local farmer?”

  “Well, somebody must own it!” said Wilkinson.

  Gerry came back very firmly: “Look, we can’t possibly take any risks with the jars. The possible historical significance of the scrolls and the jars outweighs everything, I’m afraid. We can’t rely on the good nature, or otherwise, of someone who may have no appreciation or understanding of history.”

  There was silence as the cogs in Gerry’s mind went round, and he said: “OK, I agree. I never went up to Yeavering to find treasure. I always dreamed of discovering something about the history of the place and of the people who used to live there. I may be on the verge of achieving that and I’m not letting anyone interfere. However, once we’ve recovered all the jars and translated the scrolls, we can own up and face the consequences.”

  “But we might be guilty of theft or, at the least, trespass. And we don’t want to make an enemy of the owner who might think that there is some major financial reward to be gained from this,” said Pam.

  “Well, OK, you’re probably right,” replied Gerry. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll ask the locals and find out who owns the land. If they don’t know, I’ll ask my brother Sheldon, who works for the Land Registry. I’ll sort it out over the next day or two but we must recover the scrolls first.”

  So, bright and early next morning, Gerry and Kenneth arrived at the History Department’s back door. Wilkinson and Paul were already there, ready to roll. Last minute checks were mainly about food and drink; and torches, because they had no idea how long it would actually take. Although the weather forecast was for fine conditions, there was a chance of a shower later in the day, so they all had water-proofs just in case. Woolly jumpers were a must because even on a pleasant spring day like this, it could be freezing up on Yeavering Bell. They also had a variety of spades and small shovels, in case there was more to the cavern than either Kenneth or Gerry had assumed.

  About an hour and twenty minutes later, the two vehicles were parked at the end of the row of cottages known as Old Yeavering. It was still only 8 a.m. The few local inhabitants were probably not too surprised at seeing a party of ramblers at this time in the morning, as the Bell was a very popular walking destination. From there, it took an hour to reach the base of the Bell, and a further 30 minutes to reach the top, and the spot that Kenneth and Gerry had covered with boulders. The stones were soon moved aside and—thank God, thought Gerry—nothing had been disturbed. And there, now with the benefit of a high-powered torch, were the jars.

  It was decided that Gerry would stay at the site and the other three would carry the first three jars down. He would take the opportunity of looking further into the cavern, taking photographs and charting the exact position of the pots. After all, it could be up to three hours before the others returned.

  When they did return, they were already very tired and everyone was of the opinion that the plan to take everything in one day might be too optimistic. They broke into their rations and quenched their thirst before taking another three jars down to the cars, Wilkinson staying behind this time. Three hours later, they returned and it was obvious that Kenneth and Paul were exhausted and badly needed a rest.

  It was now getting on for 4 o’clock. If they did another round trip it would be around 7 o’clock and dusk. It seemed sensible to finish for the day, so having found nothing else of significance in the cavern, after taking more photographs they simply covered the entrance with stones again and returned to the cars. They were able to take four jars down between them arriving at the cars around 5.45. They’d recovered ten jars in total, with eight still remaining—more than originally thought.

  There was a surprise waiting for them when they finally got back to the cars which were parked at the end of the lane leading to the hamlet of Old Yeavering. The hamlet was really a small group of what were, presumably and originally, farmworker’s cottages, and one of the inhabitants came out to ask what they were up to. Gerry gave a simple explanation to the old chap who seemed very interested in the whole business. The old fella called Joe knew who the sheep-farmer was, a George Oliver, whose small farm was over at Kirknewton, but he didn’t know his telephone number or anything. So Gerry resolved that when the time was right, he would contact Mr Oliver to get the belated permission.

  After they arrived back at Newcastle, the jars were all carefully stored away. Gerry, Wilkinson and Paul would return to Old Yeavering the next day, as Kenneth had to be at sixth-form college. They reckoned that they could recover the jars in three trips and complete the preliminary archaeological assessment of the cavern and its re
lationship with the rest of the hillfort.

  The next day came and everything went well. By 9 p.m., the jars (amphora) were all in place at Newcastle. Within another 24 hours, the jars were all labelled and catalogued. A scroll from each jar was removed so that its ‘volume’ number could be used for labelling the jar. It was confirmed that each jar was a different volume in this story or history—whatever it was. Eighteen volumes, each with up to twenty scrolls, indicated that this was a massive piece of work, there was no doubting that. And it would take an equally massive effort to translate and study the book, as they were now calling it, and, in time, present it to the world.

  Only three days after finding the first jar, all eighteen of them were neatly lined up in a secure room in the Archaeology Department. Pamela would have the honour of being the first person, in possibly 1600 years or more, to read and understand the words. What secrets would they tell? What new light might be shed on history? What new characters would leap out from the parchment, and possibly become new heroes of early Britain?

  It was decided that Pam would start work immediately with the assistance of Sheena Proud, one of Pam’s postgraduate students. Gerry would also be helping in a supporting role—after all, he and Kenneth had found the scrolls, and if he couldn’t be the first person to know the meaning of the words, he was damned sure that he was going to be a close second. Neither, of course, could devote their whole time to the project, so weekends and holidays would have to be given up. Kenneth was also going to help as he was as keen as everyone else to complete the work.

  As each scroll was un-rolled, it was first of all photographed and the digitised image transferred to a computer. Any areas which might show signs of damage or alteration were to be thoroughly examined later after the first draft of each translated scroll had been established. Pam would read the text, record it on tape and then translate it, with Sheena’s help in making sure nothing was missed. The translation of each scroll would be put into sequence according to what were thought to be ‘volume’ numbers.

  Sheena was an exceptional student who had gained a First-class Honours Degree in Classical Latin and had commenced a PhD study into ‘The Influence of Latin during the Roman Occupation of Britain’, so this was an ideal subject for her. Her funding would cover the bulk of her work and there was sufficient money in the budget to cover evening and weekend work. Gerry would help out with typing and archiving as required. Whenever Pam came across words or letters that were not clear, she would make reference on the recording so that Sheena could check it out later. They were both aware that they would not be able to publish any of the work until the whole story was translated—only then would it be available for the rest of the world to share.

  ***

  Gerry needed to discuss all of this with Elaine, because, as usual, he had taken her for granted. She was the backbone of the family, always there, always constant, always willing. She took some ‘stick’ from Gerry and Kenneth—and of course from her older children, Julie and Geoffrey—but she really didn’t mind. She loved Gerry from the very depth of her soul and had done so since she first saw him when he was a 15-year-old paperboy delivering newspapers in St Matthew’s Terrace, Newbottle, Co. Durham, in 1963. She was determined to meet him properly but, being very shy, she asked her cousin Enid to go with her to the paper shop, where Gerry used to help out. He clearly remembered the day when they came into the shop, but he confessed later that he couldn’t remember which was which. Not that they looked the same, but, being even more shy than Elaine, he was very confused when two very pretty girls came into Jacques’s shop and asked for some potatoes.

  Gerry helped out on Saturdays and during school holidays in Jack Jacques’s newsagents in Newbottle. On 22 August 1963, he was only six days past his 15th birthday, when into the shop walked two gorgeous girls. Gerry couldn’t remember having seen them before, but Elaine—one of the girls—had seen him on his bike when he was delivering newspapers in her street. She had made up her mind to meet him so she had asked her cousin Enid to come with her to the shop to get some potatoes. Gerry really wasn’t used to serving anything other than chocolate so when he was asked for half a stone of potatoes, he fumbled, dropped some, went bright red and was totally embarrassed. Of course the girls just laughed, but Elaine knew that he would remember her later.

  Later that day, she went back to the shop, this time with her dog Lady, to buy the New Musical Express. Gerry watched her go out of the shop and poked his head round the door to watch her walk down the street. He was transfixed by her legs and by the way her hips swung, and he was hooked forever. About 50 yards down the street was a bench, on which she sat down. Despite being possibly the world’s shiest boy, he followed her and sat down beside her. The rest is another story.

  ***

  Unfortunately, not all of the scrolls were in good condition. The stoppers on a couple of the jars had not been completely secured and it looked as if insect damage had occurred. There was sufficient information on these scrolls to see that they were the highest numbers in the ‘volume’ sequence and Pam was of the opinion that they had been written later, and possibly by a different hand. So, those that had been damaged were put away for now, to be examined in the future. However, the bulk of the scrolls in the ‘earlier’ jars were in very good condition and surprisingly easy to sort and translate. It soon became apparent that many of the place names and personal names were new to Pam, and that she needed to consult Wilkinson on a regular basis so that the translated text could be annotated with the modern (or at least better known) name. Every word was recorded on cassette tape, computer and CD-ROM, to ensure that nothing was lost. Then each scroll was photographed again before being stored again in readiness for full chemical analysis and age testing.

  There is no need for us to detail all of the physical and scientific analysis that was carried out. We need only concern ourselves with the results—and what results! The scrolls had actually been written a little later than originally thought—probably around 520.

  ***

  At this stage, Gerry felt it was appropriate to contact the sheep-farmer, Mr George Oliver. It was surprisingly easy to find Mr Oliver’s phone number and when he rang, it was answered by Mrs Oliver. Her husband was out on the hills but she said she would ask him to call Gerry on his return, which he did. Mr Oliver was not at all surprised when Gerry told him they’d been poking around up on the Bell, as there were often ramblers and amateur archaeologists looking around.

  “Aa’s not really bothered about that so much—it’s the bloody litter that some o’ them leave behind. As well as havin’ to look after the sheep, Mr Beattie expects me to clean up the litter now and again.”

  “Who’s Mr Beattie?” asked Gerry.

  “Why man, he’s the landowner!”

  “Really? I thought you owned the land!”

  “Naar! Aa just works for Mr Beattie—he’s the owner. He lives ower Lucker way. In fact, he owns land aarl ower this area. So, yea’ll need to contact him.”

  George gave Gerry Mr Beattie’s telephone number, and as soon as he put the phone down, Gerry phoned Mr Beattie’s number. In the few seconds between the calls, he had resolved that he wouldn’t tell Mr Beattie exactly what he wanted, merely that it was something about Yeavering Bell and it would be useful if they could meet. Mr Beattie had no problem with this and was happy for Gerry to come to his house, which was arranged for the next day.

  Gerry and Kenneth drove up to Lucker the next evening. On the way, Gerry mentioned that his grandmother, Elizabeth Hunter, was called Beattie before she was married. And she was born in LUCKER in 1883!!

  “Wow, what a coincidence,” said Kenneth. “Do you think there could be any relation?”

  “Well, it’s difficult to tell but I might just mention it to Mr Beattie.”

  They arrived at a very splendid country home called Lucker Manor at the edge of the village of Lucker at about 6:30 p.m. and Mr Beattie welcomed them with: “Hi, I’m Tom.” Gerry whispered to K
enneth that Elizabeth’s father was called Tom!

  Gerry gave Tom Beattie a full explanation of what had been happening. Thankfully, Tom was a very affable chap and he was also a local historian. He was fully aware of the significance of Yeavering Bell and of the Votadini in the history of what is now Northern England and Southern Scotland. He was very happy to support the study and to keep the whole thing secret, provided he was kept up-to-date with developments.

  Gerry mentioned his connection with Lucker and Tom just couldn’t believe it. It transpired that Elizabeth Beattie was his grand aunt, and because he and Gerry had the same great-grandfather, they were actually second cousins, which made Kenneth, Tom’s second cousin once removed. Gerry had spent many years doing his family history from original records—long before the days of the internet—and he had so much to tell Tom. But that would have to wait for another day.

  The priority now was to get back to Newcastle to tell the team that all systems were ‘go’. Pam and Sheena had already started working flat-out! It seemed that the project had completely taken over not just their spare-time, but they were also making all kinds of excuses so that they could give priority to it. And, much sooner than anticipated, Pam announced that they were nearly ready to reveal the translation of Volume 1 to Gerry, Kenneth and the others.

  It was agreed that they would all meet in three days, which was the first time they could all be together. Meanwhile, as promised, Gerry had brought in the draft of his memoir for Sam to read. Sam took it home with him that night and sat down to study it.

  Gerry’s Memoir – Part 1

  “Put your coat back on, Gerry,” said Sam to his young assistant, “we’re going to examine a car at Peterlee.”

  “Peterlee?” Gerry was surprised because he’d just moved from Peterlee about 3 months earlier.

  “Yes,” said Sam, “you can show me the way.”