by Gerry Spoors
At the end of the day, Sam drove Gerry home to Newbottle and said he would pick him up at 8 o’ clock in the morning as they had to go back to Peterlee again. Gerry just couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed. He tried to describe to Elaine what had happened, but she was too occupied with baby Julie and the fact that it was freezing and they had to huddle around the fire. In later years, Gerry would often look back and wonder how they survived for two and a half years in that slum. He couldn’t imagine any other woman being able to put up with what she went through, and of course she was only a year and four months older than him—she was nearly 20 now. He really didn’t deserve her.
When he eventually went to bed, Gerry told Elaine again about what had happened during the day: his first sight of the body in the car, the wallet with the photo of Rod Stone with Roy Orbison, the post-mortem! She soon went to sleep. Julie was in her blue cot. There they were, Gerry and Elaine, parents and still only 18 and 19 years of age respectively—and at that stage not aware that their first son Geoffrey had already been conceived and would be born in August. How on earth would they be able to manage?
Anyway, next morning Gerry had to be up early to wait for Sam coming. With no hot water tap, Gerry just heated some water in a saucepan on the electric ring they had. Then a quick wash of his face, no bath, no shower, no hair wash.
Sam turned up at 8 o’clock and off they went to Peterlee again. On the way, they went over the happenings of the previous day, and Sam filled Gerry in with a few more developments that had come to light, as well as briefing him about the day ahead. It seemed that evidence had been found that the Rover had been in collision somewhere on a road in Seaham called Lord Byron’s Walk. Gerry wondered why the car had been brought to Peterlee Police Station and not Seaham. Sam told him that Peterlee was the main centre for East Durham and was much better equipped.
When they arrived at Peterlee, they had a cup of coffee, and then Gerry just stood around for a few minutes in the reception area. Suddenly, he was surprised to see Elaine’s mother Mildred and Elaine’s brother’s wife, Veronica. “What on earth are you doing here?” all three seemed to say at the same time.
Gerry said first: “I’m working on a murder case!” How good did that sound, he thought?
Then Veronica said that Millie’s house had been broken into but nothing important had been stolen, as she didn’t really have anything of value, but as it was a council house, they’d had to report it anyway. The three of them exchanged a few more words but then Gerry was called in by Sam, who was in conversation with Superintendent Murdoch. He couldn’t really see why he was called in, so he sort of wandered around the room and in a neighbouring room he saw two very smartly dressed men dressed in suits, one in blue and the other in grey. He had only once before seen suits like these. It was at Durham Big Meeting (The Miners’ Gala) the previous July. The main speakers were the Prime Minister, Harold Wilson, and the then Chancellor of the Exchequer, Jim Callaghan, who addressed the crowds on the playing fields by the river. In fact, a photograph was taken by a Sunderland Echo photographer of the crowd, and in the middle was Gerry in his dark glasses—no one else was wearing dark glasses—and Elaine cuddling a small cuddly toy that Gerry had just won on a fairground game.
In the police station, the two men looked relaxed and were chatting and he overheard one of them say: “That stupid Geordie, he’ll pay for this!” Of course, in retrospect, he could have meant a man called Geordie or a geordie rather than someone’s name. Gerry saw them have their fingerprints taken. Sam came over and explained that the two blokes were suspects as their car had been in collision with a green car. They had taken the car into a garage in Sunderland for repair and the garage owner, being suspicious for some reason, had informed the police. Samples of paint taken from their car seemed to be from a green Rover.
Gerry was soon back in Sam’s car as they headed to Seaham to help collect debris from the possible scene of the collision on Lord Byron’s Walk. When they were helping collect the debris, a report came in of further possible debris in the lane from Hawthorn Village to the beach. Obviously, much speculation ensued, but that’s all it was until Sam and Gerry, after weeks of painstaking work, matched the two cars together with each other and with the scene. It was up to the police to determine if the suspects were the actual culprits!
Chapter 3
It was the morning when Pam and Sheena would be revealing the contents of the first volume of the scroll story, and Gerry with Kenneth, and Sam arrived almost simultaneously in the University car park. They were all very excited but before they went into the department, Sam handed Gerry’s ‘memoir’ back to him and said: “Gerry, that’s a fabulous account and an interesting and plausible explanation, but do you think the right men were found guilty?”
“Probably, but there may have been others involved as we have always speculated. Maybe a third man was there when the deed was done—maybe Geordie, or a geordie. But I’m not sure they set out to kill him—perhaps things went wrong. Then, of course, there were one or two women who wanted to get rid of him not to mention the Valentes—both of whom are dead now of course. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know it all.”
***
After the gathered researchers had helped themselves to coffee and took their seats in the small conference room, Pam began reading the translated text:
"These are the days of the Worshippers of Woden—they who have come from a strange land, across the sea; and who now chop down our forests to till the rich earth. Theirs is the language of the Devil, with which they talk to the rocks and rivers as once our forefathers did before the age of Enlightenment. Now is the age of Barbarism and Darkness.
"Our people are now their slaves. The men who have survived have given up the struggle and now accept these Earth-worshippers as their lords and masters. But that is not the destiny of the rulers of Bryneich—the land of the mountain passes—for only Death awaits us if we stay. We are too proud of our heritage and of our adoption all those years ago by the Romans, who taught us their language and gave us great titles.
"The days grow shorter now: the winds from the North cut through the thickest of hide coats. Orion appears earlier each night and reaches greater heights. Soon it will be time to leave our summer home for good, and head west to where the mountains reach out like a finger into the sea. It is now many a year since we have been able to spend the winter months in our retreat at Penchion; or at the royal palace at Traprain. First the Brigantian Strife and then the Pict Wars and finally the coming of the Angli who have now pushed my family from their homeland. And now we must join our relatives in Gwynedd—a long journey lies ahead!
“As I look down from this, our final refuge on Gefrin Hill which guards and protects the Berns, I see the Angli constructing their town over the ruins of our settlement beside the River Glein—our sacred river. For it was not far from here where the Glein meets the Till, that my father Germanianus, held back the invaders. But despite this victory—and many more culminating in the Glory at (next word could be Badon!), in the year of our Lord 493—their determination to conquer this fertile, beautiful land of Bryneich and push out us British has finally won through. We must now move our frontiers—to the Mountains of the West.”
“What—you must be kidding, did it really say Badon?” Kenneth was the first to interject, but all of the others made similar comments. Could this really be a reference to Arthur? They all knew that Badon was the name given to the last of Arthur’s 12 battles.
Pam had been trying to suppress her excitement as she had been showing the first slides, but now she was struggling. "Please, let me go on!!!
"The Angli are not interested in the harsh environment of the Highlands—it’s too cold in the winter for them. They build their villages next to rivers and by the sea. They came across the sea to this island of ours and they seem to need the comfort of water beside them—but then, of course they do worship it.
"When will it end? Where will it end? Will they eve
ntually control the whole of our island? Will the Brythonic peoples die or be completely submerged into the Anglian tribes, and will the language of our forefathers be lost forever? If only we had used it to write down our history instead of just using it for names and symbols, the meaning of which will soon be forgotten. So much of our history could have been recorded by the many, not just by the few of the Royal Families who, like myself, became versed in the language of Rome.
"I will never know the ending—the final outcome of the Anglian invasion. I may not even see another summer. But whoever finds this document may know the fate of my people. You, my friend—or my enemy?—are about to learn the history of my people, the Gododdin (Votadini). That is, provided the language of Rome has survived, as surely it must. So much has been recorded by the Roman scribes over hundreds of years: surely no matter when these vellum parchments are found, assuming they haven’t been destroyed by the ravages of time, the language will still be known by some—perhaps the Christian church will last after all. Who knows? Perhaps one day the Angli will be converted!
“I would like to start at the Beginning—but I could only tell stories of Dragons and Monsters, and fires from the sky, and floods and volcanoes, and Great Waves. Stories told over roaring fires in the middle of winter to help pass the long nights away. But they are only stories—not history. This document is the known history, the true record of my family—the People of The Hound, who became the Bearers of the Red Robe, with the Roman-given name of Pesrud. But long, long before this, centuries before the birth of the man that we call Jesus…”
***
"They came in the night, the Old Folk, and although they had the bodies of men, they were as strong and as brave as lions, bears and hounds. They could outrun the wild cats and wolves—and even mountain lions were no match for the Old Ones.
"They came from the sacred land of Slabinda, a place where the air is always warm and filled with the scent of blossom throughout the year, and where food is always available. They came because the Spirits of the Earth decreed that it was time for them to go and find a land of their own. For they had always been slaves to the Great Lords of Slabinda, the descendants of the Earth Gods who had formed the World from Fire and Earth and Water. The Great Lords allowed them to keep enough of the fruit of their toils on the land to feed themselves. But when the Rains came and stayed for a whole season, and the crops rotted in the ground, the Rulers took all of the harvest, and my forefathers starved.
"In desperation, they left under the cover of darkness, heading across the Hills of Balunda before reaching the place where the Tongue of the Great Sea enters the Mouth of Valcanda. Here the inhabitants had mastered the skills needed to ride on the back of the Sea Serpent. They told stories of a land across the water that was green and fertile, and though not always warm, the people never suffered famine or plague. My ancestors realised that this was where they were destined to go—the Spirits of the Earth were calling them.
“So they sought help from the Valcandi and offered them jewels if they would take them on their great rafts to the Land of their Destiny. However, the seas were not kind and the Great Sea Serpent swallowed many of my people, and others died from sickness. Those that survived, reached a pleasant land that had bountiful supplies of fowl and beasts, berries and tubers. And the inhabitants of this land, which was called Brythana, did not chase them but welcomed their arrival and even helped to tend the sick and lame. The two peoples lived peacefully side by side and eventually men knew the others’ women and within two or three generations there was no distinction between these ancient races.”
***
“Can you believe this?” Wilkinson couldn’t help himself. “Can you believe the coincidence?”
“What coincidence?” asked Gerry.
“For the last hundred years or so, researchers and academics have believed that once the last ice-age ended, people then living on the mainland of Europe, gradually migrated across the North Sea to the British Isles. As the sea levels gradually dropped, a land bridge appeared and they began to settle in the area that is now referred to as the Dogger Bank. We call this area Doggerland and evidence has been recovered of these early settlements.”
“But it was thought to be gradual, maybe on a family or small-clan basis. But recently, various archaeologists started combining the results of a number of archaeological digs that had taken place over the preceding 50 years, and found that there seemed to have been a definite long-term migration. The evidence came from pottery, tools and other artefacts that had been recovered from various digs on both sides of the North Sea and artefacts from the sea-bed. But it was only with the advent of computer modelling that archaeologists began to discover a definite pattern. And then, only a few months ago, researchers from a Dutch University published a paper in which they claimed to have found evidence in Frisia of a definite movement of people, if not from Frisia, then at least coming via Frisia across the North Sea.”
“What sort of records?” asked Gerry.
“Well, tallies of provisions and tools, plus artefacts of various kinds. The sort of stuff that you would need if you were planning a major migration of hundreds of people. As you may know, Frisia comprises low-lying coastal land as well as the islands which seem to form a crescent in the North Sea. Many settlements in these areas have existed for short periods and then been covered by the sea again. Whilst archaeologists have known about the existence of some of these for a while, there never seemed to be any urgency to study them. Now, with the advent of global warming and the predictions about substantial rises in sea-level, researchers have been making an effort to recover any remains before it becomes completely impossible.”
***
"The harvests in the New Land never failed and the population increased each year, so much that families had to move further afield to have their own land. There was no fighting or killing and everything was done by agreement. Eventually, my family came to where the flat plains meet the land of the mountain passes and we named our family territory Bryneich, this beautiful fertile land on which I now stand.
"However, beyond our territory lay another people who were unknown to us, who painted themselves blue and spoke an unknown tongue. But my forefathers were not concerned because everyone we had met in the land of Brythana had been peaceful…
"My ancestors were the fastest of runners and the most skilful of hunters, so we became known as the People of the Hound and Spear—the Gododdin. When we appointed our first overlord, we picked the greatest of our Running Hunters, and his name was Cunespora (The Spear Hound). From him, all of our leaders were descended, and our family nation became the strongest and richest in the land of Brythan.
"This caused some of our neighbours to be jealous and in particular the Brigantes, whose lands touched our southern borders. They started raiding our homes looking for the fabled Silver of the Hound People, which had become famous throughout the land. Although talks were held to try to prevent further killing, no agreement could be reached. So dark clouds came over the lands of the North and fires were lit and dragons released. These were the years of the Brigantian Strife. Hundreds were killed and lands laid waste and there seemed no end in sight.
"Then another great leader became king, he whom we called the Hound Magnificent (Cunewalda). He hated war and strife and he had heard that warriors from Rome in the East had landed in the south of Brythana. They had already defeated our brothers the Iceni and the Belgae family nations but had suffered great losses in the process. Their Emperor was considering withdrawing for the second time—one of his predecessors had tried to conquer Brythana one hundred years earlier. So Cunewalda secretly set out to meet him and offered his help to head north, in return for his assistance in securing peace with the Brigantes. This was accepted and our great leader was offered citizenship of the Roman Empire and given the family name Pesrud, which means Red Robe; and his family were forevermore to be the ‘Bearers of the Red Robe’—the badge of Roman citizenship. So our king becam
e known as Cunewalda Pesrud as he wanted to keep his own name also. Since that day, his descendants have also borne two names. The Romans began calling us the Votadini, which in their language meant faithful warriors.
"With the end of the Brigantian Strife came the ‘Age of Enlightenment’, a period of relative safety and prosperity. But then the Picts, who lived in the Far North, began troubling the Empire. So Emperor Hadrian decided to build a magnificent stone wall right across the land. Along the length of the wall, he constructed many forts in which to station his army, and each fort became a focus for the communities in the area. Many Votadini and men from other Brythonic tribes joined his army and became Roman citizens. We were given free passage through the wall and trade between the tribes and the Romans was encouraged. My family were also given Roman citizenship and, in return, we helped to prevent the Picts from raiding the Wall. However, despite our Roman citizenship, the Votadini did not give up their lands and the Pesrud royal family maintained several palaces in Bryneich in the North and Deira in the South and lived in peace with Brigantes and Selgovae, the Parisii and Novantae, the Damnonii, Atecotti and Galeni.
"My great-great-grandfather, Paternus Pesrud achieved the greatest successes. He pushed the Picts beyond the Antonine Wall, and when he died, my great-grandfather Aeternus Pesrud carried on the good work. Life was so peaceful then. We were the most powerful of the British tribal kingdoms—and our people were happy and settled when my grandfather, Cunedda became king.
"Cunedda was a great warrior and statesman and was loved by all of his people. The Dux Brittania, the Roman leader in Brythana, treated him as a complete equal. Cunedda became the most powerful leader of the nations of Brythana and was noted for his strength and courage. And then there suddenly came an event that was eventually to lead to disaster for the peoples of the whole land of Brythana. The Romans were forced to withdraw from our island in order to fight off invaders who threatened the very existence of Rome itself.
