(Chapters 1 - 4 of 16. For subsequent chapters, contact the author )
CHAPTER 1 - Bad News for Tom
“CRACK!” Miss Johnson’s ruler came firmly down on the lid of the desk. “Come on, wake up Jamieson!” The boy almost jumped out of his skin; he had been ‘miles away’ thinking of the forthcoming Summer holidays which he would be spending with his parents and younger sister, Olivia, in the Far East where his Father worked as a diplomat. It was for this reason that Thomas Jamieson was a full-time boarder at the Camford Boarding School in deepest Worcestershire.
Many years ago the school had been the country estate of the Camford family whose ancestors had originally had the house built in the 1500’s. It was set in beautifully landscaped grounds surrounded by countryside. The pupils were considered very fortunate as they had the use of every facility they could ever want - an indoor swimming pool, gymnasium, tennis courts, rugby and football pitches and even stables where they could ride horses whenever they wished during their free time. It cost Thomas’ parents a great deal of money to send him there. In a year’s time when she would be nine, Olivia would also be returning to England to attend a private school. Thomas only ever saw his sister during holidays from school, which suited him fine as, being nearly fourteen, he found her a bit of a pest, but he did feel rather jealous that she had their parents all to herself.
Miss Johnson had brought him back to reality. It was the last week of term and the class was in the midst of a history lesson. Thomas didn’t like history at all. Personally, he couldn’t see the point of learning about what had been and gone, he preferred sports and anything to do with computers, especially computer games. He didn’t care much for Miss Johnson either. She looked as if she had walked out of the “mists of time” herself, very stiff and starchy with dark hair pulled back tightly into a bun on the back of her head, rather like a picture of a Victorian schoolmistress he had seen in one of his history books.
“I do hope we are not boring you, young man” she screeched. “Can you tell me anything of what I have been trying to teach you about life in the 1600’s?” “They didn’t have computer games or televisions, Miss” he retorted. “I’m sure that took a lot of thinking about” she bellowed sarcastically. “Now, what else can you tell me?” He ‘ummed’ and ‘arrh’d’ not knowing what to say. “You haven’t been paying any attention have you? Now, when you return after the holidays I shall expect you to have written an essay, of not less than 2,000 words on the life of a 17th century family” she yelled. “But, Miss” Thomas sighed. “Don’t answer back Jamieson” she snapped. “Oh dear, why do I always seem to get on the wrong side of her” he thought to himself. His best friend, Matty Tomlinson, gave him a sympathetic smile, whilst some of the other boys sniggered behind their hands.
Lessons finished at 3.30pm after which the boys had half an hour to themselves and were then expected to settle down quietly to do their homework. This done, they could please themselves what they did until it was time for dinner at 6.00pm.
Thomas had geography homework tonight, which he didn’t really mind doing. Finishing fairly quickly he thought about starting the essay set by Miss Johnson, hoping that he would be able to get it completed before the holidays even started. He went along to the school library, which the boys were allowed to use during their homework period, eventually finding a book on social history, which he thought, would be of help. Flicking idly through the pages a few times he could not summon up any enthusiasm, so decided to borrow the book in order that he could take it with him on holiday.
Back in his dormitory Thomas started packing his belongings ready for the holidays. As he sat on his bed sorting through his things the door burst open. Matty rushed in. “Here you are!” he cried, “I’ve been looking all over for you. Quickly get to Old Ingles’ office, there’s an urgent ‘phone call for you.”
Tom rushed out along the corridor and down the great oak staircase. Noisily running down the stairs, he spotted Miss Johnson below. Unable to slow down to a walk in time she spotted him. “Jamieson, is that you again? You know that you should not be running on the stairs.” “Sorry, Miss” he replied, “but, I have to go to Old Ingles.. I mean Mr Inglesby’s office urgently.” “In trouble again, I expect” she muttered as she went on her way.
Thomas rapped on the door of Mr Inglesby’s office, then stood with his ear against it, listening. “Come in!” hailed a deep voice. He turned the large doorknob, pushing the heavy door open just far enough to put his head through. Mr Inglesby sat behind his large oak desk marking a pile of exercise books. “Good evening, Jamieson, come along in lad” he invited. “Your Mother is waiting to speak to you on the telephone. Take a seat here and you can talk to her.” He continued marking the books, while Tom sat down and picked up the telephone receiver.
“Hello”. “Oh, hello Thomas, this is Mummy speaking. How are you?” “OK” he replied, “I’m just packing my things ready to come and see you.” “Oh dear” she said. “I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news for you.” “Oh no, Mum, what’s wrong?” he said fearing that something had happened to his Father or Sister. “It will not be possible for you to fly out on Saturday” she told him. “There is some unrest here and people have been fighting in the streets, there is fear that the president will be overthrown at anytime which may cause a lot more trouble.” “But, Mum” moaned Thomas, “I was really looking forward to coming. So, where do I go for my summer break now?” “It’s all arranged,” she said. “I have spoken to your Grandad and he says you are very welcome to stay with him and Grandma in Cornwall for the holidays. You can go down by train. Grandad will sort out the travel arrangements and let Mr Inglesby have the details.” “Do I really have to go to Grandad’s, apart from taking Rebel for walks along the cliffs there’s not really much more for me to do.” “Never mind” said Mum “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it when you get there.” “But, let me fly out to see you, please, Mum,” begged Thomas. “After all Olly’s still there so it can’t be that bad.” We’ll be sending her back too if things get any worse here” said Mum “and she’ll be coming to Grandad’s as well, so you will be able to see her.” “Oh GREAT” moaned Thomas sarcastically. Not listening to him she continued “Now, you will wait to hear from Grandad. Have a good journey and look after yourself.” “I’m not a child” said Thomas, “I’m nearly 14!” “I don’t want to hear any more arguments about this,” his Mother said sternly. “I have to go now. Have a good time at Grandad’s and I will ‘phone you there. Goodbye for now, darling.” “Bye” he said moodily.
Replacing the receiver, he sat with his head in his hands. “Come on now, lad,” said Mr Inglesby kindly. “Its not the end of the world.” “It might as well be” replied Thomas. “It will be so boring, my Grandparents are old and there’s not really much to do there.” “But, Cornwall’s a wonderful place to visit” replied Mr Inglesby. “Its steeped in history, I would love to be going myself. Make the most of it, lad, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of interesting things to do.” Thomas didn’t think so. “Off you go then Thomas or you’ll miss your dinner. I will let you know as soon as I hear from your Grandfather.” “Thank you” said Thomas leaving to find his friends in the dining room.
Later that evening Thomas returned to finish his packing. He thought he had better take some warmer clothing, just in case of bad weather, along with his old torch which he used quite regularly to read in bed after ‘lights out’. He also packed his hand-held computer game and his personal stereo along with his favourite tapes, so that he would have something to amuse himself with on the journey.
His Grandma and Grandad had lived in Cornwall since Thomas’ Mother was a child. Selling their large house on the outskirts of London they had moved lock, stock and barrel down to the West Country to grow their own crops and ‘live off the land’. They spent most of their time growing vegetables, along with making goats’ cheese and baking cakes, which they sold locally in the village. Now, in later life they both enjoyed taking life a little easier. None of this was Thomas’ idea of having fun.
Friday finally arrived; it was the last day of term. Thomas’ class was in the middle of a geography lesson with Mr Jefferson, a tall, thin, ginger-haired man in his late 50’s. He liked Thomas as he usually paid attention and handed in his homework on time. He was busy drawing a map of Central America on the blackboard when there was an interruption by a knock on the door. “Come in” he called. One of the senior boys came in. “Excuse me, Mr Jefferson”, he said. “Mr Inglesby would like to see Thomas Jamieson in his office as soon as possible.” Turning to Thomas, he beckoned “Off you go then, lad, and try not to be too long.”
Thomas knocked the door and entered the Head’s office. “Ah! Thomas” said Mr Inglesby, “I have just had a telephone call from your Grandfather, he has given me the details of your train times. Miss Jacobs, my secretary, has agreed to take you to the station tomorrow morning, as it is near her home. She will make sure you get the correct ticket and will wait on the platform with you until the train arrives. Make sure you are packed and ready to leave by 10.30 as your train departs at 11.07.” “Thank you” said Thomas, “I’ll be ready.”
Chapter 2 - Journey to Cornwall
‘BEEP! BEEP!’ Tom quickly glanced at his watch - nearly half past ten. Matty looked out of the window and saw Miss Jacobs standing beside her car looking at her watch. “She’s here Tom!” he cried. “Oh, no” he wailed. “Now, where have I put my latest cassettes? Matty could you run down with my case and tell her I’ll be down in a minute.” Matty, different to Tom, was quite organised. His belongings were already downstairs in the entrance hall and he was just idly waiting around for his Mother to arrive to take him home for the holidays, so he was quite happy to help Tom.
“Hello, Miss Jacobs” said Matty as he struggled out with Tom’s case. “Thomas will be out in a minute. He’s sent me down with this.” “Oh! Please tell him to hurry up, I don’t want him to miss his train.”
Eventually Tom found the lost cassettes under some magazines in his locker. “Great” he thought throwing them into his sports bag which contained a can of fizzy drink and other bits and pieces which he would need for the journey, along with some sandwiches, kindly made by Mrs Mossop, one of the school canteen cooks.
“Come on, Tom” called Matty breathlessly. He had just bounded back upstairs at Miss Jacobs’ request to hurry Tom along. “Right” he said, “I’m on my way. Bye for now Matty, have a great holiday.” “You too” replied Matty. “Some hopes of that” scowled Tom.
Tom rushed out to meet Miss Jacobs. “Please, be quick!” she called spotting him coming, “its nearly twenty to eleven.” “Sorry, Miss” he apologised as he jumped into her car and fastened the seatbelt. Worrying that he might miss his train, her tyres squealed as she swung round in the courtyard and made for the road. Once on the open road she settled down as there didn’t seem to be too much traffic about.
“So, Thomas, you’re off to Cornwall for your holidays. Mr Inglesby was telling me you are not able to fly out to see your parents this year.” “Yes” said Tom “I was really looking forward to seeing them and having barbecues on the beach. Its going to be so different at Grandad’s - quiet, with no other children my age.” “Will you be staying near the sea?” she asked. “Yes, the cottage is right near the coast close to Penzance.” Grandma and Grandad live in an old gardener’s cottage in the grounds of an ancient manor house, which is now derelict. They keep chickens and goats and grow all their own vegetables. I will probably spend most of my time out walking on the beach with their old dog, Rebel. My Grandma always says that if there’s any trouble to be found, we’ll find it.” “I’m sure you will have a lovely time” said Miss Jacobs. “Perhaps I will,” said Tom pondering on the thought of seeing Rebel again, as they always did have a great time together.
Miss Jacobs parked in the station car park. They both rushed to the ticket office where she collected the ticket that had been paid for by Tom’s Grandfather. “Do you need to buy anything for the journey?” she asked. “I might have a quick look at the magazines,” said Tom disappearing into the newsagent’s kiosk. While he was in there he heard the announcement “The train now approaching Platform 2 is the 11.07 to Penzance, calling at …” the voice continued, listing all the stops. Tom paid for the football magazine, which he had picked up and went to find Miss Jacobs. Helping him onto the train with his luggage, she said that she hoped he would have a good holiday. “Thanks for everything” said Tom “I will tell you all about it next term.” She waved as the train pulled out of the station.
Tom looked round at the other passengers in his compartment. It was not very full at all. Opposite was an elderly gentleman engrossed in a detective novel and on the other side of the compartment sat a man and woman with two young children, a pushchair and several suitcases. Opening his magazine, Tom looked through it until he found an article that he wanted to read.
As time passed he started to feel rather hungry. Opening the sandwich box he found that Mrs Mossop had put some biscuits and an apple in with the sandwiches. “A nice little feast” he thought. He ate everything apart from two of the biscuits, which he decided he would save until later. Opening his can of drink, he settled back in his seat to listen to his personal stereo.
The man sitting opposite had fallen asleep and his head was gently nodding with the motion of the train. Looking at him, Tom saw that his fingers were gradually losing their grip on the open book, slowly slipping from his grasp onto the floor. Retrieving it from the floor, Tom laid it on the seat next to where the man was sitting.
The warm sun was streaming through the window of the carriage. Now, with a full stomach, the warmth of the sun on his face and the music which he was listening to he also drifted off to sleep…
He woke with a start! “Ladies and gentlemen, this train will presently be arriving at Penzance Station,” said the announcer’s voice. Packing his personal stereo in his sports bag, Tom got all his belongings together. The old man opposite rubbed his eyes and stood up stiffly. The man and woman on the other side of the compartment roused their children gently from sleep, whereupon the younger of the two started howling. His dummy was popped into his mouth and all was well again.
Seeing them struggling, the elderly gentleman helped them to get their luggage off the train. Whilst he waited, Tom looked out of the window and caught sight of his Grandfather and dear old Rebel standing on the platform opposite. The noise of the train was frightening him and he was pulling on his lead trying to get away from it.
Tom’s Grandfather had bought Rebel for just a few shillings when he was only three weeks old. He was a mongrel, part collie, and had turned into a lovely dog; brown with a white chest and a beautiful bushy tail reminiscent of a fox. One of his ears was floppy, which really added to his character. Bill Calderwood, Tom’s Grandfather, was anxiously scanning the carriage doors hoping to catch site of his grandson.
Tom watched his Grandfather. He was a tall man, whose moustache and hair had long turned grey. Considering he was 76 years old, he was very fit and almost looked as though he was standing to attention, for as a young man he had spent many years in the Army and it was natural for him to pull his shoulders back.
Finally, Tom stepped onto the platform and began to lug his belongings over the footbridge. Spotting him, Grandad called “Tom!” Rebel started barking. “Lovely to see you” said the old man shaking his hand. “Let me have your case and we’ll get you to the car.” Tom bent down to greet Rebel, who gave him a big, wet, sloppy kiss and then continued barking and squealing with delight, his tail wagging ten to the dozen. “Someone’s pleased to see you!” said Grandad. “Did you have a good journey? I must say, you’ve certainly brought some good weather with you, it’s been nothing but wind and rain for nearly a fortnight.
The luggage was loaded into the car; Rebel jumped in and laid on the back seat. “Sit in the front with me, Tom” said Grandad. Unable to contain himself, Rebel tried to get through in between the two front seats so that he could be near Tom. “Lay down now, Rebel” commanded Grandad. “Its dangerous to jump about on the seats like that while we are on the road.” The old dog seemed to understand and laid on the back seat, every so often sitting up to give an excited yelp. “How’s Grandma” asked Tom. “She’s fine. You know your Grandma; she’s been baking all morning especially for you. She’s made one of her famous chocolate fudge cakes.” “Smashing” said Tom, his mouth watering at the thought of it. Grandma made the best cakes he had ever tasted, far better than his Mother’s, although he would never tell her so.
The journey to Grandad’s took about twenty minutes. It had been two years since his last visit and as they drove along Tom began to remember some of the landmarks that they passed. “You’ll be able to see the sea soon,” said Grandad. Tom scanned the horizon and after a few minutes he could see the haziness ahead of them where the sea met the sky. It was a glorious blue. “There it is!” cried Tom. Rebel barked in agreement.
“Nearly home now” said Grandad as they passed through the village of Milldale. Turning off the main road onto a country lane; Tom saw the sign “NO THROUGH ROAD - OAK LEAF COTTAGE”. “Here we are then,” said Grandad as they pulled into the driveway and through the wrought iron gates. On the left what once had been ornamental gardens had now returned to the wild although there were still a few garden flowers poking their heads above the weeds and brambles. Here and there were lupins, delphiniums and roses. Further on they drove past the ruins of the old manor house. It had not been lived in for many years and Tom had always felt a strange fascination towards it. At the front stood a large pond with a concrete fountain in the centre, but was now full of water plants, which had grown out of control. Turning right onto Grandad’s land he could see the lawns and flowerbeds which were always kept immaculate. Driving round the back of the cottage Tom could see the runs for the chickens and goats. Grandma had a kitchen garden next to the large greenhouse, further down was the vegetable plot and then a small orchard. A wooded area containing many trees, including a very old hollow oak tree, in which Tom remembered his Grandad had made a tree house for his Mother when she was a child. From there a pathway led to the cliff tops and down to the beach.
Grandma appeared at the kitchen door - she had heard the car approaching and rushed out to greet her grandson. “Tom! How lovely to see you” she cried as he got out of the car. She rushed forward and gave him a big hug. “Come in, come in, darling” she said “I’ve made a lovely cake for you and a jug of home-made lemonade.
When first going inside from the bright sunlight, it seemed quite dark to Tom, but his eyes soon becoming accustomed to it he could see Grandma’s display of potted plants on the windowsill. A wonderful smell of home baking greeted him as they walked through to the kitchen. “Now, Tom” said Grandma, “Take your things up to the attic bedroom. When you come down you can have something to eat.”
Tom made his way up the narrow wooden stairs to the attic. Rebel bounded past him with a ball in his mouth and waited excitedly at the top, trying to bark while still holding onto it. Opening the door to the bedroom and taking his bags in, Rebel rushed after him. “I can’t play yet, Reb” smiled Tom, “I have to put my things away.” Rebel understood and jumped up onto the bed to wait. Tom laughed, “I expect that’s where you will be sleeping tonight.” Rebel wagged his tail in agreement.
CHAPTER 3 - A Chance Discovery
The shrieking of seagulls awoke Tom. A ray of sunshine shone through a crack in the curtains and the smell of frying bacon wafted up the stairs. He glanced at the clock - it was twenty to nine. Trying to get out of bed he found that his legs seemed to be trapped. As he tried to wriggle free something gave a moan and stirred at the bottom of the bed. Lifting his head he could see Rebel, who had been lying on his legs all night. “Reb, you are getting heavy,” he said wriggling his toes trying to get rid of the ‘pins and needles’. Stretching Reb gave a grunt and moved over. “Thank you” said Tom.
Grandma’s footsteps could be heard on the stairs. “Tom” she called, “are you awake yet - breakfast is nearly ready.” He leapt out of bed and opened the curtains. “It’s a great day” he thought. Then washing and dressing as quickly as he could, he raced downstairs for one of Grandma’s ‘big’ breakfasts. Sausage, bacon, eggs, fried bread, tomatoes and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Right” said Grandma clearing away the breakfast things, “now I shall have to get on with my baking and preparing the vegetables for dinner.” “What have you got planned for this morning, Tom? Your Grandad has gone down to the Kings Arms in Milldale to his Gardeners’ Association meeting. I expect he’ll stop for a drink and a chat with his gardening pals afterwards, so he wont be back until its time for dinner.” Feeling a bit full after his breakfast Tom asked if he could take Rebel for a walk along the cliffs. “Just so long as you keep to the pathways” said Grandma, “it can be very dangerous on the rocks and make sure that dog doesn’t get dirty and don’t let him get into any mischief with the chickens, like chasing them all through my kitchen garden. Dinner will be ready at about 1 o’clock.”
On hearing the word ‘walk’ Rebel had already fetched his lead, and was jumping up Tom barking frantically. Trying to calm him down, Tom fixed the lead to his collar and off they set.
It was possible to get to the cliffs from the lane, but Tom and Reb knew a better way through the garden using the woodland path, which was strewn with fallen branches and leaves, which crackled underfoot. Winding his way past the greenhouse and the chicken run Tom could see the old oak ahead. It was looking really old and gnarled now, Grandad had told him it was reputed to be more than 400 years old. Looking up he could see the remains of his Mother’s tree house still there nestling in the branches.
On reaching the wood and feeling far enough away from the chickens, Tom let Reb off the lead. Knowing the way well, off he ran. “Wait or I’ll lose you!” shouted Tom as he ran to catch up. They left the woodland path and walked out onto the cliff tops, which were covered in rough grass, wild plants, brambles and gorse. Below them the sea was sparkling in the sunlight.
“Let’s go this way” said Tom, but Rebel had other ideas - he knew where the rabbits were. Off he ran with his nose to the ground completely oblivious to Tom calling him. “Blast, I’d better get after him” thought Tom as he started to follow the old dog, scrambling down pathways between rocks and gorse bushes. He called and called, but Rebel wouldn’t wait. Occasionally his tail could just be seen as he went on his way in pursuit of rabbits. Slithering down a grassy knoll Tom spotted a rabbit darting past and through a clump of gorse closely followed by Reb, barking excitedly, in hot pursuit.
Hurrying down to the gorse, intending to put Rebel back on his lead he could hear him barking somewhere in the distance. “He must have got himself stuck in the rocks” he thought getting down on his hands and knees to peer through the undergrowth. Pushing his head and shoulders further into the bush Tom could see a gap between the rocks. “Rebel, where are you?” he called “Can’t you get out boy?” Managing to move some of the loose rocks he made it just big enough to squeeze his head and shoulders through. Lying flat on his stomach and with a lot of pushing and shoving, he managed to ease himself through the opening and was greeted by Rebel with a good licking all over his face. “I wish you would stop with me, if I lose you, I’ll be in a lot trouble.”
Once he had got his whole body through the opening Tom found that he was able to stand up. The air felt cold and damp on his face and it was very dark, but after a while his sight became accustomed to the gloom and he could see they were in a tunnel. To the left, some roughly hewn steps led downwards. To the right the tunnel forked off in two directions. Holding onto the side he gingerly made his way forwards, but it was just too dark to see. “Come on, Reb, we can’t go any further now, we’re going to need a torch.”
Making his way back, Tom managed to manhandle Reb back through the opening. Crawling on his stomach, he followed into the warmth of the sunshine. Finding some pebbles he marked the position of the opening so they would know where to go next time.
Looking at his watch, it was almost 12 o’clock. “We’ve just got time for a quick run down on the beach before heading back for dinner,” he said. Finding a stick in the undergrowth to play with, Reb gave a bark of approval and bounded off ahead.
After dinner Grandad went out to hoe round his vegetables followed by Tom. “Grandad,” he said inquisitively “do you know if there are any old tunnels in the cliffs?” His Grandfather smiled “Well they do say that in the old days there was a lot of smuggling went on hereabouts and that the squire from the old manor was involved, so there could just well be, but none have ever been found. Why do you ask?” “Oh, just curious” replied Tom, not about to reveal his secret.
Leaving Grandad to his hoeing Tom said he might take Reb down on the beach before teatime. He had to return to the cottage first to get Reb’s lead and the torch from his bedroom. Running back downstairs he called out “Just of to the beach Grandma, see you later.” “Alright dear, make sure you are back for tea time.” “Come on, Reb, lets go” said Tom, clipping on his lead. Reb, always ready for a walk, trotted off happily.
Retracing their footsteps over the cliff paths, they soon reached the pile of stones marking the opening. “Here we are” said Tom, “let me get through first with the torch.” Lying flat on his stomach he inched his way through into the tunnel. “Come on, then” he called and was soon joined by an excited Reb.
By the light of the torch he could see that there was enough room in the tunnel to walk through with ease. The roof and walls were very wet and here and there thin streams of water ran down onto the floor making it quite slippery underfoot.
“Stay there, Reb” said Tom, “I’ll just see where it goes this way.” Shining his torch down he saw that there were five steps leading to a bend in the tunnel which prevented him from seeing any further. He ventured carefully down, holding onto the wall as he went. Suddenly his feet went from under him. Landing heavily on his back and bumping his head, he slithered down several steps coming to rest against some fallen rocks. “Ow! That really hurt” said Tom rubbing his head. Picking up the torch he shone it ahead and saw that the way was completely blocked by rocks. “Looks like we wont be able to get any further this way, Reb, lets go back and try the other direction.” Tom, feeling most uncomfortable, with his head hurting and his clothes wet from his fall followed Reb back up the steps.
On reaching the fork in the tunnel he decided to take the larger of the two, to the right. Shining the torch around, it appeared to him that they weren’t the first to set foot in there as every so often along the walls were some kind of fittings made of metal, the sort that once could have held flame torches. They went on steadily for about 50 or 60 yards, picking their way carefully over the smooth, slippery rocks on the tunnel floor. Reb had slipped several times and once lost his footing altogether and yelped in pain as his back legs went from under him. Tom fussed him, rubbing one of his paws, which he held up, but he was soon able to carry on.
Suddenly, ahead of them, this way was also completely blocked. Placing his torch on a ledge Tom set about shifting some of the rocks as he wanted to try and get further. Some of the boulders were very heavy and had to be dragged and pulled. “Looks like this is as far as we can go, Reb. It seems like there has been a rock fall. Lets go back and see what’s along the other way.”
Entering the smaller of the two tunnels they soon found what seemed to be another dead end. Shining his torch around Tom saw what appeared to be old wooden casks that were badly decayed. Meanwhile Rebel was sniffing and scratching about with his paws at something that he had found. “What have you got, boy?” asked Tom shining his torch in Rebel’s direction. Lying partially crushed by the rocks, lay the remains of what was once a cask, but Rebel was more interested in something that he had exposed from under the debris. “What is it?” asked Tom moving the rubble away and revealing some kind of small, leather covered box. “Cor! Treasure,” he said, stuffing it in his pocket.
“We had better get back now, my feet are soaked from all this water, but we’ll come back another day and see if we can find anything else.” Back they went along the tunnel until they found the opening and both slithered out. “Crikey, Reb, you’re filthy and you’ve got blood on your foot from when you fell. Lets go down to the sea and give you a bit of a clean up.”
By the time they got back for tea Reb was a lot cleaner, but Tom still had a dirty mark down the back of his shorts where he had fallen. “What on earth have you been doing” asked Grandma. “We’re alright” said Tom “we slipped on the cliff path - I bumped my head and Reb’s cut one of his paws.” “Well, its bathtime for you two” replied Grandma, grabbing Reb’s collar as he tried to slink off, as washing didn’t appeal to him at all.
“Don’t look so fed up, Reb, you look lovely and clean now after your bath,” said Tom as they lay on his bed later. Reb was having none of it, he hated bathtimes. “I know, let’s have a look at what you found” he said feeling in the pocket of his dirty shorts that were lying on the floor by the side of his bed.
Cleaning it up, Tom saw that it appeared to be a small snuffbox covered in leather with an engraving on the lid. Cleaning it with his dirty shorts, he saw what looked like some kind of crest or coat of arms and the initials GSS inscribed upon it. “I wonder who this could have belonged to and how long it has been there” thought Tom. On hearing footsteps on the stairs, he quickly hid the box in his sportsbag. “What are you two up to?” Grandad asked appearing in the doorway. “Not a lot” replied Tom trying to appear casual. “How would you like to come with me and your Grandmother to Penzance tomorrow as I have to collect some plants for the garden. While we’re there you and Grandma can browse round the shops and later we’ll have something to eat.” “Yes please” said Tom “I’d like that.”
CHAPTER 4 - A Lucky Find in Penzance
Grandma woke Tom at 8.15am the following morning with a cup of tea. “Would you like a cooked breakfast before we go off, dear?”. “I think I’ll just have a boiled egg, please, Grandma.” “I’ll put it on for you in a few minutes then” she said bending down to pick up Tom’s dirty shorts for washing.
After breakfast they all got in the car ready for the day out. Tom sat in the back with Rebel and off they set.
Arriving at Penzance, Grandad pulled into a car park overlooking the sea. He opened the sunroof to give Rebel some air as he would be staying in the car. “See you later, Reb,” he said “we’ll take you for a walk in the park later on.”
“Nellie are you going to take Tom round the shops with you while I go and collect my plants?” enquired Grandad. “OK, Bill, we’ll meet you in the Market Square at 12 o’clock, then we’ll see about getting something to eat” replied Grandma. They went their separate ways - Grandad to the plant nursery and Tom and his Grandmother to look around the shops. “Is there anything in particular you would like to get while we’re here?” asked Grandma. “Nothing special, but I’ll have a look for some postcards to send off to Mum and Dad and a couple of friends from school.” They set off down a street full of quaint little shops, most of them selling bric-a-brac and souvenirs.
Tom found a postcard stand and chose three with local views on. “I would just like to have a look in that second-hand book shop over there before we meet Grandad” said Grandma. Opposite Tom could see an old-fashioned shop front with cardboard boxes full of second-hand books standing outside on the pavement.
As she pushed open the door of the tiny shop the bell jangled and an elderly gentleman shuffled through from a backroom. “Good morning madam, can I be of assistance?” Grandma smiled, “I am just going to look at your gardening and cookery books” she replied. “Very good. You will find the gardening books at the back of the shop and the cookery books on the left, near the door. If you require any further help, give me a call.”
While Grandma browsed through the books, Tom casually looked along the shelves. Some books were lying in piles on a table and he picked them up one by one looking at the covers. Flicking through the pages of one of them, something suddenly caught his eye - a picture of a large country house with a coat of arms in the bottom left hand corner, which looked very familiar to Tom. Looking closer, he could see it was the same as the one on the snuffbox, which he and Rebel had unearthed in the tunnel the previous day. The title of the book was “A History of Cornish Manor Houses.” Tom turned the pages of the book and found a drawing entitled “Milldale Manor circa 1650, it soon dawned on him that this was the same manor house that stood next to Grandad’s cottage.
“Are you ready yet, Tom” said Grandma tapping him on the shoulder. “Yes, alright, I have just found this book and isn’t that the manor next to your cottage?” “Let me see” she said taking the book from him. “Yes, you are right. I am sure your Grandad would be interested in this, let’s buy it for him, shall we?” “Also I might be able to find something interesting in it myself,” said Tom hoping it might help him with his history essay for school.
Grandma paid for the book and bought one for herself on controlling garden pests the organic way. “We’ll have to go and look for Grandad soon,” she said looking at her watch.
They met up on the Market Square and decided to go to a restaurant overlooking the sea. “What would you like, Tom? There’s steak, chicken, lobster, salad, in fact anything you could wish for.” “I’d rather have cod and chips, please” replied Tom not being one for fancy foods.
After they had eaten they collected Rebel from the car and went for a walk in the local park, where Tom and Grandad had a game of crazy golf before going back home for tea.
It was a lovely evening, Tom and Rebel played football in the garden until teatime. Feeling a bit bored with the film they were watching on the television, Tom said “I think I’ll go to bed a bit earlier tonight and read. Can I borrow the book that we bought you today, Grandad?” “Of course you can, Tom, its in the drawing room, I’ll get it for you.”
Tom retired to his bedroom with the book hoping it would mention something about the tunnel. Inside it showed a plan of the house as it would have looked when first built for Sir Walter Sutcliffe-Smythe in 1598, during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I. Sir Walter tragically died in 1623 and was succeeded by his eldest son, Sir Geoffrey. During this period the Manor was noted for its involvement in smuggling. “That must be what the tunnel was used for” thought Tom. “I wonder if the initials on the box refer to this man, Sir Geoffrey Sutcliffe-Smythe, if so that makes it over 300 years old. It could be worth something.”
Feeling tired, Tom started yawning. “I’m going to sleep now” he said to Rebel who was already curled up at the foot of the bed. Soon they were both fast asleep, Rebel dreaming of rabbits on the cliffs and Tom of smugglers and tunnels.
Continued: for the rest of this story (12 MORE CHAPTERS), please contact the author Sue Lines ( suzie at suzieq.worldonline.co.uk )
Copyright of this story Sue Lines 2000, All rights reserved
All short story characters are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.
