The Moor
Page 1
About the Author
Sam Haysom is a writer and journalist covering culture and entertainment for Mashable. He wrote the bulk of The Moor during National Novel Writing Month in 2015. You can read all about his experience on Mashable’s website. He’s also written a number of short stories, one of which won first prize in a monthly competition run by the dark fiction website Spinetinglers.
A graduate of Cardiff University, he grew up on the edge of the New Forest and now lives in London.
You can follow him on Twitter @samhaysom.
The Moor
Sam Haysom
This edition first published in 2018
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© Sam Haysom, 2018
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ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-912618-06-4
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Contents
About the Author
[Dedication]
[Dear Reader Letter]
Super Patrons
News Cuttings (1951)
2015
News Cuttings (1958–1998)
James (2002)
2015
Gary (2002)
2015
Tom (2002)
News Cuttings (1998–2015)
Tim (2002)
2015
2014
Matt (2002)
News Cuttings (2002)
2015
Acknowledgements
Patrons
News Cuttings (1951)
From the Devonshire Herald, 13 August 1951
Police appeal for information regarding missing schoolchildren
Anyone with any information on the whereabouts of two missing school children in the Rutmoor area has been asked to contact Devon and Cornwall police immediately.
Devon and Cornwall Police have issued an urgent appeal for information regarding two school children who were last seen on the evening of Friday, 10 August.
Paul Reece, 16, and Charles Gregson, 14, were reported missing on Saturday after wandering off from a school cam
ping trip in Rutmoor National Park. Teachers and classmates, who camped in the north east of Rutmoor just south of Gorgon Tor, first noticed their absence after they failed to turn up for the register at 8am on Saturday morning. Upon inspecting their tent, trip leader and school PE teacher Mr Simon Matthews found it to be empty. Aside from two pairs of walking boots, the rest of their possessions were still in the tent. Police were contacted by Mr Matthews after a search of the surrounding area yielded no trace of the boys.
Reece is described as being an athletic, sensible young man with several years’ hiking experience and a good knowledge of the surrounding area. He was in training for the 13 Peaks Challenge (Gold Award) – a competition in which groups of children from different schools aim to walk to the summit of 13 different tors in a weekend – after successfully completing the Silver Award last summer.
Gregson is described as sensible and intelligent, but an inexperienced walker. It was his first visit to Rutmoor National Park. The boy’s mother, Mrs Sarah Gregson, has issued a passionate plea for information regarding her son’s whereabouts.
‘If anyone has seen my boy or has any information at all, no matter how small it seems, please contact the police immediately so we can get him back safely,’ she said. ‘Charles doesn’t know the area at all well and we’re very, very worried about him. Please come forward so he can be safely returned to us.’
Chief Inspector Douglas Brown, who is heading up the investigation, said the public should not to hesitate to contact police.
‘No matter what you think you may have seen or heard, no matter how small or insignificant you think it may be, we would like to hear about it,’ he said. ‘We’re also interested in speaking to anyone who was out walking or camping on Rutmoor on the night of Friday, 10 August or at any time over the following weekend.’
*
From the Devonshire Herald, 15 August 1951
Boot of missing schoolchild sparks further police appeals
The discovery of a walking boot thought to belong to missing 14-year-old Charles Gregson has prompted fresh appeals by police and a £30 reward for information.
Devon and Cornwall Police have issued a further appeal for information after the discovery of a child’s walking boot thought to belong to missing teenager Charles Gregson. The boot was found by a dog-walker on Tuesday, 14 August, 15 miles south of the area Gregson and fellow camper Paul Reece were initially reported missing. Police say the boot was discovered on the bank of Foxglove Stream, but have refused to give further details at this stage.
Charles Gregson and Paul Reece were on a school camping trip in the north east area of Rutmoor when they were reported missing on the morning of Saturday, 11 August.
Parents and teachers are said to be organising a search of the 15-mile area between the children’s original campsite and the spot where the boot was found yesterday.
‘We’re following up a number of leads and speaking to various people,’ said Chief Inspector Douglas Brown. ‘At this stage, I’d urge anyone who may have seen or heard anything unusual in the Rutmoor area, at any time from Friday, 10 August until now, to come forward immediately.’
2015
Thursday, Part One
This time it’s the rain that gets him.
Every time he makes the journey out of London – starting on a train at Waterloo and winding away from the city, flashing past towns and villages and cutting back into the countryside of his childhood – every time there’s something that triggers the memories.
Last time it was the sight of the sun catching a field of heather, peeking out from behind a cloud to turn the mass of purple into a lighter violet and making him squint as he stared out of the train window; this time it’s the rain.
Only it’s not really rain, is it?
Pissy fucking drizzle is what Gary would probably have called it, and Gary may have been wrong about a lot of things but he wouldn’t have been wrong about that.
He stares out of the train window and the droplets seem to hang there in the air, blowing about in the wind like snow, and he knows it’s the type of drizzle that’d soak you through to the skin in less than a minute if you were stupid enough to go outside without a decent rain coat.
It’s the type of drizzle they used to get on Rutmoor.
He lays his head back against the red patterned seat of the train and stares out at the drizzle, and when he shuts his eyes a series of images pinwheel across his vision like a film reel.
It’s funny, he thinks, how something as small as the sight of rain from a grimy window can invoke such strong memories.
He used to get it a lot in the years after leaving university and starting work – something would catch one of his senses and hit him hard enough to transport him briefly to another place, another time. He’d hear a snatch of MGMT’s Time to Pretend and he’d be taken back to a summer festival, any summer festival, or he’d open a can of Grolsch and the smell would remind him of the house party in first year where he’d lost his virginity.
Small things that for some reason brought on strong memories. Little moments that could make you infinitely nostalgic.
Now, looking at the rain and cutting south away from London, he doesn’t feel nostalgic.
The rain makes him think of Rutmoor, it makes him think of the summer of 2002, and in his mind he sees drizzle picked out in cones of light from their minivan as they carve their way through cracked country roads; he hears the sound of whispering and twigs breaking outside a tent; he tastes the cloudy purified water they drank from streams that were little more than trickles in the mud. Mostly, though, he remembers Tim and Mr Stevens. Mr Stevens looking up from his map and the sun reflecting off his glasses, turning his eyes into hard rectangles of silver light.
Thursday, Part Two
He’s got a large bag that’s shoved up in the luggage area above the seats; it’s his walking bag, the big green one, and it’s got most of his stuff in it. On the seat next to him is a smaller bag, a brown one he takes to work with him. It’s full of paper. Cuttings, mostly, bits he’s torn out and built up over the last few months, but there’s something else in there too.
He glances around to check who else is in the carriage. It’s a Thursday, midday and it’s not very busy, but there’s a couple across the aisle from him and an old lady a few rows in front. She’s reading a book, though, and the couple are watching some film on an iPad.
He glances back into the bag, satisfied, and pulls out an old Polaroid. It’s yellowed around the edge from being handled over the years, but the picture is still clear.
It’s all of them, the six that went to Rutmoor together in 2002. All standing together outside a tent. Everyone in the photo is smiling, and he runs his finger from left to right checking them off: Gary, James, Tom, Matt, Tim, and Mr Stevens, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
All present and accounted for.
He frowns to himself and flicks the photo with his finger, looking out at the drizzle-soaked scenery.
When he thinks about his friends – both the ones that died and the ones that are still alive, no matter how different the surviving few may look now – it’s always this photo that he sees in his mind.
All of them lined up like that, smiling in front of a row of green tents, a small campfire on the ground in front of them and some water bubbling away in a saucepan. All frozen in time.
Who was it that took the photo? He can’t remember now, and doesn’t think it matters.
The whole nightmare started with the six of them, after all; they were the ones who mattered.
He glances at the pieces of paper stuffed in his bag, then shakes his head. The nightmare didn’t start with the six of them; it would do him well to remember that. This was something that had been going on for more than half a century, probably even longer.
At the time – during that long weekend in Rutmoor in the summer of 2002 – it had seemed like it was just about the six of them, but when you’re 13 years old everything feels as
though it’s just about you, doesn’t it?
Now he knows better.
He’s different from the boy smiling out of that Polaroid photo – maybe not that different physically, at least compared to the others – but he knows he’s different nonetheless. He’s a lot less tolerant, for one. A lot less forgiving, too.
If I’m going to put a stop to the whole thing once and for all, he thinks, I’ll have to be.
For a while he goes back to staring out of the window, not really thinking anything at all. Eventually the drizzle eases up.
News Cuttings (1958–1998)
From the West Devon Gazette, 23 June 1958
Man’s body found in Rutmoor National Park
Police are launching an investigation after the body of an 18-year-old man was discovered beside Collier Lake in south Rutmoor.
The body of 18-year-old Fred Phillips has been discovered on the shore of Collier Lake in Rutmoor National Park.
Phillips and his fiancée, Jude Peterson, were camping half a mile from the lake near the top of Collier Tor. Peterson woke Sunday morning to find her fiancé’s sleeping bag empty. After searching the nearby area for approximately 30 minutes, she told police she came across his body on the southern shore of the lake.
The cause of death is thought to have been drowning.
Devon and Cornwall Police are appealing for information from anyone who may have been in the area in the early hours of Sunday, 22 June.
They say they are not treating the incident as a murder inquiry.
*
From the Plymouth Daily Herald, 22 June 1986
Teenagers drown in freak river crossing accident
George Perry, 18, and Paul Samuels, 19, died after falling into the Sully River in Rutmoor National Park on Saturday.
Two teenage boys have drowned while attempting to cross Rutmoor National Park’s Sully River.
The bodies of the two boys were found by hikers a mile down the river from the place they attempted to make their crossing on the afternoon of Saturday, 21 June.