The Lost Journals of Benjamin Tooth

by Mackenzie Crook

  Monday 22nd March 1779

  A visit from my travelling friend Hetty Pepper.

  It is always good to see Hetty’s cheerful face and today was no different. She climbed down from her cart vigorously scratching in her tangled hair and laughingly told me that she was ‘crawlin’ with vermins such as is driving me to distraction’.

  I, of course, was delighted as this gave me an opportunity firstly to try out my new Eel-cheese Embrocation for the Expeditious Expunction of Cranial Parasites and, secondly, to collect some specimens for my collection.

  Living within the jungle of Hetty’s hair I found no fewer than six different species:

  Common Lice

  Head Worms

  Noggin Ticks

  Bonce Flukes

  Scalp Limpets

  and, most surprisingly of all:

  Mistletoe

  As I explored the uncharted territories of Hetty’s head I questioned her on the subject of ‘little people’ and whether she thought there were any such things. It did not surprise me that she had a lot to say on the topic and though she had not seen any herself she told me tales of people she had met that strongly believed in their existence.

  ‘I once sold a kettle in Kilkenny to a man with a beard of bees,’ she began, ‘who, before bed each noyt, would throw his shoes across the room. Every mornin’ when he awoke the shoes had been polished to a glorious sheen by the pixies who lived in the well.’ She continued with extraordinary stories of elves, goblins, trolls and of the Hidden Folk of the Icy North that live in rocks. All of these though are magical, mystical beings that, whether or not they really exist, seem far removed from my moorland sprites. The sprites are not mystical or supernatural, they are wild animals striving, like every other, to survive.

  *

  Hetty made me a present of a stargazy pye that we ate with a dish of radishes.

  It was a fine and handsome pye with seven different types of fish baked within. Their heads poked through the crust, gazing heavenward, which made the pye not only flavoursome but amusing.

  Tuesday 30th March 1779

  My patience has paid off ! Today at last I have sighted two sprites, possibly the same two as I spotted previously. But this time I felt sure they were aware of my presence and though they did not get close they certainly did not flee as before.

  Wednesday 31st March 1779

  Two sightings in as many days! An individual this time. Again it looked briefly in my direction but then carried on skimming the grass and seemed not worried by me. It headed off over a ridge to the south as the others before have done. I think perhaps that this is where their nest (colony? hive?) may be found but I must resist the urge to move my position until they are completely comfortable with my being a feature of the landscape.

  Tuesday 20th April 1779

  For the past two weeks I have sighted sprites almost every day and have started to move my position forward, by no more than a yard, each morning. In this way I am slowly edging towards the spot where the creatures usually first appear and then eventually return.

  Using my telescope I have been able to observe them for a few moments at a time and will now offer my first tentative description.

  I described them early on as looking like ‘tiny people with wings’. Though this reads as rather crass it is, incredibly, still accurate.

  I think I have observed at least five different individuals.

  They have four limbs, two arms and two legs, though the legs are greatly elongated and seem to act as a tail for balance and changing course when in flight. I have only ever seen them on the wing and wonder whether they are even able to walk or stand. The legs certainly appear too long and fragile to support even their slight weight.

  They have darkish, olive-coloured skin, two large eyes and, as far as I can make out, four slender wings. At least two of the individuals I have seen appear to have some coloration at the wing tips, perhaps an ‘eye’ as on a peacock feather.

  Thursday 3rd June 1779

  As the days go by and the sprites become more accustomed to me I have become bolder in moving my position forward. I am now camped on the crest of a hill and can see where the colony appears to be based. It is a large, shallow hump of ground with several, perhaps ten, entrance burrows that looks as though it may have once been a rabbit warren.

  My appearance at the top of the hill obviously caused some concern as I subsequently went five days without a single sighting. They have now started to appear again but are wary and tend to fly off in the opposite direction from me. Through careful observation I think I have identified the location of a possible second colony half a mile to the north-east. I shall investigate this further before taking any steps closer and risking them becoming suspicious.

  Saturday 19th June 1779

  I have taken to wearing a pair of antlers when watching the sprites on the moor and further, I have started to pull up and munch on handfuls of grass. Though this behaviour may sound odd it is designed to put them further at their ease. Horned beasts, though they may look fierce, are generally herbivores and so pose no threat to other living things. If the sprites believe I am some sort of strange, bipedal grazing animal they will soon learn to ignore me.

  I have even perfected a repertoire of snorts and grunts, which I emit at intervals.

  Wednesday 30th June 1779

  Either I am losing my reason or there is a thief on the moor. Due to my early starts I will often have a short sleep in a sheltered spot. On three or four occasions I have woken to find some small item missing, my watch chain (but not my watch), for example, and the amber hatpin that I use to winkle snails from their shells.

  My suspicions immediately settle on the baker’s boy. There is something about him I don’t trust. I think it’s his hairline. Or his unbroken eyebrow. Anyone with a forehead that narrow must be up to no good.

  I must leave myself a reminder to beat the boy next time he comes.

  Friday 9th July 1779

  My ungulate disguise has been working well and I have managed to approach much nearer the warren because of it. That was until Tuesday last when the sprites suddenly fled inexplicably. I continued to snort and chew mouthfuls of grass for a while until I heard the sound of jeering and laughter. A group of furze gatherers had assembled on a nearby hill and were watching me with great amusement. I wanted to shout abuse at them but, afraid of blowing my cover, I just shuffled off towards home, occasionally braying like a donkey to the delight of my spectators and hoots of mirthful laughter.

  As if this was not irritation enough, more people came the next day to see the spectacle and the day after that even more still. On the fourth day the word had spread and quite a crowd had gathered, many with picnics, to see the ‘madman of the moor’. I tried to ignore them but eventually they started throwing stones. No doubt some of them had travelled from Mereton to ridicule me.

  Their opinions do not matter in the least, I care not what any of those maggots think of me, but my research has had to stop until they get bored and go away. I just hope it does not take too long before I can regain the trust of the sprites. I fear the progress I have made may have been damaged and I have taken a few steps backwards. Dash those imbeciles.

  *

  I am so irritated I fear I may be coming down with the Green Sickness.

  Thursday 22nd July 1779

  Today, trusting that my audience had forgotten about me and moved on, I ventured back on to the moor to resume my watch. My fears about the sprites’ trust in me turned out to be completely unfounded. Indeed, the whole affair seems to have had the opposite effect. No sooner was I back in my place and grazing on the vegetation as before than a group of eight or more sprites came out as if to welcome me back. They came much closer than they have in the past and if I’m not much mistaken they seemed to show sympathy. It was as if they had witnessed my being driven from the downs, had seen the rocks being hurled at me, and decided that I was a harmless animal being persecuted.

  So I
have the last laugh. Those stupid townspeople have helped me on my path to fame and fortune.

  Monday 2nd August 1779

  It is time for my research to enter its next phase. I have shown great restraint and self-control in the past months, resisting the urge to attempt to catch a specimen and concentrating instead on gleaning all the information I can about their behaviour from afar.

  I have identified five different sprite colonies, or tribes, on Windvale Moor and mapped their locations.

  I call them:

  Brook Tribe: This is the original colony I became aware of down by the stream.

  Crag Tribe: These occupy a large warren under a rocky outcrop about a mile north of the brook.

  Gorse Ring Tribe: This colony lives in a network of burrows completely enclosed by a dense circle of gorse bushes. So uniform is the barrier that I suspect the vegetation was cultivated especially for the purpose of defence. The gorse is very old and gnarled, suggesting it was planted many generations ago. I consider this tribe to be the oldest and largest of the five.

  Plains Tribe: These sprites, though certainly a colony, seem to occupy scattered, temporary rabbit holes and are of a more nomadic nature. They did not appear on the moor until the warmer months, suggesting that they have travelled from their wintering grounds.

  Northern Tribe: These live on the most northerly reaches of Windvale Moor. A little further north and the landscape becomes farmland.

  Each colony contains, by my estimation, between thirty and fifty individuals. They are social animals forming close relationships, ‘friendships’ almost, with fellow members of their colony.

  I have sensed little rivalry between the tribes. Parties of three or more individuals will oft visit a neighbouring warren, where they are greeted by a welcoming party and invited in.

  I have noticed slight differences in appearance between the populations. The sprites in the Northern Tribe, for example, have darker hair on their heads, while those in the Plains Tribe tend to have colourful wings. This could be evidence of subspecies or perhaps individual tribe identity. Perhaps they colour their wings using dyes or paints.

  *

  The sprites’ diet remains a mystery to me. At a guess I would say they are generally omnivorous, eating a variety of seeds, berries and insects. They are constantly foraging in the gorse and grass and down by the brook but I cannot get a clear enough view to see what they have been gathering. When they do find something they will fly straight back to the nest, which suggests that they share their food with the rest of the colony.

  I have now gathered as much information as I think I can without capturing a specimen and conducting a closer examination.

  *

  The baker’s boy came today but I completely forgot to beat him. Next time.

  Wednesday 18th August 1779

  On Experiments in Trapping Techniques

  My first forays into capturing a sprite have been unsuccessful. I have tried a variety of methods: spring traps of the type used for catching thrushes, wire snares, even glue traps where I have smeared sticky resin on likely perches.

  All have proved useless in the catching of sprites, the trouble being that I do not yet know what the beasts feed on. Those spring traps I baited with honey remained set, those I laced with flying ants catch’d meadow pipits. No matter, I shall dine on pipit pudding and ponder the problem further.

  Wednesday 22nd September 1779

  I have abandoned my disguise of late and, as such, spy the sprites less frequently.

  I know where they live, though, and so long as I am careful not to get too close I am confident they will not abandon their colonies.

  Tuesday 16th November 1779

  For the first time since leaving the house in Church Street and moving out here to the moor I have started to feel pangs of loneliness. It is, I am in no doubt, because of the importance of my discovery, the excitement of each new development and the lack of anyone to share it with.

  I have written to Izzy Butterford in London. That sweet, if misguided, girl is the only person in the world that I would willingly share this information with and I know she would be as thrilled as I at the chance to study an entirely new species. I remember how, as children, we sketched and painted flowers and butterflies. I remember how they seemed to trust her and would linger in her presence. Izzy would be my ideal companion in work and life and she could help me with my work if she were with me now. In the letter I did not disclose exactly what I have found, lest it should fall into enemy hands, but hinted at the immensity of the discovery. Izzy is a country girl. She does not belong in London, she belongs here with me on the moor. If she has not been corrupted by that city I know she will come and join me. I anxiously await her reply.

  Tuesday 29th February 1780

  I have been successful in trapping almost every creature present on the moor except those infernal sprites. Weasels and stoats, mice and voles, birds, insects, everything but a sprite. I think they must be highly intelligent and suspicious of any contraption that looks out of the ordinary. But they must have a weakness, and I will find it. I need to capture a specimen and I care not any more whether it is living or dead.

  Wednesday 12th April 1780

  I awoke this morning incensed with anger and frustration at my inability to capture one of those blasted sprites. Before I could think sensibly about what I was doing I took up my blunderbuss, loaded it with buckshot and stormed out on to the moor.

  I had not gone more than a few paces out of the garden when I stopped: should I go back and put on my antlers? I would not stand a hope of getting near enough to one of the creatures without wearing them. As I turned to head back a small bird flew past me and alighted on an elder tree close by. The bird, to my astonishment, looked to be the very same species of warbler that Izzy and I had once raised and released on the moor. Without a moment’s hesitation I swung the gun to my shoulder and ‘BLAM!’ I pulled the trigger. A puff of feathers and the bird dropped to the ground. I ran over and there it was, without doubt identical to the bird from all those years ago. I had all but forgotten about it.

  The bird was damaged from the shot but not out of all recognition so I gathered, as best I could, the loose feathers from the grass and took it inside. The rest of the day was spent happily preparing the skin of the tiny bird to be stuffed the way Mr Gadigun taught me as a youth.

  And so in leaving the house determined to capture one creature new to science I succeeded in bagging another equally unknown, though perhaps not quite so sensational.

  I’m sure Izzy and I gave the fledgling a name but for the life of me I cannot remember what it was.

  Friday 21st April 1780

  This even as I was heading back across the downs towards home I heard the familiar jangling music that heralds the arrival of my old friend Hetty Pepper and her cart of treasures. I soon spotted her coming over the hill and we walked back to the house together. I had not had a chance to hide away my work and so hurriedly gathered my papers and stuffed them into a drawer as she settled herself by the fireplace and stirred up the embers.

  ‘And what might this be, Professor Tooth?’ (She calls me ‘Professor’. I have no formal qualifications but it would seem churlish to correct her.) She was holding a piece of paper that I had overlooked in my haste to clear up. It was a drawing I had made a year or more ago, comparing the strange nymph that I found at the brook to the design on the plaster relief at Church Street.

  ‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ said I, ‘just a study of a dragonfly larva.’

  ‘Well ’tis handsome strange, Professor,’ continued the tinker, ‘as I’ve seen a likeness of this a month ago, made in silver, not far from Steerborough on the coast.’

  My ears pricked up though I tried not to appear too interested.

  ‘Oh yes?’ said I.

  ‘Most certainly, Professor, I’d swear to it, but what I saw was not a scribblin’ like what you’ve made here but a hornament.’

  ‘A “hornament”?’
>
  ‘That’s royt, a hornament, a little statue about yey high,’ she held her hands to show me something about six inches tall, ‘and ’twas made in silver.’

  I could hardly contain my excitement.

  ‘Where did you see this?’ I asked. ‘Where was this statue?’

  ‘Why, Professor, I bought it in a box of old bric-a-brac, bits and pieces, none of it any value except for that one piece.’

  ‘And where is it now?’

  ‘Ah, Professor, I sold it on, couldn’t even tell you who bought it. I was selling my wares at a fair by the new windmill on the marshes, not far from where I picked it up. No doubt somebody took a shine to it, pretty as it was.’

  ‘What else,’ I asked, ‘was in this box?’

  ‘Well now, let me think.’ Hetty sat back and rubbed her forehead. ‘There was papers, you know? Old papers with writin’ on which I used to light me fire (being as I can’t read), some old-fashioned clothes what I tore up for rags, and, let me think … Ah! I remember! There was something else which I saved, thinking as it may be of use to you!’

  With that she jumped up and went outside to her cart where I followed her. After much scrabbling about and poking in her many boxes and baskets of junk she pulled out an old brass telescope.