Woodhill Wood

by David Harris Wilson

  "I knew it'be you, didn't I Spike?... Spike?" He looked down at his feet and then spun around but there was no dog. "Spike!" A crashing sound heralded the return of his terrier. Spike fell down a muddy bank on to the path, shook himself and then came barking onwards.

  "Didn't I tell you it'd be him? Didn't I tell you?"

  Spike scuttled around Gurde's legs and yapped in agreement.

  "I didn't scare your dog," Gurde said.

  "Aye! Nothin' scares my dog. It's part of my family."

  The old man rested his boney hands on his stick, one on top of the other, and leant forward to inspect me. He was wearing a tartan tie under a dark green sweater. Over these he wore the tweed jacket with black patches at the elbows. There was a shiny thistle badge on his left lapel.

  He sucked a long breath through his teeth and then spoke again. "Aye," he said, rocking his head to one side as his dog had done. The word was said with special meaning, starting low and rising suddenly to a squeak, like the call of a woodland bird. Spike trotted over and sat down at his master's feet.

  "Aye," he called again, "I knew it'd be you."

  "How did you know?"

  "I just knew, eh Spike? Folk don't ask me why. I've seen you here. Up on that rock," he gestured up towards the Wizard's cliff with his stick, "wi' all your bangin' and bashin'. I've seen you and your pals."

  "With my pals? What pals?"

  "Aye. Pals, that's what they were. Fifteen o'them. Maybe twenty. Spike saw to them, didn't you, Spike?" He pushed his tweed cap back off his forehead and sighed again. The freed skin sagged down his face.

  "What you starin' at, son? You, no' seen a face like it? No? No, I didnae think so. Aye, well, it's not the best face ever, but I've seen worse. Yours is'nae too brilliant, I hav'tae say. Now, I've seen folk without a face, eh? Now, that's no' a pretty sight."

  "No. No I can imagine."

  "Aye, you can imagine," he nodded in agreement. "Aye, right."

  "Anyway," Gurde said, "I'm sorry if I worried you. I'd better be getting on."

  "No' got time for an old man?" He leaned forward a little on his stick and raised his eyebrows. Spike pricked up his ears. "Dinnae worry yoursel', son. You didnae worry me." He grinned again and looked down at his dog. "Aye. Come wi' me a minute. I'll show you somethin'."

  Gurde wasn't sure if he was talking to his dog. The man stood up straight, and Gurde thought he caught a twinge of pain flicker across the eyes before he set off up the slope with his dog padding along beside him. Gurde stood, watching the figure striding away, uncertain if he was supposed to follow. The man walked a few yards then looked back over his shoulder.

  "Well, you comin' or no?"

  After all that had happened in the last few days Gurde was beginning to wonder if things would ever be as he expected.

  He caught up with the old man and matched his pace. The man strode on, digging his battered stick into the ground in front of him before each stride, then planting his boot firmly in the mud ahead of the stick and throwing himself forward. Spike's legs were a blur of movement trying to keep up.

  They walked in silence for a while.

  "There," the man said suddenly, pointing his stick at the edge of the path. Gurde looked in the required direction but couldn't see anything in particular. "That's my log," he said triumphantly, "where I've sat every day since."

  "Since when?" Gurde asked.

  "See there," he said, pointing to far end of the fallen tree, "that's where I sit."

  "Really?" Gurde said.

  "Aye. An' see there," he said, swinging the end of his stick to the other end, "that's where I sit on Fridays."

  Spike hopped over the log to probe the leaves on the far side.

  Gurde sat down and Spike wandered back from his digging. Gurde gave the dog a tentative pat on the head. Spike growled and then went back to his panting.

  "Aye," the old man sighed, "good Spike. Me and Spike are the same age."

  "Yes?" Gurde said.

  "Aye... I'll tell you somethin' else. All animals are just the same. Just the same... Aye... Big, wee, makes nae difference. It's just the clock tickin'. Every dog, man, mouse; same number of heart ticks before the end. It's just a mouse ticks faster so it does'nae live as long. Me and Spike are the same age, eh Spike? Did you know that? No... See, old folk know things, an' you thought I was stupit."

  Gurde looked at the old man and thought hard. Spike panted on, looking up wisely through dark eyes. There was silence as the old man waited for Gurde to absorb the words.

  After a few minutes he spoke again. "What did you say your name was, son? John?"

  "Matt."

  "Aye. Well, John. I'd better be headin' on. No point sitting in the trees for long when the sun's out, is there? It's best to catch it while you can. No' that you get much of it these days. Now, when I was flyin' my plane it was always sunny."

  "You were a pilot?"

  "No."

  "So, you were a...?"

  "I was a soldier for my country. That's what I was."

  "In the war?"

  The man straightened his back and looked to the sky.

  "Aye. So it was. A war. It was always sunny up there. I'll be up there for keeps before long."

  "Not for a while," Gurde said with a smile.

  He turned his head to meet Gurde's eyes. "Think you'll be there first, do you?"

  "Well, who knows," Gurde replied.

  The old man leant forward on his stick and peered down through the sun washed leaves. "If that's the way you're thinkin', you might just be right."

  "I don't know," Gurde said, "sometimes I think it would be best."

  The old man's mouth narrowed to a dotted line above his chin. "How old are you, son?"

  "Fourteen, nearly."

  "So, fourteen. Fourteen. That means me and Spike have ticked four... maybe five times as long as you. You think we're that bad, eh? Not worth it, eh?"

  "No, that's not what I meant."

  "No?"

  "It doesn't matter." Gurde said.

  "What? Life doesnae matter? Maybe you're right. If you think that way, maybe the world'd be better off without you."

  "You don't know anything about me," Gurde said.

  "Aye. I'm stupit."

  "Sorry. I didn't mean..."

  "Don't mean much do you?"

  "Yes I do. It's just..."

  "So, what do you mean?"

  "I... I don't know."

  "Aye. You don't know, an' you call me stupit."

  "I didn't mean..." Gurde shut up.

  Again, the man remained quiet for a while, allowing Gurde time to remember. Gurde looked at the little dog waiting patiently at his feet. They too were part of the Woodhill. The old man's clothes were the colours of the hill. Gurde waited for the old man to continue, expecting nothing but prepared for anything.

  "There's only about a hundred left now, you know?" the man said.

  "What's that?" Gurde asked.

  "Otters."

  "Otters? I thought there were more than that."

  The man slapped a palm on to his thigh. "I thought you were stupit. You know somethin' then."

  "I like otters," Gurde said.

  "Aye. Now there's a sneaky animal, eh Spike? There's only about a hundred. I used to count them."

  "You counted otters?"

  "Aye," he sighed, "it was a livin'."

  "Where?"

  "Oh, up and down the coast. Up and down. Spike knows where. Good work. Always in the winter."

  "Why's that? So you could see them better?"

  "No. So you could catch them better."

  "Why did you catch them?"

  "To count them."

  "Right. So, why were you counting them?"

  "I thought you weren't stupit? To see if we should stop catchin' 'em. All them rich English wi' their hounds, chasin' up and down the water all summer, catchin' them and rippin' them to bits to see if they bleed..."

  "So in the winter you counted how many were left?
"

  "You're gettin' there."

  "And..?"

  "Aye. There's only about a hundred left now. Oh aye. Not many. Not many at all. You know how to catch an otter?"

  "No."

  "Salt."

  "Eh?"

  "Salt. They love it. Put a wee pile on the ice and out they come. One lick and their tongues are stuck fast. Frozen."

  "What? To the ice?"

  "Aye. Stuck fast. Then, you just go and grab their tail and rip 'em off and shove 'em in a bag."

  "Didn't you let them go?"

  "Aye. Only on the best estates though. You could get a good price for a big one. Can't do it now though."

  "Why not? Is it against the law?"

  "No. Winters' too warm. Tongues dinnae freeze right nowadays."

  "Oh. Tongue stuck to the ice. It must have hurt..."

  "Aye. Bloody things could give you a nasty scratch. In the cold, wi' all that salt about, it could be quite painful."

  "I see."

  "Aye," he sighed again, "well I'd better be movin' on. Spike hasnae done his business yet. He likes to go on the move, don't you Spike? Well, son, see you again."

  "What's your name?" Gurde asked as the man rose to his feet. Gurde stood up and put out an arm to help. It was ignored.

  "Mr Gunn, that's me. But you can call me Jim. Some folk call me Jim. And this is Spike. Rain'll be here in a few minutes. Bad too. Can you smell it? Better get goin'."

  "Right."

  "This is my log. I'll be here again tomorrow. I come to the hill every day and sit on my log."

  "Apart from Sundays," Gurde reminded him.

  "Eh? Well, see you again. Come on Spike. Come on, boy."

  Spike padded off up the path and disappeared behind a hedge following his nose. "You'll no' get much of your bangin' done today. Rain'll be here in a minute. I can smell it."

  Gurde sniffed but the air smelt the same.

  "What you bangin' up there anyway?" he asked. "You're not one of these sculpting laddies, are you? Shoving funny shapes where they shouldnae be."

  "No, I'm not making anything."

  "Aye. Just as well. You're making enough noise."

  "Not for much longer."

  "You nearly finished, aye?"

  "Nearly."

  "Good. Well, see you again."

  Gurde watched the man stride on up the path and disappear. A few distant yaps from Spike and all was quiet again. Gurde looked up at the patches of blue in the sky. The clouds were moving fast and the change in the wind was beginning to rustle the leaves overhead, snatching some of them and hurling them onwards.

  Gurde scrambled up to the place where the Wizard's Skull hung. Rushes of wind sent crackling waves of sway through the trees as he slithered on the loose stones at the bottom of the cliffs, trying to remember in which direction the scaffolding pole had fallen.

  He clambered along until he was directly beneath the Skull, staring up the sixty feet to where the dark mass clung by a few threads to the rock face. He felt uncomfortable staring up at its chin. It wouldn't have surprised him if the Wizard had chosen that moment to fall. Maybe the world would be better off, as Mr Gunn had said.

  Gurde looked around and caught a glint of metal in the leaves below. He was happy to step away from under the shadow of rock and slide down to where the pole had landed.

  He lifted one end up to inspect the damage. It still looked alright, there was hardly a dent on it. Next time he would tie it to something before pushing it so close to the edge. Gurde was not going to allow the Wizard to do this again. He thought about the long haul, dragging the pole back along the face of the Woodhill through the trees into the glen at the far end, then up the slippery, heather-covered sides, before finally dragging it back along the path to the top of the cliff. It was the only way to get it up there, apart from pulling it up the cliff on a rope and Gurde didn't think he could manage that even if he could find a rope long enough.

  Gurde decided that even if Mr Gunn was right about the rain, he had to make a start on getting the pole back into position.

  He took a firm grip on the clamp that was attached to one end and heaved the whole length around in a series of lifts, bumping and grating it against the ground, until the clamp was facing in the right direction. Then he tried to think up a good excuse in case somebody came past and asked what he was doing. That proved difficult, so Gurde decided to get the pole away from the path as fast as possible and hope nobody got too curious.

  Once the pole was facing in the right direction he lifted up the rusty clamp, turned round so that he held the end of the pole behind his back, and heaved forwards. The pole tried to roll down the slope and Gurde had to struggle to keep it steady but, once it was moving, it slid smoothly and he could walk at almost a normal pace through the trees, with the other end of the metal tube bouncing and clanging along behind.

  The light in the trees faded under the gathering greyness, leaving a shroud over the way ahead. It was hard work and, though there were now cool gusts blowing through the trees, he was sweating and wheezing. He hadn't brought the pills so he often had to sit down against a nearby trunk and wait for the tightness to lift. Gurde counted his steps, trying to complete at least a hundred between rests, but his lungs were left to decide whether he reached the target.

  The rain came suddenly, heralded by a clattering noise in the leaves. It was a few minutes before the first large drops fell through the tree cover to mark dark circles on the ground. Gurde dragged the pole for one last, determined distance, where he could hide it just in case a builder happened to be passing.

  He heaved the pole into a bush, concealed the end with leaves and memorised the position so that he could find it again. Then he set off back down the slope.

  He was going to get a soaking again and, as usual, he hadn't brought anything to keep the rain off. He sniffed to check his nose was still clear. The forest smelt musty in the rain. In the spring you could smell the whole area growing, but now the smell was like an old bedroom.

  The rain wasn't as heavy as old Mr Gunn had suggested. Gurde hurried along the glistening road, trying to keep out of the wind that gusted along the hills. He thought about what the old man had said. "Aye". All those days Gurde had hidden in the trees and watched the old man pass, always feeling the man had known Gurde was there, hiding like a criminal. It must have amused Mr Gunn to finally catch him in the open.

  Gurde kicked a stone down the road. He couldn't decide if Mr Gunn was crazy or if he was just trying to seem that way, Spike playing his part too, seeing how Gurde would react. There had been nothing running beneath Mr Gunn's words, no hidden probing, no points to be won, just a chance to let Gurde speak and sound foolish and he had done that all right.

  The sky was black by the time Gurde got back to the house. The real rain was not far away. It was still early but there were lights on in all of the downstairs rooms. Gurde stopped at the bottom of the drive and peered up; it was getting to be a habit. Only a few days before, he had sprinted up to the back door feeling relief at finally getting home, but now it was with reluctance that Gurde walked up to that same door and stepped out of the rain. He pushed the wet hair back off his forehead and took a deep breath before walking into the kitchen. The father was standing at the far end of the room, drawing on his cigarette and staring out of the window into the garden.

  "Hi," Gurde said.

  The father turned, his mind still lost in whatever he was thinking about.

  "Hello, Matt."

  He didn't ask where Gurde had been. He didn't ask why Gurde was soaking wet and covered in mud or why his hands were smeared with rust. He didn't ask why Gurde had disappeared without a word as soon as they had got home. He turned his head back to the window and raised his cigarette again.

  "Where's Mum?" Gurde asked.

  "She's not very pleased with you."

  Gurde walked over to stand beside him and spoke quietly in case she was in the next room.

  "Why?"

&nb
sp; "I don't know. Something about your avoiding her."

  "What does she mean?"

  The father shrugged and picked up his glass.

  "Dad? Can I ask you something?"

  "Certainly," he said, his eyes never leaving the distant point on the garden wall.

  "Mum said she'd said something to you about me and...." The words faded away. Gurde felt a twinge inside and knew he had to stop before it showed at the surface.

  "Do you believe everything she tells you?" the father said.

  "No."

  Gurde thought that might have sounded too harsh and added, "I mean...."

  The father nodded before Gurde could dilute the words. "Well then..," he said.

  Gurde finished off his sentence in silence. The father turned his face again. The expression was fixed and serious and weary, but it was shot through with such intense feeling that it flooded through him. He stood beside the father and stared out, past the reflection in the glass, following the stare to where Gurde thought it was focused. There was nothing to be seen. They stood in silence, lost in different thoughts. The father drew again on his cigarette and Gurde wished he had one too.

  Gurde didn't want to lose him again so soon. "How's the case going Dad?"

  "Oh. Not so bad. It would be easier if I had less on my mind."

  "You mean Mum?"

  "Amongst other things."

  That line of conversation had no future. Gurde tried something else. "Have you finished your book yet?" He regretted the question as the father tensed at the thought of it.

  "Well..." Dad said, "I don't know..."

  "You mean you've sort of finished it?"

  "Well, I've written plenty of words but that isn't the point is it?"

  "No. I suppose not. Especially with the Law."

  The father nodded. "Exactly, Matt, exactly. Especially with the Law."

  Gurde was stuck for things to say. The silence returned and the father was somehow distant again. Gurde turned to walk away. "Mum's in the study, is she?" It was a good guess if he was standing alone in the kitchen. He nodded once and Gurde knew that was the end of it.