Mystery City

by Alistair Lavers

  Invitation to attend a meeting of local landowners & residents

  Bethel Methodist Chapel,Lazy-Jane Lane.

  7pm Tuesday

  Chair Mr C.Thatcher Guest Speakers PC J.Alger Lady Warner Woollens & Ibrahim Kinte of Charlwood Estate and Zoo.

  Tea and coffee. No children/pets. Free parking for the duration in the chapel car park. No tractors/horses/quadbikes.

  The chapel was full to capacity, even before PC Alger arrived in his white Ford Escort, straddling the road and the verge because there were no spaces left inside the chapel yard. Inside the chapel, the congregation was already in discussion amongst themselves, locked into a dozen private huddles.

  ‘Wharrabout yoo – ave yoo lost owt Arthur?’

  ‘Ahv not lost nowt. Us dogs ‘ull tell us if there’s strangers abaht,’ replied Arthur Garbutt, owner of Hilltop Bungalow.

  ‘Well, tha’s nay got n’ livestock now anyroad. Nowt ‘cept yer ‘ens,’ added Albie Gall, one pew behind.

  ‘Ahm telling y’all, summat’s bin tekkin’ us ewes. Uz lost two ram an’ all this week,’ announced Wilf Thatcher, the younger brother of Conn Thatcher, owner of Harker Farm and the largest acreage in the district, talking to a small crowd of his peers, a few benches away from Arthur and Albie.

  ‘Likely as not, bugger’s smelt a yew in’t next valley, an’ got jumped by a dog,’ muttered Albie, earwigging on the group of younger men.

  ‘It’s a strange dog that leaves a ram wi’out its guts an’ its face on, Mr Gall,’ replied Wilf, hearing the interruption.

  ‘Mebbee we’ve got one o’ them big cats. Paper sez some lass from Burniston saw one tekkin’ a drink in Scalby Beck when she were out wi’ ‘er dogs. That musta given ‘em a bloody fright.’

  ‘Ahm not convinced it’s right for ‘em round ‘ere. There’s probably a few down int south west, granted. But not up ‘ere. Too bloody cold. They’d be nithered,’ said Arthur.

  ‘Nothing that’s native to this country could leave our ram looking like it did. Unless we’ve got a fox the size of a Great Dane in Kettleness. One things fo’ sure, it weren’t suicide,’ added Wilf.

  ‘Thee ‘Ound of Death,’ said Jack Farrar of Midstream Cottage suddenly, under his breath.

  ‘Yer what?’ snapped Arthur.

  ‘Thee ‘Ound of Death,’ said Jack again– quite seriously, wearing his best miserable face.

  ‘Thee ‘Ound o’ Death! I never heard such a load o’ bloody nonsense,’ groaned Sandy Talbot, the most vocal appointee of the Neighbourhood Watch committee. ‘Some discussion this is turning out to be. Where’s Jackson?’

  ‘Out front talking ta Conn. Reckon they’re wondering where that Lady Woollens woman is.’

  ‘Bloody gentry’s alluz late. It’s only us bloody low-born fools that shows up on time.’

  ‘Is everyone here? asked PC Alger, stopping in front of Conn Thatcher and his other brother Jim, who were smoking grubby roll-ups on the top step just beyond the small chapel’s front door.

  ‘Aye. Everyone oos anyone an’ t’rest that wants ta be somebody– eh Jim?’

  ‘Appen yer reet.’

  ‘You’re a way from home, Jim. What brings you up here?’ asked Alger, surprised to see Conn Thatcher’s second brother.

  ‘This an’that. Not much going on in Thornton Dale, the odd duck rape, about as excitin’ as it gets for us. I thought I’d get me sen ovver ‘ere fo’ some excitement. That an’ me mam’s birthday party the neet.’

  ‘Well, wish her well, from me an’ Jenn.’

  ‘Aye. I will. Thanks Jackson. So what’s the crack? Funny business round ‘ere I ‘ear.’

  ‘Hard to say Jim. We thought we might have a bit of rustling and some nutcase that likes disfiguring livestock, but it’s gone beyond that. I’ve organised this so we can all get together and see what we can come up with between us. It’s just a forum really, but maybe I’ll find out something I didn’t know before.’

  ‘Well, reckon it’s what we need. Nice to see us neighbours– whatever. Most of ‘em…’ Time for us ta gan in then. Let’s be ‘aving yer…’ said Conn to Jim and Jackson, ushering the younger men inside.

  Once Conn Thatcher had announced the start, at the lectern, and explained the format and timetable, he introduced Jackson to the hall and then sat at the front, facing his neighbours with Wilf and Don Wilkin, the beach warden.

  ‘Well, thank you all for coming,’ said PC Alger from the front of the small fiddlers’ stage at the back of the chapel… ‘it’s good to see such a big turnout so late on a Sunday. You all know why we’re here. Can I start by asking if anyone here has any fresh evidence or theories concerning these thefts and disappearances?’

  ‘Thefts, is it?’ muttered Jack derisively under his cap, keeping his eyes on the bible rail of the pew, far below the sight line of his companions and friends.

  ‘Do you have anything you want to share with us Jack?’ asked Jackson, hearing something from the older man, but not hearing the exact words of his contribution as he mumbled at the back of his pew.

  ‘Jack thinks it’s summat other than that, that us simple folks think it might be, eh Jack?’ said Albie, managing to be sarcastic, obscure and diplomatically vague all at once.

  ‘I’ve said me piece,’ replied Jack, cutting off his neighbour’s smirk with a loveless glare.

  ‘I was told the zoo were going to send their manager here to speak to us,’ shouted Mrs Halshaw from the back. ‘Or Lady Woollens…’

  ‘They were Mrs Halshaw, but they’re now certain that nothing in the park has escaped,’ explained the constable, emolliently.

  ‘Well I would have expected some sort of recognition from them; that park is full of dangerous wild animals after all. It would have been polite of them to send somebody, if only to show some solidarity or some curiosity,’ she said, by way of a grumble.

  ‘That zoo was one of our first destinations Mrs Halshaw, but we no longer have any reason to continue with that particular line of enquiry. I don’t think it’s necessary or desirable for them to be here, now we’ve ruled out the possibility that one of their animals escaped.’

  Jack Farrar put both of his enormous gnarled hands on the top rail of the pew in front of him and stood up slowly, supporting himself, then sighed heavily and looked left to right, still unwilling to greet the eyes of his neighbours with any warmth, not through shyness, as he was not a nervous person by anyone’s definition of the word, or someone with anything to hide. He had spent his working years looking at the soil and the skies and all of God’s creatures above and beneath, but he still hadn’t found another human being who hadn’t disappointed him in some way. Jack cleared his throat and waited for the rest of the congregation to fall silent before offering his parting contribution to the hall.

  ‘Yuv all lost livestock. Two campers is missin’ and Mr and Mrs ‘alshaws cat. Consecutive neets. An’ what time were it in yer almanacs? But folk won’t see what they can’t or won’t. I’ve said all I’m gonna say an’ I’ll not say no more now. I’ll be on me way.’

  Without another word, he touched his flat cap and ambled out of the chapel without a backward glance, raising a couple of meaty fingers as a parting gesture to Constable Alger, who was not comforted by his sudden decision to leave, though he made no attempt to encourage him to stay, partly because he was slightly intimidated by the old farmer and partly because he was trying to read the rest of his audience to try and identify any other potential deserters.

  ‘One down,’ commented Arthur, drily.

  ‘What did he say about almanacs, Dad?’ said Wilf, licking the seam of another rolly.

  ‘Time o’day worrit– or summat?’ said one of the other men present.

  ‘If there is anything you haven’t mentioned already, either to me or each other about this business it would be really use
ful for us all to hear it now. It might even connect with what we know already and give us all a clearer picture of what we’re dealing with…’ continued the constable; we can rule out escaped animals from the zoo, and the livestock thieves from Grassingtown as they’re in custody.’

  ‘Has anyone looked in the sea caves?’ asked Councillor Halshaw. ‘There’s quite a few on our stretch. Near Seaforth.’

  ‘Near Meredith’s place?’

  ‘Aye, below Meredith’s place.’

  ‘Why don’t we get some people together and some torches and see what we can find?’

  ‘An excellent idea Councillor. Do we have any volunteers?’ asked the constable.

  Twelve hands were raised, though Alger barely held half the room.

  ‘I’ll come if your lot can rustle up some torches,’ said Albie – then groaned as his wife elbowed him sharply in the ribs. ‘If I can’t find me own, that is,’ he muttered.

  ‘That’s better – you tight old bugger…’ said Albie’s wife.

  ‘I’m sure I can persuade our stores to issue anyone who wants to help with torches and whistles,’ announced Alger drily.

  ‘Be useful if yer can get some ‘o them reflective coats ‘an all. An’ a pile of ‘ard ‘ats Jackson. Some ‘o them caves go back a ways,’ added Conn. ‘It’ll ‘ave to be a Saturday, certainly for us and most of the other folk hereabouts I reckon.’

  ‘Who will come and help us search if I can get you all the right equipment?’ asked the constable again. ‘Can we have another show of hands? We’ll go with Conn’s suggestion for Saturday, this Saturday at noon everyone?’

  This time, except for Mrs Halshaw – who was completely the wrong shape for anything more challenging than a theme park grotto – Alger had won the room.

  ‘Has anyone checked Standard Copse and the old jet mine yet?’ asked Mr Halshaw?’

  ‘A good suggestion Councillor. I’ve arranged for a group of police cadets from Northallerton to sweep it on Friday afternoon. Some rangers from the North Yorkshire Parks Authority are going to look inside the mine on Sunday. Does anyone have any other information or suggestions?’

  Jack Farrar was still sitting on the lifeboat memorial bench, on the opposite side of the road to the chapel when the meeting finally broke up and the crowd made their way to their cars and Land Rovers. Jack was smoking his pipe, enigmatically; watching the rainwater trails from the fields twist down the steep strip of faded tarmac that was Lazy-Jane Lane into the Kettleness cauldron.

  Conn Thatcher, seeing Jack sitting alone, wandered over the road and sat down on the bench beside him, taking out his own pipe briefly, returning it to the frayed top pocket of his green gilet after tapping out the ash.

  ‘Can I give yer a lift ‘ome Jack? I’ve got ta drop some feed off at mine before I go past yours, but the lads have got their trucks, if you’d rather go wi’ them.’

  ‘Aye very kind Conn, I’ll go with thee if that’s alreet. Be nice to see the farm.’

  ‘What about this business then Jack? What d’ya mek of it?’

  ‘I’ll not say, I don’t think– in front o’ them that’s inside. Just make sure yer bairns are inside of a night, and the lambs.Then’s the danger.’

  ‘Jack, we’ve known each other forty year. Yer can say owt in front o’ me. I’m not gonna share a confidence wi’no one.

  ‘You’ll not thank me for telling yer old friend. And the worst of it is, once ya know what I found, you’ll have nay choice but to keep it to y’sen. Just like me, festering away,’ he said tapping his fist against his chest. I thought we might be one of the lucky generations it passes by. There’s no stopping what can’t be stopped, ay. It’ll be tough on some of us.’

  ‘What are you talking about Jack? You’re not mekking a right lot of sense, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  ‘You need to get to St Hilda’s in Whitby and see it for yerself. The Whitefield’s and the Comery’s family records boxes. They’re kept on the vestry bookcase. Reverend’s out Friday afternoons, but he don’t lock the door. It’s a moss green leather box, tatty black cotton lining. Give yer sen a couple of hours. Then mek yer own judgement. It’s wrapped up wi’ our families anyway. And the Comerys in Robin ‘oods Bay. I think I’ll walk home now, actually Conn,’ said Jack, preparing to stand again. ‘I’ve a mind to be alone if you’ll forgive me. Just mek sure yer go to the vestry on yer own. When you’ve seen it, come an’ see me.’

  Only minutes after Jack Farrar got back home to Midstream Cottage, he realised he had a visitor, in the shape of the community policeman, standing nervously by his back door.

  ‘Jackson is it?’

  ‘Yes Mr Farrar, sorry to surprise you – so soon after the meeting. May I come in for a minute or two?’

  ‘Reckon so… you took yer time lad, but I’ll not say you’re not welcome. Thought you’d be round, didn’t we Ned?’ said the old farmer, patting the head of his Staffordshire Bull Terrier, who was trying to stuff a felt reindeer into Jackson’s crotch.‘Eee must like yer lad. Only shows Rudolph to ‘iz best pals. Juss mek a fuss of ‘im fost while I mek us a brew, then ee’ll leave us be, while we’re sat.’ Ned rolled on his back and presented his belly and genitals for inspection.

  ‘It’s about that thing that’s bin doing all the killing is it?’ asked the older man, dispensing with the emollient pleasantries and formalities of conversation in the time-honoured tradition of rural Yorkshiremen. Jackson envied the older man’s directness with a mixture of unquestioning admiration and envy.’

  ‘Since I’m not the countryman that you are Jack, I’m thinking of getting an expert in from outside the county. Someone with a fresh pair of eyes.’

  ‘Outsider eh? Why would you be doing a thing like that? You might as well say us folk can’t handle our own problems.’

  ‘I know people will say things like that Mr Farrar, but if it’s an outsider people can’t accuse them of favouritism. And a stranger wouldn’t have any history or loyalties that might cause what I like to call invisible grievances, if you know what I mean…’

  ‘Not as daft as ya look, are ya lad?’

  ‘There’s another reason Mr Farrar. There’s never been anything like this happen, this far north.’

  ‘Some folks, who’ve read their local ‘istory might ‘ave something ta say ta thee about that.’

  ‘Well, I’m ready to listen to anyone or anything if it helps us stop these attacks.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Exmoor

  ‘Chudleigh Farm, Missus Burr speaken…’

  ‘Hello Mrs Burr. It’s PC Alger, Jackson Alger. I spoke with you yesterday if you recall… Could I speak to your husband if he’s home now?’

  ‘Ees jus’ in the boot room cleaning up, Constable. Let me av yorr number thurr, where you’re at?’

  ‘It’s Whitby 77659.’

  ‘An’ what’s the code?’

  ‘Oh yes, my apologies– it’s 0947.’

  ‘Now– be s’gudd as t’ang up– an’ oi’ll ring ‘eee back, drectly.’

  ‘I can wait Mrs Burr, it’s no trouble.’

  ‘No, oid loike eee t’ang up. Then I’ll ring eee back, say ‘ello– then ‘ang up. Then you can ring us back. By toime we’ve done all thart, John should be spick an’span.’

  ‘I don’t understand…’

  ‘We gets a lotta pranksters calling uz Mr Alger – cuz o’ what John does, this way we knows ooo we’re speaken to, so…’

  ‘So I’ll hang up – then you ring me back – hear my voice again, then hang up. Then I ring you?’

  ‘You got ‘em. Whenever you loike…’

  A few minutes later, Jackson had Mr Burr.

  ‘Mr Burr? Good to speak to you at…’

  ‘The wife sez yoos a constable, frum North Yorkshire Police.’

&nb
sp; ‘That’s right Mr Burr. Part of our area covers Kettleness.’

  ‘Kettle – ness… where’s that to then?’

  ‘We’re a few miles north of Whitby sir.’

  ‘Whitby eh? Cold up thurr I ‘spect. Most o’ the yerr…’

  ‘Yes it can be quite bracing. Fresh certainly…’

  ‘You knows where oi am then, t’other end o’ the map. I s’pect yull be wanning ta ask me summen about big cats. We only get one kind o’ letter or phone call west o’ Taunton. You thinks you got one, ‘ave eee?’

  ‘Er, well, that could be one possible explanation. I’d really appreciate your discretion, by the way.’

  ‘These things iz no big deal, down yerr n’more, Mr Alger. Big cats iz a fact o’ life an’ everyone knows it. ‘Cept they arse’oles at the Ministry of Ag, theym pretend loike they don’t exist, cos if they did, the buggers would ‘ave to do summen’ about ‘em? Can’t say I ever ‘eard one so far north as you got though. Mus’ be ‘ardy bastard – scuze moi English.’

  ‘We’re not absolutely certain that we have a big cat yet Mr Burr. That’s why I’d like to keep this to ourselves. It might not be a big cat problem at all; there’s a strong possibility it could even be a wolf, or even a bear.’

  ‘A bear..? Bugger me – I think you’d know if you ‘ad a bear!’ Bears is ‘uge inem? Don’t know too much about bears, cept ‘em being omnivores. If yull scuze me for being blunt, you’d ave ta be a proper fool to mistake one with t’other.’

  ‘There have been a few sightings of a large wolf-like animal recently– in the village of Cloughton. I should add there is a zoo nearby and they do have a wolf pack.’

  ‘Sounds as tho’ yoo got yer answer already then done’ it. There’s not much more I could tell eee.’

  ‘There’s just one problem with the wolf theory, it doesn’t fit the witness reports. It has been reported by several witnesses as being a wolf of considerable size– considerable size. The size of a lion.’