by Gene Kemp
“Perhaps we’ll find a gap.” I said.
“No chance,” said Tim.
There didn’t seem to be a way in as we ran along. But just when we had almost given up hope we found a gap beside a tree and we pushed through it into the wood at last.
“I think there’s a path here, Tim.”
“It’s not much of one. Ouch, that got me!” The long thorny arms of a bramble twisted around his legs.
“I don’t like it, Widget.”
“Shut up.”
We went on with Frizzy and Hanna, finding our way through head-high plants and bushes, nettles and brambles. Twigs snapped under our feet. Ancient crooked trees grew all around – others towered high above us. Broken branches tripped us up.
By now the sky was almost black. A cold wind whistled up from nowhere and a thunderclap echoed in the distance… and that’s where this story started.
“Did you find the tower?’ asked Mum when we were safe at home, eating.
“There isn’t any tower,” Tim answered, his mouth full of food.
“Yes, there is. I know there is. But, Mum—”
“But what? Go on, Widget.”
“I don’t think it wants to be visited.”
“Maybe I’d better come with you next time,” Mum said. “Before I get too fat with this baby I’m having.”
“Will you? Honest?”
“Yes. We’ll find that tower yet!”
Chapter Four
THE SECOND ATTEMPT
A week later I wanted to go tower-hunting again.
“No,” Tim said. “We shan’t find that tower even if there is one. You can’t see it in the wood from outside, can you? Well, if it was there you’d be able to see it, wouldn’t you? And even if there ever was one I expect it’s fallen down by now. If it’s old like you say.”
“Well, can we just try. Please. I’ll give you half my pocket money on Saturday.”
“Promise. Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Promise. Cross my heart and hope to live for ever.”
Mum accompanied us as we set off again with the dogs into the fields leading to the track. A few black and white cows stared at us as we made our way along, then just carried on grazing. All was quiet until – SPLAT – and all the cows looked up at us, as a great big ugly dog, with a smooth white face, red eyes, a black furry body and a plumy, swinging tail, landed among us, leaping up and greeting us like crazy.
Death’s-head had arrived.
We call him Death’s-head (though his real name’s Spot and he belongs to a farmer neighbour) because if you meet him in the dark you can only see his white face and red eyes looking like a skeleton and it’s scary. But he’s as soppy as anything and loves us madly and gets out to come with us whenever he can. Most of all he loved Russet, and he fretted a long time when she was run over, but now he loves Hanna (who is very probably his daughter) nearly as much.
“Down, down, Death’s-head!” we yelled, as he tried to knock us over so he could lick us properly, and we hurried on along the path before the cows came over. Cows didn’t like him and always chased him off when they saw him.
“William the Conqueror listed Goosey Farm in his Domesday Book,” Mum said softly, when she looked back at it. “A thousand years old – well nearly.”
She was talking softly because the path, the wood and the farm gave out this atmosphere of knowing a secret, hiding something that it would tell you about in time, when it wanted to, but you must be careful not to trespass too far or it would be very frightening.
We followed the same way, along the same track with the same horrible hedge. But it was warmer this time and the spring flowers were coming out; the primroses, the celandines, even some violets, and the trees were getting their leaves, colouring them green.
But it was still very quiet and the hedge was as thorny and unfriendly as ever as we reached the gap by the tree.
“I’m not going that way again,” said Tim. “Let’s find another gap.”
“Suppose there isn’t one.” I replied.
However, a few yards further on we found a space a bit larger than the first one. The dogs rushed through first followed by Tim and me, Mum bringing up the rear more slowly. At first it was fairly easy going but then it suddenly got worse. We struggled a bit, not talking at all. Somehow you didn’t want to speak loudly. There was a feeling that someone, something might be watching and listening, a feeling that you shouldn’t be there. I picked up Frizzy. Red Hanna and Death’s-head leapt and jumped their way over broken branches and strange plants. Twigs snapped under our feet like guns going off. Ancient crooked trees grew all around us. We had to push past branches hanging over the path.
A fallen tree lay with broken branches like a defeated dead dragon. I tripped over another that reached out like a crab’s claw.
“These trees are furry…” Tim said, pushing away a branch.
“It’s lichen, stupid…”
“I’m not stupid. You’re stupid, bringing us here. We’re probably in danger like they tell us all the time. We’ll be found dead and it’ll be all your fault.”
“It’s a fairy tale. Like the woods and roses in Sleeping Beauty grew up all around the castle.”
“I’d rather have a football,” Tim answered. “I don’t like fairy tales much, Widget, and I want to go home.”
“I think that might be a good idea. I’m not sure this is the right way,” said Mum, who had paused for a moment, for she’d got a stitch.
The wood changed. The path dwindled away and there ahead of us was a high wall of holly bushes. Red Hanna turned her long nose to me, her beautiful eyes full of – what? Frizzy whimpered, hiding her face under my arm. Death’s-head ran up and down trying to find a place to get through. He’s got a thicker coat that the rest of us.
“I can’t go through those prickles. You can’t want us to go through all that lot, Widget. Even you aren’t that crazy.”
“Tim, Mum – please. Let’s try to find a way through.”
“No,” said Tim.
“Let’s leave it,” said Mum. “I think we ought to be getting back.”
Then Death’s-head howled. He does that sometimes and it’s dreadful. The wood echoed with the miserable, horrible, terrible sound of Death’s-head howling – one of the worst noises I know.
We bolted. Faster than the time before. Even Mum wasn’t hanging about. But then, to relieve my disappointment, Dad came home on leave with lots of presents that he calls rabbits, and Aunt Dinah came for the weekend bringing her boyfriend, Fred. And Granny and Grandad turned up, so we had a party and a great time and I forgot about the Tower, for part of me didn’t want to think too much about it because it scared me, though I wouldn’t say so to Tim.
After everyone had gone it was quiet again. Tim went off to play with Chris and Peter Stone at the next farm and I lay on my bed and read, with Hanna and Frizzy helping. After a while I thought about the Tower and the longing to find it came over me once more. I ran downstairs to ask Mum if we could go again, but she was talking to Chris and Peter’s mother. Besides, I thought to myself, she looks as if she’s getting too fat to manage it now. I joined Sam Cat in the farmyard where he was fast asleep.
A shadow fell over me – much too big for Tim. I looked up and saw John Ellis, a very large and powerful, but quiet boy, who lived on a farm on the High Moor. He’d ridden over on his pony with Baggins, Hanna’s brother. Baggins had been the ugliest of the litter where Hanna was the prettiest. Baggins and Hanna sniffed noses and bottoms and wagged tails furiously. Both the dogs played around, excited by Baggins and the pony. Sam Cat stalked off in disgust, nose in the air. And I found myself telling John Ellis all about the Tower. He knows everything about the countryside around here and about Dartmoor, so he’d be sure to tell me about it.
“Yup, I know it,” he said slowly, at last, when I’d finished talking. He never hurried. “Rushford wood is very old, you know. Goes right back to Domesday time.”
�
�And the Tower?” I asked.
“No, that ain’t that old. They built that as a watchtower – maybe to look for the Frenchies if Napoleon invaded us. I once went there with my dad.”
“Will you take us there? We can’t find the way.”
“Yup. Bring some sandwiches and some little coins and I’ll come and take you up next Saturday. Bye now.”
And he was off on his pony, Baggins running alongside. Hanna wanted to go with them. I had to hold her back.
John turned around and lifted his hand to me. “They call it the Wishing Tower!” he cried, and was gone.
Chapter Five
THIRD TIME LUCKY!
John came for us just as he’d said he would, leaving his pony at Goosey Farm. Death’s-head also arrived early as if he’d known all about the expedition. Mum had done a packed lunch and Tim said he didn’t mind going with John Ellis.
“I’ll feel safe with him,” he muttered. “He’s not nutty like you, Widget.”
I pulled a face at him. “Thank you very much! All the times I’ve looked after you. Shan’t bother in future.”
We’d got two silver five pence coins each, not that I’d a clue why we were supposed to bring them, for there weren’t any shops on the way. We got away early before Chris and Peter found out and wanted to join us, for we wanted to be on our own. At least I did. I liked them but there wouldn’t be any magic if they were around shouting and arguing and scrapping.
We followed the same path through the fields and from the track I could see Goosey Farm, crouched down low like an old farm animal. John Ellis loped ahead of us on his long legs. Hanna, Baggins, Frizzy and Death’s-head ran along, as good as gold with John. We went past the first two openings this time, and continued along the track as it curved around the wood. It was quiet early morning. A buzzard hawk circled above. Same one, I thought. Must live here. But the air was warm and the spring flowers were opening everywhere: primroses, celandines, wind-flowers and violets. The trees and bushes were leafy now.
We ran steadily on. Then John stopped quite suddenly, just like that.
“We’re here,” he said.
Of course it was the place. There were two tall, old, grey granite pillars on each side of a gap in the hedge and a clear path wound ahead of us through the bluebell leaves, soft and shining. All the bushes and small trees grew on the sides of the path, leaving it easy and open, and there wasn’t a bramble or nettle in sight. Nothing scratchy. Nothing to hold on to you and tear or sting.
A huge branch, with what looked like a broken arm and hand, pointed to where we should go like a signpost. The dogs’ tails wagged as we climbed steadily upwards. There were lots of trees but none to stop us. Nothing getting in our way. I thought I could see the holly-tree hedge but it was far off to the right.
The hill was flattening out now. We must be nearly at the top. A turn in the path took us through and behind more trees. I was breathless. I knew the Tower was there. I’d see it any minute now. And a space opened out, silver birch trees shining all around and other trees I didn’t know. Beautiful trees all in a circle round the hill. John Ellis grinned at me.
A lawn of blue-green grass lay in the middle of the trees and there were bushes covered in white blossom. On the other side of the lawn stood the tower, my Tower, a very little grey stone tower. It had an arched window and three slitted windows and battlements. Grey stones lay round it where some battlements had toppled to the ground. Behind the tower dark fir trees loomed, taller than it was.
An archway looked at us, inviting us to look. Its door stood open. We ran towards it, then stopped. I’d thought so much about it that now I was nearly there I was almost afraid to go in. Then we walked through the door.
Chapter Six
AT LAST
Up and up we climbed, round and round. The stairs were narrow and crumbling with broken bits of rock scattered all over them. I could feel the walls as I went up. They were gritty and damp. The dogs pushed past us pointing long noses. I reached the top in no time at all as it was such a tiny tower and came out on to a landing where we could see over the battlements to the treetops and the birds flying in the sky. There was the moor in the distance and somewhere, the sea.
“We’re on top of the world!”
“But what’s it for?” cried Tim.
“It’s a look-out tower,” John told him. “In case the enemies come.”
“You mean… Hitler?”
“Yup, and before him, Napoleon and the Frenchies.”
“Who was Napoleon?”
“He wanted to invade us. Like Hitler.”
“But he didn’t, did he?”
“No.”
“And now they’re both dead, but the Tower’s still here. Funny,” I said.
“If anybody came now, I’d shoot them from here, bang, bang – they’re dead!” Tim cried.
“What with?” I asked him.
“Bows and arrows, like in Robin Hood. Or pour boiling water over them. Or chuck stones at them.”
“I’d rather have a tournament down there on the green lawn with knights in armour fighting for ladies in their beautiful gowns,” I said.
“That’s soppy.”
“No, it’s not. You’ve got no imagination, Tim. You only think about bashing things or playing football.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Let’s go and play on the lawn, John,” Tim cried. “I’ve brought my ball especially.”
“No, let’s explore the Tower first – else we might as well be back home,” I cried, fed up.
So we went back down the stairs and into the two downstairs rooms, which were full of bits of rock and dark in the corners. An old mattress and some rags and bottles were heaped up in one corner.
“Some old tramp has slept here,” John said, as the dogs sniffed around the heap. Very smelly.
“It’s not very magical,” I said sadly.
“Come on, Widget. Let’s eat our food on the lawn outside. It’s warmer there.”
So we sat in the bright sunshine and ate our food. It was warm and peaceful.
“It’s a silly tower,” Tim said. “It’s too little to be any good for anything.”
Tim made me mad at times.
“It’s big like the Tardis in Doctor Who. Bigger than it seems to be. You said, John – you said it was called the Wishing Tower.”
“Yup, that’s right.”
I waited, but he just went on chewing.
“Well, tell me. There’s got to be a reason.”
“I’m no good at tellin’ stories.”
“Oh, please try. Please, John. Then I can have a wish here.”
“You’ll ’ave to leave the last sarnie then.
An ’ave you got a silver coin?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You need one for the wishing.”
“Why, what have I got to do? Tell me. And what’s the story, anyway.”
“I told you, I’m no storyteller.”
“Try. Please. Then we can all have a wish.”
“Can’t we just play football instead?” Tim put in. “Unless it’s a story about aliens.”
“When we’ve heard the story and wished. Don’t take that last sarnie. We’ve got to keep it!”
“OK, bossy cat. Let’s get on with it.”
We settled back on the grass. After a bit John began. “There was this girl, see, with a funny name.”
“What?”
“Nest.”
Tim rolled over and over, laughing fit to burst. Birds flew away out of the trees.
“Shut up. You’re upsetting the Tower,” I hissed at him.
“It was a Welsh name, I think. And she was rich. Very rich.”
“Was she a Princess?”
“No, but she was a Lady, I think.”
Tim groaned.
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll wish that something really, really horrible happens to you!!!” I yelled at him.
“I’ll shut up,” he said.
“Well, she lived in a grand
’ouse and ’ad all the fiddle-faddles – you know.”
“Go on.”
“Well, when she was just seventeen she went to Tavistock Fair with her cousin, and there she fell in love with a tinker who was selling pots and pans.”
“Whatever for?” asked Tim.
“To cook with, of course.”
“No, I meant what did she fall in love with a tinker for? I mean, it’s not like a footballer or a pop star, is it, a tinker, I mean…”
“Oh, shut up. Go on, John.”
“She said she wanted to marry ’im and ’er dad was right mad and locked ’er up in ’er room.”
“Poor thing.”
“Well, she climbed out of the window and rode away with the tinker on a ’orse and got lost until, at last, late at night they came to this tower and sheltered in it.”
“Was there a storm, then?” I asked. “Oh, how could her father be so cruel?”
“I ’spect ’e didn’t want ’er selling pots and pans, y’know, Widget. She wouldn’t be any good at it, I don’t reckon.”
“Oh, go on with the story.”
“The father followed ’er all the way from Wales with ’is men and everything, and they surrounded the tower.”
“What happened then?”
“Well, Nest and – I don’t know ’is name…”
“Oh, call him… I know, Tarquin.”
“Fred’s a better name,” said Tim.
“Well, Nest and whoever it was looked out over the battlements and saw—”
“Dad and his Merry Men!” Tim cried.
“And all the ’orses and ’ounds and knew they couldn’t get away…”
“How awful!”
“And ’er dad was shaking ’is fist and yelling and the ’ounds were belling…”
“Belling?”
“Oh, that’s the noise they make. And ’er dad was telling ’er to come down and be a good girl or ’e’d put Fred…”
“Tarquin, you mean.”