by Glen L. Hall
‘I didn’t think there was a stop before Alnmouth.’
‘Neither did I,’ Sam replied, looking out of the window. It was a station that he had perhaps glimpsed before, he thought, but he’d never stopped there.
They waited for the train guard to announce the reason for the unscheduled stop, but none came. Sam walked the length of the carriage and then the adjoining one and quickly found they were alone. When he came back through, Emily was hauling her rucksack off the train.
‘We might as well get off here,’ she said, nodding towards a rusty and faded sign announcing that they had arrived at Warkworth station.
‘Why not?’ Sam shrugged and joined her on the deserted platform.
Behind them the engine revved suddenly, making them jump, and then the train slowly pulled out of the station, gathering speed as it rounded a corner and disappeared.
Sam and Emily stood a little bewildered in the deserted station with its antiquated stone building thick with moss. There was a real stillness to the place, a placidity that was caught in the deep blue sky glistening with the still-rising sun and the cirrus clouds that gently etched a sea of patterns moving north. Sparrows flew from the open fields across the railway line and darted over the station’s roof, and in the distance there was a faint hum of a diesel tractor lost in the rolling hills that framed the farmland surrounding Warkworth.
Sam and Emily breathed in the early morning freshness and looked round them at the scented flowers still clinging to broken pots and the flags and broken benches that were slowly being reclaimed by the Northumberland landscape.
‘What is this place?’ asked Emily.
‘Warkworth station.’
‘Yes, I too can read the big sign in front of us – I was thinking more along the lines of why have we always caught the train from Alnmouth when this has been so close to the village?’
‘It doesn’t look used to me.’
‘It’s 8 o’clock on a Sunday morning, Sam – most sane people are probably having breakfast and wondering what they are having for lunch.’
Sam smiled at Emily, remembering just how much he liked her.
They walked from the platform through a set of double doors whose paint had all but faded and entered a waiting room full of chairs piled high. To the left was an abandoned ticket office whose blinds had fallen into disrepair. The wooden floor was loose and creaked as they walked across it. The further they looked, the more ramshackle it appeared.
The door on the far side was unlocked. On opening it, they found themselves at the top of what had once been a grand stone staircase leading down to a short horseshoe-shaped drive with an overgrown lawn. It was north-facing and they quickly noticed the air was colder here, which was a shock after the morning sun on the platform.
They were looking at a narrow pot-holed road. On the other side of it was a thick bushy hedgerow and beyond that a solitary roof with a wisp of smoke that floated lazily into the crisp air.
‘I think we are northwest of the village,’ said Sam. I’ve come this way once or twice and the road loops to the right, eventually entering the village from the north. It can’t be more than a couple of miles and in this weather it will be a pleasant walk.’
Emily was only half listening.
‘You know, I’ve been coming to these parts all my life. How come I’ve never stopped at this station before?’
Sam felt uneasy. He’d already been asking himself why the train had stopped at a station that had obviously been derelict for an age. But that was one more question that could not be answered.
‘I don’t know. Come on, let’s enjoy the walk in the sun.’
They left the neglected station and walked down the bumpy road towards the village. Emily slipped her arm through Sam’s and at that moment it was as if time had stopped and a great distance had opened up between the sunny morning and the drama of the previous night.
Sam’s spirits rose. Perhaps he’d made the right decision after all.
* * * * * *
They didn’t see a single person on the road. After crossing a small stream whose waters barely trickled through trees choked by the slow creep of ivy, they passed a working farm on their right and a field ploughed by molehills on their left, then came to a number of large Georgian houses set back from the road. High stone walls kept prying eyes from private lives.
Moving on, Sam noticed the decade old bricks gave way to century old stone. The architecture changed, as did the colour and texture. It was as if they were stepping back in time. Even the trees switched from Ferns to watchful Yews; the older the stonework, the greater the tree. They came to a crossroads with a sign letting them know that to the left were Alnwick and Alnmouth and to the right Amble and Warkworth.
The view that met them as they turned towards Warkworth was sublime. The village had been there since ancient times. King Ceolwulf of Northumbria was said to have given it, along with its church, to the monks of Lindisfarne in the eighth century. At the far end of it stood the castle atop its steep hill like a dragon jealously guarding its kingdom and now sending long primeval shadows cascading down into the heart of the village.
At the other end of the village, Warkworth Bridge greeted them like an old friend. Sam stepped onto the stone bridge with lightness in his heart. The shackles of his fear seemed to break and for a moment he felt almost happy.
At this hour, the village was just waking up and people were walking over to the shop to buy their Sunday papers. As Sam and Emily entered the village square, the Greenhouse was already open for business. It felt as if the shop had always been there. It sold just about everything you could imagine and already had metal flamingos and an assortment of finery outside in the morning sun.
‘Let’s get something for breakfast,’ Emily said. ‘It’s a bit early to go and bother Eagan.’
They entered the cool interior of the shop, bought some food and drink and paid the shop assistant, then returned to the village square and walked back the way they’d come. As they reached the bridge, they turned left into the road that led down by the river to the old school house.
‘Are you sure Eagan won’t mind us staying with him?’ Sam asked.
Emily laughed. ‘He’ll probably hate it – you know he loves his own company and prefers it when my aunt and uncle are staying in Newcastle. But I’ve been staying there a lot this summer anyway.’ She paused. ‘Don’t worry, I know to handle him. We just need to tell him we aren’t staying long – we’re just passing through.’
‘Well, we are just passing through. Though I have to say I don’t know how long it’ll take to meet up with Oscar.’
Emily spun around. ‘‘We need to tell Eagan a little of what’s been going on. He might be just a little strange, but at the moment, Sam, he would fit into our company only too well. I’m sure we can stay here. There’s nothing to rush back home for’. It was the first time Sam had heard Emily hint at her mother and Father’s separation. She had spent almost the whole of summer staying with her Uncle and Auntie moving between the bookshop and Warkworth.
Completely ignoring the question, ‘Well,’ Emily continued blithely, ‘I think Eagan is a little scared of me, so we’ll just stay until we decide to leave.’
Sam could see how Eagan could be just a little intimidated – although Emily was only 17, she acted much older. She had an air of confidence that could even appear a little arrogant, though Sam knew this was not the case.
They continued along the road, which eventually opened onto a small green with wooden benches every hundred feet. They decided to stop and eat their picnic there, alongside the river.
The tranquil waters of the Coquet were broken by brown trout feeding, sending ripples across the smooth surface. On the far side of the river, a steep bank full of trees and mature bushes led up through Birling Wood, where the Reigns had an orchard full of apple and pear trees.
Emily interrupted his thoughts. She had moved to stand at the river’s edge.
‘You have to love this place,’ she said, looking down into the water.
Sam left his sandwich and stood alongside her. To his surprise, she slipped her hand into his and pulled him closer.
‘I’m going to look after you,’ she said.
Sam felt uncomfortable and thrilled all at once. Emily smiled mischievously as she watched his cheeks flush.
Trying to extricate himself, he dropped her hand and turned back to the heron, but it had gone.
Slowly, a rowing boat was approaching. In the middle of it, rowing effortlessly, was a young man with his back to them, wearing nothing more than a pair of swimming trunks, blue Wellington boots and a straw hat.
‘He’s not all there, you know,’ commented Emily loudly.
The man paid no attention. He didn’t even seem to notice them.
‘Eagan!’
As if waking from a dream, he turned his head towards them and gave them the briefest of smiles. Then he pushed the oars into the water and brought the boat to drifting stop.
‘Emily! Just when I thought I’d got rid of you.’
‘Have you missed your favourite cousin?’
Eagan smiled more broadly. ‘Maybe, but definitely not your snoring. You know it’s been impossible to fish around here when you’ve been in the back room.’
‘Hmph!’
Eagan threw back his head and laughed. ‘Hey, Emily, meet me back at the house and you and Sam can cook this.’ He held aloft a large trout.
‘He knows I’m vegetarian,’ Emily muttered under her breath.
Eagan took the oars again and started rowing with intent. The boat skipped along the water and Emily and Sam jogged along the bank.
Before long, the light stone of the old school house emerged from around the long twisting river. The house had literally been built beside the Coquet. It had magnificent gardens on either side and at the back there was a short lawn leading down to a small wooden jetty.
Sam and Emily stood waiting for Eagan to alight from the boat and let them in through the door at the west end of the house. When it eventually opened, they were met by Eagan still in his Wellington boots, although Sam was relieved to find he had put on a tight-fitting tartan tunic that thankfully covered his groin.
‘Do come in. Make yourselves at home!’
Sam had to stoop to miss the door’s original wooden frame. The inside of the old school house was a living homage to the Reigns’ travels through ancient places of the world. If the Seven Stories was orderly, this was a chaotic muddle, a jumble of ornaments that stretched back three or four generations.
Eagan led them down the low-ceilinged corridor and through a round door into a grand room that had a large Georgian garden room leading off it. There were stunning views from here across the Coquet and Sam was ready to fall into one of the welcoming chairs, but Eagan was moving on.
He took them down a second corridor that joined the west wing with the east and brought them into the old library that housed the Reigns’ private collection of first editions. It had once been the school hall. It was always a joyous moment for Sam to enter such a splendid room.
One thing you noticed about the Reigns’ home was the natural light. It was the most impressive aspect of the house, and the library was no different. Sam came to a standstill looking up at a glass dome that was the same shape and structure as that of the reading room at the Seven Stories.
‘Come along, Sam, keep up,’ Eagan called as he passed through another round door and into a kitchen that had a vast round island in the centre of it. At the far side, beautifully crafted doors opened onto a small patio with steps leading down to the river.
‘Where exactly are you taking us?’ Emily didn’t bother to hide her irritation.
‘Cousin,’ Eagan turned with a grin, ‘patience is a virtue. You should know that more than most, and you should also know that my favourite place in the world is my little patch of bliss down by the river.’
‘Where you paddle up and down like Toad!’
‘You mean Ratty,’ corrected Eagan, gathering up three glasses with one hand whilst opening up the fridge with a deft touch of his Wellington boot.
There was something about Eagan Reign that Sam couldn’t help but admire. Tall and handsome, he was his father’s son for sure, but there was none of Jarl’s ruggedness about him. He was clean shaven and had a mop of jet black hair, the darkest eyes and rings to match. There was a touch of theatre around everything he said and did. Even his speech was different from that of most Northumbrians.
Now, carrying a large jug of lime and lemonade along with the glasses, he took Sam and Emily into a private garden full of fruiting apple and pear trees. Skipping down a short path, he made for a small picnic table and poured out the drinks.
‘People ask us why we stay here,’ he said, waving an arm dramatically, ‘when we have been flooded twice. You sometimes have to take the good with the bad. Some weeks the days can be more bad than good, though, especially when all you seem to do is mop the sludge from your favourite rug.’
Emily wasn’t impressed. ‘We know you write poetry, cousin, but must everything be poetry?’
Eagan laughed, and the sound was as uplifting as it was loud. Sam relaxed as he sipped his drink. The morning was warm, though there was just the slightest breeze prancing across the Coquet.
‘Poetry is a little like this river,’ Eagan was saying. ‘You can never tell what’s going on beneath the surface until you submerge yourself in its flow.’
Emily was shaking her head, but it had little effect on Eagan. He turned to the river, took off his hat and flung his arms wide.
‘You are so cynical! The world is poetry – don’t let the scientists pretend anything else.’
Emily glanced at Sam and he could tell her patience was wearing thin. But Sam couldn’t help being captivated by Eagan. There was just no one like him. He kept to himself and spent his days travelling up and down the Coquet and the Aln on his rowing boat, the Celtic Flow, journeying deep into the Cheviots and the border forests. He had been head boy at the Royal Grammar School and could have made the British swimming team, but had met the Forest Reivers and given it all up to tend the Reigns’ orchard and sell the fruit in Alnwick market. He rarely travelled further south than Amble or further north than Holy Island. He was as enigmatic as he was charismatic, and Sam knew there were times when he preferred to sit quietly in his rowing boat and reflect on nothing.
‘Come along, Sam,’ he was saying now, ‘I won’t bite. Tell me why I have the pleasure of your company.’
Sam felt a little uncomfortable, but Emily jumped in first.
‘Oh, we’re just going to spend some time in Warkworth before Sam is due back in Oxford at the end of September. We won’t disturb your frolicking, or your sordid little trips with the Reivers.’
Sam winced. He couldn’t understand why Emily was being so offensive.
Eagan seemed unperturbed. ‘There’s no need to be rude to your host, Emily,’ he said calmly. ‘The Forest Reivers are my friends and I will treat them as I treat you and Sam. I’m travelling up to the orchard a lot right now and I’d welcome your company. And your help. It’s been a favourable season and the fruit will keep the wolves from the door during the winter months.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sam quietly, with a pointed look a
t Emily.
She turned away.
Sam was feeling at home in this hidden garden nestled so close to the wide and gentle river. On the other bank the grey heron was back, prowling with its long neck and piercing beak. He watched it walking slowly, head bent, alert for any movement under the still surface of the water.
‘I’ve spent the last three summers on this river,’ Eagan said, ‘following it for many miles as it has turned and twisted like a captured snake. I’ve rowed many of the rivers in Northumberland and the borders, and there is none as mysterious and thought-provoking as this.’
He took a sip of his drink and tossed back his dark hair.
‘Its waters run south for a while, then drift east, passing Rothbury, and you find yourself moving from familiar valleys and woods into something far more remarkable, if a little haunting.’
Sam felt as if Eagan was leading them somewhere he wasn’t sure he wanted to go, not after the past few days.
‘You move through the Barrow Burn, a place where the river turns sharply north, becoming treacherously shallow but fast in places. It moves underground and you have to drag your boat for a half a mile before you find it again. You are also watchful that the barrow doesn’t hurl stones down upon your head, for there are rumours of giants hiding beneath the hills.’
‘Is there a point to this?’ Emily was looking exasperated.
Sam was glad of the interruption, for even in the quiet garden he could feel his anxiety notching up a level. But Eagan continued regardless.
‘At the top of the barrow, the river again runs south. When I came at last to the Blindburn two days ago, I was tired and my rations were almost gone. It was hot and I may even have been a little delirious, for there was an old man there, drinking the clear waters of the river. At first I thought he hadn’t seen me, but he bade me good day and when I looked upon him I realised his great age. He had a wrinkled and weathered face that distorted who he might once have been.’