Uncle Flynn
By Simon Dillon
Copyright 2010 Simon Dillon
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes
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Author's note
Although this book is set in and around real Dartmoor locations, I have been somewhat liberal in my geography, particularly as regards the placing of the Crock of Gold kistvaen and the layout of Buckfast Abbey.
William Petre was a real person responsible for dissolving many monasteries during the reign of Henry VIII, and in later life he did purchase manors in South Brent and Churstow. However, to the best of my knowledge he wasn’t searching for buried treasure.
This book is dedicated to my son, Daniel, and was inspired in part by our many weekend excursions on Dartmoor.
Chapter 1: Climbing Trees
Max Bradley didn’t like to climb trees.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to climb trees. He longed to do as his friends did and climb high into the branches of the great horse chestnut that stood at the foot of Gavin Bainbridge’s large garden. But every time he tried, he became dizzy after ascending just a few feet and the idea of climbing higher frightened him. This was a continual frustration, since all eleven year old boys could usually climb trees.
Max, Gavin, and Gavin’s cousins Jenny, Paul, Mark and Katie had been playing a game of football, but Mark had kicked the ball into the upper branches of the tree. No amount of hurling sticks or stones had dislodged it, and the only way to retrieve the ball was for someone to climb up and get it.
Ordinarily, Gavin would have nipped up and retrieved it, but he was in one of his awkward, showing-off moods. He knew of Max’s fear of climbing and began to tease him.
‘Why don’t you go up and get the ball?’
‘No, it’s alright. You go,’ Max said hurriedly, trying not to draw attention to his embarrassing phobia.
Gavin smiled cruelly. ‘You’re not scared are you?’
‘No,’ Max replied indignantly.
‘Then why don’t you climb up and get it?’
‘I…I don’t want to play football anymore.’ Max was annoyed. Ordinarily he got on perfectly well with Gavin, but whenever his cousins visited they brought out the worst in him, and he seemed to transform into a bullying show-off.
‘Well, I want to play football,’ said Jenny, who always was always chief culprit in encouraging Gavin to be spiteful. ‘I think you’re a chicken.’
‘Why don’t you go up then?’ asked Max.
Jenny immediately walked across to the tree and took hold of an overhanging branch. She pulled herself up, deftly placing her legs around the branch and climbed up and along to the trunk. Max watched and tried to hide his amazement as Jenny rapidly went from branch to branch, negotiating tricky areas with apparent ease. In less than a minute she was up into the higher regions of the tree near the football. As she reached out to take it, she suddenly withdrew her hand.
‘No, I think Max should get it,’ said Jenny.
Jenny began to climb down. The others began to laugh at Max, whose face burnt red with humiliation. Being upstaged by a girl was mortifying, even if she was a year older than him.
‘Mark should get it,’ said Max. ‘He was stupid enough to kick it up there.’
‘Just admit it, you’re too scared,’ said Jenny, as she reached the ground.
‘I am not.’
But the others started laughing and chanted ‘Chicken! Chicken!’ whilst making clucking sounds. Thinking it was all getting a bit childish, Max looked up at the tree and thought about climbing. How difficult could it be? Surely the danger was all in his mind, as his Mum often said.
As the others continued to perform absurd chicken impersonations, Max strode across to the branch where Jenny had previously climbed, jumped up and grabbed on with both hands. Resolving not to think about what he was doing, he swung his legs around the branch and swivelled round in order to pull himself up.
All at once the thought that he might slip and fall preyed on his mind. He looked down and saw he was about nine feet up from the grass. It was as high as he had ever climbed, and at this point, he froze in terror. His eyes seemed to go beyond the others who were now laughing at him and focussed on the tiny details of the leaves, conkers and conker shells that littered the grass. The orange of the late Saturday afternoon sun cast an eerie glow across the ground and Max suddenly imagined that the tree was surrounded by a sinister luminous shroud. Although it was only the first week of September, Max shivered, as though a sudden chill came over him. As he looked across the tree trunk, the bark seemed to expand, as if the tree itself were growing tall at an accelerated speed. The ground seemed further and further away and the cruel taunts of Gavin, Jenny and the others faded in his mind.
‘Go on!’ cried Gavin. ‘Are you going up or what?’
Max tried to answer but his mouth wouldn’t open. He was straddling the branch with his arms and legs tightly gripping the bark and couldn’t move. His head was swimming, and suddenly on the ground below he became aware that the others were no longer laughing.
‘What’s going on?’ asked a distant voice Max recognised as belonging to Gavin’s Dad. A tall figure came into view, and he became dimly aware of a conversation.
‘I’ve told you before about teasing Max…’
‘It was just a bit of fun…’
‘I can’t understand it. You’re supposed to be friends…’
‘Surely he’s got to get over this silly fear of climbing…’
‘That’s his business, not yours…’
Max experienced a sudden wave of extreme dizziness and his grip loosened. The next thing he knew he had landed in a heap on the grass and was staring up into the leaves of the horse chestnut branches.
‘Max, Max, are you alright?’
Again, Max wanted to answer but he still found himself unable to speak or move. Gavin’s Dad stared down at him with a look of rapidly escalating concern.
‘Are you hurt?’
Max managed to shake his head slightly. Gavin’s Dad smiled slightly, a hint of relief entering his eyes. ‘No broken bones?’ he asked with a nervous laugh.
‘Just a sore head,’ said Max, finding his voice again.
‘I think I’d better take you home.’
‘No,’ said Max. ‘I’m fine really…’ He forced himself to stand, although he was shaking and weak on his knees.
‘Really Max, I think I ought to take you back.’
‘No, I’m fine!’ said Max, a little more emphatically than he had meant to. ‘Really, I’m fine. I was going anyway,’ he finished, with a reproachful glance at Gavin who was looking somewhat sheepish.
Without saying goodbye, Max strode determinedly away from the others. Gavin’s Dad rushed after him. ‘Are you sure you’re alright Max?’
‘Just a slight bump on the head, nothing to worry about,’ said Max.
Max continued to a gate at the side of the large garden that led to the main road. Looking defeated, Gavin’s Dad waved somewhat awkwardly.
‘We’ll see you soon then.’
Not whilst those idiot cousins are staying with Gavin, Max thought. ‘Yes, thanks for having me,’ he replied aloud.
As he took the usual paths back from Gavin’s large house on the Ridgeway road through the housing estates back to his home on Greenwood Park Road, Max realised he was still shaking, although as usual feelings of embarrassment overwhelmed everything else. He had made a complete idiot of himself. If only he had ignored Gavin and Jenny’s taunts. Why couldn’t someone his age climb trees? It was pathetic.
After fifteen minutes, Max arrived at 30 Greenwood Park Road. He paused and stared for a moment at the glass, brown bricks and red tiles that had been his home for most of his life. Glancing at the flowerbeds he saw they urgently needed weeding and the grass was starting to resemble a jungle. Mrs Baird his neighbour often tutted under her breath as she passed the overgrown foliage, and the back garden was even worse.
Max was greeted by his Mum as he opened the front door. ‘Max! Are you alright? I’ve had Gavin’s Dad on the phone and he says you fell out of a tree. What happened?’
Max miserably recounted the incident at Gavin’s house, and his mother shook her head sympathetically. ‘If you ask me, Gavin Bainbridge ought to know better at his age. Still, looks like there’s no permanent damage. I think we can cancel the amputations.’
Max’s Mum smiled and walked back to the kitchen where she was preparing dinner. Max wandered through to the sitting room and sat down on the black leather sofa. The delicious smell of sausage and chips wafted through to where he sat, and for a moment Max forgot the humiliation of what had happened earlier.
At dinner as Max ate his chips, he stared at the empty seat at the head of the table. His Dad was away on business. There was nothing unusual in that. Adam Bradley was a travelling insurance salesman and nearly always away on business. But for some reason Max found himself wanting to see his father. He thought back to how concerned Gavin’s Dad had been after his fall from the tree, and in a fleeting moment an image popped into his head of mountain biking along the coastal paths with his own Dad, something he had always wanted to try. Max had been given an 18-gear state of the art mountain bike for his birthday, but hadn’t used it much.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Max’s Mum asked presently.
‘Oh, nothing much,’ said Max.
‘How’s the head?’
‘Much better, thanks.’ Max fiddled with his sausages as he wrestled with the awkward question he wanted to put to his mother.
‘Mum, do you think I have vertigo?’
‘Vertigo?’
‘I’ve read about it on the internet. I was thinking I might because it would explain why I have difficulty climbing. Apparently there are two kinds of vertigo; subjective and objective. I think I’ve got subjective vertigo because that involves feeling a false sensation of movement, and when I was stuck up the tree it looked as though the tree was growing and the ground getting further away from me.’
‘Darling, you haven’t got vertigo.’
Max thought for a moment. ‘Maybe its acrophobia.’
‘What’s acrophobia?’
‘Irrational fear of heights. My brain responds that way because I probably had some kind of trauma or conditioning early in life that caused it.’
‘Max, you do talk nonsense!’
‘Then how else do you explain what happened?’
‘You’re afraid, that’s all.’
‘But that doesn’t explain why I can’t climb!’
‘Yes it does. And one day you won’t be afraid anymore. You’ll see.’
‘But Mum, surely if there are medical symptoms…’
‘There aren’t! It’s just something you’ll overcome later. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I was never really one for climbing trees when I was young.’
‘But you did climb them,’ said Max.
His Mum smiled reassuringly. ‘I know this is upsetting you, but Max, there really is no deep and strange reason for what happened today. Every time you come up against something you are afraid of, you try to find some medical reason for it, but there isn’t one.’
Max stared at his plate, avoiding his mother’s eyes.
‘Max look at me.’
Max looked up reluctantly.
‘One day you are going to realise you are not afraid anymore then all of this will be behind you, I promise.’
Max nodded weakly, unable to imagine when and how that could possibly happen. ‘Its fine Mum, I’m not worried or anything. I’m just trying to do a bit of research, that’s all.’
‘Well stop doing research, because you’ll find excuses to label yourself as abnormal. There is nothing wrong with you.’
Max continued his dinner in silence. After he’d finished he went to the sitting room, turned on the television, and waited for his favourite programme, Survivors of the Earth, to start.
Survivors of the Earth was now in its fourth series, and had become Saturday night must-see television. It was hugely popular, and was the talk of the playground on Monday mornings, as everyone compared notes on the previous Saturday’s episode. It was also quite a scary programme, although most people in Max’s year didn’t find it frightening any more.
The problem was Max did find it scary. Every week the monsters, mutants and aliens of Survivors of the Earth gave him nightmares, but he kept watching anyway; partly because he was so gripped by the stories, and partly because he didn’t want the other children to tease him for not watching. Max often found himself watching from the hallway. Why this was, he couldn’t say – perhaps because if necessary, he could always make a run for it out of the front door.
Survivors of the Earth was about the last surviving humans in the Universe. Set several centuries in the future, the action took place long after Earth had been conquered and occupied by evil aliens called the Malvard. The humans who survived were scattered throughout the galaxy, where they were hunted by the many other hostile aliens besides the Malvard. But one group of humans, led by the heroic Captain Fairbanks on his starship the Exodus, manage to find a few sympathetic alien races in their quest to one day have the numbers and military strength to take Earth back. Exactly how and when that would happen was anyone’s guess, but it kept television audiences on the edge of their seats, including Max.
Max braced himself as the familiar title music for Survivors of the Earth began, which always sent shivers down his spine. Once the episode began he was scared within seconds, since in this episode a lethal android sent by the Malvard was loose aboard the Exodus and picking off the crew. Max found himself biting his nails and beginning to shake. Before he knew it, he was standing at the doorway, occasionally hiding behind the wall.
Max’s Mum came into the sitting room from the kitchen and sat down. She didn’t make any comment on why Max watched from the hall, as she knew all too well he found the programme frightening. But Max was pleased she didn’t try to stop him watching either, because it would have been yet another humiliation on top of everything else. Regardless of how tense Survivors of the Earth episodes could get, they couldn’t physically harm him. That’s what he kept telling himself.
Nevertheless, as he expected, Max found his mind filled with killer androids as he tried to go to sleep that night. Dreading the inevitable nightmares, he stayed awake as long as he could. He even went as far as to read his school history textbook about Henry VIII and how he had dissolved the Catholic monasteries, in some cases fabricating evidence that they were corrupt as an excuse.
Eventually, he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open. Max fell into an uneasy sleep in which he fell out of a tree to find himself on a spaceship where an android Henry VIII chased him around its corridors demanding that he burn Catholic libraries.
Chapter 2: The Secret Club
It was Max’s second week at St Maurice comprehensive, and he still found the place extremely daunting.
Not only was it overwhelming being surrounded by pupils who were far bigger than him, there was also a range of new subjects to deal with, and the amount of homework seemed to have greatly increased. The school was like a huge maze, and he had many problems finding his way from class to class. Furthermore, there was a whole bunch of new rules and teachers who seemed to have split personalities that he had to get to grips with, and so far he hadn’t quite mastered it.
For example, Mr Hutton, the history teacher who doubled as a PE instructor, was a model of sanity and reason during history lessons, and a sadistic drill sergeant during PE. He relaxed many rules and regulations during history only rigorously to enforce them during PE.
Max had never been one for PE, or “PT” as he called it, which stood for Physical Torture. He enjoyed playing football, but could never understand why people like Mr Hutton took it so seriously. If anyone made the slightest error, he demanded endless sanctions in the form of press-ups and laps around the field.
Still, it was the only chance he got to play football during school hours, which had been banned during playtimes for health and safety reasons. Because of this, Max threw himself wholeheartedly into the game, even though he had been placed in defence yet again, a position he always found rather dull. He thought he was much better at tearing down the pitch and scoring goals.
It was approaching half time when Max saw Gavin Bainbridge rushing down the field towards him. Gavin always got placed as a forward, and his control of the ball was excellent. Max moved in to intercept him, bearing in mind that although Gavin was supposed to pass the ball, he probably wouldn’t since he always liked to try and take the glory by scoring himself.
But as Max ran towards him, he suddenly felt Scott Johnson, who was particularly large, smash into him, knocking him out of the way. Scott was a brute, built like a tank, but he was also a notorious faker who often pretended to be hurt to get penalties for his team.
Today was no exception. Scott collapsed onto the ground, moaning and wailing as though he had broken a bone. Mr Hutton immediately blew the whistle and rushed up to where Scott lay. Max brushed the dust off his clothes and stood in the hot afternoon sun, secure in the knowledge that only an idiot would buy Scott’s act.
Mr Hutton was an idiot.
‘Right! Bradley, five laps!’
‘But sir, I didn’t do anything. Scott barged into me!’
‘Do you think I’m blind Bradley?’
‘No, but maybe you didn’t see clearly. Perhaps the sun was in your eyes.’
‘He pushed me…’ Scott whimpered as he lay on the ground.
‘Penalty to Johnson’s team,’ said Mr Hutton.
‘Sir, that isn’t fair,’ said Gavin, displaying unusual sportsmanship. ‘I saw what happened. Scott deliberately ran into Max.’
‘Shut-up Bainbridge!’ snapped Mr Hutton. ‘I don’t need you questioning my authority!’
‘He didn’t do anything!’
‘I’ve ruled in favour of your team, idiot!’
‘But it wasn’t a fair ruling!’
‘Right! If that’s the way you feel, you can both go back in!’ shouted Mr Hutton.
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Gavin shouted back. ‘I was the one who argued! You shouldn’t punish Max as well.’
‘Do you want me to add detention to being sent off?’ asked Mr Hutton dangerously.
Max and Gavin wandered off the pitch. Gavin swore furiously under his breath and Max wondered why Gavin had stuck up for him so insistently. Perhaps it was guilt at the way he had treated him the previous Saturday. Perhaps it was because Gavin had never particularly got on with Scott Johnson. Either way, he was glad of the company.
‘He’s a bloody moron,’ said Gavin as they reached the changing rooms.
‘Not so bad in history though,’ said Max.
‘So what! Who gives a crap about history?’
Max opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again. He actually found history very interesting, but didn’t want to jeopardise his standing with Gavin.
‘It’s all just a bunch of dates,’ Gavin continued. ‘It doesn’t affect anything that’s happening now.’
‘Perhaps what’s happening now would be different, if people knew about history,’ said Max.
Gavin gave Max an odd stare, evidently trying to work out what he had just said. Eventually he gave up. ‘Don’t talk crap,’ he said. ‘Saying things like that won’t get you into our secret club.’
Suddenly Max was interested. ‘What secret club?’
Gavin spoke in a low, conspiratorial whisper. ‘During lunch hours, behind the caretaker’s shed.’
‘We’re not allowed back there,’ Max said at once.
‘Of course we aren’t. That’s why it’s the ideal meeting place.’
‘Meeting place for what?’
Gavin put a finger to his mouth. ‘Can’t tell you, sorry.’
‘Well can’t I join?’ Max didn’t entirely understand his somewhat irrational desire to join a secret club that met in a forbidden location to engage in unknown and probably illegal activities, but his curiosity found the prospect irresistible.
‘I’ll have to discuss it with the others,’ said Gavin. ‘You can’t just turn up. You have to be recommended, and everyone else has to agree you can join.’
Max’s imagination raced with the possibilities of what could go on behind the caretaker’s shed at lunch time. Perhaps they would meet girls who wanted a snog. Maybe they smoked cigarettes or even took drugs. If it was drugs, he would have nothing to do with the club, as his mother had drummed it into him at a very early age that they weren’t a good idea.
‘It’s not drugs is it?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Gavin.
Max felt relieved and at the same time more curious than ever. What was it?
‘Are there girls involved?’
‘There are some girls in the club, yes.’
‘But what do you do?’
Gavin grinned and said nothing. It didn’t matter how much Max pressed him, he wouldn’t give out any more information.
What went on behind the caretaker’s shed formed the vast majority of Max’s thoughts as he went home that night, ate, did his homework and went to bed. His Mum commented on how distracted he seemed, and even when she mentioned how his Dad would be home during the coming weekend, Max found it hard to act interested. True, it was unusual to have his Dad around, but he was too intrigued as to what went on in Gavin’s mysterious club to think about it now.
The following day, Max found it difficult to concentrate on his geography lessons about the mountains in Chile. Although, he had done a lot of his own research about this continent by surfing the internet, today his mind was elsewhere.
During the first break, Max could bear it no longer. He rushed up to Gavin. ‘What about this club? Can I join?’
Gavin looked around furtively and whispered to Max. ‘I’ve asked the others and they’ve said you can. But you’d better not tell anyone about this, and I mean anyone. If we’re found out we’ll be in serious trouble.’
Max nodded. He knew he was probably getting into something highly dubious, but he wanted to indulge his reckless streak. ‘OK. What time?’
‘Half past twelve, after history,’ said Gavin. ‘Make sure you aren’t followed. Go to the toilets on the ground floor, into one of the cubicles next to the windows and climb out. Go right and crouch down along the wall to make sure no-one sees you from inside then you have to run across the teachers car park to the caretakers shed. There shouldn’t be any teachers around, but if there are you’ll have to hide behind their cars until they’ve gone.’
‘But won’t I go with you?’ asked Max.
‘No. I have to get there first so me and the others can prepare your initiation.’
‘What initiation?’
‘You’ll find out.’
Max didn’t know what to say to this, but agreed to follow Gavin’s elaborate instructions. During the next lesson, which was history, Max once again found it extremely difficult to concentrate, but he was momentarily distracted when Mr Hutton said he was pleased with the level of research he had put into his homework. Yet again, Max was struck at how Mr Hutton seemed to have a split personality like Jekyll and Hyde.
‘Excellent homework as usual, Bradley,’ said Mr Hutton, embarrassing him in front of the whole class. Gavin mouthed “swot” at Max when Mr Hutton wasn’t looking.
‘It was particularly interesting that Bradley decided to refer to local history in his essay,’ Mr Hutton continued. ‘What happened at Buckfast Abbey provided one of the most intriguing folklore mysteries from the dissolution period, although it probably is just that, folklore.’
Gavin and many others in the class still looked bored, but for the first time in almost a day Max found himself interested in something other than Gavin’s club.
‘What happened?’ asked Max.
‘As I said, this is folklore. There is no solid evidence for what I’m about to tell you. As stated in your essay, the historically recorded version of events is that the monastery was corrupt and that the monks had become lax in their religious and charitable duties. When powerful lawyers, led by William Petre arrived on 25th February 1539, ten monks signed the deed of surrender without much fuss, and the considerable treasures of the monastery, including a great deal of gold and silver, went to the Tower of London. The libraries, which contained many unique and priceless books, were burnt. Years later, William Petre retired in the South West having bought the largest and most prosperous manors of South Brent and Churstow. The Abbey itself was deserted and left to decay at this time, before being restored in later centuries. However…’
A glint entered Mr Hutton’s eye.
‘There is some evidence to suggest Buckfast Abbey was anything but corrupt, and some believe only nine of the ten monks signed the deed of surrender. The tenth, Brother Frederick, apparently objected so much to Henry VIII’s dissolution plans and lies about the corruption of the monks that he stole huge amounts of gold, silver, gems and as many books as he could salvage, and secretly buried them somewhere on Dartmoor.
‘However, William Petre pursued Frederick and days later he was arrested. In spite of many bribes offered by William, Frederick refused to say where the treasures were buried. Frederick went to prison and William Petre spent much of the rest of his life trying to uncover the hidden wealth by digging on the moors, even going so far as to purchase lands nearby in South Brent and Churstow to conduct his search more efficiently. But the treasures were never recovered. Years later, when Frederick was an old man in prison, stories began to circulate about how he had made a map containing a series of cryptic clues as to where the treasure was buried. It is said that before his death he passed the map to another monk who in turn betrayed Frederick and sold the map to William Petre. But by this time Petre was an old man and had abandoned his search. He was very rich, so it is said he hid the map instead.’
‘Do you believe the stories?’ asked Max.
‘Well, they’ve never been proved. The map hasn’t been historically verified, and after William Petre’s death in 1572, the secret of its location, if there was one, went with him to the grave. But stories of the map persist to this day, as do tales of a vast cache of silver, gold and gems hidden on Dartmoor by Brother Frederick of Buckfast Abbey.’
Max sat for a moment thinking about the treasure that could still lie buried somewhere on the moors. Then, as Mr Hutton turned from the story of Buckfast Abbey to other events during the reign of Henry VIII, his mind once again began to wander back to the secret club he was going to attend following the lesson. He watched the clock as Mr Hutton continued to talk, thinking lunch would never come.
At 12:10, the bell rang as usual. Max went to his common room and began hurriedly to eat his sandwiches. Gavin left before he did, presumably to get there ahead of Max and prepare whatever initiation he had spoken of.
As soon as the clock read 12:25, Max abandoned his lunch, left the common room, and headed for the toilets on the ground floor. Once there to his relief, he saw they were empty. He entered the cubicle next to the windows, climbed onto the ledge and opened the window without any difficulty. Awkwardly, he swung his legs out and dropped a few feet to the tarmac outside.
The sun was shining, and it was as hot as it had been during the summer holidays. Max crouched down and ran along the wall next the building towards the teachers car park opposite the caretaker’s shed. The area seemed deserted.
Max was about to risk running through the cars to the caretaker’s shed, but was forced to hide as Mrs Smith suddenly walked into view heading for the car park. Max ducked behind a blue Renault, hoping it wasn’t her car.
To his relief, she got into a car a few feet to his right and seconds later drove away. Once he was certain the coast was clear, Max stood, ran through the remaining cars, past the shed and dived behind it.
There Max saw Gavin and about a dozen others from his year and the year above. Before he could open his mouth, Craig Dunlop, a boy from his year that he hardly knew, began to speak.
‘As official leader of this society, I am going to conduct your initiation. Please raise your right hand and repeat after me: I, Max Bradley…’
Max felt a little bemused, but played along anyway. ‘I, Max Bradley…’
‘Do swear loyalty to the conker club.’
‘Do swear loyalty to…the conker club?!’
‘I shall not to reveal any of the club’s secrets to uninitiated pupils, teachers, parents or health and safety officers.’
Max repeated the bizarre oath, after which Craig took his hand and shook it warmly. ‘Congratulations. You are now a member of the conker club.’
And without further ado, Max was given a choice of conkers on pieces of string. He chose one and began to play in a tournament. The objective of the game was simple: smash your opponent’s conker.
Max immediately understood why playing conkers at school had been driven underground. On the first day of term during assembly, the headmistress, Mrs Appleby had given a stern warning about how playing conkers on school grounds was banned because of health and safety concerns. Apparently, the school did not have the appropriate protective headgear, nor could staff supervise conker duels. It was the latest addition to a long list of activities that had been banned, along with football at playtimes.
Max did fairly well in his first game against Gavin, which he won. But his second against a girl called Sally Barnes from the year above him, was lost. Max was allowed three replacement conkers before being knocked out of the day’s tournament. Those were the rules.
After his third game, Craig called a halt to proceedings, and a shifty looking, greasy haired boy called Oliver Marlow began offering bars of chocolate at extortionate prices. Oliver had a notorious reputation as the school chocolate dealer, but so far the teachers hadn’t managed to catch him in the act. With Mrs Appleby’s war on obesity, chocolate had been prohibited on school premises. Max hadn’t brought any money so didn’t get any, but made a mental note to remember next time.
After chocolate had been purchased, everyone continued to play conkers whilst munching happily. Max won the next round and soon found he had a place in the semi-finals, facing a boy called Thomas Benedict. Thomas’ conker looked particularly beaten up so with any luck the next game would be a breeze and he’d have a place in the finals no problem.
‘Bring it on, Bradley!’ Thomas exclaimed with bravado, though it was clearly a hollow taunt given the state of his conker which was the last of his three replacements.
‘You’re going down, Benedict!’ cried Max, who had well and truly entered the spirit of the proceedings.
Thomas struck with his conker first, but didn’t do any discernable damage to Max’s. Max struck back, chipping a portion off but most of the conker remained attached to the string. The rules stated that victory could not be declared until the entire conker had been smashed from the string.
‘Beginners luck,’ said Thomas.
‘Nah, skill!’ said Max. ‘Face it; you’re going down, Benedict!’
Thomas grinned. ‘In your dreams, rookie!’ With that, he smashed his conker against Max’s but caused no visible damage. Max took his turn, and Thomas Benedict’s final conker exploded into smithereens.
Now Max had a place in the final.
The second semi final was played, between Gavin and Sally. Gavin’s conker was in a much better state than Thomas’ had been, but it was still no match for Sally’s, especially as he was on his last replacement and she still had one more to go. After a slightly protracted duel, which was interrupted for another round of chocolate supplied by Oliver, Sally emerged as victor. It was her versus Max in the final.
Which was when Mr Hutton found them.
He appeared suddenly, from around the corner of the caretaker’s shed. ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed accusingly, as he sized up the illicit goings on.
Gavin opened and shut his mouth, but no words came out. Max didn’t see the point of protesting since they had been caught red handed, and wondered how much trouble they were in.
Lots.
‘All of you, my office!’ shouted Mr Hutton.
Max and Gavin exchanged grim looks. It was a well known fact that anyone asked to grace Mr Hutton’s office with their presence would almost certainly wind up with a weeks worth of detention at least, and expulsion at worst.
The entire conker club were marched through the car park, back inside the building, past the staff rooms and into Mr Hutton’s office. They passed other pupils along the way, all of whom eyed them as though they were on their way to public execution.
Mr Hutton’s office had a peculiar smell of musty old books, mixed with sweaty PE clobber. At one end lay his desk which had a computer and several history books on it. Shelves to the left and right displayed sports trophies and piled unceremoniously in a corner lay a tracksuit and trainers.
Mr Hutton sat down as the members of the conker club assembled guiltily in front of his desk. ‘I am extremely disappointed in all of you,’ Mr Hutton said. He briefly scanned the faces of those he had caught, and stopped when he came to Max.
‘I am particularly saddened to see you here, Maximilian Bradley,’ Mr Hutton continued. ‘I thought you more sensible than to flout the regulations of our educational establishment in such a brazen manner.’
Gavin and the others exchanged quizzical looks. Mr Hutton always behaved as though he’d swallowed a dictionary whenever he was really telling someone off.
‘Health and safety rules exist for your benefit and the benefit of other pupils. I do not make the rules, but I am bound by them. Your flagrant defiance has left me little choice. I will have to inform the headmistress. Whilst I am gone, I suggest you all reflect on the folly of your ways. I do not know if she will be merciful, since she might wish to make an example of you all in the interests of health and safety. And as for you…’
Mr Hutton fixed Oliver with a dangerous stare.
‘Are those chocolate stains on your hands?’
Oliver licked his fingers hurriedly. ‘No sir.’
‘I should hope not. You know the headmistress’ rules on fatty foods.’
Oliver glanced at Max and rolled his eyes wearily. He knew all too well. Mrs Appleby was so obsessed with being seen to do her part to cut down child obesity that she had even lobbied the local council to force ice-cream vans to be banned from parking outside the school grounds.
‘You will all wait here,’ said Mr Hutton as he left the room to fetch Mrs Appleby.
As Max contemplated his fate miserably, one book on Mr Hutton’s desk caught his interest. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a battered old history book just behind the computer. It was open on a page with a picture of Buckfast Abbey.
Curious in light of what he had learnt from the history lesson that morning, Max walked across and picked up the book. The picture of the Abbey was an artist’s impression of how it would have looked in medieval times before the dissolution. But what interested Max was the photograph next to it which showed a letter that had apparently been written by William Petre in his old age. Beneath the photo was some text that read: In spite of the recent discovery of several letters apparently written by William Petre in his old age referring to the legendary treasure map that supposedly revealed the location of the mythical Buckfast Abbey treasure, there is no way to verify their authenticity. It is equally possible they were the product of a confused and senile old man, or a complete fabrication.
Max glanced at the letter intrigued. He glanced across the room and saw a photocopier in the corner. Not knowing entirely why he did it, Max picked up the book, photocopied the page, stuffed the photocopy in his pocket and hurriedly returned the book to Mr Hutton’s desk as the other looked on in bemusement.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Sally. ‘We’re in enough trouble as it is!’
‘Just something that might come in useful for my history homework,’ said Max. Craig snorted derisively and spoke to Gavin. ‘Told you he was too weird to let in the club!’
‘Hardly matters now, does it?’ said Gavin, as he heard the unmistakable footsteps of Mr Hutton accompanied by Mrs Appleby. ‘We’re going to get done for this, so there won’t be a conker club anymore.’
Chapter 3: Suspension
Mrs Appleby entered and stared menacingly at each of the pupils in turn. Max’s stomach churned anxiously. He didn’t want to be expelled.
‘Mr Hutton has informed me of this very disappointing episode,’ Mrs Appleby began. ‘Tell me, Sally Barnes, what would you think if I had to inform your mother that you had sustained permanent brain damage from a blow to the head?’
‘I…I don’t know Mrs Appleby…’ stammered Sally.
‘What do you mean you don’t know?’
‘Well, if I was brain damaged, I might not think much at all.’
Gavin snorted a laugh and Max suppressed a snigger. ‘Silence!’ cried Mrs Appleby. ‘This is no laughing matter. Conkers are very dangerous! Without the correct protective headgear you could have been seriously injured. I have the wellbeing of this school and its pupils to consider and as such I have decided an example must be made. You are all suspended until the end of the week. We will inform your parents, and arrangements will be made to have you all collected. In the meantime, you will wait here in silence.’
Mr Hutton and Mrs Appleby left the room. Max looked around at the others who were all muttering variations of “Mum/Dad will kill me” under their breath. Strangely, Max found himself less concerned about his parents and more worried what his neighbour, Mrs Baird, would say.
Mrs Baird looked after Max after school until his mother returned from her work at a nearby art gallery. She a short woman in her late fifties, had frizzy hair, and smelt like vinegar. Her nervous eyes never seemed to blink, and they darted madly in a way that Max found most unsettling. She constantly went on about how she had once been mugged in the centre of Plymouth, and had since put so many locks on her doors that Max thought her house was probably harder to break into than the Tower of London.
Whenever he visited her, Mrs Baird would comment on the news and constantly go on about how terrible things were in the world, how dangerous life was today, and how she wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t a nuclear war by the end of the year. Even worse, she hardly ever let him watch any of his favourite programmes, because she always wanted to catch up on recorded soap operas. She encouraged Max to watch these because they “taught him about real life”. She wouldn’t allow Max to watch programmes he enjoyed like Survivors of the Earth because they were “too frightening”.
Because Mrs Baird was so paranoid about safety, he knew he’d be subjected to a long, dull lecture about how dangerous conker fights were. This would be the latest in a series of tedious rants. In the past she had urged him not to go into the woods that lay on the side of Chaddlewood hill because they could contain wolves or even wild boar that had wandered off the moors. In addition, she continually tried to drum into Max how dangerous it was to talk to strangers even though this was something he had learnt during infant school. It amazed Max that Mrs Baird didn’t simply keel over and die from nervous exhaustion, and a small but definite part of him wished she would. That way, he wouldn’t have to endure two hours every Monday to Friday in her company.
As he suspected, she shook her head censoriously when she picked him up from the school and launched into a disapproval speech as they drove along in her old Ford Escort.
‘Suspended from school? What’ll your Mum say? Always such a nice boy I thought. Have you got no common sense at all? Conkers is dangerous. You could ‘ave someone’s eye out with ‘em!’
Max endured the prattle politely, hoping that when they arrived at her house Mrs Baird would let him at least kick a ball around in her garden. But she wouldn’t even let him do that.
‘That garden’s dirty,’ said Mrs Baird.
‘No it isn’t,’ said Max. ‘The lawn’s dry. We haven’t had rain for ages.’
Mrs Baird’s nervous eyes began to twitch. ‘It ain’t the wet I’m worried about. It’s the germs! Think of all them dead birds, mice, rats and so on killed by cats and that. If you touch one, you could get diseases.’
‘What diseases?’
‘It’s been all over the news recently; diseases passed on by birds. You can’t be too careful these days.’
‘What if I just avoid any dead animals?’ Max suggested in what he thought was a reasonable tone.
‘No Max. I’m sorry, but your Mum asked me to look after you and I couldn’t live with myself if something was to happen to you, like the other day when you falled out of that tree.’
Max’s face burned red with embarrassment. ‘How did you know about that?’
‘Oh, your Mum mentioned it. Seems to think it was nothing to worry about, but I think you’re very sensible to not want to climb trees. Very dangerous. You could fall and break a leg. Even worse, you could get permanent brain damage.’
At this Max gave up. He was annoyed his Mum had told Mrs Baird about falling out of the tree and felt humiliated. He sat miserably in Mrs Baird’s most uncomfortable chair and tried to ignore the smell of vinegar as he sat and endured several soap opera episodes. Eventually Mrs Baird turned to a news channel, and a local story came on about some walkers who had got lost in the mist on Dartmoor.
‘Very silly of them,’ said Mrs Baird. ‘It don’t do no good to go wandering on them moors. There’s bad things up there and no mistake.’
‘What things?’ Max asked, suddenly curious.
‘Oh, things like them panthers. Ever since the government said people had to have licences for dangerous pets, their owners turned ‘em loose on the moors so they wouldn’t have to pay. Now they’ve bred and, well, that’s how come there’s panthers in the wild now. I’ve heard ‘em from time to time even come as close as Chaddlewood.’
This was the first time Mrs Baird had mentioned panthers as a potential danger in Chaddlewood. Although Max normally dismissed comments of this nature, he found it impossible to on this occasion, because of an incident from his early childhood. Trying to suppress the memory, he forced himself to think rationally. Surely panthers wouldn’t get that far, since a railway ran along the foot of the valley next to Chaddlewood hill. Beyond that over half a dozen miles lay villages including Hemerdon, Sparkwell, Wotter and the edge of Dartmoor. A panther would have to be very determined indeed to come that close to civilisation.
Nevertheless, stories of panthers persisted. Unlike the wolves and wild boar, they had hardly ever been caught on film, but after what had happened when Max was little, he didn’t doubt they were roaming the countryside. Max hadn’t gone into the woods on Chaddlewood hill for years, not since he was very little and his father used to take him on walks at weekends. But that was long ago, and he couldn’t remember the last time his father did anything with him.
That last, fateful walk in the woods had occurred when Max was five years old. Although it was raining heavily, he had wanted to go and play in the woods, and had pestered his father to take him. But Max’s Dad was busy and had insisted they stay at home because it was raining.
Frustrated at being stuck indoors, Max had decided to run off secretly and go for a walk alone. He had put on his Wellingtons and raincoat, climbed out of the kitchen window, and gone off to the woods. He vividly remembered the exhilaration and freedom at this reckless act, although he didn’t intend to go very far.
The entrance to the woods lay about a hundred yards down the road to the left, where the line of houses came to an end. A fenced area of brambles stood next to the road and beyond lay the trees at the outskirts of the wood. Max had left the pavement and followed the familiar path past the brambles which curved backwards on a route parallel to the houses behind their back gardens but lower down, as the woodland was on a steep slope.
The rain began to get heavier, but this didn’t bother Max. Enjoying the freedom, he had stomped and splashed through the muddy puddles past the familiar elms and oaks. The great tall branches echoed with the sounds of heavy rainfall on their leaves. Eventually, he had reached a large fallen tree; a favourite spot because he was able to climb onto the trunk. Although it was slippery Max hauled himself and after marching up and down the breadth of the trunk, he had sat down for a moment. Feeling pleased with himself at his daring adventure, Max had sat there until he got cold and his bottom was too wet and uncomfortable to remain. Suddenly wanting to go home, Max had climbed back down.
It was then that he saw the eyes.
In the holly bushes nearby, two yellow eyes stared up at him from the undergrowth. They looked up as though observing him, lying in wait for some unknown purpose. Seeing they belonged to a black shape of some kind, Max froze in terror. The rain began to fall harder than ever, but he remained rooted to the spot. He desperately wanted to run home, but was unable to tear his eyes from the black creature in the bushes. Fear like he had never known seized him, and he found himself crying.
‘Daddy! Help me!’
Even though he knew his father couldn’t hear him, Max had hoped against hope that his father would come charging to the rescue. He would know how to deal with this dangerous animal.
But his father didn’t come.
‘Daddy!’
At this, a low snarl emanated from the direction of the yellow eyes. This was too much for Max. The escalation of terror kick-started what must have been a survival instinct, and he turned and fled. As he ran, he heard a growl behind him. Thinking the black creature was in pursuit, Max screamed. He sprinted as fast as he could back through the woods, howling and shrieking in terror, convinced he was about to be eaten.
Max didn’t stop when he reached the road. He continued to flee along the pavement and didn’t even feel safe as he approached his house. Pounding on the front door desperately, Max continued to cry.
‘Daddy! Daddy!’
It was then that Max blacked out.
The next thing he remembered was waking up in bed. Surprisingly, his parents hadn’t even been aware he’d been missing, and were very upset to find him in a terrible state banging on the front door. Max had only been gone for about half an hour and they had assumed he’d been playing in his bedroom. They were stunned and shocked to discover what he had done, and were at a loss to explain how he could possibly have worked up the nerve to do it. Most five year olds were naturally curious, but very few were brave enough to venture out alone.
Although Max told them both about the panther, his parents insisted he had imagined it. But Max knew better. His imagination couldn’t have been playing tricks, nor could his hearing have failed. There had been a panther in the woods, and for all Max knew, that same panther was still there, waiting for him all these years later.
Now that Mrs Baird had raised the subject of panthers again, a small, crazy part of him desperately wanted to go into the woods and track down the panther just to annoy her. But given what he now knew about such animals from reading up on them, he was afraid to do so. A genuine confrontation with a panther was no laughing matter.
Max’s mother arrived to pick him up a few minutes later. She already knew about the suspension, and Max expected her to be angry, but she appeared perfectly cheerful as she spoke with Mrs Baird about the matter.
‘I always thought your boy was such a sensible one, Phyllis,’ Mrs Baird said, using his mother’s first name. ‘Can’t believe he’d do something so dangerous.’
‘Max is more daring than you think,’ said Phyllis.
Mrs Baird failed to spot the ambiguous tone of Phyllis’s voice, and took her comment as a criticism of Max. ‘Well, you’re a good mother, so I’m sure you’ll stamp it out of him.’
Max and his mother left Mrs Baird’s house and walked home in silence. Once back inside his own house, Max was surprised to see his mother was smiling.
‘There’s hope for you, Max Bradley,’ she said.
Max was confused. ‘Aren’t you angry I was suspended?’
His mother’s grin melted. ‘Yes, because it means your father is going to have to go to a great deal of inconvenience. At school, rules are to be obeyed.’
Phyllis looked away, and Max got the impression she was smiling again. ‘However ridiculous they are…’
Mention of his father aroused Max’s curiosity. ‘What were you saying about Dad?’
‘Oh, he’s back. Why don’t you ask him yourself?’
Max felt as though he hadn’t seen his father for months. He rushed into the sitting room and saw him sitting at the far left hand side of the sofa reading some work papers. Max waited for his father to speak, but Adam Bradley did not even look up at his son.
For a split second, Max felt a strange sense of loathing that he couldn’t explain. As he observed his father sitting there in his immaculate blue suit and tie looking over his spectacles at his work, he realised his father hadn’t been home for the better part of three weeks. Yet still the papers in his hand were more important than a simple hello, or even a telling-off, since Max had been suspended from school. But Adam Bradley continued to sit in stubborn silence, either refusing to acknowledge his son, or genuinely oblivious to his presence.
‘Dad…’ Max began.
His father looked up. ‘What were you thinking, getting caught like that?’ he asked accusingly.
‘I didn’t mean…’
‘If you’re going to get into mischief, at least try and get away with it.’
‘Adam, that’s hardly the message we should be putting across,’ said Phyllis, entering the room behind Max.
‘I know. It’s just I’ve got so much on this week. I’m under a lot of pressure to make sales targets and I can’t believe I’m going to have to bring Max with me for the next four days.’
‘Darling, we’ve been through this,’ said Phyllis. ‘I can’t take him because the gallery won’t let me. I can’t take time off and…’
‘Yes, I know I know,’ Adam interrupted. ‘Well, he’ll just have to spend the days with Mr Stanley and his family.’
Sudden anxiety gripped Max. Did this mean he would have to spend days away from home? He hated going away to strange houses, much less staying overnight.
‘From tomorrow, your father will be trying to make a major sale to a very wealthy client,’ his Mum explained. ‘It could take the rest of this week, but if he makes the sale early, he’ll have the rest of the week off.’
‘Mr Stanley has a large estate in Plymstock,’ his Dad continued.
‘So it’s nearby,’ his Mum said, reassuringly. She knew how Max sometimes had panic attacks when he had to spend long periods of time in unfamiliar surroundings.
Max nodded. ‘I see. Well, that’s fine Dad. I’ll just stay out of the way.’ As he said this, Max felt a niggling sense of unease, but his father was apparently satisfied.
‘Good.’
Max watched his father return his attention to his papers, and his heart sank. Now he would have to try really, really hard to make sure he wasn’t a problem and stay out of his father’s way as he conducted negotiations. He was especially keen to make sure his father’s deal was a success, because if he secured it early, his Dad would take the rest of the week off, which would mean he could spend time with him.
But the nagging sense of unease at going to Mr Stanley’s house began to grow. As Max ate his dinner, his Mum noticed his disquiet.
‘It’ll be alright Max,’ his Mum whispered.
‘Of course it will Mum,’ said Max.
Max knew he couldn’t hide his feelings from his mother, but the panic attacks he had experienced in the past were so humiliating, that he liked to pretend they had never happened. He was also determined that they wouldn’t happen again. After all, he was now eleven, and no boy his age got upset at unfamiliar surroundings.
These panic attacks had begun several years ago, when Max was seven. Every Saturday Max would invite Gavin to play, and every time Gavin would say Max should visit him the following week. But Max never did. He always found some excuse as to why Gavin should come over to his house instead.
Eventually, Gavin’s mother realised how often her son was visiting Max and felt obliged to invite Max in return. Max didn’t want to go but his mother insisted, and took him round to Gavin’s one Saturday morning.
As he watched his mother leave, Max felt suddenly sick. He had never been to Gavin’s house before and thought about how he didn’t know where things were. He didn’t know where the back door was. He didn’t know where the kitchen was. He didn’t know where the toilet was.
Max vividly recalled the sensation of dizziness, the musty smell of the carpet in Gavin’s hallway, and the taste of vomit as he threw up. He collapsed on the ground, crying uncontrollably.
Over the years, there had been several such incidents, and Max’s mother had found ways around the problem. For instance, Max had been alright if she showed him round the place wherever they were visiting so he knew where things like the toilet where before she left. That was how he had come to not mind visiting Gavin’s house. She had recently had to do the same with Max’s secondary school. But there were times where such reassurances had not been possible, and it was on these occasions that Max had panic attacks.
As Max considered how pleased his father would be at getting the sale from Mr Stanley, he was more determined than ever not to mess it up for him. There was no way he could ask his father in front of Mr Stanley for a conducted tour of his home to show him where the kitchen, back door and toilet were, so he would have to be brave. It wasn’t even bravery really; he just had to act normal. Not panicking in a strange house was simply how a normal person acted. That was what he had to be: normal.
And yet, all throughout that evening and that night, Max felt worried. He couldn’t sleep, and no matter how much he tried to think of other things, again and again his mind kept returning to how he would react at Mr Stanley’s house. Would he let his father down? If only he hadn’t joined that silly conker club, then he wouldn’t have been suspended and wouldn’t be in this mess now.
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