Through His Eyes Are the Rivers of Time

  “What’s your name, lad?” the farmer asked. Ned told me to lie and use his name. So I did.

  “Ned. Edward Plantagenet.”

  He hooted. “Him that’s been dead these four hundred years? You can’t be one of the Tower Princes, boy. What’s your real name? Tell me or we’ll call the Bobbies on ye.”

  ‘Ned Pendennis,” I returned using Mr. P’s last name. I knew better than to use my own, they’d be on the phone to my Da that next minute.

  “You hungry?” he asked and handed me a cloth wrapped parcel, which unfolded to reveal a sandwich of farm cheese and mutton spread with horseradish. I took a bite and chewed. It was delicious and I was very hungry. I offered half to Neddie, he declined, and the farmer smiled.

  “What’s your friend’s name?” he asked.

  “Neddie,” I chewed another bite and lost some down my shirtfront.

  “Pleased to meetcha, Neddie,” he said and stuck out his hand. Of course, Ned ignored him, his noble sensitivity affronted by his common mien. Ned was a bit of a snob.

  “My name is Sam Tregarth; I run a sheep farm on the Dales. On my way to Connemara to pick up a new ram and visit my daughter.”

  “Hullo,” I said remembering my manners. “Thank you for the sandwich. Dorset or Shropshire?”

  “New Zealand,” he answered. “You know your sheep.”

  “Oh, aye. We have a Rambouillet buck.”

  “I’ve heard they double your wool and meat crop.”

  “Mr. P says so. Worth X-breeding he says.” I finished the sandwich and looked hopefully for more. He handed me an Anjou pear and it was so sweet and juicy, my first bite ran down my chin and he topped it off with a small bottle of home brew, tart and sweet. I was suddenly sleepy and leaned against the window, rested my head and closed my eyes. The droning of his voice and the tires lulled me into a doze.

  Chapter 4

  Neddie and I stood surrounded by coach passengers on the depot strand and the driver had his big hand tucked into my coat so every time I tried to wiggle free, he brought me up short. No one believed my mum was meeting me and he wouldn’t let me run off. I’d tried to stamp his foot as Ned had told me and drew the line at biting him. He handled my twists and turns with an ease that told me he’d done it before. His accent was broad and he dropped his ‘he’s; he was a Cockney from London and I barely understood him. “Just you sit still, laddie,” he barked. “The coppers are coming for you. I can’t mess with you, I gets me route to run.”

  We were in Strathgallant, the first town the driver was able to exit off the highway. He’d left the coach, made a call, and driven to the depot, apologizing to the passengers for the delay. No one grumbled but teased me about our adventure. Ned was whispering all kinds of strategies in my ear.

  He marched us both into the station and set me down behind the counter with the ticket master explaining what had occurred and where I’d gotten on. By now, it was late afternoon, almost high teatime and my stomach was loudly complaining. Both of them heard it and laughed. The ticket master was a young lady with white blonde hair, light lavender eyes and freckles across her generous nose. She gave me a wink and a candy bar with a cold soda pop. My eyes grew wide. I wasn’t allowed to have soda and it was a rare treat.

  “What’s your name?” she asked handing it over opened. “Mine’s Pansy. I love your pretty purple eyes.”

  “Aidan,” I answered without thinking and Ned groaned. “Shut up,” I told him and swallowed. He sulked and wouldn’t say anything to me after that.

  Pansy’s eyes widened. I said, “Sorry. Wasn’t talking to you, Pansy.”

  “O ooh, who then?”

  “Neddie. He’s a bit of a snob, sometimes,” I shrugged and drained half the glass. “Him being a royal Duke and all.”

  “Royal Duke?”

  “You know, Edward Plantagenet, Duke of this and that. He’s my friend.”

  “Well, say hello to his Highness for me,” she smiled and I nodded to him but he was still mad at me and wasn’t talking.

  “What town do you live in?” she asked.

  “Penhallow,” I stared at the counter where the brochures for the routes were stacked next to her stamps. She had a large radio on the side blaring out the Beatles new hit, ‘Yellow Submarine.’

  ‘Oh aye. And what does your Da do?”

  “Farmer.”

  “Sheep? Crops?” she persisted.

  “Beef, wheat, barley, sheep, and horses,” I answered, looking for more food. I usually ate High tea and was starving.

  “Want a sandwich, scones, too? I forget how little boys eat. What’s your farm name?”

  “Cryllwythe Farms.”

  “You stay right here and I’ll get you something to eat. And tea. Don’t move, okay?”

  “Yes, mum,” I agreed and she got up off the stool to enter the lobby where the vending machines were lined up against the wall. I waited until she was bent over and sneaked out behind Ned to disappear into the trunk room. We found a chute leading out and crawled through into the backyard of the station where old houses lined the streets and rubbish bins overflowed onto the cobblestones.

  We hadn’t gone far before I heard her shouting and Ned broke into a run hollering for me to hustle. He knew his way and slipped by the alleys like a shadow.

  “Where are we going?” I panted, my shorter legs having trouble keeping up. He paused to let me catch up and sneered at me.

  “You are an idiot, Aidan. You told them the farm’s name. You might as well have told them who you were and where you live. Now we have to run all the way to Pennyroyal Court instead of taking the coach.”

  “It’s too far!” I protested but he ignored me and I was too afraid of getting lost so I shut up and followed where he led me.

  There was nothing but a great hole in front of us with old stones piled inside it. Grass grew thick and rich up to the edges and only a strand of ancient oak trees remained of the original avenue that had lined the drive.

  “I used to play under those,” Ned mourned. “My mother’s knot garden was just to the right. There was a lily pond there and a boxwood hedge where we tunneled through to the maze. A sundial marked the center and read VERITAS. Over there,” he swung to my left where there was a footpath to the moors, “Was the kennels and to the right of that was where we buried the dogs.”

  “Where did you bury your treasure?” I looked around; saw only a broad expanse of overgrown grass and encroaching moors, the small stand of regal oaks and the rambling path that hikers used on their treks.

  “Follow me.” He led me towards the stand of oaks and counted footsteps, turned round and pointed. “Dig here.”

  “With what?” I asked and he frowned. I sighed and went in search of a rock, flat enough and pulled one out of the soil near the foundations. Of course, he wouldn’t soil his hands, being royalty and all so the entire task was left to me.

  I dug for an hour, over the years the soil had built up enough to raise his remembered depths by a foot or more until finally, I hit the remains of a metal box rusted into pieces. It had been brass at one time and was now green and pitted. The only thing inside still recognizable was his gold signet ring, a heavy gold necklace, gold christening spoon and some coins.

  His toy soldiers made of lead were a gray clump minus paint or portrait. I handed them over and he told me to stuff them in my pockets.

  “Uh oh,” he said, staring off towards the lane we’d followed to get here. I turned and saw the flashing lights and police cars come barreling down the lane towards us to pull up in a slide that tore the grass into ruts. Doors popped open and Mr. Pa and my dad were the first ones out to snatch me up in their arms, their words tumbling out so intense I could not understand them.

  The police were next, demanding to know if someone had taken me or how I’d managed to get some hundred and fifty kilometers away.

  “Aidan, are you alright?” Dad asked. “What happened? How did you get out here? Why?”

  “Neddie said he used
to live here, Dad. He buried treasure so we decided to go look for it,” I explained and he was angry and upset.

  “Aidan, Ned is an imaginary friend. He’s not real. You can’t go haring off on his say so,” he snapped, his eyes flashing.

  I set my lips and answered hotly, “He is too real, Dad.” I dug into my pockets and pulled out the remains of the box and his treasure. My dad took it from me, his mouth opened, closed and he said slowly, “This is a royal seal on this signet ring. These coins bear the date, 1475, ‘88. Where did you find this, Aidan?”

  I pointed to the hole I’d dug and where a smug Ned was seated. “I told you, Dad. Ned showed me where to dig.”

  No one said anything, just bundled me off into the police car and drove us home

  Chapter 5

  My bedroom never seemed so lonely. My toys were all locked away in the chest, Ned was mad at me and banished from my presence and I was grounded for the whole month of April and May, the best time of the year. It was when all the baby animals hit the ground and I wasn’t allowed to watch or help.

  No matter how I explained, no one believed Ned had shown me the way to Pennyroyal Court and his treasure; especially after Mum found the book of Castles in my room with the thumb marked page.

  My punishment was to stay in my room unless Sally was with me and then I could only wander the house. Most of the time, she was busy with chores and didn’t have any spare moments to give me attention and I was thoroughly bored. Finally, after whining incessantly, Dad put me down in his study and turned on his brand new color telly and told me to stay there until he, mum or Sally came to get me, or else.

  I hated the ‘or else.’ my fertile imagination conjured up all sorts of horrifying scenarios that were always worse than what he did.

  I amused myself by changing the channels not that I had much choice. We got three, BBC being the strongest.

  After that, I wandered the line of bookshelves and climbed to the top reading the titles. Mum had started me early; I had been reading since the age of three and chose more adult books than childrens choose. I did like the illustrations, though. I found one that seemed interesting, pulled it from the stacks, and made myself a perch atop one nearly empty shelf where I stretched out on the flat top and read. Hours passed and I was deep into Sir Edmund Hillary’s conquest of Everest when the faint sounds of a door opening disturbed my concentration.

  “Aidan? Christ in heaven, where is that boy? I told him not to move!” My dad’s exasperated tones rose to my ears. My Mum’s were quieter, placating.

  “Aidan, where are you?”

  I popped my head over. “Here, Mummy.”

  Her shriek startled me and I dropped the book to scramble after it, reaching the carpeted floor in seconds. I picked up the book and the spine had broken. “Sorry, Dad, I’ll fix it,” I apologized and his eyes went to the stacks soaring two stories above us, the second landing of his study/library with the rafters lost to our sight.

  “Aidan,” he sighed. “Don’t do that again.”

  “Do what, Dad?” I was puzzled, looked at both of them.

  “Climb the shelves without the ladder. In fact, don’t climb the ladder. Aidan, you’ll be the death of me.”

  “Da, I’m fine. Climbing’s keen. Easy. I’m going to grow up to be a Sir Edmund Hillary.”

  “Last week you wanted to be a fireman,” he sighed. “Come along, it’s time for dinner. Sorry, you missed High Tea; I was helping Roger with the new bull.”

  “No wonder I’m so hungry,” I complained and Mum took my hand and walked us all out to the dining room; the informal one that seated only the farm staff and family as we all ate together. I said hullo to Mr. P and he handed me a heavy silver whistle on a lanyard.

  “For the new collie,” he said. “He comes to it.”

  “Oh, aye? What color is he? What’s his name?” I climbed up onto the Sheraton chair and hid my dusty hands under the damask tablecloth but Mum saw and sent me to wash. By the time I was back, wet sleeves and all, the food was already going round the table and my plate filled.

  Yummy. Filet of beef, home-grown. New potatoes, green beans, rolls and beets, all produced on the farm, even a glazed ham cut, sweet, pink and smoked.

  I ate my way through the respectable pile and washed it down with milk, didn’t stop until my plate was nearly licked clean and I let go an enormous burp. “Scuse me,” I gasped as they all laughed.

  Dad pointed his fork at me. “You still have room, belly boy? Mrs. C has made strawberry shortcakes with clotted cream.”

  Ned said in my ear, “I love shortcakes, strawberries, and clotted cream. Save me a piece.”

  “Where have you been?” I snapped.

  “Oh, here and there. I’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

  “You got me in trouble,” I complained under my breath because my parents were giving me the fish eye. “Go away. I’ll talk to you tonight.”

  “Aidan?” my mum said and I smiled, grabbed for another dessert and that distracted them enough so they didn’t comment on Ned’s appearance.

  “Sally’s waiting on you in the bathroom, Aidan. Tonight’s bath night.”

  “I’m not dirty,” I complained. “I haven’t been outside in the yards or the stables.”

  “You’ve been climbing in the stacks, dear boy; you’re full of dust and cobwebs. Ah, Sally, make sure he scrubs and does his teeth. In bed by seven, Aidan. You’re up early tomorrow. We’re off to Losthwithial to pick up roses.”

  “Why can’t I stay here?” I whined as she pulled me out of my chair and pushed me down the hallway.

  “Because you’d just find something nasty to get into,” Mum returned. “I’ll be in to say goodnight right after your bath. Don’t keep Sally waiting. It’s Friday night and she’s off to Truro for her gentleman caller and a movie.”

  “Sally has a date?” I squealed and rushed off to tease her. She was waiting in the cloakroom watching the tub fill with bubbles. “Sally has a date!” I chortled and she sighed as she latched onto my collar and halted me.

  “Here now, your lordship,” she said, long suffering. “No lip out of you or I won’t tell you all about the cinema when I come back Monday morn.”

  “What’re you going to see?” I shucked my clothes and dove in, hollered as the heat hit my thingie and then ducked under, splashing the floor. Sally mopped up with my clothes, hurried me past drying and dressing. She had me tucked into bed in half the time I usually took and her last words were to behave or she’d scare me with details from the movie, The Birds.

  Ned sat at the foot of the bed and mocked me.

  Chapter 6

  Mum was kneeling in the soft dirt of the garden patting soil around the roots of the dozen rose bushes we’d unloaded from the Range Rover. My dad was driving the tractor over in the North hay field and we caught occasional glimpses of him as he meandered by the fence line.

  The garden was a small square off to the side of the Solarium, bordered by boxwood hedges and yews carved into griffins, lollipop shapes and geometric designs rather than the common everyday animals. An ornate wrought iron fence with spears separated the flowerbeds from the old herb garden.

  “Are you hungry, Aidan?” Mum smiled. “You’ve been helping me for ages.”

  I was covered with mud from head to toe, filthy and enjoying the sensation of dirt between my toes. My shoes were buried somewhere.

  I looked up at the East wing of the house, the part that jutted out over the gardens and had a small veranda off one of the upper rooms; saw Ned up there waving down at me. That part of the roof was copper clad and had sundry chimneys and vents spoiling the outline of the pitch.

  I ran inside and Mrs. C was just coming down the marble tiled hallway with a platter of goodies and tea. She was a short, rosy-cheeked lady that made delicious scones and bread and always had an extra goody for me.

  “Go into the kitchen and sit down,” she said, looked and then ordered me to wash up at the sink. I splashed water on my hands
, face half-halfheartedly, and plunked down at the table in front of the platter of tarts, biscuits, eggs, rashers of bacon.

  “Where is everybody?” I asked, swallowing my cup of tea in one long gulp.

  “Ate earlier, your lordship. Go on up, Sally’s waiting to help you change. His Lordship and Lady Mo are taking you out to dinner for being such a big help this week and not getting into any mischief.”

  I pushed the chair back so hard; it fell over and scrambled up the Grand Stair, scooting around Harold, the butler who’d been with my Da and his Da forever.

  “Slow down, young Aidan,” he scolded. “Annie just waxed the floor and you’ll come a right cropper.”

  “Gotta go, Harry,” I yelled and hit the top of the step on my palms, swung round and down the great hallway lined with ancient family portraits. Ned stood near the double doors to the Grand Salon on the third floor and distracted me as I ran by the bathroom door. It was never open, off limits to me, and represented an irresistible challenge.

  I sneaked inside and climbed the short set of steps to the third floor. I heard the door latch behind me but paid it no mind as I delighted in exploring forbidden realms.

  Here was where the old suits of armor lay in neat piles next to saddles cracked and medieval, old swords and halberds piled with lances and bows. Piles of furniture so hideously Victorian and bizarre that no one wanted them---hassocks made from elephant legs, chairs of ivory tusks, trunks filled with musty old clothes.

  A sarcophagus rested against the wall near the French doors with velvet drapes so moth eaten they looked like lace. I hoped it still had its resident mummy and my hearty shove dislodged the case to fall against the doors and sent them crashing open.

  I was able to pull the lid off but the only thing inside were blackened scraps of cloth that smelled dry and dusty, and dead spiders curled into tiny pill bugs. I squeezed past the open doors and saw the roof below me over the wing of the house that jutted out above the gardens. An easy drop and easier climb to one who fancied himself Sir Edmund Hilary so I climbed over the railing with perfect confidence and strode along the ridge and down to the edge of the slates to see my mother on her knees in the dirt, scraping soil around the roots of small seedlings. I heard someone approaching, his footsteps loud on the newly raked gravel.