The Drowned Village. Kathleen McGurl

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СКАЧАТЬ else crossing the lake-bed towards the ruins. As he approached she recognised the sandy-haired man from the campsite. He was heading directly for her, and raised a hand in greeting.

      ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ she said, when he was within earshot.

      He smiled, and pushed a hand through his hair. ‘Certainly is. To think people once lived here, walked up this street, went into their homes or shops or pubs.’ He turned and gazed across the remains of the village, then pulled a bottle of water out of his rucksack and offered it to her. ‘I can’t believe how hot it is, either.’

      ‘I know. Boiling. But I’ve got my own water, thanks.’

      They began walking along what must once have been the main street through the village, with remains of buildings tightly packed on both sides. ‘I’m Tom, by the way,’ he said, holding out his hand for her to shake.

      ‘Laura. Pleased to meet you.’

      ‘So did you come here especially to see the remains of the village?’ he asked.

      She nodded. ‘Well, yes, but also to have a holiday and do some walking. I adore the Lake District.’

      ‘Me too. I’ve been here a week already, climbing with a mate. He’s a teacher so he had to leave at the weekend and go back to work today. But the weather’s so amazing I decided to stay for a few more days on my own as I’m not due back in the office till next week.’ He stopped and once more looked around at the ruins, then spoke quietly, almost to himself. ‘I wonder which one it was.’

      ‘Sorry?’

      He shook his head slightly as though coming out of a daydream. ‘Sorry. Just musing. I’ve researched my family tree, you see, and one branch of my ancestors came from here.’

      ‘Wow, that’s amazing! My grandmother was born here, too. That’s one reason why I came. We saw an item on the news about it, and she told me then she was born here. I hadn’t known. She’s a bit too frail to make the trip up here herself, though.’

      ‘Do you know which house she lived in?’

      Laura shook her head. ‘No, I’ve no idea.’ She looked up at him and smiled. ‘Weird to think our ancestors might have known each other. Who was it in your family tree who lived here? How long ago?’

      ‘My dad’s maternal grandmother. That’s my great-grandmother – she was the last of the family to live here. Her daughter, my grandmother, was born elsewhere, during the war. My great-grandmother married, had her daughter and was widowed all during the war years. Your grandmother must be quite a bit older than mine, if she was born here.’

      ‘She’s over ninety.’

      ‘A great age. Does she have any memories of being here?’

      ‘Yes, some, I think, though she hasn’t spoken much about it.’

      ‘You should ask her.’

      ‘Yes. I could ask her too for names of anyone she remembers from those days. But she was only about ten or eleven when the village was abandoned so she might not remember anyone. What was your great-grandmother’s name?’

      ‘Margaret Earnshaw.’

      ‘My gran is Stella Braithwaite. But that’s her married name. I’m not sure what her maiden name was. I need to make a list of all these questions to ask her!’ Laura grinned. It was great to have someone to talk to about all this, and Tom certainly seemed interested.

      ‘It’s fabulous that she’s still around to ask. My grandmother died a few years back so most of what I know is from online research. In fact, it was when she was diagnosed with cancer that I began researching my family tree. I recorded her speaking about the past, everything she could remember, to give me a start. But she never lived here, and she said her mother, Margaret – though everyone knew her as Maggie – never spoke about her early life.’ Tom sighed. ‘So I’ve no one to ask. The people who lived here are all just names and dates to me.’

      They’d reached the end of the main village street, and come to a small stone bridge. It looked incongruous sitting there in the middle of the lake-bed, a bridge crossing nothing. ‘This must have been the footbridge over the stream that flowed through the valley to the original small lake. It’s marked on the old maps of the village,’ Tom said. ‘Amazing that it’s still in such good condition.’ He ran a hand over the stonework. He was right – the mortar between the stones appeared solid, the surface of the bridge looked as though a quick sweep would restore it to perfect condition.

      They turned and looked back at the village. ‘I really want to know more about it now,’ said Laura. ‘Coming here has made it all very real. I can’t wait to ask Gran to tell me more about it.’

      ‘Why don’t you ask her now? You could ring her, perhaps? Maybe she could describe whereabouts her house was. And I’d love to know if she remembers any Earnshaws.’

      Laura looked at her watch. Monday, midday. Gran would be at home, pottering around the house, perhaps thinking about making herself a light lunch. She had no lunchtime carer visit, so unless one of her many friends had come to call, she’d be on her own, and hopefully the phone would be within reach. ‘OK, I’ll try her now.’ She pulled out her mobile and punched in Gran’s number. Thankfully, standing out here in the middle of the valley there was some reception. She felt a quiver of excitement as she waited for Stella to answer. Would she be able to pick out the right house? What a shame Gran was not fit enough to be able to come here herself.

Chapter 4

       JED

      ‘Stella, watch Jessie for me, will you?’ Jed called from the workshop, where he was trying to file down a piece of metal to make a replacement bracket for the seat of old Sam Wrightson’s tractor. Jessie, now that she could walk, was becoming difficult to look after when he was trying to work. While she’d been a baby he could put her in the playpen he’d made from chicken mesh, with a few toys, and she’d amuse herself. She’d always seemed happy enough as long as she could see him. But now, she refused to go in the playpen and if he put her in it she simply lifted one side of it up and crawled out underneath, giggling in that infectious yet infuriating way she had. And then she’d stand too close while he was welding, or start lifting tools off his bench to play with, or try to play hide-and-seek under the workbench. It was really not a suitable place for a small child to be.

      ‘Yes, Pa, coming.’ Stella was just home from school, thank goodness, and if she could keep an eye on Jessie for a couple of hours Jed would be able to get on with some work, until the light failed. He had electric light in the workshop, but was short of oil for the generator – what little he had needed to be conserved.

      ‘Come on, Jessie. Let’s go and look for tadpoles. Pa, we’ll be down by the lake. I won’t let Jessie get wet.’ Stella retrieved Jessie from the pile of oily dust sheets she’d been hiding in, and took her by the hand.

      ‘Be back in time for tea,’ Jed said.

      ‘All right.’ Stella and Jessie left the workshop, and Jed heaved a sigh of relief. He could get on uninterrupted at last. And he needed to. If he didn’t get some of his backlog of jobs finished he wouldn’t be paid. That would mean no more oil for the СКАЧАТЬ