The Drowned Village, page 6
‘It’s perfect,’ she said with a smile, and pulled it on. They walked over to where a low wall marked the edge of the car park, from where there was a view along the length of the dam on the lakeside. ‘Look, you can see how high the water level normally is,’ Laura said, pointing to marks near the top of the structure, a change of colour of the concrete. ‘Amazing to think how much water is normally held back by this.’
‘Yes, well, of course, all of the area we were walking around is normally well underwater,’ Tom replied. ‘Shame they don’t let the public walk across the top of the dam.’
Laura looked where he was pointing. There was a narrow walkway that led across the top of the dam to the far side of the valley. But a hefty locked iron gate barred access to it. ‘I suppose it’s not safe.’
‘Probably safer than some of the more hairy ridges up the mountains,’ Tom laughed. ‘Want to have a look at the information board over there?’ They walked over to it, and read the brief history and technical details of the dam. ‘Fifteen hundred feet long, fifty feet wide at the base, ninety feet high. Ugh. Don’t you wish it was all in metric?’
‘Yep. Good grief, what a lot of concrete they used.’ Laura peered closely at the pictures of the dam under construction – men precariously balanced on scaffolding while they poured concrete; men in waders, thigh-deep in wet concrete; men sitting high up on the top of the structure eating their lunches. ‘No health-and-safety regulations back then, by the look of things.’
‘No. Two men died, it says here.’
‘That’s so sad.’ Laura was silent and thoughtful for a moment. ‘I understand the need for the reservoir, but it does seem a shame that a village had to be destroyed and men lost their lives to achieve it.’
‘I guess there’s always some risk to the workmen building something of this scale. And as for the village, I’d like to think that if there had been a suitable uninhabited valley they’d have used that instead. It’d have cost less for a start.’
‘I suppose so.’ Laura gazed at the view down the valley, below the dam. The river was barely more than a trickle, winding its way between fields and woods, similar to the landscape in Glydesdale. To the left and across the valley was a collection of unattractive boxy houses, at odds with the traditional Lakeland stone cottages. ‘What’s that place over there?’
Tom consulted the map on the information board. ‘It’s called New Brackendale. It was built to house the dam-workers, and then some of the people from Brackendale Green moved here after the valley was flooded. Ugly-looking place, isn’t it?’
Laura nodded. Compared with the photos of the old village that she’d seen on the other information board, this one was certainly much less appealing. ‘I wonder if any of our ancestors moved there?’
‘My family didn’t. They went to Keswick,’ Tom replied.
‘I don’t know about Gran. All I know is she moved to London as a young woman, when she became an actress. She was in a few plays in the West End, then she met my grandfather and gave up acting but stayed living in the south. I must ask her where she moved to after the dam was built. Yet more questions for her!’
‘You need to write that list,’ Tom said, with a smile. ‘Shall we go?’
They got back in the car, and continued along the road out of the valley. From the dam onwards it was much wider, clearly built for much more traffic than the narrow lane beside the lake that only led to a walkers’ car park. On either side of the road, the fells became lower and the valley wider as they continued. Laura felt a pang of regret as they left the mountains behind – daft, she thought, as it was only temporary and as soon as they took the turn that led into Glydesdale they’d be heading deeper into the mountains once again. There was something about being surrounded by lofty peaks that she loved. It healed her soul, she thought. And her soul certainly needed some healing after what Stuart and Martine had done.
At the next junction, there was a small road leading off to the right, signposted ‘Brackendale House Museum’. ‘Ooh, I wonder what’s there?’ Laura said.
‘Don’t know. Perhaps some local history? Sounds like it could be worth a visit.’
Laura was silent for a moment, debating with herself whether to ask him if he’d like to go there, in the next day or two, with her. If she did, how would he respond? Would he consider it just a friendly request to follow up on their shared interest in the drowned village, or would he read more into it? She liked Tom. She’d only known him an hour or so, but she felt comfortable in his company and already she was beginning to feel she knew him. They’d clicked, somehow. As an experiment, she made a mental comparison of Tom with Stuart. He was kind – the way he’d treated her when she felt dizzy was testament to that. Stuart would have scoffed and told her to ‘man up’. Tom was interested in some of the same things as her – history, mountains – whereas Stuart was more into video games and nightclubs. Tom was tall, broad-shouldered, strongly built, with soft grey eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Stuart was good-looking, sure, but in a cold, chiselled way. His eyes were dark and brooding, and his smiles did not always reach them. But however nice Tom was, Laura knew she was not ready for any kind of new relationship yet, and she’d hate him to think she was interested in him.
The moment passed, and she realised it was too late to sound spontaneous if she asked Tom if he’d like to go to the museum with her. She felt a pang of regret. She shouldn’t have been overthinking things. The rest of the journey passed more or less in silence, with each of them making only a few comments about the scenery they passed through.
Back at the campsite, Tom dropped Laura off beside the shop, with a cheery ‘See you later, drink more water!’ as she needed to buy something for the next day’s breakfast. She did not see where he drove off to.
She spent the rest of the afternoon resting and rehydrating, paddling in the stream, lying in the shade of the oak with a book. Bliss. She decided to go to the pub for an evening meal rather than cook again on her little gas stove, so just before darkness fell she stuffed her purse into a pocket, closed up her tent, and walked across the campsite and down the lane the short distance to the pub. It was a converted farmhouse, with a few rooms used for B&B, and a side extension that was open as a café in the daytime. The bar itself was in a low-ceilinged, stone-flagged room, with an assortment of small wooden tables and chairs dotted around. A large fireplace suggested it would be delightfully cosy in the winter months. A sign over the door announced that walkers and dogs were welcome, no need to remove muddy boots. She grinned at this. Her kind of pub, and the last place she could imagine Stuart fitting in.
She ordered a pint of the local bitter and a dinner of pie and chips, and noted the WiFi network name and password that was written on a note pinned above the till. Free WiFi. Perfect. She found a small table tucked in a corner, pulled out her phone, connected to the internet and began searching for information about Brackendale Green, the dam and the Old Corpse Road. Now that she’d seen it, it was all so much more exciting and interesting.
She was so absorbed in reading the web pages she’d found that she didn’t immediately notice Tom sit down next to her. ‘Room for a little one?’ he said.
She looked up and smiled. ‘Of course. Can I get you a drink? As a thank-you for looking after me today.’
‘Later, perhaps. I’m all right at the moment.’ He held up a nearly-full pint. ‘Are you eating? I can recommend the pies here. I’ve ordered one myself.’
‘That’s exactly what I’ve ordered, too. Want to look at the pictures of Brackendale I’ve found?’ She passed him her phone, and he peered at the images she’d been scrolling through. ‘Having been there brings it all to life, doesn’t it?’
‘Certainly does.’
Their food soon arrived, and after eating they resumed searching websites and exchanging the titbits of information they’d found.
‘Hey, here’s the website for Brackendale House Museum,’ Tom said, handing his phone over to her.
‘Oh yes, that place we passed,’ Laura replied. ‘I definitely want to visit that.’
‘Me too,’ Tom said. ‘I want to go up Bracken Fell tomorrow, but maybe we could do the museum the day after? Actually, do you fancy climbing the mountain with me as well?’
‘If you’re sure. I mean, I don’t want you to change your plans for me,’ Laura said, allowing a tone of wariness into her voice. It wouldn’t do to let him think she was available. She’d need to make it clear she wasn’t interested.
‘Well, I’m definitely going, and it’d be good to have some company,’ Tom replied.
‘Well then, why not?’ Laura smiled and Tom grinned back.
Chapter 6
JED
Thankfully, John Teesdale had decided to remain loyal to his long-term, village customers and had sent a message to the dam-works to say that their workmen were no longer welcome in his pub. Jed was able to go for a drink once or twice a week without fear of running into the man whose lip he had split.
It was harder, however, to steer clear of Maggie, but since that night she seemed to have cooled off towards him. Jed hoped that meant she had got the message, and would leave him in peace now. She was undoubtedly an attractive woman, but he was not interested. Not now, and probably not ever. There was enough for him to worry about without the added complication of a woman.
‘Heard the latest?’ John Teesdale said, as he poured Jed’s pint of bitter. ‘They’re going to move all the graves. Everyone in St Isidore’s churchyard – they’re going to dig them up and rebury them in Glydesdale. Well, I suppose better that than have them under twenty feet of water.’
‘My Edie will be reunited with her parents, then.’ Jed nodded. It was a macabre thought – that all those graves would be exhumed – but it was the right thing. People would still want to be able to pay their respects at the graves of their loved ones, and once the valley was flooded that would no longer be possible if they were left in St Isidore’s. He was glad that Edie herself was already over in Glydesdale, and would not have to be disturbed.
‘Aye. Though they’ll put the folk from St Isidore’s in a new part of the Glydesdale churchyard. Bishop’s been up to consecrate an extra field – they’ll need a lot of room.’ Teesdale handed Jed his pint, and took payment for it.
‘Any idea when they’re going to start?’ Jed asked.
‘This week, as I understand it. There’s a notice gone up on the church door. It’ll all be done under a tarpaulin, behind screens. Each set of remains will go into a new coffin and there’ll be a hearse waiting to drive them around to Glydesdale where they’ll be reburied.’ Teesdale leaned on the bar, and shook his head. ‘There’s a schedule up telling you which graves will be dug up on which day. It’s to be my ma and pa’s grave on Wednesday. I’ll have to shut up shop here, and be standing by. They don’t want you watching, but you’re allowed to stand behind the screens, and go with the new coffin to Glydesdale, see it’s all done properly.’
‘I’d better go and read that notice, then,’ Jed said. He hadn’t been to church much lately. Not since Edie had died. But his mother was in St Isidore’s churchyard, and perhaps he should be at hand when her grave was exhumed. Perhaps he should bring Isaac along, too. Teesdale had turned away to serve another customer, so Jed took his pint to a seat near the window that faced up the lane towards the church, and contemplated what was happening to the village. If it was time to start moving the dead out, it wouldn’t be much longer before it was time to move the living.
Teesdale passed by, collecting empty glasses, and sighed. ‘Ah, ’tis all changing. Nowt’ll ever be the same again, once we’re all spread to the four winds. You found somewhere to go yet, Jed?’
He shook his head. Why did people keep asking him that? The future was hanging over him like a sword suspended by a thread. It terrified him just to contemplate it. But soon he’d have to do something about it, he knew. ‘Not yet, John, not yet.’
‘Time’s running out. Don’t leave it too long. Reckon this village’ll be a sad place for the last few to leave. That’ll no doubt be me and the missus, any road.’
‘Aye.’ Jed tried to imagine the houses standing empty, but it was a painful image and not one he could dwell on. He made a decision. He’d buy the Westmorland Gazette and start looking for work and accommodation. Tomorrow he’d do it. Or the day after.
Jed finished his pint and decided to call in on his father before going home. The children would be all right – Jessie had been fast asleep before he’d even left, and Stella had been reading in her bed, promising to snuggle down to sleep when it became too dark. The thought of his ma’s grave being exhumed was preying on his mind, and the sooner he told Isaac the better. He walked quickly to the far end of the village and pushed open the door to Isaac’s little cottage.
‘Pa?’ he called as he entered. It was only around nine o’clock but the old man had already got himself into bed.
‘That you, Jed? I were almost asleep.’
‘Sorry, Pa.’ He walked through to the back room and sat on the end of the bed. ‘Something I need to talk to you about. But if you want to sleep, I’ll come back tomorrow.’
‘No, lad, now’s as good a time as any. Put the kettle on first, though.’ Isaac shuffled himself into a sitting position, and lit the paraffin lamp beside his bed. His was one of several small cottages in the village that did not have electricity. There was no mains electricity at all but the larger buildings all ran their own generators.
Jed went back through to the kitchen and popped the already half-full kettle on the stove. He cleared up the remains of Isaac’s dinner, washing the plates and cutlery he’d used, while he waited for the kettle to boil. The place was filthy, he realised; even in the gloomy light of the paraffin lamp he could see the thick dirt. He’d have to find some time to come up here and do some cleaning. Isaac clearly wasn’t coping.
With the tea made, and poured into two chipped enamel mugs, Jed took them through to the bedroom and handed one to his father.
‘Cheers, lad. Now, what was it worth disturbing my sleep for? Your little Jessie all right, is she? Who’s looking after her?’
‘She’s at home with Stella,’ Jed replied. ‘Pa, it’s about Ma. Her grave.’
‘What about it? Need tending, does it? I used to keep that graveyard so tidy, back in the day. ’Spect it’s gone to rack and ruin now.’
‘No, Pa. Something else.’ Jed took a deep breath. ‘They’re exhuming the graves. Going to move them all to Glydesdale. It starts next week, John Teesdale says. There’s a schedule, so I’ll call in to the church tomorrow and find out when Ma’s will be done. I’ll take you, if you want to be there.’
‘Exhuming? You mean, digging up?’ Isaac caught hold of Jed’s arm in a tight grip.
‘Aye. But it’ll all be done properly – behind screens, with dignity. They’re to be reburied in Glydesdale in smart new coffins. We can be there for Ma, go with her to Glydesdale and see it’s done properly.’ Jed looked at his father and frowned. Isaac was white and shaking. ‘What is it, Pa? What’s wrong? It’ll be hard, seeing Ma’s grave disturbed, but it’ll mean we can still visit . . .’
But Isaac was shaking his head. ‘They can’t dig them up. They can’t. ’S’not right. I’ll not dig it up again.’ Isaac thumped the mattress defiantly.
Jed remembered that Isaac had once been the gravedigger at St Isidore’s, long ago, before Jed had even been born. Perhaps it was that he was referring to? All his hard work to bury the poor souls, all to be undone.
He patted his father’s arm. ‘Aye, I know, Pa. All your work. You did a good job back then, but now it’s someone else’s turn to do the digging. You won’t have to.’
Isaac was still shaking his head, and screwing up the corners of his bedcovers in his hands. ‘It’ll all be bad, all be uncovered. And at my time of life and all. ’S’not right, ’s’not fair.’
‘It’ll be hard for all of us who’ve loved ones in that graveyard. But it’s for the best, you’ll see. Come on now, Pa. Drink your tea. Stop fretting. If you think it’ll be too hard to see Ma’s grave dug up, I’ll go by myself. You don’t need to if you don’t want to.’
‘’S’not fair, after all these years,’ Isaac muttered.
‘Shh, now. Drink your tea.’ So this was it. Jed had always worried that his father might lose his mind, and here it was happening, far too quickly. There was no putting it off any longer. Pa would have to move in with him and the girls, as soon as possible, so Jed could keep an eye on him. How Jed would cope he had no idea, but Isaac was his father and it was his duty to care for him.
Jed’s mother’s grave was exhumed on a grey, drizzly morning just a few days later, with Jed in attendance, a protesting Jessie on reins at his side. Stella was at school. Jed had decided it was best if Isaac didn’t attend the exhumation and had not mentioned it again. His Pa seemed to have withdrawn into himself, and kept muttering about not wanting the graves dug up, and it being unfair. Who knew what he was saying. It must be something related to his time as a gravedigger, Jed thought.
It was a solemn and strangely surreal moment – although Jessie didn’t give the occasion the respect it deserved, choosing that moment to fling herself to the ground, covering herself with mud and throwing a full-blown tantrum when Jed scolded her – to see the new, plain casket that contained his mother’s remains brought out from behind the screens and loaded into the hearse. Jed followed behind, in a black car paid for by the water company and driven by a uniformed chauffeur, with Jessie on his lap. It was the second time he’d been driven this route by a chauffeur, he thought, remembering the journey back from Edie’s funeral in Mrs Pendleton’s motorcar. A different daughter accompanied him this time.
