Lone Pine Five, page 1
Contents
Foreword
The Lone Pine Club
1. The Strange Silver Spoon
2. Witchend Again
3. Black Dingle
4. Enter Percy
5. Seven Gates
6. The Caravan
7. Greystone Dingle
8. Powerless Percy
9. Rain
10. The Cave
11. The Secret River
12. Treasure Trove
Lone Pine Five
Malcolm Saville
First published in this (revised) edition in 1972 by:
William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., London and Glasgow.
First published in Armada in 1975 by William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., 14 St. James's Place, London SW1A 1PF
© Malcolm Saville
Printed in Great Britain by Love & Malcomson Ltd., Brighton Road, Redhill, Surrey
CONDITIONS OF SALE
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Foreword
Between the Welsh border and a rugged mountain range called the Stiperstones in the County of Shropshire is a tract of wild and desolate country called by some the "Land of Dereliction."
The scene of this story is set in the shadow of the mysterious Stiperstones, which are crowned with black quartzite rocks, older even than the ice-age, known as the Devil's Chair.
Lead was once found in these hills and there is no doubt that the Romans worked the mines because "pigs" of metal, inscribed in Latin "The Lead of the Emperor Hadrian," have actually been found in this area. Although the Stiperstones and the derelict mines do still exist, there is not much other evidence of Roman occupation - no Roman towns, villas, nor even treasure - in that particular little corner of England, but what Mr Wilkins told Jenny about the Mildenhall Treasure is true, and you can go and see it for yourself in the British Museum in London.
There is no place called Barton Beach, no valley named Greystone Dingle, and I must explain now, before you read the story, that, so far as I know, there is no hidden river in those hills. There are parts of the country where such rivers exist - the River Misbourne in the Chiltern Hills, for instance - but such streams usually run through chalk or limestone and the Shropshire hills are made of very different stuff!
I must also explain that this special edition is a little shorter than the original story which was first published in 1949, but the adventure, which I hope you will find exciting, has not been altered. Many readers have asked why it is called Lone Pine Five. It is the fifth adventure of the Lone Piners.
M.S.
The Lone Pine Club
The Lone Pine Club was started by some boys and girls at a lonely farmhouse called Witchend in the highlands of Shropshire. If you have not read any of their other adventures you will probably enjoy this story more if you know something about the Club and its members before you begin.
The rules of the Club, which were originally signed in blood, were very simple and are set out in full in "Mystery at Witchend." The most important was "To be true to each other whatever happens." The headquarters of the Club are at a hidden camp under a lonely pine tree in the Witchend valley, but another meeting-place was established in an old barn at a farm on the Stiperstones known as Seven Gates. This is mentioned in this story and is known as "H.Q.2."
The Lone Piners' secret signal to each other is a whistled imitation of the peewit's haunting call.
The Members
DAVID MORTON. The captain of the Club. In this story he is sixteen. While his father was in the R.A.F. during the war he came with his mother to live at Witchend and has one brother and sister, who are twins. Now the Mortons live in London, but come to Witchend whenever they can.
RICHARD ("DICKIE") MORTON and MARY MORTON are ten, and although they go to separate schools, they are inseparable at all other times. They are alike in looks and speech, and occasionally in thought. They are often extremely irritating to their friends, and particularly to grown-ups, but they have the outstanding qualities of courage and of loyalty to each other.
PETRONELLA ("PETER") STERLING. Peter is sixteen. She has no mother, but lives in the holidays with her father, who is in charge of a reservoir called Hatchholt, not very far from Witchend. She goes to school in Shrewsbury but is only really happy when she is roaming her beloved Shropshire highlands on her Welsh pony, Sally. Imagine Peter with two fair plaits, fearless blue eyes and a clear brown skin. She looks her best in jodhpurs and a blue shirt. She knows the stars better than most of us know a map of the country in which we live. She loves everything in the open air, and can swim faster than most boys of her age and ride better.
She is the Vice-Captain of the Club and David is her boyfriend.
TOM INGLES. Tom is a Londoner who was sent to join his uncle on a farm near Witchend when his home was bombed in the war. He is small for fifteen-and-a-half, but very wiry. It took him a long time to become reconciled to life in the country, but he would not leave farming now. At first he was suspicious of the Mortons and Peter and impatient with the twins, but is now proud of his membership of the Club. He is quick-witted, brave, and liked by everyone who is lucky enough to know him.
JENNY HARMAN. Until now Jenny has not played much part in the Club's adventures. She has a step-mother who is not always very kind to her, and lives at the village shop and post office of a village called Barton Beach on the western side of the Stiperstones. She is red-headed, incurably romantic and two months younger than Tom, who is the staunchest and most wonderful friend she has ever known. This story is really Jenny's.
There are two other members of the Club who do not appear in this book - JONATHAN and PENELOPE ("PENNY") WARRENDER. These two are cousins and firm friends and live in the holidays in a hotel called The Gay Dolphin at Rye, in Sussex.
There is one more member of the Morton family, who thinks the Club belongs to him, and he is MACBETH - a black Scottie dog who loves them all, but especially Mary, who has nearly wrecked many an adventure because she will carry Mackie when his short legs tire.
1. The Strange Silver Spoon
Almost every morning in the summer when she woke and it was light enough to see, Jenny Harman automatically counted the nineteen red roses on the wallpaper between the door and the old wardrobe in the corner.
On the August morning on which this story opens, the sun just reached roses eleven, twelve and thirteen, and made them glow with so rich a colour that the others were really in the shade. Jenny sat up and yawned, as she nearly always did, and wondered what could possibly happen today. Of course she was happy here at home, but she had no brothers or sisters, and Barton Beach was a very small and lonely village and there was not much to do besides help her father sometimes in the shop. Jenny was a romantic and imaginative girl, fond of books and daydreaming. She settled her red head back on the pillows again and her hand reached for the book of the moment. Absorbed, Jenny forgot the time and was late for breakfast.
"Sorry, Mum," she pleaded, when her stepmother greeted her without enthusiasm. "I must have dropped off again."
"Better if you stopped reading, my girl... Here's your porridge. Look sharp with it for I've plenty to do today."
Mr Harman looked over the top of his paper at his daughter, and Jenny thought she detected a wink. She smiled at him as she reached for the milk jug. He was an understanding father.
"What to do today, Jen?" he asked. "Looks as if it might keep fine for a bit, so you ought to go out. What's happened to those young friends o' yours over Witchend way?"
"They've not come up yet. Dad. Still at home. I wish they would come."
"And young Tom? Not seen much of him lately?"
Jenny blushed.
"Harvest, Dad. You know how busy Mr Ingles keeps him."
Mr Harman twinkled at the daughter he loved to tease.
"He's got a little time to waste, I'm thinking. Look on the mantelpiece, my lass, and see what the postman has brought you."
Jenny jumped up and knocked her chair over.
"You might have told me, Dad. It's a letter for me. From Tom."
She tore open the envelope.
"Dear Jen,
Uncle Alf and me coming to market at Bishop's Castle on Tuesday. Maybe you would bike over. Come as soon as you can Uncle says. Meet me at that stall where the chap sells dogs' leads and collars but come early and I've got important news.
Yours, Tom."
Jenny's eyes shone with happiness.
"Look, Dad. Look, Mum. I can go, can't I? Right away? Come early, he says, and it's Tuesday now!"
"It's a longish ride," Mrs Harman complained, "and I reckon it'll rain soon and there doesn't seem any sense to me in rushing over to the Castle on market day."
But Mrs Harman always put difficulties in the way of such suggestions on principle, and it was not long before Jenny was on her way.
The sun was shining brightly and it was already hot. Jenny knew that it was too bright to last and that it would rain before she was home again, but she was used to cycling in the wet. Now she was so happy that she sang at the top of her voice as she pedalled through the lanes towards the main road which would take her to the market town and to Tom and "Uncle Ingles." If only something like this could happen every day!
The country through whic
Soon she could see the hill which once was crowned by a fortress, and over to her left were the remains of another called Lea Castle. Jenny had often been to see the great boulder in a field near by which was called the Lea Stone, and she knew that this stone was supposed to have been flicked there by the Devil who found it in his shoe when he sat down once to rest on his chair on the summit of the Stiperstones. She knew, too, that the stone was supposed to turn round when the clock strikes thirteen.
Now she was in Bishop's Castle itself, where the traffic was so heavy that she had to jump off her bicycle and walk. The pavements were crowded as well, which made it difficult to hurry, and Jenny was in a hurry, for Tom had said, "Come early."
From the top of the hill Jenny could see the market stalls stretched along the side of the street below her, and she recognized Tom before he saw her. Suddenly she felt shy. It was stupid to be so excited about meeting anyone, however nice he might be. Then Tom saw her and came to her rescue.
"Hello, Jen," he said, and "Hello, Tom," she answered with flaming cheeks.
"Oh, Tom," she began breathlessly, "isn't this all wonderful? I only got your letter this morning, and I just forced Mum to let me come today. What shall we do first, Tom? I don't care how late I am. Where's Mr Ingles, Tom? And you said you'd got some news. What is it?"
"Let's put your bike in the yard of the Rose and Crown first and get it out of the way. We've got to meet Uncle there soon for a meal. Then we'll buy an ice and get somewhere out of the crowd and have a talk. I've got lots to tell you."
And that was what they did. Each with a large wafer, they climbed the hill again and found a seat against the wall up by the hotel which now stands where the Castle once dominated the little town. The sun was still shining, but big clouds were piling up in the west. Tom sniffed the wind like a true farmer and told Jenny what she knew already.
"Rain's on the way, Jen. Lucky we've got all the harvest in. It's early this year and Uncle says we're lucky. He doesn't often say that, so I reckon we must be... If he hadn't said I could come with him today, Jen, I'd have written you a much longer letter - "
Jenny extracted the last delicious fragments of ice-cream from the remains of the sodden wafer, licked her fingers elegantly, and then smiled at him.
"Would you really, Tom? I do wish you would. Nobody ever writes me letters, and I do love them so... But why, Tom? What's happened?"
"You'll never let me finish what I'm saying to you, Jenny. Just be quiet and I'll tell you. I've had a letter and it's for you as well. Here it is."
She snatched it from him.
"Beast! Keeping it from me all this time."
She opened the envelope and her heart gave a jump as she saw the Lone Pine symbol at the top of the paper.
"Dear Tom and Jenny (she read),
Don't mind this coming to Tom first, Jenny, but I've only time for one letter, and I know Tom will like to send it on to you. How are you both? We know Tom will be busy enough at Ingles, and we expect Jenny is spending her time reading, but you've both got to stop whatever you are doing pretty quickly now, for we're just about on our way. In a day or two we'll be at Witchend, and I hope for the rest of the hols. It's been a bit difficult to persuade our parents this year, but we've managed it, and here we come. Father is bringing the car and a trailer full of camping gear, so we'll all be out and about again before very long. Peter has been here for a fortnight, as you know, and is coming back with us and will stay at Witchend while her father is still stopping at Seven Gates. We've had a good time together, but we all want to get back to the good old L.P. Whatever happens, Jenny must get permission to come camping with us, and if there's any trouble I'll come over and see Mr Harman -"
"It's Mrs Harman he'll have to see," Jenny murmured as she turned the page.
"Anyway," she read on, "you must both be ready for the first meeting of the Club the day after tomorrow, but we'll call in at Ingles on the way up and let you know we've arrived. One other thing, and it's a disappointment. We had hoped to get Jon and Penny to Witchend as well. You'll remember we talked about it at Clun at Christmas, but they can't manage it. They've both gone to Paris to live with a family and improve their French. We've had one or two postcards from Penny already, but I think they'll be back in Rye by the end of the week.
Peter sends her love to Jenny, and so do the twins.
See you both soon,
David."
Jenny sighed ecstatically.
"Let me keep this letter, Tom, please... I knew this was going to be a wonderful day when your letter came. I forgot to tell you I had a postcard from Penny too. Is it time to meet your uncle now?"
Back at the Rose and Crown they found Mr Ingles waiting for them under the archway which led into the big yard behind the inn.
Jenny had never managed to get used to Alfred Ingles, who was unlike any other farmer she had ever known. She really liked him very much and knew that he was kind-hearted and jolly, but he talked more than most countrymen and louder than any.
"Come along in, kids," he roared, "come along in. You've kept me two minutes already... How are you, my pretty dear? Pleased to see you, and there was a message for you from the missus, but I've forgotten what it was... Not lost your voice, have you, Jenny?"
"No, thank you, Mr Ingles," Jenny gasped, "and I'm fine, thanks, and thank you very much for asking me today. I'm enjoying myself very much," and here she looked up at him so appealingly that he put his hand on her head and ruffled her red hair affectionately.
And no more Mister Ingles, if you please, Jenny lass. Uncle Alf I'm to be to you, same as I am to young Tom here... Now then! Here we are."
The dining-room of the Rose and Crown was thick with the smell of food, but not many people were talking. They were all too busy eating. Even Mr Ingles quietened as he started lunch, and Tom and Jenny were now enjoying themselves too much to want to talk. While Jenny was waiting for her pudding she noticed an elderly man sitting at a table in the far corner. She glanced at him a second time because he looked out of place and unhappy. He had a thin, studious face, and was wearing horn-rimmed spectacles. His forehead was high and he was very bald on the top oi his shining head, and he looked like a schoolmaster. Suddenly Jenny felt very sorry for him. Then her pudding arrived and she forgot him.
Mr Ingles pushed back his chair as soon as he had finished eating.
"Now you two can do what you like so long as Tom is back in the car park at half-past three. Not a minute later, mind. 'Bye, Jenny girl. Give your uncle a kiss in case I don't see you again."
Outside, they wondered what would be the best way of spending the afternoon, and then Tom had his big idea.
"They have an auction sale in the yard here every other market day at two o'clock, Jenny. Let's stay and see what happens. Maybe we could buy something -"
When Tom and Jenny went back into the yard they saw a lorry in the far corner unloading second-hand furniture which was being added to the collection of odds and ends already displayed on the cobblestones. A fat man, who was probably the auctioneer, was fussing round and supervising, and three women were picking among the rubbish rather like rooks on a field of stubble. Tom strolled over and Jenny, suddenly filled with the feminine lust of bargain-hunting, followed him.
By the auctioneer's rostrum lay a metal tray filled with odds and ends.
"I wouldn't mind that old knife,'' Tom said as he turned over the oddments on the tray. "Yes, I would, though the blade is broken... Here's an old pipe, but it smells a bit. I wonder if Uncle would like it."
"I shouldn't think so," Jenny murmured. "Let me look too. What's this? Look, Tom. It's a funny sort of spoon."
Tom glanced at a discoloured object in her hand and then turned away without interest. He was getting bored and wished the performance would begin.
Jenny turned to follow him and then picked up the spoon again. It was certainly a very odd shape. The bowl was pear-shaped and the handle no more than a square-edged strip of metal tapering to a point. It was very dirty - almost black. Suddenly she felt that somehow or other she must possess this spoon, although she had no idea what she could do with it if she had it. It was an odd feeling, and for a moment she felt quite scared, but when Tom turned to see what she was doing, she said:
