The Drowned Village

Isaac grunted. ‘Nowt but a crust of bread and cold mutton, no doubt. Ah well, ’tis the lot of the old to be neglected. Suppose you’re off to the pub now. Never mind me. I’ll sit here a while and smoke my pipe afore I haul myself into my bed.’

Jed ignored the grumbling. Isaac had been a long-time widower, and as he’d aged he’d become more and more grumpy. No matter what people did for him, he’d always complain it wasn’t enough. Jed finished banking up the fire, made his father a cup of tea and fetched him his pipe and tobacco. ‘There, now. You have all you need. I’ll look in on you tomorrow – I’ll bring little Jessie up to see you at lunchtime.’

Isaac smiled toothlessly. ‘Ah, the little pet. Yes, you bring her. She loves her old grandpa, does that one. Well, if the Lord spares me till the morning, I’ll have her bonny face to look forward to.’

At least that had cheered Isaac up a little. And Jessie did seem to like him – she’d always climb onto the old man’s lap and cuddle up, stroking his beard. Jed checked there was nothing else he could do, then bade his farewell. Time to get himself on the outside of a good pint, he thought. He knew that sooner rather than later, Isaac would have to give up living alone in his little cottage. He’d have to come to live with Jed and the girls. They could turn the little parlour, rarely used since Edie’s demise, into a bedroom, as Isaac would not be able to manage the stairs. Then Jed would be at his father’s beck and call, and there’d be even fewer opportunities to get his work done. But Isaac was his father, and he’d take care of him, no matter what. God, how he needed that pint now!

The Lost Sheep was busy that evening. Good, Jed thought. Less chance of Maggie cornering him, if there were plenty of other people about. He was more than happy to spend time with her in a group, but on her own she was just too pushy for his liking. It was only a month since Edie had been buried. It wasn’t right to be seen with another woman. Especially one that he wasn’t even the slightest bit interested in.

Sam Wrightson was standing near the bar, and Jed went straight over to join him, ordering himself a pint of ale from the landlord, John Teesdale. ‘Evening, Sam. Busy tonight, isn’t it?’

‘Aye. Some of the navvies from the dam-building are in. That lot, over there –’ Sam jerked his head backwards to indicate a group of men who’d clearly already had a few pints. ‘You fixed my tractor seat yet?’

‘Yes, the part’s all ready for you. Bring your tractor to me tomorrow and I’ll fit it for you.’

‘Good. Fed up of that seat swivelling round. Tricky to drive forward when you find yourself facing backwards. Well, cheers.’ Sam held his glass aloft. Jed chinked his own against it, then took a long pull of it. In the corner, the dam-workmen were beginning to sing raucously, one of them standing on a stool to conduct the others.

‘They’re having a fine time,’ Jed commented.

‘Aye. Teesdale’s keeping an eye on them, though. Word is they caused trouble the other night, up at the King’s Head. Landlord there threw them out and banned them for a fortnight. That’s why they’ve come down here.’ Sam eyed the gang warily. ‘They’ve a cheek, though, turning up here, when it’s their work that’s going to be the death of our village.’

‘They’re just doing their job,’ Jed replied.

‘That’s as maybe, but they should do their drinking elsewhere.’

Jed nodded vaguely. ‘Aye, maybe so.’

Sam wasn’t letting go of his theme. ‘Pub feels different with them here, too. Doesn’t feel right. Listen to that singing, if you can call it that. Caterwauling, more like. Not what we normally have in the Lost Sheep.’

‘Everything’s changing, Sam. We’ve only to get used to it. ’Tis all we can do.’

Sam snorted. ‘I’ll not get used to it. I’ll be moved out of Brackendale afore I’m used to it.’

‘You got somewhere to go?’ Jed raised his eyebrows. People were beginning to move out, and he knew he should start looking for jobs and accommodation elsewhere, but his heart hadn’t been in it. Not since Edie died.

‘Fingers in pies, Jed. Fingers in pies. Nothing definite.’ Sam sighed and looked around him. ‘Just hope Teesdale stays till the end, and keeps this place open.’ He stepped smartly sideways to avoid being jostled by one of the dam-workers. ‘Hope he bans this lot before then, any road.’

‘Hard to believe though, isn’t it? That all this will be gone? I were born here. So were you, Sam. So was my pa. Generations of us Walkers, in Isidore’s churchyard. Only my Edie over in Glydesdale. But all our history, our community, everything, will be gone, underwater, just so the people of Manchester can run their taps.’ Jed shook his head sadly. ‘Hard to believe.’

‘Ah, Jed, lad. You’ll find someplace else. And in time, some new lass to take Edie’s place.’

‘No one’ll take Edie’s place, ever,’ Jed said firmly.

Sam put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Aye, I know, I don’t mean like that. But you’ll move on, marry again, find someone to help take care of those girls of yours. You’ll be all right, in the end.’

‘’Tis true I need help with the girls. With Jessie, anyway. She’s a right handful. Sometimes I don’t know . . .’ Jed broke off from what he was saying as the door opened and Maggie arrived. She’d obviously taken pains with her appearance – wearing a silky pink dress that swished about her legs as she moved, a matching silk flower tucked in her hair over her ear, and bright red lipstick. He stood to welcome her, to usher her over to where he and Sam were sitting, but before she spotted him in the throng one of the dam-workers called out.

‘Well, look what we have here, boys! Nice! Very nice indeed!’ The man’s companions joined in with catcalls and whistles. Maggie blushed, smiled, and sashayed over to the bar.

Jed stepped forward to offer to buy her a drink and thank her for having taken Isaac a meal, but the dam-worker was there first. He was shorter than Jed, but stocky and muscular. ‘Well, darling, what’ll you have? I’m buying.’ He didn’t wait for an answer but beckoned John Teesdale over. ‘Gin for the lady, here!’

‘Maggie, are you all right?’ Jed asked.

‘Course I am. Just fine. This gentleman’s buying me a drink, aren’t you?’ She patted the man’s arm and smiled coquettishly up at him.

‘I’m right here if you need me,’ Jed said quietly.

‘Didn’t you hear the lady? She said she’s just fine. So leave her be. She’s with me, ain’t you, Maggie?’

She giggled. ‘For the moment. What’s your name, handsome?’

‘Donald. But the lads all call me Donkey.’

‘Donkey? Why?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know, darling, wouldn’t you like to know!’ The man threw his head back and guffawed. Jed had stepped back out of his line of sight, but was staying close by. He caught John Teesdale’s eye, who gave him a tiny shake of the head, as if to say, don’t be starting a fight in my bar. Sam Wrightson was watching him too, but Sam, he knew, would be the first to back him up if it came to it. Well, Jed was no troublemaker but Maggie was a neighbour, and a good one even if she was a little pushy at times, and he’d not stand by and see her get into trouble. If it was just harmless high spirits from the navvies that was one thing, but he was ready if any of them went too far.

‘Ooh, you naughty thing!’ Maggie said, giggling, as she gave the man a playful slap on his arm.

In retaliation he caught hold of her by both arms. ‘The lady likes it rough, does she?’

Maggie twisted herself free and took her drink from Teesdale. ‘Thanks, John.’ She turned back to the man. ‘Now, now, Mr Donkey, not that rough.’

It was enough for Jed. ‘You leave the lady alone,’ he snarled at the man.

‘Spoken for, is she? You never said.’ The man smiled slyly, and turned back to Maggie. ‘But I’ve paid for her drink, now. Which means she owes me. Come on, darling, how about a little cuddle, eh? Just a little cuddle for a hard-working man, eh?’ He pulled her towards him with one hand on her back and the other on her bottom.

‘Hey! Let go!’ she said, twisting to get herself free but he was holding her tight.

That was it. Jed tapped the man on the shoulder, and when he looked round swung a hefty right hook at him. The man’s head snapped backwards and blood began pouring from his mouth. He immediately hit back, but Jed was too quick for him and the blow merely glanced off his shoulder.

At once the other dam-workers were on their feet, piling in to their friend’s aid. Sam was on his feet too, and John Teesdale, six feet tall and muscly with it, lifted the flap on the bar, ushered Maggie behind it where she was safe, and stepped out to separate the fighters. ‘Come on now, gents, not in my bar.’ Between him and Sam Wrightson they pulled Jed away from the man, and the other dam-workers got their friend under control, with much jeering and shouting.

‘It’s all right, John,’ Jed said. ‘I’ve no wish to wreck your bar. Just want to keep Maggie safe, is all. Come on, Maggie. I’ll take you home. We’ll not be back here again unless John bans those navvies. Come on, lass.’ He put a protective arm around her shoulders as he led her out of the pub, to more jeering from the workmen.

As soon as they were outside and in the street Maggie turned to him and flung her arms around his neck. ‘Oh Jed, thank you! I shouldn’t have flirted, but he seemed nice to start with. And –’ she sighed and looked away for a moment before returning her gaze to his – ‘I suppose I thought if I made you jealous you’d take more notice of me. Well, that worked! But I hope you aren’t hurt?’

He peeled her off him, and flexed the fingers of his right hand. The knuckles were red and swollen. ‘No, I’m not hurt. Nothing that won’t heal, any road.’

She leaned in towards him, once more reaching up to put her arms around him, but he took a step backwards. ‘Maggie, don’t. I mean, I’ll walk you home, see you’re safe, but it doesn’t mean anything.’

She stepped away and glared at him. ‘Why did you fight for me, then?’

He shrugged. ‘I’d defend any woman against a thug like that.’

‘So I’m nothing special to you?’

‘You are a beautiful woman, a kind neighbour, and I am proud to call you my friend,’ he replied, speaking softly. He sighed. ‘You’re a good woman, Maggie Earnshaw. You’ll make someone a fine wife some day. But not me, Maggie. My heart belongs to Edie, and always will. I’m sorry.’

She drew in her breath sharply, and gave him a look that would sour milk. ‘There’s no need to walk me home,’ she said, turning away from him, her head held high. He watched her walking away, up the lane, towards her home on the edge of the village. He followed at a discreet distance, in case any of the men came out of the pub, until he saw her enter the door of her cottage. With a sigh he walked back to his own home, avoiding passing the pub. With luck, Teesdale would ban the dam-workers and stick to custom from the village. It had always been enough for him in the past. But the past was gone, and everything was changing now.

Chapter 5

LAURA

Stella answered the phone after just a couple of rings.

‘Hello? Mrs Braithwaite speaking,’ she said, and as always Laura was mildly amused by the posh-sounding ‘telephone voice’ Gran always put on when answering the phone.

‘Gran, it’s me, Laura. I’m at Brackendale Green now, and it’s just like you saw on the TV – you can walk right across the lake-bed and in and out of the old buildings.’

‘Oh my goodness! How very strange!’

‘It’s a shame you aren’t here too. Perhaps I should have brought you.’

‘Oh no, dear. I’m too old to be gallivanting all the way up to the Lake District. My holidaying days are over. So, tell me, what can you see?’

‘Well, right now, I’m standing on a little stone bridge that looks like it used to be at the end of the main village street.’ Laura glanced at Tom who was listening in, smiling broadly. She decided not to mention to Gran that she was with someone. Gran would only try to matchmake. She’d said many times that Laura was too lovely a girl to be on her own for long and that it was time she started dating again, or ‘stepping out’ as Gran put it.

‘I remember that bridge. It was very near my father’s workshop.’

‘Really?’ Laura looked back towards the village, trying to visualise how it might have been. She realised she did not know anything about Stella’s father, her great-grandfather. ‘What kind of workshop? What did he do for a living?’

‘He was a mechanic,’ Gran replied, her tone low and wistful. ‘He had a workshop where he mended people’s cars, tractors, generators, anything, really. Bicycles, too.’

‘I suppose he had to move his business when the village was abandoned,’ Laura said. There was a silence at the other end of the phone, and a little gasp, as though Stella was stifling a sob. ‘Gran? Are you all right?’

‘Yes, dear, of course I am. Never mind your silly old gran. It’s just bringing back memories, you being there.’

‘Which house did you live in? Can you direct me to it, from the bridge?’ Tom perked up at this question. Laura knew he was longing for her to ask if Gran had known his ancestor Maggie Earnshaw.

‘Well now, let’s see if I can remember. If you walk into the village, on the left there were three cottages, then a gap. Then opposite that gap was a huge tree. An oak. That wouldn’t be there now, would it?’

Laura walked along the village’s main street, counting those first three cottage ruins. ‘There’s a tree stump, Gran.’

‘Oh yes, they did chop all the trees down, I remember now. Next to the tree there’s a building – that was my father’s workshop. And our cottage was right behind it, with the door opening onto Church Street. Opposite but a bit up the road to the right of our front door was the pub – the Lost Sheep. Pa often used to go in there of an evening.’

‘Leaving your mother looking after you?’

‘Yes, me and . . . well. Until Ma died. She died when I was ten, you know. Not long before the dam was built. Pa was glad she never had to see the village being demolished.’

Laura suddenly realised how little she knew of her grandmother’s early life. But now wasn’t the time to go into all of it. She had followed Stella’s directions and was now standing in front of the remains of Gran’s cottage. ‘Well, I’m here now. The walls of your cottage are about waist-high – the top parts have been demolished. There’s a window to the left of the door. I’m going in . . . there’s a fireplace opposite, quite large, like an inglenook fireplace. There’s . . .’

‘I wonder if they can find it?’ Gran’s voice sounded faint and tremulous.

‘Find what? And who do you mean by “they”?’ Laura asked.

‘It might still be there. After all this time. Too late, of course, but perhaps they can get it . . .’

‘Gran? Are you all right? Get what?’

‘The box. It might still be there, after all this time.’

‘What box? Where?’

‘Oh, the old tea caddy. It’s probably not still there. Not after being underwater all this time.’ Gran gave a huge sigh, and when she spoke again she sounded more like her usual self, to Laura’s relief. ‘Don’t mind me, Laura. I’m just a silly old woman, talking about a silly old thing that used to be in the cottage.’

‘Well, there’s nothing here now,’ Laura said, looking around her at the interior of the cottage. ‘Just some rubble, dried-out mud, a bit of driftwood. I’ll take some photos, then when I’m home we can look through them, if you’d like.’

‘Yes, that would be lovely, dear. Well, I’ll let you go now and you enjoy your holiday. I’ve got Sophia coming tonight to help me get ready for bed, so don’t you worry about me at all.’

‘Sophia’s lovely. I’m glad they’ve assigned her to you. I’ll ring again tomorrow.’

‘No need to ring every day, love. I’m perfectly all right.’

‘OK Gran, I won’t. Bye then. Love you.’

As she ended the call, Tom stepped forward into the cottage. He’d been hanging back, presumably so he didn’t overhear all of her conversation. He looked at her questioningly. ‘Was this where your grandmother lived?’

‘Yes, from what she said, she lived here. The building behind was her father’s workshop. And that one over there,’ Laura pointed out of the door, ‘was the pub. The Lost Sheep, it was called.’

‘Yes, I’ve seen some old photos of it. Had your gran ever heard of any Earnshaws?’

Laura shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t ask. I’ll ring her again tomorrow. Thing is, she was acting a little strangely so I didn’t want to bombard her with too many questions. It must be so weird for her, knowing that people are walking around the village, and in and out of her old home, for the first time in so many years.’ She decided not to mention Stella’s ramblings about a tea caddy.

Suddenly, Laura felt overheated and a little dizzy. The sun had been beating down on her head for hours, and there was no shelter out here in the middle of the lake. She sat on a low part of one of the cottage walls, pulled out a water bottle and drank, realising she was probably a little dehydrated.

‘You OK?’ Tom asked.

‘Too hot. I think I need to get into some shade.’

‘Come on. There are trees beside the car park. Do you have a hat you can put on, to keep the sun off your head?’

‘Yep. Back in my tent,’ Laura replied, with a rueful smile at him.

Tom shook his head in mock exasperation, then held out a hand to haul her to her feet. She took it gratefully. Unlike her own, hot, dry hand, his felt strong and cool.

‘Steady now,’ he said, as she stumbled slightly, her head spinning. He caught hold of her upper arms and held her until she got her balance.

‘Sorry. I’m all right now. Best get into that shade, though.’

He let go of her, but walked close beside her all the way back across the lake-bed to the car park. She noticed him taking little worried glances at her, and was grateful for his concern. She’d been stupid not to wear a hat. It might be September but the sun was still so strong.

At last they reached the car park, and found a bench hewn out of a tree trunk that was under the shade of a spreading oak, rather like the one Laura had pitched her tent beneath. She sat down, immediately feeling better now that she was in shade.

‘Can’t believe how hot it is, this late in the summer,’ Tom said.

She nodded. ‘I’m beginning to regret having walked here from the campsite. Obviously I’m not as fit as I’d thought.’

‘You walked?’ Tom looked back towards the Old Corpse Road. ‘I drove. I’d planned to have a quick look at Brackendale and then go for a walk up that ridge there, that leads onto Bracken Fell. But now I’m thinking I should drive you back to the campsite. That’s my car, over there.’ He pointed at an elderly, beaten-up estate car. ‘Come on. Let’s take you back to the campsite for a rest and get some liquid into you.’

It was a very tempting offer. Laura looked at him gratefully. She might have only just met the man but there was something about him that she liked. ‘Are you sure? I don’t want you to miss out on your walk.’

‘It’s too hot, anyway. I can do it some other day – I’m here all week.’ He stood, rummaged in a pocket for his car keys and clicked the unlock button. The car’s indicators flashed in response, and he crossed the car park to it and opened all the doors. ‘Wait a minute until some air’s blown through.’

The car was still stiflingly hot when Laura got in, but once they’d got going, with the windows wound right down, it cooled quickly. ‘Sorry the air conditioning doesn’t work,’ Tom said, as they drove past the dried-up lake. ‘Hey, in a minute we’ll pass the dam. Want to stop for a moment and take a look? I’ve a spare hat in here somewhere you can wear to keep the sun off.’

‘Sure, I’d love to see it,’ Laura replied. She was feeling better already from the breeze through the car and the water she’d drunk. A few moments later, Tom pulled into a small car park beside the dam. He rummaged around in the clutter strewn across the back seat of the car and retrieved a baseball cap, which proudly displayed the Munster Rugby club logo. ‘Sorry, best I can do, but it’ll help.’

‘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.