I hope that you have read Chapter 1 of my story. Today I am posting CHAPTER 2 for your enjoyment. In it Roddy sees the Lamby at a spring tide when it is completely covered by the Bristol Channel. That used to be a magnificent sight but unfortunately one that is denied to the residents of Rumney today because of the ugly degradation of that delicate landscape.
CHAPTER 2
(Copyright Robert F Heming, 2017)
A SMALL SAFE WORLD
Roddy ran as fast as he could up the steep stony path that led to a bridge over the railway. The cool air of yet another brilliant morning seared his throat and made it ache while his leg muscles burned in protest. Reaching the top of the rise, he stopped, lent forward and with hands on his knees gasped for breath. Slowly he then straightened up and, chest heaving, looked around him
Despite the chill air burning his throat, he could not help but let out a gasp of amazement at the silvered world that lay before him. A vast sheet of water obscured the once familiar green landscape. It lay unruffled by wind like an enormous mirror bounded by green sea banks to his left and extending in front of him to a hazy and distant blue-green horizon.
Just a short while earlier a sleep befuddled glance from his bedroom window had caught a flash of brightness and he immediately knew what it foretold. Overnight the great ocean to the west had pushed up the Channel flooding the low country, stopping the fast flowing rivers and covering the springy turf of his familiar playground. He had quickly bundled himself into yesterday’s clothes, hurried down the stairs, through the silent kitchen and out of the back door. At a fast jog he had run past the row of sleeping houses, down the Lane with its borders of trees to the stony gravel path that led up to the bridge that crossed the railway. Now he stood quietly, entranced by the great shimmering sheet of seawater that had overtaken the normally dry land.
He always loved the view from the bridge over the railway as it was the best vantage point for several miles around and one could take in the full extent of his small yet unbounded child-world. All of the territory that comprised the play world of he and his friends was visible from that place. Looking south the view was usually of what to his child-like eyes, was a vast expanse of grass alongside the river and running out to the Channel coast. When free of exceptionally high tides such as the one on this morning, it was a flat land covered by short tough salt grass, broken by occasional shallow ponds left by the turf cutters and intersected by short muddy creeks that flowed into the River. In summer one could roam uninterrupted under the cry of the gulls and the frantic rise and fall of lark song.
To the left the sea-washed grass was bounded by a bank, which worked its way in a series of east-stepping jogs to the great sea bank that ran along the Channel. Today’s Spring tide was huge and the normally grassy flat land was completely inundated by the seemingly endless silvered sheet of water that lapped against the bank. It was a sight that never failed to awe and astonish. When the sea retreated it left a line of wrack and flotsam along the bank that had been washed down flooded rivers and jetsam from the ships that hooted their mournful way up the Channel during the frequent fogs. This strand of marooned wrack would slowly fade into the sea grass until months later the next series of exceptional tides would give new definition to the ghostly line.
In winter the expanse of sea-washed grass could feel as cold and lonely as the Russian steppes that he had read of in books, and the often gale-force winds would scream and moan across its emptiness without any interruption and cut through all but the heaviest of winter coats. Yet, on a warm windless sunny summer’s day one could lie on the short springy turf, gaze at the blue sky and imagine that you were the only person for miles and miles. People in the Village called this place the Lamby, an unusual name whose origin was unknown to the normally inquisitive minds of he and his friends.
Behind the sea bank lay fields, each bordered by shallow reens, or ditches that were full of reeds and teeming with wonderful birds that built their nests by weaving grasses around the reed stems and where, if you kept very still, you would be rewarded by the startling iridescent flash of a kingfisher.
This was tempting but dangerous country ruled by angry farmers who shouted loud warnings at occasional exploring parties. Yet the enticement of that fascinating land, with its thick hedgerows and reed thick reens, was strong. The hedges between fields were laced with hawthorn and fragrant with the smell of blossom in May and always full of birds. In July they were enveloped in the pungent aroma of drying hay. If you stayed very still and quiet by the hedge, the hares and the rabbits felt safe and would come out and graze in plain sight in front of your wonder-filled eyes. Snuffling field mice would rustle their way through the leaf litter and across the tracks left by shy nocturnal badgers. The small fields and many hedges and trees repulsed the winter gales off the Channel with a wonderful eerie moan that conjured visions of an empty primaeval world.
Home ground lay north of the railway in a narrow strip of fields with hedges punctuated by trees and an old flooded clay pit with a small island with its own thicket of reeds and bushes, inaccessible except to the bravest of adventurers with the skills and daring to build a raft. Bounded by the railway, a row of houses at the edge of the Village and the River, this rough triangle of fields was familiar and safe ground, just a short way from home, and yet mostly free of interfering adults. Farmers rarely came here except to take the annual crop or two of hay, but there were some “wild beasts” too, as cows and ponies would be pastured there from time to time.
So, this was the territory that he and his friends regarded as their own. It was their world, and within the wild, bramble ensnarled hedgerows, they made dens and held secret meetings. This was the land of children, where they could play and explore without adult hindrance, fight imaginary battles, pretend to be explorers, climb trees or play games of football on some clear piece of field. A small world made large and textured solely by their boundless imagination. Here were trees and bushes in which to play games such as hide and seek, chase and that wonderful game called sardines in which everyone had to find the hiding place of someone who was chosen as a good “hider”, and then squeeze in with them. A good game of sardines could last for hours during which the players lost track of time and became immersed in a world of childish joy until aroused as from a magic spell by the loud voice of some parent calling them in for tea.
The railway line that ran to the south of the fields provided another source of diversion. Along it ran hurrying passenger trains, including magnificent expresses pulled by shinning green locomotives, as well many slow moving goods trains. These would often clank to a stop and then reverse their wagons, complete with a guard’s van, into the sidings on the far side of the railway adjacent to the river and the saltings. Roddy and his friends would sometimes sneak into a parked guards van, sit on the leather benches, and smell the mix of wood, leather and coal ash from the small stove in the corner and wonder what it was like for the lonely guards to sit here for hours at the end of a train of clanking, jerking coal wagons.
Yet, while the railway was always a source of fascination, the greatest attraction lay in the fields and the hedgerows, and of all the games that were endlessly played, none were as totally absorbing as those connected to the building and improvement of dens.
Dens were special places known only to the gang and never to any adult. They could only be entered through narrow leafy tunnels, often in thick bramble and impossible for an adult to navigate, let alone see. Scouting for a good den location was a serious and lengthy task and it needed a good eye for selecting the right spot in a hedge where the width of the hedge and the thickness of the bushes were just right. An adjacent tree was also a requirement, as a good tree made an excellent lookout, and scanning for the approach of an “enemy”, whether child or adult, was an important part of gang life.
Roddy’s friends, the “Gang” had most of the necessary skills for selecting and building good dens. It comprised four boys, though occasionally others would join in their games. They all lived on the same short lane of identical houses and had known one another seemingly forever. No girls were members of the gang, though they were not excluded. All of the girls on the Lane were either very young or too old to be interested in dens and games, but once in a while a girl from another part of the Village would join in their play.
Each member of the Gang had some particular skill or strength that they would cultivate. Peter was an agile and fearless climber of trees. A favourite game of his was to select a row of trees and lead the boys on a game of “follow the leader” in which he would climb the first tree and then leap from tree to tree with the rest doing their best to follow. Peter had strength, agility and balance as well as the eye to select the best route. He would edge out on a branch with his hands on the branch above and then leap to the next tree using hands and feet to secure himself. None of the others was as good as he and could only follow with difficulty. Peter was also a very handy boy, perhaps because his father was a plumber, and he could make many things with his penknife, some string and scraps of wood. His self assurance made him a natural leader and the rest of the group looked to him to make decisions and to settle the many disputes that were a constant part of being a gang of boys, each with his own idea of how to go about things. Peter could do so many things better than the others that his opinion carried extra weight during the gang’s many discussions and arguments.
Clive was a good tree climber too, but his strength was all sports. He was a keen fan of football and he and his father kept a running record of all the teams with their scores and position in the league tables. Perhaps because of this he was also a very good football player and he could far outscore the others. In its season they would also play cricket and, more frequently, rounders. Clive excelled at these too. But Clive also brought a good dose of common sense to the boy’s activities. He was not one who killed attempts at fun but he would curb some of the more egregiously stupid ideas with just a few wise words, always delivered in a calm and moderate tone, so that the others actually paid attention.
Derec, Peter’s younger brother worshipped his sibling and would do almost anything that Peter asked. Almost, because infrequently and unexpectedly he would violently rebel against his elder brother’s dominance and the result was often a most spectacular, screaming fight, which always ended in Peter coming out on top.
The fourth member of the Gang stood on the bridge admiring the inundated landscape. Rhodri, whom his friends called Roddy, was the one who always came up with ideas about new adventures or how to make a better den. Although not as athletic as Clive and not as daring as Peter, especially when it came to climbing trees, he loved to explore and it was he who suggested long adventurous treks along the sea bank and through the farms behind it. Roddy loved books and his reading inspired many ideas for improving the den that he would try to get his playmates to adopt .
Together they were a more or less well behaved group of boys, not particularly tough or violent, except for the occasional angry scuffle. However, the films the gang liked to watch heavily influenced their view of themselves and, seeing the remarkable physicality of those actor/cowboys on the silver screen every Saturday morning, they began to believe that they too were capable of doing those same death-defying tricks. Leaping onto speeding horses looked so easy that every boy firmly believed that the only reason that they had never done so was the absence of any horses in their world. Pulling oneself up from a cliff edge using only the strength of ones arms and shoulders was surely within their grasp. This despite routine encounters with their comparative weakness as they climbed trees by hauling themselves up from branch to branch and finding that their skinny arms soon became so tired as to be incapable of any pulling whatsoever.
A valuable skill of a good gang member was that of scavenging. Once a suitable den site was found and the bushes hollowed out to form the den, it needed furnishing so that meetings could be held there in comfort. Some items were prized above all others; corrugated iron was a wonderful find as it was light and could be bent into many useful shapes and fitted inside the bushes to form a good waterproof roof. In that time, with the hangover of post-war shortages still looming, it was not easy to find, and anyone lucky enough to come across a piece was automatically raised to a high status.
Next best and more available was a piece of old carpet and any good den had to have one to lay over the dirt and stinging nettles that were the usual accompaniment of a good den site. After these two essentials were snaffled from some scrap heap or dank garage the key elements of comfort were satisfied. All other items were considered to be useful luxuries but important in impressing girls and boys from elsewhere in the Village who very occasionally roamed through the fields. Old chairs and boxes or even large blocks of wood were all good for seating and any decent den would have at least a couple of places to sit.
Beyond those few simple items the den was relatively unencumbered. Space was precious and a good well-hidden den was bound to be small and cramped as its main value was as a meeting place for the gang and a hideout from parents who might come wandering through the fields searching for their children at some inconvenient time. The value of a den was not so much practical as emotional. Children valued a secret place that only they knew about where they could hide from the adult world.
Not all of the Gang’s time was spent on building and maintaining a good den. Such a narrow focus could soon become boring so many types of games were played, especially those involving variants of hiding and seeking. For some reason, the ability to successfully hide from one’s friends and to move around stealthily was considered an admirable skill.
One of the best things was to go exploring along the foreshore and through the farmland behind the great sea bank. This was usually done in dry and sunny weather and involved long treks across fields and the navigating of dense hedgerows and the watery ditches or reens that divided the fields. On these treks they had to keep a wary eye for farmers who looked upon packs of wandering children as a threat to their livestock and property.
So within this small patch of fields bounded by sea and River, the four friends roamed almost without hindrance. They looked upon it as their world, free of the rules and restrictions of adults. Arguments were resolved without recourse to adult intervention and although there was some pushing and shoving at times, disputes did not last for long and the focus returned to play and adventure.
But as Roddy took in the compass of this world and reflected on its importance to himself and his friends, he was suddenly reminded of their recent discovery. Shocking though it was to comprehend, this small world was not just for them. Others, strangers, had now come into this familiar little triangular patch of fields and Roddy realized that perhaps the interlopers now looked upon this small space as theirs too and would not be disposed to act in a friendly way to he and his friends. He wondered how any encounters with them would end. Violently perhaps, with they result that they would be denied the freedom of this little patch of land. Would these strangers find their den and if they did would they destroy it.
Perhaps he would be able to answer some to those questions by the end of the day as this was the Saturday that he was to take the first watch on the fields and look out for the builders of the new den should they turn up. For now he had to go back home and get breakfast and then work out how soon he could get away for his lookout duty.
LAMBY MEMORIES 