Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

Mr. Mackay was not one to bandy words. Drawing himself up to his sparse height, he spread the documents on

his desk, tapping a neatly manicured finger on a map diagram. 'Then look for yourself, sir. My records are

undeniable!'

Mr. Braithwaite pored over Mr. Mackay's map, showering it with dandruff as he scratched his hair in

bemusement. 'Well I never, well I never, my, er, calculations were wrong, it, er, seems. I defer to your technical

knowledge, sir. I, er, must consult you more often, in my, er, historical location studies. If I, er, may make so bold as

to, er, suggest such a thing.'

'Of course you may, sir!' replied Mackay in his clipped, precise manner. He rolled the papers back into a scroll.

Mrs. Winn liked her lawyer, despite his somewhat pompous attitude, and could see his interest was aroused by

the search. 'Would you care to take a look at the site, Mr. Mackay? We'd be glad of your expert opinion.'

A faint smile appeared on the lawyer's face. 'An intriguing invitation, marm. I accept!'

The old lady turned to Mr. Braithwaite. 'We'd value your help if you'd like to come, too, sir.'

Scratching his head and pointing to himself, the old scholar grinned like a schoolboy. 'Who . . . er, me? Oh, I

say, rather, lead on, er, good lady, lead on, er, please do!'

It was a curious team that trooped out of the solicitor's office, heading toward Chapelvale Station. Obadiah

Smithers and his wife, Clarissa, had emerged from their carriage in the village square, she intent on shopping and he

intending to go to Mr. Mackay's office. Seeing the lawyer piling into Will Drum-mond's cart with the others, Smithers

hastened across to him, waving the latest compulsory purchase notice, whilst holding on to his top hat.

'Hold up there, Mackay. Where the deuce d'you think you're going? I was just about to consult you!'

Mr. Mackay did not like Smithers. He considered the fellow an overbearing bully, and he stared officiously

down from the gig at him. 'Consult me without a prior appointment, sir? I'm afraid it's out of the question. I've got

other business!'

Smithers waved the order. 'But what about this, it arrived in this morning's mail. I want it to be pinned up in the

square.'

Mr. Mackay glared at Smithers over the top of his pince-nez. 'Then fix it up yourself, sir, you look capable

enough. There's a nail and a post for the purpose. You can either leave the present order up, or tear it down to make

room for the new one. As you can see, I have other matters to attend, I bid you good day. Drive on, please, Mr.

Drummond!'

Smithers was left standing red-faced and at a loss for words as the gig pulled off smartly. Mrs. Winn and Eileen

stifled laughter with their kerchiefs. Not so with the other occupants of the dairy cart, they guffawed aloud.

'Well, that put him in his place, eh. Hahahaha!'

'Aye, did you see the face on him, like a beetroot!'

'Look, he's still standing there waving his silly paper. Hahaha!'

Mr. Mackay did not join in the merriment. Polishing his pince-nez, he blinked sternly at his traveling

companions. 'I would have liked to see the contents of that order. I fear it will be no laughing matter for Chapelvale,

or you, Miz Winn. We must take a look at it on our return!'

They took the road past the station and over the level crossing. Ned passed a thought to his master as he allowed

Amy to stroke him. 'Whatever we're looking for, bet I'm the one who finds it. By the way, what exactly are we

looking for?'

The boy answered. 'I don't know, Ned. It's a large, overgrown area near the station we'll have to cover probably.

With an old, carved piece of stick as our only clue. We'll need the help of a good sniffer.'

Will halted Delia at Mr. Mackay's command, on what appeared to be a piece of common land, about twenty

yards away from the railway tracks. Jon and Will spread the old map from the farmhouse cottage alongside the

railway property map that Mr. Mackay and Mr. Braithwaite were studying. Eileen, who had left her baby at home

with Will's ma, sat in the gig watching the two boys, while Amy and the black Lab ranged out across the

gorse-covered area. Mr. Mackay pointed to a corner of his boundary map.

'You see, here is the boundary line of the railway property. It ends ten feet away, where Will halted the gig on

that bit of disused path. So this is all common land.'

Mr. Braithwaite looked from one map to the other. 'Hmmm, this has got to be the, er, place, very good! See the,

er, tree, in the same place on both, er, maps, yes.'

Jon pointed to the only tree left standing, on the far side of the common. 'What, do you mean that one?'

Mr. Mackay shook his head doubtfully. 'Your map is dated 1661. Surely that scruffy old tree hasn't been there

that long?'

Braithwaite was glad to prove himself, not only as a history scholar but as a botanist. 'I, er, must take issue with

you on that, sir. Er. Let us take a look at this, hmm, tree.'

They trooped over to where Ben and his friends were standing beneath the tree. It was a twisted and venerable

old specimen with a huge, untidy crown of thin leaves that sported red berries. The trunk, a gnarled column, was very

thick, seeming to consist of several thinner trunks welded together by age.

Jon instinctively knew what it was. 'This is a yew, there's two growin' back o' the almshouse.'

Mr. Braithwaite became very schoolmasterish, wagging a finger at the young people as he lectured them. 'Quite

right. Taxus baccata, the common English yew, specimens have been recorded of up to one thousand years old. The

branches of this old tree may have provided the wood for English longbows to fight the French at the Battle of

Agincourt. Jon, hand me that carved piece of wood and your clasp knife, please.'

Mr. Braithwaite scraped away at the uncarved side of the wooden stick until clean wood showed, then he