“It sounds like quite a job to keep up with it all,” Ralph said. “I really appreciate the chance to look at what they recovered at Sherracombe.”
“We’re on our way, Dr. Franks,” Michelle said into the handset. “Sorry we’re a bit late, but our visitors have only just arrived. We’ll be with you right away.”
Michelle led them through a maze of corridors and up seemingly never-ending flights of marble steps to a well-lit vaulted area. Ralph usually found that museums induced a sort of torpor as exhibit after exhibit passed in front of his gaze. Perhaps it was because today he had a special interest, he found that he was completely alert.
Michelle made the brief introductions, then made her excuses and left. Dr. Franks was tall, with angular features. He wore expensive brown leather shoes; cavalry twill flannels, and the obligatory tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. He practically beamed as he approached a glass case full of engraved silver plates, gold ornaments and a box with gold coins arranged to look as though they were ready to cascade out onto the floor.
“I find that visitors are generally much more interested in how much everything is worth and who found them than in their cultural significance,” he told them.
Ralph wondered if Doctor Franks threw him in with the general lot and presumed that he did. He didn’t mind. His studies at Cambridge had taken him further down the academic path to understanding history more than he cared to remember. He was happy with the quick tour and Doctor Franks did not disappoint.
“The Mildenhall Treasure. Imagine a snowy bitter cold winters’ day in East Anglia. Suffolk.” He turned to look at his audience. “It’s near Newmarket, the horse racing centre?” Ralph nodded. It seemed to be the required response. No doubt the hordes of school kids and tour groups had conditioned the curator to pitch to the lowest common denominator.
“It’s 1942 and the planes are taking off from the RAF station nearby. Sydney Ford had a business renting out farming equipment and he had been asked to plough 4 acres of land for planting sugar beet.”
Too much detail, thought Ralph. If he took that long getting to the point his students would be reaching for their mobile phones and texting their pals.
“Gordon Butcher, a local man, agreed to do some of the ploughing. At the end of a row, he got off the tractor and went to have a look when he saw a silver plate sticking out of the soil.” He pointed to a magnificent trophy that shone even in the bright lights of the display case.
“The piece you see now was at that time covered in blue and green mold. It had been buried since the 4th century AD.” He smiled. Not quite condescendingly, but close, thought Ralph. ”This is only a small sample of the treasure found there, of course. There were also spoons, platters and bowls. You can see that the Romano-British were no strangers to fine dining.” He smiled again.
“I don’t believe that the find was exhibited until after the war,” Cynthia interjected. Doctor Franks took it as his queue.
“Correct. It was a few years later that an archaeologist by the name of Doctor Hugh Fawcett was visiting Ford at his farm when he saw one of the spoons. Ford admitted that he and a friend had found some bits and pieces. Dr. Fawcett advised Ford to tell the authorities about the find. There was an enquiry, but because four years had elapsed since the original discovery, Ford and his friend Butcher were only given a thousand pounds. The Museum valued the find at around 2 million at the time, and today it would be closer to 5.”
“I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for poor Ford and his friend,” said Ralph.
“Nowadays people are a lot better informed,” Doctor Franks pointed out. “Doctor Willows mentioned that you were interested in the Sherracombe Find; that’s Exhibit 23. Over here.” He led them to another case. “You can see that it’s also made up of gold and silver.”
“Valued at a lot less than the Mildenhall Find,” said Ralph.
“Yes, so far, but we think that there’s more to be found. The unfortunate circumstances surrounding the site have rather put things on hold.”
“You mean finding a body so close to the place where the two men with the metal detectors found the hoard, “said Cynthia. “It was in the local papers.”
“Yes. The media have a tendency to exaggerate these things. I would have thought the people who use metal detectors would have learned from what happened at the Hoxne Hoard. We have it over here. November 1992. Suffolk again. A local farmer lost a hammer and asked a friend who had a metal detector to help find it. They found over 15,000 gold coins and a large number of silver platters stacked in what we think were Yew and Cherry tree boxes; again 300 to 400 AD. Valentinian and Honorius; the gold coins I mean.”
“So your guess is that there’s more at Sherracombe Ford?” Asked Ralph.
“I never guess, Professor Chalmers, and I suspect it’s not something that you would condone.” Ralph took it as an attempt at a compliment.
“At this point it’s merely conjecture, but yes, I do think that there could be more finds at the site. Once the police have concluded their investigations and a decent time interval has elapsed, the dig will resume. There could be as much as four times the one million value that we placed on the present find still there. However, should any more be found, then any reward would probably go to the National Trust or to the Parks Authority. No individual would gain from any further discoveries.”
Having thanked Dr. Franks, they made their way out into the fresh air. London was at its best; they strolled over to a nearby park and sat in the sun and listened to the drone of the traffic
