‘Nope!’ Roy suddenly yelled, placing the lid down on his box. ‘Next!’
Susan looked doubtfully at Morton. ‘Last one.’ She picked it up and handed it to her father.
Morton began to feel his father slipping away from him, as the three of them continued to search in silence.
‘Aha!’ Susan murmured. ‘This box could be interesting.’
Morton placed the papers in his hand to one side and looked over at Susan.
‘These,’ she said, holding up a bundle of documents bound by an elastic band, as she continued to rummage in the box ‘are tax records for the guesthouse. It’s all official stuff and nothing about the people who stayed there, but…’ – she stopped talking and pulled out a thin red book with gold lettering on the front—‘guest books!’
Morton felt like something had just attached itself to his lungs and sucked out his breath. Could it be?
He watched and waited.
Susan placed the bundle of tax documents down and turned to the first page. ‘1976, it starts.’ She placed the book down and took another similarly sized one from the box. ‘1974!’ she practically shouted, flicking through the pages. She suddenly stopped. ‘You should do it.’ She passed the book to Morton with an anxious look on her face.
The clamping vice on his stomach returned.
This was it.
Susan and Roy watched as Morton slowly opened the guestbook and turned to the first pages. If the online conception calculator was correct, then they would have stayed in Folkestone between 2nd January and 10th January.
Each page of the guestbook was neatly arranged in columns, allowing five entries per page. The first entry was dated 5th January 1974.
‘Well?’ Roy barked.
Morton nodded. ‘I think I’ve found them.’
Slowly—painfully slowly—Morton read across the entry. ‘Saturday 5th January 1974. Roscoe, Velda and Harley Jacklin. Boston, USA. Had a fantastic time in England. Beautiful house. Beautiful town.’
‘So that’s them?’ Susan asked.
Morton studied the entry, written in his grandfather’s handwriting, with disbelief.
Harley Jacklin, known as Jack: his father.
Twenty minutes later, Morton was walking back to his car clutching the guestbook. He had sought permission to photograph it, but Roy and Susan had been in agreement that he could take the book on a permanent loan.
He was in a trance, his mind overcome with what he would do next. He dismissed the urge to begin researching his biological father right now on his mobile, preferring to be in his study where he could be meticulous and thorough. Now was not the time to make silly mistakes by rushing. He had waited this long, another couple of hours wouldn’t make any difference.
He remembered then that his adopted father had twice tried to call. Morton wasn’t in the mood to speak him, not now. He pulled out his phone and switched it off silent mode.
Sixteen missed calls. All from his dad.
With a reluctant sigh, he dialled him back.
‘Hello?’ It was Madge. Great.
‘Hi, it’s Morton,’ he said, not quite able to disguise his annoyance.
‘Oh, hello, Morton,’ Madge uttered. She sounded upset. ‘I’ve got some terrible news. It’s your dad—I’m sorry to tell you this over the phone, but he died this morning.’
Historical Information
As mentioned in the Author’s Note, this novel is set in a real place and a real time. The description of how The America Ground came to be is accurate; hundreds of years of storms silted up Hastings Harbour, creating a piece of land that Hastings Corporation initially felt to be outside of its jurisdiction. Rope-makers moved onto the site, making use of the great expanses of desolate land on which to lay out their ropes. Needing somewhere to stay during inclement weather, the hulks of condemned vessels began to appear on the land. At this time, building developments were springing up in Hastings and the foundations of the new seaside town of St Leonards were being built. This led to a great influx of labourers looking for cheap accommodation; by 1822 plots of land were being snatched up along the ropewalks of the Priory Ground. Buildings of brick, stone and timber were erected, alongside more humble shacks. By the mid 1820s, there were around 195 houses and businesses on the land, home to over one thousand people. Among the butchers, bakers, slaughterhouses and rope-makers, was a gin palace called the Black Horse, run by a man named Daniel Thomas.
At some point in the 1820s, attempts were made to exert control over the lawless occupants of the Priory Ground, which were met with fierce resistance. The people of the Priory Ground reacted with hostility, hoisting the American Stars and Stripes and declaring themselves to be an independent state of America. From then on, the Priory Ground became known as the America Ground, with the occupants referring to themselves as Americans. This area of Hastings is still known by this name today.
The America Ground was hit several times by devastating storms, which pulled down several houses, but still undaunted, the Americans continued to reside there.
In 1826, matters came to a head when one of the Americans wanted to sell their house, but, being without any official documentation, was unable to do so, which led directly to an official inquest being conducted into the legal ownership of the America Ground.
On the 6th December 1827, an inquest was held at the George Hotel in Battle, where five commissioners were tasked with determining the rightful ownership of this land. It took the jury of twelve men one day to reach the decision that the America Ground belonged to the Crown.
Temporary, seven-year leases were issued to the Americans who, defiant to the end, largely refused to pay rents with only four leases being taken up. In November 1834 all occupants were served notices to leave.
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