The Fifth Identity. Ray CW Scott
Читать онлайн книгу.
of the village here, or a nearby one, or they may have used another church - sometimes people tend to fall out with the local vicar.”
“So, for the present, I’m stuck.”
“Not necessarily, have you tried the local pub?”
“The pub?”
“The usual fount of information,” Tampion grinned. “You may find someone at the watering hole who still remembers them - though it may cost you!”
“A good thought,” Seymour held out his hand and Tampion shook it. “I could do with a pint.”
Seymour entered the Harrow public house, looked around him and then headed for the bar. The landlord raised his hand in greeting.
“Morning, sir, what can I get for you?”
“Pint . . bitter,” replied Seymour and waited while it was poured.
“Stranger in these parts?”
“Yes, I’m looking for some old family members,” rejoined Seymour, continuing the tack he had commenced with the local churchman. “I’ve been conducting some family research and this village came up, together with Sedrup…!” he added, having already noticed the name on signposts pointing in a north westerly direction.
“Family eh?” the landlord placed the pint pot on the bar. “What families were you chasing up?”
“Accrington, and Havering,” answered Seymour, extracting his note book from his pocket and flicking over the pages. “Long time since my family members were here though, last heard of in the 1920s.”
“Hmmm!” the landlord pursed his lips. “Long before my time, I’ve only been here since 1990, I came from Aylesbury originally so I can’t assist you. There may be some who can, old Josh Wilkins has been living here all his life, as has Sam Cuddeston. They still come in here some nights; maybe they can help you. They usually come in on Saturday nights, all the local dart and domino players come in then. I reckon they would have been living here then, they were born just after First World War.”
“What about the others,” Seymour indicated the few customers who were in the saloon.
“Nah!” the landlord shook his head. “Some of these are strangers, just passing through like you are. I know the others, they’ve been here a few years, maybe a few decades, but nothing like the 1920’s. I’d say Josh Wilkins and Sam Cuddeston are your best bet for anyone that far back.”
“Saturday nights, you say?”
“Never miss.”
“OK. Thanks for your help.”
Chapter 5
“So we’ve still got nowhere?” grunted Fillery as he perused the report that Seymour had prepared that morning. “The church registers tell us nothing, you say the register containing the year in question isn’t in the church.”
“No, it’s in the Council Offices at Buckingham.” Seymour referred to his notes. “Apparently that’s now standard procedure, though it seems the local incumbent slipped up, he was still holding one register he should have forwarded on.”
“Why do they have to do that?”
“Safety reasons,” said Seymour. “It’s to guard against fire, though I gather the main reason nowadays is fear of vandalism.”
“A reflection of the times we live in,” grunted Fillery. “Did you go to Buckingham?”
“No, I thought I’d report to you first, in any case, I wasn’t quite sure how to attack it from that point, genealogical research in a genealogical establishment is new to me.”
“Well, it should be much the same as anything else, similar to delving into police records and the like,” said Fillery. “When will you do that?”
“Well I thought I’d try and waylay these two old timers in the village, they may remember something about the two families. According to the landlord they were living in the village at that time, albeit as youngsters, but they may remember something that will assist us.”
“A few drinks may refresh their memories,” Fillery said with a smile. “OK. Best of luck with it. I’ll give Norman Ruddock a call and tell him what we’ve done so far.”
Seymour decided to make a full weekend of it, he booked a room at the hotel for the Saturday night and took his wife down with him. They arrived early on the Saturday morning and were shown to the room by the landlord.
“This looks good,” commented Andrea Seymour as she surveyed the gleaming white painted decor and the old style furniture. She went to the window and looked at the view of the main road and the car park below.
“Even better when the company is paying for it,” remarked Seymour, coming up behind her. “You look pretty good yourself.”
“Clearly you’re after something,” she sniffed, but showed no inclination to move away. “So it wasn’t me you were thinking of when you suggested I came as well.”
“Don’t you kid yourself!”
They had a good lunch at the hotel and then spent most of the afternoon and early evening touring around the local neighbourhood, visiting nearby villages and all the old buildings and churches. Seymour was astonished at how much history there was in the local area, the church at Sedrup was apparently built around 1273, and Bishopstone, as Bissopeston, was mentioned in manorial rolls in 1227. The day was good, there was a brief flurry of rain in mid afternoon, but it soon cleared and the sunshine was hot for the rest of their excursion. They returned to the hotel, and decided to have dinner there.
“How do you want to arrange it?” asked Andrea.
“Not too sure, according to my conversation with the landlord last week these two usually arrive round about 7.00 pm and spend the rest of the night here reminiscing, or playing dominoes or whatever. It’s a question of whether we have dinner first, or after, I don’t want to leave you sitting at the table on your own while I try and extract information from them.”
“I’d say try and find them first, and don’t rush it,” said Andrea. “I’ve had a good day, and I’ve probably over eaten anyway. Do what you have to do, and when you’ve finished come back up here and we can sort out whether or not we need a meal later.”
Seymour thought about it, and realised she was talking sense. If he had to rush the interview with the two old villagers he could miss something of importance. He knew Andrea was perfectly happy to be on this trip with him. She wasn’t demanding his total attention throughout the trip, as a professional herself she knew he had to get his job done.
So it was about 7 o’clock when Seymour presented himself down below in the bar, the landlord indicated an old man sitting in the corner near the fire.
“That’s Josh Wilkins,” he said. “Sam Cuddeston isn’t with us tonight, he only came out of hospital this morning, I’m sorry about that, I didn’t know myself until a few minutes ago.”
“Hospital?” Seymour was alarmed. “What’s been the trouble?”
“Trouble he’s had for years, his son finally persuaded him to do something about his knee, he was tired of him groaning with pain every step he took and wandering around with a crutch and complaining all the time. Sam had a knee reconstruction, or whatever they do down there these days, something to do with his cartilage. I knew he was intending to have the job done, apparently it was put forward to this week.”
“Well, if they’ve done the job properly he’ll never regret it,” commented Seymour. “I crocked mine playing Rugby, it gave me hell for some years. After I had the operation I’ve never felt better.”
“I’ll give his son a ring later, ” said the landlord. “As far as Josh is concerned, he knows you want a word with him. I haven’t said exactly