| Chapter Twelve - The Black Bull |
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A few days after the completion of my new hand all had been made ready
with our craft. The troop carrying area had been converted to better
stow our haulage and Will had made what he felt were the necessary
adjustments to allow for a safe trip. I will not go through our trip and
subsequent arrival in any great detail as I feel that is more Wills
domain. Suffice to say we finally landed rather abruptly on the Cornish
coast on a deserted farmstead.
I wanted to meet my fathers accomplice alone as I felt his tongue might be looser to a more familiar face, with this in mind I set my pack on my back and walked into town. The twilight was silent around me save for the occasional cat yowl and dog bark. Times were hard on the coast with few people wanting to visit in a time of war, instead preferring to save their meagre money and be within running distance of shelter. I spotted The Black Bull from across the main square. At first glance it looked quite as I remembered it. A great white building in the coaching house style that will be familiar to any traveller in England. However on closer inspection the once immaculate building showed signs of disrepair, I hoped it had been a child's memories that had made it seem the place had changed. Yet I knew that the war coupled with the unwillingness of people to risk smuggling in recent times had done the damage. My eyes took in the sign which once had been brightly painted every year and had its metal blacked once a month as it now swung forlornly in the early evening wind, its painting chipped and peeling, its metal had begun to rust which made its hinges squeak. I sighed and pushed open the door, pleased to see that a fire still burned warmly within these four walls and also to see a face that though changed by age and worry still seemed familiar. The aging man greeted me as a stranger and gentleman. For awhile I played along until remarking that last time I had seen him he had given me a thick ear for breaking one of his windows with a ball. Fred's eyes lit up and his great bellowing laughter seemed to return to him along with his red cheeks, cheeky grin and darting eyes. He greeted me properly now including a clip round the ear for letting him act subservient to me. Quickly I told him of all that had happened and asked if he was still interested in free trade. At the mention of this he nodded gave one of his winks that as a child used to let me now that mischief was soon to be afoot. Beckoning me over to a grand fireplace set in the wall he reached up and grabbed the bull's head that hung there by its horns twisting one forward and one back, a grinding noise emanated from the bar and I grinned back at him as a section of the wall moved aside showing a gloomy staircase leading down. Fred bellowed for his wife to watch the bar and began to lead me down the stairs. Our footfalls sounded relatively quiet on the old wood of the steps, the damp darkness looming around us in the light from a fish-oil torch that Fred carried with him. Eventually we arrived at the bottom and I was surprised to find that echoing far off I could still hear the sea. Fred inserted a key in the lock of the door, which clicked open easily, Obviously some things were still deemed important enough to be kept well oiled. The door swung open and I saw a room my father must have seen a hundred times and yet on which I had never laid eyes. |
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