The Headmasters Ritual.
Created | Updated Jun 1, 2007
Only a few flakes of snow where now left hanging in the air. The landscape on that dark December night was lightly covered with a dusting of snow. The moon was full, but seldom made an appearance through the thick white laden clouds.
The grounds of Woodgates Collage where al but empty now, the majority of the staff and pupils had returned home for the Christmas break. Inevitably a hand full of staff and students would remain in the school over the festive period. Most of them in forced exile was because they had nowhere else to go or the distance they lived away from the school was too distant to travel. For the pupils a boarding school even one as renowned as this could have the feeling of a prison, but at times such as this they were an admiral substitute for a home and family.
The snow had arrived on queue, for tonight was Christmas Eve. As tradition dictated the evening would be split into two parts. At six thirty whoever remained at the school would attend a carol service in the chapel, such an event would not be possible with only the residents of the school so the gates would be opened to the occupants of the local village. By making this gesture the congregation would swell the small chapel to almost its capacity.
Lessons were read out by the staff, carols sung by all. For some villages this was the highlight of the season, for the pupils and staff that pleasure was still to come.
The head of the school walked through the quadrangle en route to his official rooms. After giving the lesson on the virtues of the Christian church he had to prepare for the alternative sermon he would be conducting tonight.
As he walked around the quad he looked up at the sky. The clouds where big, white and heavy, brimming full of snow. It looked as though that this year he would see another white Christmas. As his head turned sideways something caught the corner of his eye. Someone was in the quad with him. Nothing unusual in that, on turning to look over his right shoulder he saw no one. Maybe it was one of the villages returning home after the carol service? Was his subconscious playing tricks on him, in his head had he had spent much time planning the evenings events, was it that causing his eyes to delude him?
As he entered the Holderness block he could not shake off the feeling that someone was following him. Again his imagination ran wildly across the bounds possibility.
The carriage clock which sat on the mantelpiece in the heads private study struck seven o’clock. Mr James the current head now back in the room sat in the red leather arm chair which resided in front of the roaring fire. The room was illuminated only by candle light giving it an atmosphere of wanton expectancy. On his desk sat five bottles, three wine, two sherry. Next to them where fifteen crystal glasses. Also adorning the desktop sat a large serving plate containing a pile of warm mince pies lightly dusted with a sprinkle of sugar mirroring the snowy scene outside.
As the clock finished striking seven James heard the door knob turn. The quiet tranquillity of the room was broken as a precession of students and staff alike marched into the room.
Mr James closed the book he had been reading and removed his half round reading spectacles as he saw his fellow boarders enter with a cherry smile on their faces. He instructed them all to help themselves to a drink and something to eat before taking a seat.
An excited rumble rippled around the younger members of the audience as they all took a mince pie each. Many blew them on the realisation of them being oven fresh. The general feeling in the room was light hearted and expectant. Once all the guests were assembled Mr James cleared his throat, like a conductor tapping hid baton on the rostrum the orchestra of voices fell silent.
“Good evening.” The headmasters whispering husky voice spoke as he surveyed the audience.
“Good evening Head master.” Came the reply from the gathered bodies sitting in a semi circle facing him and the fire.
The fire light danced off their faces casting all manner of irregular shadows across their faces.
“For those of you who have not been privy to a Christmas at Woodgates before it has become the tradition on the eve of the great Christian day that we all gather together here in this study to hear a ghost story, so tell me,” he was looking at the very youngest boys, “who would like to hear a ghostly tale?”
The tree first years present faced him to scared to speak. The only time previously they had been in his presence had been in the assembly hall. “Its ok boys I don’t byte you know”
His voice remained quiet and rough, but at the same time it held an element of trust and friendliness to it.
The boys all nodded excitedly ay the prospect of haring one of the heads now famous tales.
“Right then, tonight I’m going to tell you a tale about this very school.” He paused dramatically and waited for a reaction. “Did you know that the school was haunted?” his eyes stared at the boys faces. Of course all the masters knew of the story, but not the details. “Well, let me tell you how it came to be…”
James made a gesturing motion with his hand, moments later a scout appeared carrying a silver tray in his hand. On the tray sat an old silver goblet, in it red wine. The master’s old hand took it from the tray and thanked the scout as he placed it down on a small table next to the chair.
“This cup,” he began making a gesture toward it, “is old. In fact it’s the oldest thing in this room. Over the two hundred and fifty year history of the school this cup has been the property of who ever occupies this study. This is the Head masters cup, this cup is the bedrock on which the school stands, literally. No one but the headmaster is allowed to drink from this vestle. Those that have, well they all met an untimely death.
The cup was discovered by a student here in the year 1801. That’s over a hundred years a go now.” He told the younger members of his audience, intently listening to his every word. “The young man who found it was one of the most famous residents of the school ever, Nelson I. Cowes, later to become Commander Cowes of the HMS Victory. He stood alone side the great Admiral Lord Nelson as he fell.
Cowes was head boy here, Captain of the rugby and cricket teams, head prefect and academic. I the spare time he allowed himself he educated himself in the library, reading on the subject of archaeology. He showed a particular interest in local history and geology. In particular the small earth works under the ash tree in the grounds of the school ground…”
It was a cold winter’s morning as Nelson Cowes sat in the library. A collection of books surrounded him, several of them open at various pages. Two candles flickered light onto the dusty old pages which he constantly stared at. With it been winter the sun didn’t an appearance until well after breakfast. Nelson had risen early that day eager to continue with his mapping out of what he believed to be an Iron Age settlement here in the grounds of the school. This part of East Yorkshire was a hot bed of brachylogy waiting to be discovered just beneath the surface of the earth. Roman and bronze age settlements where prevalent from the north banks of the Humber Estuary all the way to and past York up to the Scottish border.
Many a morning or in the evening he could be seen with a tape measure laying on the ground and a pencil and pad in his hand. Eventually the morning came when his research was at an end and he could begin digging. Taking a spade and a flask with him he set off for the ash tree.
In his head he had pin pointed the exact spot where he would begin his excavations.
Pitting his bag containing a flask of tea down on the wet grass he took a look around before driving the blade of his spade into the soft earth.
His trench developed over the spare hour he had before breakfast. As he thought of finishing the shift the front edge of the blade rang with the sound of it hitting some solid surface. Tossing the spade aside a delved into his cloth bag and removed a trowel. Frantically he cleared the soft earth off what he soon discovered to be a stone wall. Had he found what he hoped was an Iron Age round house?
Sweat ran from his brow, the jumper he wore was now damp with perspiration.
The sun had risen, Nelson was late for breakfast. He collected his tools together and made back to the main school building. Before he disappeared over a hump in the undulating grounds he stopped and looked back. He had the strongest suspicion that he had left something behind at the dig. His spade was however in his left hand while in the right where the trowel and flask. Nothing else had he taken out of his bag, so what was it he was thinking of? Looking back, for a split second he though he caught sight of something near to the trench. Nothing was there though, of course no one was around at this time of the day, morning shadows that’s all it could have been.
“During that day,” continued James, “he sat through his lessons giving as much attention to his masters as he could spare. Latin was tedious, mathematics he enjoyed, Greek, he could not have given a damn, his attention was elsewhere even though it was Homer, Cowes favourite writer. Nelson loved the sea, often through his childhood he had longed for a life as exciting as that of Ulysses.
After lessons where over he took an oil lamp down to his trench and began to dig once more.”
The old paint brush removed the earth from the top of the stone wall. Crouching down Nelson held the lamp above a point of interest. Something glinted in the light.
Quickly he took his knife from his the back pocket of his trousers and opened the blade. His heart began to race as the blade carefully removed the soil from around the object. The find could only be one thing, small round and thin. Having cleared the top he gently levered it out with his knife.
A coin, it was a coin, real archaeology at last. To think, two thousand years ago people lived here and bartered with others, right here on this spot. The thought filled him with pride that he was the one to find this centuries old coin, the first person too touch it since it was used for the purpose it was made for.
Holding his find in the palm of his hand he held it up next to the lamp.
He could make out the following inscription…
AVD CAESAR AG MTR
Then on the reverse…
ROMA
Obviously this was Roman. The word Caesar made that easy enough to conclude, then his deduction was confirmed by the wording on the reverse face.
The coin was placed safely into his bag. How he longed to show the Masters his find, but at the same time he wanted to carry on with his work, wanting more and more finds.
After the euphoria of the coin nothing else came from the rest of the shift. Though the excavation of the wall made good progress no more finds on interest were apparent.
Mr James took a sip of wine from the silver cup. It warmed his throat as he swallowed. The wine was French he presumed and very nice. “That night Cowes showed the coin to the House tutor, a MR Jones. Jones immediately told the Head Master who then summoned Nelson to his study.”
The younger members of the audience nudged one another in realisation that the Head was speaking of this very room.
“The Head, a Mister Majester.”
Several of the Masters had a chuckle to themselves, the Latin Master included, he knew most of all that the translation of Majester is master, so Head Master Master?”
With a rye smile James Continued, “The Head showed a keen interest in the find, he himself had studied archaeology at Cambridge and was able to give Nelson some background information on the coin. Armed with the new information that it was of around 100BC and must defiantly be Roman he carried on with his excavations. His theory that the site was indeed the remains of an Iron Age round house still had validity. The Roman and Iron Ages overlapped one another.”
Nelsons fingers where frozen to the bone, the fingerless glove he wore gave little protection against the cold frosty evening. Every tiny stone which he knelt on would cause him agony, but still he carried on. This trench, the second was almost finished, after giving it a look over in the morning he could close it down and start another. As the trowel scraped away the loose soil from the bottom corner he paused for breath. His chest became tight and he was sweating. Kneeling over the top of the trench and tool in a long lung full of cold air. As he drew the sleeve of his jacket across his brow he became aware of someone watching him. Nelson didn’t want to turn around and look. Something was stopping him, nothing physical, but some kind of fear deep within him.
Trowel was still in hand, his grip tightened around the wooden handle as he readied himself to strike out if need be. Quickly he spun around, but could see no soul in the area. Still he remained a little uneasy as he knew that any intruder could easily conceal themselves in the undergrowth. Simultaneously jumping out of the trench and picking up the oil lamp he looked around for any sign of an observer. Something was out there he could hear it moving through in greenery.
Then he saw it, two points of light in among the trees, he froze for a moment, then breathed a sigh of relief as dear stepped out of the trees into the moonlight.
This incident was not the most chilling moment of the nights diggings, as he bent back down into the trench he heard a voice in his ear saying, “Go on” did he hear it or was it all in his head? Again he got to his feet ready with his hand tool for an attack.
All in Mr James presence listened a gasp. He paused for a second and picked up the cup from the table, taking a sip of wine he began to talk again, “He continued digging…”
With the last swipe of the trowel the unmistakable sound of metal hitting metal rang in his ears. The last action of a wholly barren day had found something. With great care he removed as much earth from around the object as possible the oil lamp was brought closer to shed light on whatever it was.
Whatever it was made of a dull silver metallic substance, as yet not enough was visible to make any approximation to what it was or from which period.
Nelson had to make a quick decision, should he leave it in situation to return in the morning for a more detailed examination or risk taking it out now and maybe coursing damage to the artefact.
Of course there was only one course of action to take. He covered it back over with earth, returning at first light when a more careful examination could be conducted.
It was an unusually scruffy Nelson who arrived at his first period of the next morning, mathematics.
Mr Hodgeson was renowned for having very little tolerance and even less sense of humour. He was a stickler for punctuality, “Punctuality should be as exact as mathematics” were his watch words, especially for his star pupils, Nelson included.
On sight of the young man untidy clothes and hair a tangled mess the master instantly returned him through the door he had just entered through. The rest of the class listened on straining to hear the conversation taking place outside in the corridor.
Hodgeson had just commenced the verbal barrage on Nelson when he suddenly stopped. To Nelsons point of view it was as though the Master had seen something over his own left shoulder. Then he realised as what had caused the sudden silence, he heard a familiar voice, “Is there a problem Mr Hodgeson?”
“Head Master, god morning.” Hodgeson was taken aback by the appearance of his superior, surprised almost. “It’s this young man here Head Master, his appearance is not expectable and he was a whole minute and a half late for the start of the period.”
The Head looked down on him, “Go and get cleaned up boy.”
Nelson quickly made off down the drafty corridor without a word of protest.
“Thank you Head master I…” Hodgeson was silenced by the Head Master who raised a hand signalling that he himself wished to speak.
“That young man,” he began. “could be the future of this school Hodgeson. He has brains and a willing mind.”
"But, Head Master, I thought I was too become head on your retirement?”
“My plans for that young man are longer term then short term, you will have your day.”
Nelson straightened his tie. As he looked at his own reflection in the washroom mirror the figure of the Head Master appeared also, “Well?” he asked.
“Pardon sir?” Nelson answered. The washroom was cold, he had washed in cold water and was now drying his hands on a cold damp towel.
“What have you found?”
“How do you know I’ve found something Sir?” Nelson neatly hung the towel up on the rail.
“You have always been the ideal pupil, never have you turned in late for a lesson and always well turned out. So today I see something has distracted you from your usual continuity.” He really was a wily old bird the Head Master, not much escaped his attention. “Run along now to your class, then I’ll see you in my study at lunch.”
The Head watched his young protégé walk off down the corridor then around the corner. Quickly he himself turned on his heels and made off towards his office.
Lunch time arrives, Nelson was first out of the class running quickly up to his room, collecting something wrapped in a rag and headed off toward the Head Masters office.
“Come.” Nelson heard the voice from the interior of the study. On hearing the command he opened the door and entered. The room was warm, a large fire was burning in the hearth and not only that, but an aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the air.
The Head Master was standing at the window, looking out onto the wintery scene outside. He turned to see nelson standing politely waiting for him to speak. In his hands he held a bundle of rags, “Come over here young man,” the Head made a bee line for his desk, a smile on his face and a spring in his step. On arrival he patted the desktop and said, “On here.”
Nelson slowly placed the object on the desk, but did not unwrap the object.
“May I?” asked the Head.
“Of course, you’re the expert.” Smiled Nelson
The smell of the tea came as a distraction to Nelson, he had not had tea for, well so long he could not recall. Nelson would never have helped himself to a cup and there would be no chance of the Head offering him a drink now his attention was fully taken.
The archaeologists’ fingers slowly and carefully unwrapped the layers of cloth. Fold after fold were removed until finally his eyes were rewarded with the sight of something metallic. A shiver ran up the back of his neck. Removing the last coverings he revealed the object. Instantly he could see what it was, a wine challis made of silver, solid silver.
As he stood it upright Nelson felt a cold draft rush across the room. He gave an involuntary shiver, but moments later the warmth of the room engulfed him once more.
For many a long moment the headmaster studied the cup, not once touching it. “Do you know what this is?” he asked the pupil.
“Some kind of drinking vessel sir, for someone of importance I would guess.”
“You know I think your right young Nelson.” Replied the Head. It was the first time he had taken his eyes off the cup as he looked up to the fresh faced youth looking down on him.
Again the Head studied the cup.
The cup stood around six inches high. The round base narrowed off to a slender stem before opening out into the main bowl. The easiest description of it would be to say that it was not dissimilar to a heavy wine glass.
Though the surface was dull silver discoloured over the many hundreds of years of it lying untouched in ground a row of indentations could clearly be seen. Were these dimples once the inlays for one or more precious stones adorning its surface and if was not mistaken the rim had been gilded in gold. “If I am not mistaken this is the drinking vessel of a high ranking member of the community, it is possible…” he paused for a moment, sat back in his chair and placed all ten finger tips together, “Royalty possibly?”
A moment passed as the words sank into Nelsons head, royalty that was what he had said, did the Iron Age people have royalty. They must have had a hierarchy. “Is it worth anything?” he asked tentatively.
“My dear boy, it’s priceless as far as I’m concerned.”
Nelson knew at that point a power struggle was approaching, would he ever set hands on the cup again? “So what are we going to do with it, send it to a museum?”
The Head shot a quizzical glance at the young man, “God no,” he laughed, “look, this belongs to you right?”
Nelson nodded.
“But,” the master began again, “it was found on the school grounds. Now the old myths tell stories of things such as this and the trouble they course when take away from their rightful place. I think this cup belongs to the school and it should stay here, where it was meant to be.”
What sort of things was the Head Master speaking of? Was he referring to legal battles with ownership rights or was the reference to something more macabre? It was at that point Nelson noticed that the Head master was gesturing toward the coat of arms above the fire place. He had never made the connection up to then, of course. At the centre of the shield was depicted a cup, silver encrusted with what looked like rubies. Maybe the Head was right the cup was meant to be here, judging by the arms then..? Now he was confused. How was the cup on the coat of arms so like the artefact he had excavated, how could it be almost the same?
The Head was also looking over the fire place, “Look,” he said turning as he spoke, “this find is yours, but if you agree to let the school keep hold of it we will come to an arrangement.”
When Nelson had left the room the
Head Master quickly found several reference books on Iron Age culture. He knew exactly what it what the cup was used for and it wasn’t anything like the explanation he had given to young Cowes.
It took only fifteen minutes to find the page he sort, thee it was in black and white, the cup was used as a ceremonial object, it was given to the human sacrifice for them to take their last drink on this earth, and should only be used for that purpose on pain of death.
With a small sigh Mr James took a breath, “and that is exactly what happened.
Nelson presented the cup to the school and it has remained on that very mantle ever since.” He made a gesture with a flick of the wrist towards the fire place. “Nelson had always wanted to follow in his fathers footsteps and join the Navy. So it agreed that the pay off for the cup was that when he returned from a life at sea Nelson I. Cowes would take up the position of Head Master of Wood Gates. It was an offer he could not refuse.
As the carriage drew up to the Iron Gates of the school, Nelson Cowes craned his neck eager to glimpse the first sight of his old school.
It would appear that nothing had changed either with the building or the grounds of the old establishment. It was precisely because of that fact that he had returned as soon as his papers had come though. The school may have not changed, but the world had. The life of Cowes had been ripped apart and turned on its head in the last year.
The year in question was 1806, five years had past since he past out of the very gates where the carriage had drawn up. In that fateful year England had lost one of her greatest heroes, the man he had fought along side, Admiral Lord Nelson.
During his short time under the ensign his career was one of excellence and swift promotion.
He rose through the ranks from Midshipman, Lieutenant and finally Commander. Because of the war against Napoleons Franco Spanish forces and the loss of many ships Cowes found himself aboard the flagship, HMS Victory. He was there that fateful day when the great naval battle was won, but the Admiral lost.
Cowes decided then and there as he looked down at the dying Admiral that he had seen enough.
The carriage came to a halt at the gate. After arranging with the driver the instructions for his baggage he proceeded into the grounds on foot. How he had mist this place in his years away. The earth was cold under his feet, the trees now bear of leaves, the route he took to the buildings was not a direct one, he detoured off into the wood. His memories where filled with great fondness for that day when he found the old cup.
His cup, that’s why he was back, it was a foolish notion for an educated man such as him, but he could almost hear the cup calling him back.
In the Head Masters study the current incumbent of the post, Hodgeson felt uneasy. The previous night had been a restless one. He could neither sleep nor relax, a constant tension ate away at his mind. His body twitched with uncontrollable spasms all through the night. That day he had not stepped out of the confines of his study. A fire burnt in the grate, though he was as cold as ice. A continuing buzz faded in and out of his ears. The sound he calculated was coming from the direction of the fire. He leant on his desk, both palms faced down on its leather topped surface. Slowly he looked at the flickering flames of the fire then up to the mantle piece. On it sat the inter house shield, a clock and in the centre the Iron Age cup. Carefully he cast his eyes over all three objects searching for any sign of where the noise could be coming from.
Then his attention was snapped back into the land of the living as he heard the sound of a carriages wheels coming from the quad outside. Straightening his robes he crossed over to the large window and looked out at the golden autumn day.
A carriage was exiting the school gates, but he could not see anyone in the quad. His eyes dared back and forth, but still no one came to light. As he turned away from the window he heard a crow yelp ad though calling out to some one, was it him? Again he turned and looked out of the window, but this time he did see some one approach.
The figure was a young man dressed in naval uniform, an officer no less. Hodgeson watched as the figure came closer and closer, then he saw. The man was Nelson I. Cowes. Hodgeson knew that Cowes would return one day, after all his predecessor had promised him the Heads seat in return for the old cup which he was now guardian of.
He, Hodgeson was head of Wood Gates and that was final, he was not giving the salary or position because of a deal made before his censorship had begun. A stand was in order. He took the cup from the mantle and put it on the desk. The humming returned to his ears as he put it down on the desk. Then he took a single glass and a bottle of wine out of the drinks cabinet placing them also on the desk top.
Returning to the window he waited. The deep exhaling breath conduced on the glass pain frosting its surface. He could hear the crackling of the logs on the fire, he also became aware that some other presence had joined him in the room. Of course it had to be the young officer, did he not have the common decency to knock before entering? It was then he heard the sound of the cup moving across his desk.
He spun around. How dare he touch the property of the school, Hodgeson was about to release a verbal salvo at the new comer when he realised that he was still alone in the room. Before he had a chance to take stock of the situation three firm knocks came from the door. His head spun around to look at the door then back to the desk, had the cup moved?
Paralysed for a second he was undecided which way to advance, too the door or desk? Again three firm knocks came from the direction of the door.
“The door was opened by a pale faced looking man, he looked deathly cold though the heat from the room almost caused Cowes to step back such was the effect.
Nelson eyed up his former school master with surprise. The man had always been an upright rock faced individual. Nothing would ever shake him, or at least that was the in impression he always gave. Something had distracted him though, that was more then evident.” James shuffled in his chair. The fire which warmed the occupants of the study on his cold night was a touch too warm for him at such close proximity. He turned his body away from the heat radiating out from the hearth. As his body moved the material of his trousers touched the skin of his legs. The effect was almost painful, though the fabric cooled almost immediately. Beads of sweat had begun to form on his wrinkled forehead while his shirt stuck to his back. He had an overwhelming urge to undo his stiff white collar, but the thought of disrobing in public appalled him. He continued regardless of his discomfort. “The young Nelson was ushered into the room. He seated himself on invitation before accepting the offer of a drink.”
The Head Master turned his back on the guest to pour the wine. It would have been as easy to round the desk and face the new comer, was this an unconscious effort to snub the young man who had after all returned to take up his post? He knew that probably this day would come, though when the news reached him that the former pupil had gone into action against the French he had hoped that Nelson Cowes would not return.
Two drinks were poured, the first measure in the lead crystal wine glass, the second in the silver chalice. The head turned to face the naval man both drinks in his hands.
Nelsons eye brows lifted one quarter of an inch as he court sight of the silver cup in the Masters hand.
The head walked towards the seated figure slowly. Nelson waited to see which drink he would be offered, by rights it should be the cup he himself discovered all those years previous. In an n obvious act of defiance though he was handed the glass, the head then seated himself opposite, “Well,” began the senior man, “you seem to be the topic of the school gossip these days. The school is very proud of you Cowes. It is good for our reputation to have a handful of famous old boys, and you fall right into that field.”
Nelson remembered his old tutor well, mathematics, everything in its own place, that was his way.
“I am sure that my predecessor would have been most proud of you if he were still alive.”
“What happened to Mr Henry?” Cowes had read of his old Masters demise in a copy of The Times which had found its way on ship. He knew very few details on the circumstances of his old mentor’s death and was keen to know more.
The Head master sighed and looked down towards his feet. The pause hung heavy on the atmosphere of the room. The only sounds which could be heard was the crackling of the fire.
Hodgeson sighed another heavy sigh as he raised his head. Though eye contact wasn’t made with his visitor at that point, “My predecessor, Mr Henry, died on his last day here. The report you will have in the periodicals was, well somewhat, edited. The day started with assemble as normal at which he gave his final address to the boys. The Head boy, John Tompkins led the three cheers I honour of the outgoing Master. At lunch time we, I say we. By that of course I refer to the staff, came into this very room for drinks with him. We all drank red wine which was most welcome that day. It seemed to take the edge off the great sadness we all felt. He drank from this very cup I hold now. Since you generously gave the cup to the school it has become the stuff of legend. My predecessor said that it was only for the departing Head Master to drink from before leaving the school.”
“So why do you use it now?” Nelson asked hoping to hear him offer his office and rank to him there and then.
“That was only his opinion, something to do with its origins. I hold no knowledge of things, so I decided to use it today in honour of your return.”
“I see?”
“So, the lunch was pleasant experience for all concerned. The Head exchanged many tales with the pupils and masters who had past through these rooms. At the end of the lunch period we all returned to our classes and left him alone in his study.
The afternoon past, if I remember correctly there was a cold easterly wind blowing, as the pupils returned to their dormitories to prepare for the holidays. I returned to the heads study, on arrival I realised that something was amiss.
In accordance with etiquette I knocked on the door, after waiting a few moments I knocked again. Still no reply was forthcoming. Knocking once more I called into the room, “Headmaster?” the door was locked, I could not gain entry, it was at this point that I knew something was greatly wrong.
Being on the upper story I could not see if he was in his room not being able to observe through the window. Instantly I reported the Heads none communication to several of my colleagues and a search of the school was undertaken.
As I myself rounded the south east corner of the quad I though I observed the Head Master walking in the grounds, he seemed to be making towards the wood. On further investigation by myself no sign could be seen of him, so I returned to the building.
It was decided that we should enter the Heads study, the door was forced.
On entering the room we could see nothing. The fire was still burning, though it was only embers in the hearth. Mr Wilkinson and I were the only two to enter the room and it was he who spoke first. I was standing by the fire, all the glasses from the lunchtime drinks were on the desk, the dregs of red wine still in them. The silver cup though sat back in its place on the mantle.
‘Hodgeson, look…’ Wilkinson said drawing my attention away from the desk. I crossed the room to see that the Head Master was sitting in that very chair.” Hodgeson gestured across the room toward the leather chair which resided by the window. “His face was deathly white, his fingers cold and thin. Then I noticed that around his neck was a dark line. At first I presumed it to be a shadow of some kind.
We called the MO who told use what we already knew and feared, the Head Master was dead. What followed though we could never have imagined. The sheriff was called in to examine the body. The man in charge informed us that the Head Masters death was not due to natural courses.”
“So what happened?” Nelson enquired eager to know more.
“Strangled? How, we will never know. The room was locked, doors and windows barred. How it was done if it ever was murder we will never know. The Sheriffs men were baffled.”
A shiver ran down Hodgesons spine, had the ghost of the old Head Master walked over his grave?
It took several moments for the story to register in Nelsons mind, the man who had done so much for him was dead, murdered. The old man was his reason for being her, the reason he had returned, not to mention the reason he had joined the Navy as a midshipmen. It had been the Head Master who had arranged the whole affair. “So now hold the post of Head Master?” what was nelson thinking? Was it a coincidence that the man who had helped find the Head masters body was now Head himself?
“That’s right.” Hodgeson picked up the silver cup and took a sip of the wine.
“You do realise that the position was promised to me on my return?”
“I do.” The head said with a rye smile, “but that was before circumstances changed. My predecessor would have no doubt have stepped aside to make way for you if circumstances had have been different.”
“Will you stand down?”
“No.” said the Head. Why should he step down from a post which some people consider one of the highest posts in area, academically speaking? He had worked hard to gain this position and there was no way he would sacrifice it for an agreement made by his predecessor. A bargain made for the price of a silver cup was to him mere folly and held no authority over himself. Suddenly he coughed, a slug of wine had ventured into one of the various tubes in his throat not used for consumption.
“It is said that the old Head Mr. Majester still sits in that very chair by the window.”
James’ audience in unison turned their attention to the chair by the window, all except one of the one of the Masters, Doctor McDonald. McDonald was the history lecturer, his field of expertise was Iron Age Briton and he was concerned about something that the Head had said during the first part of his monologue. Not wanting to spoil the tale for the pupils he decided to remain silent for the time being. He would however air his concerns with the Head later.
Taking full advantage of the pause James took a mouthful of wine again shuffling his position in his seat. As the night past the uncomfortable feeling he experienced grew engulfing him, still he continued.
“The meeting between the two men finished on what I must presume was an impasse. It was never passed down how the meeting ended, but what followed was a strange occurrence indeed.”
The grounds keeper was packing away his various tools into the wheel barrow. He was an old man now and his back ached as the result of many years bending over to prune beds and dig boarders. A due drop formed on the end of his nose before falling down onto the gravel. The old man took a large white handkerchief from his pocket and whipped the end of his large red nose.
He became distracted from his labours by the sound off carriage wheels rolling over the stone flags of the main quadrangle. Leaning on his yard brush he watched the four wheeler make towards the gate. As the window came into view he could see the face of a famous old boy clearly visible and it was not an expression of any kind of delight.
The faithful old retainer continued with his work, as he exhaled his breath condensed into a misty cloud in front of him. Through it he saw a figure, again it was someone he thought he recognised, “I wonder what he’s up to?” he mumbled to himself.
The figure he had seen was that of the Head master walking toward the site of the old dig he himself had filled in several years precious.
“Several hours later the grounds man was more then a little surprised when the Sheriff and his men arrived once more at the school.” James’ audience where still deep in thought about the ghost which sat in that very room, they were not expecting the revelation of another phantom in the school.
The grounds man watched the assembled authorities figures arrive and enter the main hall. The Sheriff himself was met at the door by the Vice Head master of the school and the Proctor.
He watched from beneath the canopy of one of the many copses which littered the school grounds. An efficient authority had taken over the main block, that was how he was later to describe the state of offers to his wife. One question came to mind as he watched the comings and goings, where was the Head Master? Surely he should be there heading what ever it was occurring. Where these men searching for the Head? If so he knew where he was at present. Something was wrong at the school, that was clear to him now, he must inform the Head master.
Abandoning his tools he quickly made his way over to the site of the Iron Age findings. The grounds man managed not to be seen from the main building, this was not purely by accident, he did not want to be seen after all he didn’t know what had happened.
On arrival he knew that someone was there with him, he could hear someone moving and feel himself being watched. He had spent many a long day and night out these grounds and knew every sound, smell and feel of each place around the grounds. “Head Master,” he said in a loud whisper, “Head Master.” He repeated. No answer came. “There’s something amiss at the school sir. Head Master…” no answer came.
There was no alternative now left open to him, he ran across the soft wet ground towards the school.
He was met at the door by a member of the Sheriffs men who immediately refused him entry to the building.
“Halt?” commanded the guard in front of the entrance in such a loud authoritative voice that he froze to the spot. The old man was so out of breath the he could not gain enough breath to speak. Then what could he say? Could he tell them that the Head had disappeared from the wood?
“You cannot enter,” began the guard, “Sheriffs orders.”
“It’s,” panted the grounds man, “the Head…” such was his exhaustion that he almost bent double, not for years had he exerted himself to such a degree. “I have just seen him,” he paused to breathe, “entering the wood yonder not two minutes since.”
A quizzical expression crossed the face of the guard. That could not be, the old man was mistaken obviously. “Sorry Sir, but I cannot discuss matters or let you gain entry too…” he broke off repeating his orders as behind him the door opened. The grounds man craned his neck to observe the interior of the hall. Inside many people were gathering in the reception hall, the Sheriffs men made up the main body of the assembly though he could see several of the staff. Strangely most figures were looking upward to the upper landings of the stairs. The ground mans eye line followed their own up into the higher levels. He could only see so far as the top of the door broke his view, but what he did see was a pair of feet freely swinging in mid air slightly swaying from side to side in the draft which always rang through the hall. He inhaled sharply and tried to gain a better view, but the door was slammed closed in his face.
“The pair of swinging feet belonged too the Head Master, Mr Hodgeson.” James paused and took another drink. The cup was all but empty now, so with a swift nod of the head a scout was on hand to replenish the wine. Again he fingered his collar and looked down for a moment as though he was in some discomfort. Then without warning the continued, “That was the end of Hodgesons’ tenancy in the position as Head Master.
What happened next no one was quite sure, all the accounts I have either read or heard passed down from some of the old boys all differ, there is a general consensus of opinion though.
Hodgesons funeral took place in the Chapel here at Woodgates. It was well attended as you could well imagine. All manner of tales were told in regard to the sad departure of the Head while at the same time happier times where recounted about him and his times here.
The account I hold most dear of the events was told to me in person by my predecessor, Winston Brady. He was Head Master elect after Hodgeson, pending on the one condition, the reappearance of a curtain Nelson I. Cowes. It was Winston who first encountered the second of the school ghosts.
Hodgeson had finally been laid to rest in the grounds of the school as was tradition, then it was time for the old boys to retire to heads study to reminisce on the past. This second part of the mourning was for old boys only, no current attends of the school were allowed to participate.
Brady waited a while before entering the building where his study was located, he wanted a minute’s piece to say a silent prey to his old friend. Once complete he thought on of how his time as Head would possibly the shortest in the school history, he had observed Cowes in the grounds earlier that afternoon watching the burial from a discrete distance. He had been standing under the canopy of the trees in the wood were as a pupil he had discovered the Iron Age round house. No one assembled around the grave mentioned the fact that he was there, Brady wasn’t sure if anyone else but himself had spotted the loan figure among the trees. He though wished to pass on his whole hearted support to the new Master. Brady wasn’t bitter about not being given the job, only merely a little disappointed.
For several minutes he waited in the quad. The clock mounted on the chapel past from five minutes past to twenty past the hour, yet still no sign of the naval veteran.
From within the warm inviting interior of the hall Brady could hear the chatter of voices and the chuckle of laughter. Sighing to himself he decided that he could speak to Cowes at a future point, but now he would join his fellows.
The heat from the large fire place warmed him immediately on entry. Removing his coat he shook off the drops of rain which had adhered to it, as he did the distinct feeling of a bony finger tapped his right shoulder, someone was trying to attract his attention.
Quickly he turned he turned to see who had snuck up on him from the rear, but no one was apparent. In fact no other person could be seen in the vast entrance hall. Taking a step toward the door he looked out into the cold dark autumn afternoon, all was silent and still. So convinced was he that someone was playing a trick on him that he look around each square buttress which lined the wall of the hall to either side of the doorway.
He shivered, the afternoon was turning into evening and the easterly wind blow around the quadrangle, tonight would be a cold one. Quickly he returned into the warmth of the entrance hall and closed the heavy wooden doors behind himself.
Apart from the distant sound of voices and crackle of the fire all was quiet, or at least it should have been. He could hear the sound of something creaking. For a moment he looked around the large empty room. The rhythmic sound was too constant to be a door moving in a draft. It could have been a clock which required its workings oiling, though he could not see any time pieces in the room.
Having swept his eyes around the ground floor his gaze turned upward to look around the high ceiling and suspended light fittings. As his head turned up his eyes where drawn toward what looked like, no it couldn’t be…
“Look,” said one of the first year students, James wasn’t sure of his name, Tompkins he thought, “it’s snowing?” he called out in an excited voice. Though the fact may be a source of excitement for the more junior members of his group everyone else was hanging on every world the Head was saying.
Outside the leaded windows thick flakes of snow had begun to drift down from the black inky sky. All the younger children gasped with excitement, the thought of having a white Christmas made up a little for having to remain at the school. The rest of Head Masters audience where left in an emotional limbo, they all wanted to know what it was that Brady had seen all that time ago.
Mr James looked tiered, one or two of the masters wondered if he’d manage to complete the tale before dropping off to sleep sitting in his chair.
The young members of the group finally settled themselves down back into their seats ready for the final instalment. James finished the last dregs of his wine before preparing to continue.
Silence rained for a moment. The Head seemed to be staring over his group toward the window. An uneasy murmur ran around the masters as he looked over their heads, just as one of them took a step forward James sprung back into life, “So, where was I? Oh yes…”
Brady could see something hanging down from the high ceiling; the shape was swinging on a rope. His eyes struggled to focus on what appeared to be a manifestation, semi transparent.
The creaking noise was perfectly synchronized with the swinging motion of the object, but what was the object?
The harder and more intensely he tried to make out the image the less he was able to focus upon it. Not until he turned away and court sight of it from the corner of his eye did he see, the figure was a man, but not just any man. It was the man they had just buried an hour before in the school grounds.
Instantly he turned to look at the phantasm in an attempt to view it more detail, but now it was gone.
“So we leave him there, standing in the hall all alone. Would you like to know what happened next?” James asked the question directly at the younger members of the audience, on his face he bore a smile, “Yes?” he prompted the ore struck students.
Most of them nodded indicating their eagerness to know.
“If the natural course of events where to follow then Nelson I. Cowes would have taken up his promised position as the Head Master of this great old school, but it was not to be. How many ghosts have we encountered in this tale so far?”
“Two.” Said one boy, quickly followed by several others.
“Two, you think. I counted three.” He waited a moment for the revelation to take effect before continuing, “In the hall of this very building where you all walked tonight on your way here hangs a series of plaques containing the details of famous old boys of the school. Did any of you notice the tribute for Nelson I. Cowes?”
Of course no one had, even the masters were blasé to the adornments which hung around the school walls.
James corrected their omission, “Nelson I. Cowes, 1782 – 1806. Killed in action aboard HMS Victory.
Cowes was killed at Trafalgar.”
“But?” began one of the older boys, “he came back hereafter the battle to take up his post surely?”
“Yes, yes he did, didn’t he? I think he came back for this,” James reached his old hand over to the table and slowly picked up the silver cup. As he drew it back toward him his hands where shaking, “The cup he found. You know in all the years I have occupied these rooms it is the first time I have ever drunk from it.
So, there we are, three spectres walk the grounds of this fine old establishment and they are all connected in some way with this challis, and a poison challis it has been over the years.
That’s it I’m afraid. No twist at the end of the story, but I find a story from real life much more chilling then any manufactured ghost story. When you’re walking through the grounds or the hall keep an eye out for our uninvited visitors.”
Later that night the last few masters were leaving the Heads study. The candles had burned low while the fire was glowing a deep red colour. Heat still radiated from it warming the room.
Only three members of the staff remained, naturally the conversation was in association with the past affairs of the school brought on by the story just told. As they bid Mr James a goodnight the Head gave them a pleasant smile and thanked them for their attendance before wishing them the complements of the season, “Doctor McDonald, could you stay a moment, I will not take up much of your time.”
The doctor was planning on speaking to the Head so was glad not to have to find an excuse for his remaining in the study.
“You were keen to say something earlier this evening?” so the old Head had noticed his concerned expression.
“I did Head Master. Your tale tonight awoke a memory from the research I did many years ago.”
“Oh yes, was it to do with the supernatural?”
“No not really, it’s the challis.”
James broke his sentence, quite uncharacteristic for him, “Oh, what about it?”
Though slightly taken aback by the interruption the doctor carried on, “it’s not a drinking cup. That cup is used for the last drink given to a man before bring sacrificed.
Could that be the reason for the trail of death which has followed it, and Sir you drank from it tonight.” He stopped, almost out of breath such was the intensity of his statement.
Mr James merely smiled and finished the dregs of his wine before replacing the cp on the table.
Christmas that year at Woodgates was a sombre affair. When the New Year had arrived the new Head Master of the school, Doctor McDonald stood at the window looking out over the grounds.
The Christmas snow which had fallen deep and crisp and even had now melted away leaving the ground soft underfoot.
McDonald turned to look at the challis which sat in the middle of the mantle. Quickly he removed it from its spot wrapping it up in an old blanket.
Minutes later he was replacing the turf on a patch of ground in the wood were it had first been discovered.
Unbeknown to him from behind his back a figure stood watching him. The man dresses in a naval uniform, the style of which was worn around one hundred years previous smiled to himself.
Three quarters of a century later bombs where falling in abundance on both hull and the near by village of Brough, a strategic target, an aircraft factory.
Both pupils and staff required a shelter from the air raids. A team of men came to the school armed with picks and shovels, the turf was hardly of the ground when a shovel hit something metal, “Hello, what’s this?” asked on of the workmen.
The grounds of Woodgates Collage where al but empty now, the majority of the staff and pupils had returned home for the Christmas break. Inevitably a hand full of staff and students would remain in the school over the festive period. Most of them in forced exile was because they had nowhere else to go or the distance they lived away from the school was too distant to travel. For the pupils a boarding school even one as renowned as this could have the feeling of a prison, but at times such as this they were an admiral substitute for a home and family.
The snow had arrived on queue, for tonight was Christmas Eve. As tradition dictated the evening would be split into two parts. At six thirty whoever remained at the school would attend a carol service in the chapel, such an event would not be possible with only the residents of the school so the gates would be opened to the occupants of the local village. By making this gesture the congregation would swell the small chapel to almost its capacity.
Lessons were read out by the staff, carols sung by all. For some villages this was the highlight of the season, for the pupils and staff that pleasure was still to come.
The head of the school walked through the quadrangle en route to his official rooms. After giving the lesson on the virtues of the Christian church he had to prepare for the alternative sermon he would be conducting tonight.
As he walked around the quad he looked up at the sky. The clouds where big, white and heavy, brimming full of snow. It looked as though that this year he would see another white Christmas. As his head turned sideways something caught the corner of his eye. Someone was in the quad with him. Nothing unusual in that, on turning to look over his right shoulder he saw no one. Maybe it was one of the villages returning home after the carol service? Was his subconscious playing tricks on him, in his head had he had spent much time planning the evenings events, was it that causing his eyes to delude him?
As he entered the Holderness block he could not shake off the feeling that someone was following him. Again his imagination ran wildly across the bounds possibility.
The carriage clock which sat on the mantelpiece in the heads private study struck seven o’clock. Mr James the current head now back in the room sat in the red leather arm chair which resided in front of the roaring fire. The room was illuminated only by candle light giving it an atmosphere of wanton expectancy. On his desk sat five bottles, three wine, two sherry. Next to them where fifteen crystal glasses. Also adorning the desktop sat a large serving plate containing a pile of warm mince pies lightly dusted with a sprinkle of sugar mirroring the snowy scene outside.
As the clock finished striking seven James heard the door knob turn. The quiet tranquillity of the room was broken as a precession of students and staff alike marched into the room.
Mr James closed the book he had been reading and removed his half round reading spectacles as he saw his fellow boarders enter with a cherry smile on their faces. He instructed them all to help themselves to a drink and something to eat before taking a seat.
An excited rumble rippled around the younger members of the audience as they all took a mince pie each. Many blew them on the realisation of them being oven fresh. The general feeling in the room was light hearted and expectant. Once all the guests were assembled Mr James cleared his throat, like a conductor tapping hid baton on the rostrum the orchestra of voices fell silent.
“Good evening.” The headmasters whispering husky voice spoke as he surveyed the audience.
“Good evening Head master.” Came the reply from the gathered bodies sitting in a semi circle facing him and the fire.
The fire light danced off their faces casting all manner of irregular shadows across their faces.
“For those of you who have not been privy to a Christmas at Woodgates before it has become the tradition on the eve of the great Christian day that we all gather together here in this study to hear a ghost story, so tell me,” he was looking at the very youngest boys, “who would like to hear a ghostly tale?”
The tree first years present faced him to scared to speak. The only time previously they had been in his presence had been in the assembly hall. “Its ok boys I don’t byte you know”
His voice remained quiet and rough, but at the same time it held an element of trust and friendliness to it.
The boys all nodded excitedly ay the prospect of haring one of the heads now famous tales.
“Right then, tonight I’m going to tell you a tale about this very school.” He paused dramatically and waited for a reaction. “Did you know that the school was haunted?” his eyes stared at the boys faces. Of course all the masters knew of the story, but not the details. “Well, let me tell you how it came to be…”
James made a gesturing motion with his hand, moments later a scout appeared carrying a silver tray in his hand. On the tray sat an old silver goblet, in it red wine. The master’s old hand took it from the tray and thanked the scout as he placed it down on a small table next to the chair.
“This cup,” he began making a gesture toward it, “is old. In fact it’s the oldest thing in this room. Over the two hundred and fifty year history of the school this cup has been the property of who ever occupies this study. This is the Head masters cup, this cup is the bedrock on which the school stands, literally. No one but the headmaster is allowed to drink from this vestle. Those that have, well they all met an untimely death.
The cup was discovered by a student here in the year 1801. That’s over a hundred years a go now.” He told the younger members of his audience, intently listening to his every word. “The young man who found it was one of the most famous residents of the school ever, Nelson I. Cowes, later to become Commander Cowes of the HMS Victory. He stood alone side the great Admiral Lord Nelson as he fell.
Cowes was head boy here, Captain of the rugby and cricket teams, head prefect and academic. I the spare time he allowed himself he educated himself in the library, reading on the subject of archaeology. He showed a particular interest in local history and geology. In particular the small earth works under the ash tree in the grounds of the school ground…”
It was a cold winter’s morning as Nelson Cowes sat in the library. A collection of books surrounded him, several of them open at various pages. Two candles flickered light onto the dusty old pages which he constantly stared at. With it been winter the sun didn’t an appearance until well after breakfast. Nelson had risen early that day eager to continue with his mapping out of what he believed to be an Iron Age settlement here in the grounds of the school. This part of East Yorkshire was a hot bed of brachylogy waiting to be discovered just beneath the surface of the earth. Roman and bronze age settlements where prevalent from the north banks of the Humber Estuary all the way to and past York up to the Scottish border.
Many a morning or in the evening he could be seen with a tape measure laying on the ground and a pencil and pad in his hand. Eventually the morning came when his research was at an end and he could begin digging. Taking a spade and a flask with him he set off for the ash tree.
In his head he had pin pointed the exact spot where he would begin his excavations.
Pitting his bag containing a flask of tea down on the wet grass he took a look around before driving the blade of his spade into the soft earth.
His trench developed over the spare hour he had before breakfast. As he thought of finishing the shift the front edge of the blade rang with the sound of it hitting some solid surface. Tossing the spade aside a delved into his cloth bag and removed a trowel. Frantically he cleared the soft earth off what he soon discovered to be a stone wall. Had he found what he hoped was an Iron Age round house?
Sweat ran from his brow, the jumper he wore was now damp with perspiration.
The sun had risen, Nelson was late for breakfast. He collected his tools together and made back to the main school building. Before he disappeared over a hump in the undulating grounds he stopped and looked back. He had the strongest suspicion that he had left something behind at the dig. His spade was however in his left hand while in the right where the trowel and flask. Nothing else had he taken out of his bag, so what was it he was thinking of? Looking back, for a split second he though he caught sight of something near to the trench. Nothing was there though, of course no one was around at this time of the day, morning shadows that’s all it could have been.
“During that day,” continued James, “he sat through his lessons giving as much attention to his masters as he could spare. Latin was tedious, mathematics he enjoyed, Greek, he could not have given a damn, his attention was elsewhere even though it was Homer, Cowes favourite writer. Nelson loved the sea, often through his childhood he had longed for a life as exciting as that of Ulysses.
After lessons where over he took an oil lamp down to his trench and began to dig once more.”
The old paint brush removed the earth from the top of the stone wall. Crouching down Nelson held the lamp above a point of interest. Something glinted in the light.
Quickly he took his knife from his the back pocket of his trousers and opened the blade. His heart began to race as the blade carefully removed the soil from around the object. The find could only be one thing, small round and thin. Having cleared the top he gently levered it out with his knife.
A coin, it was a coin, real archaeology at last. To think, two thousand years ago people lived here and bartered with others, right here on this spot. The thought filled him with pride that he was the one to find this centuries old coin, the first person too touch it since it was used for the purpose it was made for.
Holding his find in the palm of his hand he held it up next to the lamp.
He could make out the following inscription…
AVD CAESAR AG MTR
Then on the reverse…
ROMA
Obviously this was Roman. The word Caesar made that easy enough to conclude, then his deduction was confirmed by the wording on the reverse face.
The coin was placed safely into his bag. How he longed to show the Masters his find, but at the same time he wanted to carry on with his work, wanting more and more finds.
After the euphoria of the coin nothing else came from the rest of the shift. Though the excavation of the wall made good progress no more finds on interest were apparent.
Mr James took a sip of wine from the silver cup. It warmed his throat as he swallowed. The wine was French he presumed and very nice. “That night Cowes showed the coin to the House tutor, a MR Jones. Jones immediately told the Head Master who then summoned Nelson to his study.”
The younger members of the audience nudged one another in realisation that the Head was speaking of this very room.
“The Head, a Mister Majester.”
Several of the Masters had a chuckle to themselves, the Latin Master included, he knew most of all that the translation of Majester is master, so Head Master Master?”
With a rye smile James Continued, “The Head showed a keen interest in the find, he himself had studied archaeology at Cambridge and was able to give Nelson some background information on the coin. Armed with the new information that it was of around 100BC and must defiantly be Roman he carried on with his excavations. His theory that the site was indeed the remains of an Iron Age round house still had validity. The Roman and Iron Ages overlapped one another.”
Nelsons fingers where frozen to the bone, the fingerless glove he wore gave little protection against the cold frosty evening. Every tiny stone which he knelt on would cause him agony, but still he carried on. This trench, the second was almost finished, after giving it a look over in the morning he could close it down and start another. As the trowel scraped away the loose soil from the bottom corner he paused for breath. His chest became tight and he was sweating. Kneeling over the top of the trench and tool in a long lung full of cold air. As he drew the sleeve of his jacket across his brow he became aware of someone watching him. Nelson didn’t want to turn around and look. Something was stopping him, nothing physical, but some kind of fear deep within him.
Trowel was still in hand, his grip tightened around the wooden handle as he readied himself to strike out if need be. Quickly he spun around, but could see no soul in the area. Still he remained a little uneasy as he knew that any intruder could easily conceal themselves in the undergrowth. Simultaneously jumping out of the trench and picking up the oil lamp he looked around for any sign of an observer. Something was out there he could hear it moving through in greenery.
Then he saw it, two points of light in among the trees, he froze for a moment, then breathed a sigh of relief as dear stepped out of the trees into the moonlight.
This incident was not the most chilling moment of the nights diggings, as he bent back down into the trench he heard a voice in his ear saying, “Go on” did he hear it or was it all in his head? Again he got to his feet ready with his hand tool for an attack.
All in Mr James presence listened a gasp. He paused for a second and picked up the cup from the table, taking a sip of wine he began to talk again, “He continued digging…”
With the last swipe of the trowel the unmistakable sound of metal hitting metal rang in his ears. The last action of a wholly barren day had found something. With great care he removed as much earth from around the object as possible the oil lamp was brought closer to shed light on whatever it was.
Whatever it was made of a dull silver metallic substance, as yet not enough was visible to make any approximation to what it was or from which period.
Nelson had to make a quick decision, should he leave it in situation to return in the morning for a more detailed examination or risk taking it out now and maybe coursing damage to the artefact.
Of course there was only one course of action to take. He covered it back over with earth, returning at first light when a more careful examination could be conducted.
It was an unusually scruffy Nelson who arrived at his first period of the next morning, mathematics.
Mr Hodgeson was renowned for having very little tolerance and even less sense of humour. He was a stickler for punctuality, “Punctuality should be as exact as mathematics” were his watch words, especially for his star pupils, Nelson included.
On sight of the young man untidy clothes and hair a tangled mess the master instantly returned him through the door he had just entered through. The rest of the class listened on straining to hear the conversation taking place outside in the corridor.
Hodgeson had just commenced the verbal barrage on Nelson when he suddenly stopped. To Nelsons point of view it was as though the Master had seen something over his own left shoulder. Then he realised as what had caused the sudden silence, he heard a familiar voice, “Is there a problem Mr Hodgeson?”
“Head Master, god morning.” Hodgeson was taken aback by the appearance of his superior, surprised almost. “It’s this young man here Head Master, his appearance is not expectable and he was a whole minute and a half late for the start of the period.”
The Head looked down on him, “Go and get cleaned up boy.”
Nelson quickly made off down the drafty corridor without a word of protest.
“Thank you Head master I…” Hodgeson was silenced by the Head Master who raised a hand signalling that he himself wished to speak.
“That young man,” he began. “could be the future of this school Hodgeson. He has brains and a willing mind.”
"But, Head Master, I thought I was too become head on your retirement?”
“My plans for that young man are longer term then short term, you will have your day.”
Nelson straightened his tie. As he looked at his own reflection in the washroom mirror the figure of the Head Master appeared also, “Well?” he asked.
“Pardon sir?” Nelson answered. The washroom was cold, he had washed in cold water and was now drying his hands on a cold damp towel.
“What have you found?”
“How do you know I’ve found something Sir?” Nelson neatly hung the towel up on the rail.
“You have always been the ideal pupil, never have you turned in late for a lesson and always well turned out. So today I see something has distracted you from your usual continuity.” He really was a wily old bird the Head Master, not much escaped his attention. “Run along now to your class, then I’ll see you in my study at lunch.”
The Head watched his young protégé walk off down the corridor then around the corner. Quickly he himself turned on his heels and made off towards his office.
Lunch time arrives, Nelson was first out of the class running quickly up to his room, collecting something wrapped in a rag and headed off toward the Head Masters office.
“Come.” Nelson heard the voice from the interior of the study. On hearing the command he opened the door and entered. The room was warm, a large fire was burning in the hearth and not only that, but an aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the air.
The Head Master was standing at the window, looking out onto the wintery scene outside. He turned to see nelson standing politely waiting for him to speak. In his hands he held a bundle of rags, “Come over here young man,” the Head made a bee line for his desk, a smile on his face and a spring in his step. On arrival he patted the desktop and said, “On here.”
Nelson slowly placed the object on the desk, but did not unwrap the object.
“May I?” asked the Head.
“Of course, you’re the expert.” Smiled Nelson
The smell of the tea came as a distraction to Nelson, he had not had tea for, well so long he could not recall. Nelson would never have helped himself to a cup and there would be no chance of the Head offering him a drink now his attention was fully taken.
The archaeologists’ fingers slowly and carefully unwrapped the layers of cloth. Fold after fold were removed until finally his eyes were rewarded with the sight of something metallic. A shiver ran up the back of his neck. Removing the last coverings he revealed the object. Instantly he could see what it was, a wine challis made of silver, solid silver.
As he stood it upright Nelson felt a cold draft rush across the room. He gave an involuntary shiver, but moments later the warmth of the room engulfed him once more.
For many a long moment the headmaster studied the cup, not once touching it. “Do you know what this is?” he asked the pupil.
“Some kind of drinking vessel sir, for someone of importance I would guess.”
“You know I think your right young Nelson.” Replied the Head. It was the first time he had taken his eyes off the cup as he looked up to the fresh faced youth looking down on him.
Again the Head studied the cup.
The cup stood around six inches high. The round base narrowed off to a slender stem before opening out into the main bowl. The easiest description of it would be to say that it was not dissimilar to a heavy wine glass.
Though the surface was dull silver discoloured over the many hundreds of years of it lying untouched in ground a row of indentations could clearly be seen. Were these dimples once the inlays for one or more precious stones adorning its surface and if was not mistaken the rim had been gilded in gold. “If I am not mistaken this is the drinking vessel of a high ranking member of the community, it is possible…” he paused for a moment, sat back in his chair and placed all ten finger tips together, “Royalty possibly?”
A moment passed as the words sank into Nelsons head, royalty that was what he had said, did the Iron Age people have royalty. They must have had a hierarchy. “Is it worth anything?” he asked tentatively.
“My dear boy, it’s priceless as far as I’m concerned.”
Nelson knew at that point a power struggle was approaching, would he ever set hands on the cup again? “So what are we going to do with it, send it to a museum?”
The Head shot a quizzical glance at the young man, “God no,” he laughed, “look, this belongs to you right?”
Nelson nodded.
“But,” the master began again, “it was found on the school grounds. Now the old myths tell stories of things such as this and the trouble they course when take away from their rightful place. I think this cup belongs to the school and it should stay here, where it was meant to be.”
What sort of things was the Head Master speaking of? Was he referring to legal battles with ownership rights or was the reference to something more macabre? It was at that point Nelson noticed that the Head master was gesturing toward the coat of arms above the fire place. He had never made the connection up to then, of course. At the centre of the shield was depicted a cup, silver encrusted with what looked like rubies. Maybe the Head was right the cup was meant to be here, judging by the arms then..? Now he was confused. How was the cup on the coat of arms so like the artefact he had excavated, how could it be almost the same?
The Head was also looking over the fire place, “Look,” he said turning as he spoke, “this find is yours, but if you agree to let the school keep hold of it we will come to an arrangement.”
When Nelson had left the room the
Head Master quickly found several reference books on Iron Age culture. He knew exactly what it what the cup was used for and it wasn’t anything like the explanation he had given to young Cowes.
It took only fifteen minutes to find the page he sort, thee it was in black and white, the cup was used as a ceremonial object, it was given to the human sacrifice for them to take their last drink on this earth, and should only be used for that purpose on pain of death.
With a small sigh Mr James took a breath, “and that is exactly what happened.
Nelson presented the cup to the school and it has remained on that very mantle ever since.” He made a gesture with a flick of the wrist towards the fire place. “Nelson had always wanted to follow in his fathers footsteps and join the Navy. So it agreed that the pay off for the cup was that when he returned from a life at sea Nelson I. Cowes would take up the position of Head Master of Wood Gates. It was an offer he could not refuse.
As the carriage drew up to the Iron Gates of the school, Nelson Cowes craned his neck eager to glimpse the first sight of his old school.
It would appear that nothing had changed either with the building or the grounds of the old establishment. It was precisely because of that fact that he had returned as soon as his papers had come though. The school may have not changed, but the world had. The life of Cowes had been ripped apart and turned on its head in the last year.
The year in question was 1806, five years had past since he past out of the very gates where the carriage had drawn up. In that fateful year England had lost one of her greatest heroes, the man he had fought along side, Admiral Lord Nelson.
During his short time under the ensign his career was one of excellence and swift promotion.
He rose through the ranks from Midshipman, Lieutenant and finally Commander. Because of the war against Napoleons Franco Spanish forces and the loss of many ships Cowes found himself aboard the flagship, HMS Victory. He was there that fateful day when the great naval battle was won, but the Admiral lost.
Cowes decided then and there as he looked down at the dying Admiral that he had seen enough.
The carriage came to a halt at the gate. After arranging with the driver the instructions for his baggage he proceeded into the grounds on foot. How he had mist this place in his years away. The earth was cold under his feet, the trees now bear of leaves, the route he took to the buildings was not a direct one, he detoured off into the wood. His memories where filled with great fondness for that day when he found the old cup.
His cup, that’s why he was back, it was a foolish notion for an educated man such as him, but he could almost hear the cup calling him back.
In the Head Masters study the current incumbent of the post, Hodgeson felt uneasy. The previous night had been a restless one. He could neither sleep nor relax, a constant tension ate away at his mind. His body twitched with uncontrollable spasms all through the night. That day he had not stepped out of the confines of his study. A fire burnt in the grate, though he was as cold as ice. A continuing buzz faded in and out of his ears. The sound he calculated was coming from the direction of the fire. He leant on his desk, both palms faced down on its leather topped surface. Slowly he looked at the flickering flames of the fire then up to the mantle piece. On it sat the inter house shield, a clock and in the centre the Iron Age cup. Carefully he cast his eyes over all three objects searching for any sign of where the noise could be coming from.
Then his attention was snapped back into the land of the living as he heard the sound of a carriages wheels coming from the quad outside. Straightening his robes he crossed over to the large window and looked out at the golden autumn day.
A carriage was exiting the school gates, but he could not see anyone in the quad. His eyes dared back and forth, but still no one came to light. As he turned away from the window he heard a crow yelp ad though calling out to some one, was it him? Again he turned and looked out of the window, but this time he did see some one approach.
The figure was a young man dressed in naval uniform, an officer no less. Hodgeson watched as the figure came closer and closer, then he saw. The man was Nelson I. Cowes. Hodgeson knew that Cowes would return one day, after all his predecessor had promised him the Heads seat in return for the old cup which he was now guardian of.
He, Hodgeson was head of Wood Gates and that was final, he was not giving the salary or position because of a deal made before his censorship had begun. A stand was in order. He took the cup from the mantle and put it on the desk. The humming returned to his ears as he put it down on the desk. Then he took a single glass and a bottle of wine out of the drinks cabinet placing them also on the desk top.
Returning to the window he waited. The deep exhaling breath conduced on the glass pain frosting its surface. He could hear the crackling of the logs on the fire, he also became aware that some other presence had joined him in the room. Of course it had to be the young officer, did he not have the common decency to knock before entering? It was then he heard the sound of the cup moving across his desk.
He spun around. How dare he touch the property of the school, Hodgeson was about to release a verbal salvo at the new comer when he realised that he was still alone in the room. Before he had a chance to take stock of the situation three firm knocks came from the door. His head spun around to look at the door then back to the desk, had the cup moved?
Paralysed for a second he was undecided which way to advance, too the door or desk? Again three firm knocks came from the direction of the door.
“The door was opened by a pale faced looking man, he looked deathly cold though the heat from the room almost caused Cowes to step back such was the effect.
Nelson eyed up his former school master with surprise. The man had always been an upright rock faced individual. Nothing would ever shake him, or at least that was the in impression he always gave. Something had distracted him though, that was more then evident.” James shuffled in his chair. The fire which warmed the occupants of the study on his cold night was a touch too warm for him at such close proximity. He turned his body away from the heat radiating out from the hearth. As his body moved the material of his trousers touched the skin of his legs. The effect was almost painful, though the fabric cooled almost immediately. Beads of sweat had begun to form on his wrinkled forehead while his shirt stuck to his back. He had an overwhelming urge to undo his stiff white collar, but the thought of disrobing in public appalled him. He continued regardless of his discomfort. “The young Nelson was ushered into the room. He seated himself on invitation before accepting the offer of a drink.”
The Head Master turned his back on the guest to pour the wine. It would have been as easy to round the desk and face the new comer, was this an unconscious effort to snub the young man who had after all returned to take up his post? He knew that probably this day would come, though when the news reached him that the former pupil had gone into action against the French he had hoped that Nelson Cowes would not return.
Two drinks were poured, the first measure in the lead crystal wine glass, the second in the silver chalice. The head turned to face the naval man both drinks in his hands.
Nelsons eye brows lifted one quarter of an inch as he court sight of the silver cup in the Masters hand.
The head walked towards the seated figure slowly. Nelson waited to see which drink he would be offered, by rights it should be the cup he himself discovered all those years previous. In an n obvious act of defiance though he was handed the glass, the head then seated himself opposite, “Well,” began the senior man, “you seem to be the topic of the school gossip these days. The school is very proud of you Cowes. It is good for our reputation to have a handful of famous old boys, and you fall right into that field.”
Nelson remembered his old tutor well, mathematics, everything in its own place, that was his way.
“I am sure that my predecessor would have been most proud of you if he were still alive.”
“What happened to Mr Henry?” Cowes had read of his old Masters demise in a copy of The Times which had found its way on ship. He knew very few details on the circumstances of his old mentor’s death and was keen to know more.
The Head master sighed and looked down towards his feet. The pause hung heavy on the atmosphere of the room. The only sounds which could be heard was the crackling of the fire.
Hodgeson sighed another heavy sigh as he raised his head. Though eye contact wasn’t made with his visitor at that point, “My predecessor, Mr Henry, died on his last day here. The report you will have in the periodicals was, well somewhat, edited. The day started with assemble as normal at which he gave his final address to the boys. The Head boy, John Tompkins led the three cheers I honour of the outgoing Master. At lunch time we, I say we. By that of course I refer to the staff, came into this very room for drinks with him. We all drank red wine which was most welcome that day. It seemed to take the edge off the great sadness we all felt. He drank from this very cup I hold now. Since you generously gave the cup to the school it has become the stuff of legend. My predecessor said that it was only for the departing Head Master to drink from before leaving the school.”
“So why do you use it now?” Nelson asked hoping to hear him offer his office and rank to him there and then.
“That was only his opinion, something to do with its origins. I hold no knowledge of things, so I decided to use it today in honour of your return.”
“I see?”
“So, the lunch was pleasant experience for all concerned. The Head exchanged many tales with the pupils and masters who had past through these rooms. At the end of the lunch period we all returned to our classes and left him alone in his study.
The afternoon past, if I remember correctly there was a cold easterly wind blowing, as the pupils returned to their dormitories to prepare for the holidays. I returned to the heads study, on arrival I realised that something was amiss.
In accordance with etiquette I knocked on the door, after waiting a few moments I knocked again. Still no reply was forthcoming. Knocking once more I called into the room, “Headmaster?” the door was locked, I could not gain entry, it was at this point that I knew something was greatly wrong.
Being on the upper story I could not see if he was in his room not being able to observe through the window. Instantly I reported the Heads none communication to several of my colleagues and a search of the school was undertaken.
As I myself rounded the south east corner of the quad I though I observed the Head Master walking in the grounds, he seemed to be making towards the wood. On further investigation by myself no sign could be seen of him, so I returned to the building.
It was decided that we should enter the Heads study, the door was forced.
On entering the room we could see nothing. The fire was still burning, though it was only embers in the hearth. Mr Wilkinson and I were the only two to enter the room and it was he who spoke first. I was standing by the fire, all the glasses from the lunchtime drinks were on the desk, the dregs of red wine still in them. The silver cup though sat back in its place on the mantle.
‘Hodgeson, look…’ Wilkinson said drawing my attention away from the desk. I crossed the room to see that the Head Master was sitting in that very chair.” Hodgeson gestured across the room toward the leather chair which resided by the window. “His face was deathly white, his fingers cold and thin. Then I noticed that around his neck was a dark line. At first I presumed it to be a shadow of some kind.
We called the MO who told use what we already knew and feared, the Head Master was dead. What followed though we could never have imagined. The sheriff was called in to examine the body. The man in charge informed us that the Head Masters death was not due to natural courses.”
“So what happened?” Nelson enquired eager to know more.
“Strangled? How, we will never know. The room was locked, doors and windows barred. How it was done if it ever was murder we will never know. The Sheriffs men were baffled.”
A shiver ran down Hodgesons spine, had the ghost of the old Head Master walked over his grave?
It took several moments for the story to register in Nelsons mind, the man who had done so much for him was dead, murdered. The old man was his reason for being her, the reason he had returned, not to mention the reason he had joined the Navy as a midshipmen. It had been the Head Master who had arranged the whole affair. “So now hold the post of Head Master?” what was nelson thinking? Was it a coincidence that the man who had helped find the Head masters body was now Head himself?
“That’s right.” Hodgeson picked up the silver cup and took a sip of the wine.
“You do realise that the position was promised to me on my return?”
“I do.” The head said with a rye smile, “but that was before circumstances changed. My predecessor would have no doubt have stepped aside to make way for you if circumstances had have been different.”
“Will you stand down?”
“No.” said the Head. Why should he step down from a post which some people consider one of the highest posts in area, academically speaking? He had worked hard to gain this position and there was no way he would sacrifice it for an agreement made by his predecessor. A bargain made for the price of a silver cup was to him mere folly and held no authority over himself. Suddenly he coughed, a slug of wine had ventured into one of the various tubes in his throat not used for consumption.
“It is said that the old Head Mr. Majester still sits in that very chair by the window.”
James’ audience in unison turned their attention to the chair by the window, all except one of the one of the Masters, Doctor McDonald. McDonald was the history lecturer, his field of expertise was Iron Age Briton and he was concerned about something that the Head had said during the first part of his monologue. Not wanting to spoil the tale for the pupils he decided to remain silent for the time being. He would however air his concerns with the Head later.
Taking full advantage of the pause James took a mouthful of wine again shuffling his position in his seat. As the night past the uncomfortable feeling he experienced grew engulfing him, still he continued.
“The meeting between the two men finished on what I must presume was an impasse. It was never passed down how the meeting ended, but what followed was a strange occurrence indeed.”
The grounds keeper was packing away his various tools into the wheel barrow. He was an old man now and his back ached as the result of many years bending over to prune beds and dig boarders. A due drop formed on the end of his nose before falling down onto the gravel. The old man took a large white handkerchief from his pocket and whipped the end of his large red nose.
He became distracted from his labours by the sound off carriage wheels rolling over the stone flags of the main quadrangle. Leaning on his yard brush he watched the four wheeler make towards the gate. As the window came into view he could see the face of a famous old boy clearly visible and it was not an expression of any kind of delight.
The faithful old retainer continued with his work, as he exhaled his breath condensed into a misty cloud in front of him. Through it he saw a figure, again it was someone he thought he recognised, “I wonder what he’s up to?” he mumbled to himself.
The figure he had seen was that of the Head master walking toward the site of the old dig he himself had filled in several years precious.
“Several hours later the grounds man was more then a little surprised when the Sheriff and his men arrived once more at the school.” James’ audience where still deep in thought about the ghost which sat in that very room, they were not expecting the revelation of another phantom in the school.
The grounds man watched the assembled authorities figures arrive and enter the main hall. The Sheriff himself was met at the door by the Vice Head master of the school and the Proctor.
He watched from beneath the canopy of one of the many copses which littered the school grounds. An efficient authority had taken over the main block, that was how he was later to describe the state of offers to his wife. One question came to mind as he watched the comings and goings, where was the Head Master? Surely he should be there heading what ever it was occurring. Where these men searching for the Head? If so he knew where he was at present. Something was wrong at the school, that was clear to him now, he must inform the Head master.
Abandoning his tools he quickly made his way over to the site of the Iron Age findings. The grounds man managed not to be seen from the main building, this was not purely by accident, he did not want to be seen after all he didn’t know what had happened.
On arrival he knew that someone was there with him, he could hear someone moving and feel himself being watched. He had spent many a long day and night out these grounds and knew every sound, smell and feel of each place around the grounds. “Head Master,” he said in a loud whisper, “Head Master.” He repeated. No answer came. “There’s something amiss at the school sir. Head Master…” no answer came.
There was no alternative now left open to him, he ran across the soft wet ground towards the school.
He was met at the door by a member of the Sheriffs men who immediately refused him entry to the building.
“Halt?” commanded the guard in front of the entrance in such a loud authoritative voice that he froze to the spot. The old man was so out of breath the he could not gain enough breath to speak. Then what could he say? Could he tell them that the Head had disappeared from the wood?
“You cannot enter,” began the guard, “Sheriffs orders.”
“It’s,” panted the grounds man, “the Head…” such was his exhaustion that he almost bent double, not for years had he exerted himself to such a degree. “I have just seen him,” he paused to breathe, “entering the wood yonder not two minutes since.”
A quizzical expression crossed the face of the guard. That could not be, the old man was mistaken obviously. “Sorry Sir, but I cannot discuss matters or let you gain entry too…” he broke off repeating his orders as behind him the door opened. The grounds man craned his neck to observe the interior of the hall. Inside many people were gathering in the reception hall, the Sheriffs men made up the main body of the assembly though he could see several of the staff. Strangely most figures were looking upward to the upper landings of the stairs. The ground mans eye line followed their own up into the higher levels. He could only see so far as the top of the door broke his view, but what he did see was a pair of feet freely swinging in mid air slightly swaying from side to side in the draft which always rang through the hall. He inhaled sharply and tried to gain a better view, but the door was slammed closed in his face.
“The pair of swinging feet belonged too the Head Master, Mr Hodgeson.” James paused and took another drink. The cup was all but empty now, so with a swift nod of the head a scout was on hand to replenish the wine. Again he fingered his collar and looked down for a moment as though he was in some discomfort. Then without warning the continued, “That was the end of Hodgesons’ tenancy in the position as Head Master.
What happened next no one was quite sure, all the accounts I have either read or heard passed down from some of the old boys all differ, there is a general consensus of opinion though.
Hodgesons funeral took place in the Chapel here at Woodgates. It was well attended as you could well imagine. All manner of tales were told in regard to the sad departure of the Head while at the same time happier times where recounted about him and his times here.
The account I hold most dear of the events was told to me in person by my predecessor, Winston Brady. He was Head Master elect after Hodgeson, pending on the one condition, the reappearance of a curtain Nelson I. Cowes. It was Winston who first encountered the second of the school ghosts.
Hodgeson had finally been laid to rest in the grounds of the school as was tradition, then it was time for the old boys to retire to heads study to reminisce on the past. This second part of the mourning was for old boys only, no current attends of the school were allowed to participate.
Brady waited a while before entering the building where his study was located, he wanted a minute’s piece to say a silent prey to his old friend. Once complete he thought on of how his time as Head would possibly the shortest in the school history, he had observed Cowes in the grounds earlier that afternoon watching the burial from a discrete distance. He had been standing under the canopy of the trees in the wood were as a pupil he had discovered the Iron Age round house. No one assembled around the grave mentioned the fact that he was there, Brady wasn’t sure if anyone else but himself had spotted the loan figure among the trees. He though wished to pass on his whole hearted support to the new Master. Brady wasn’t bitter about not being given the job, only merely a little disappointed.
For several minutes he waited in the quad. The clock mounted on the chapel past from five minutes past to twenty past the hour, yet still no sign of the naval veteran.
From within the warm inviting interior of the hall Brady could hear the chatter of voices and the chuckle of laughter. Sighing to himself he decided that he could speak to Cowes at a future point, but now he would join his fellows.
The heat from the large fire place warmed him immediately on entry. Removing his coat he shook off the drops of rain which had adhered to it, as he did the distinct feeling of a bony finger tapped his right shoulder, someone was trying to attract his attention.
Quickly he turned he turned to see who had snuck up on him from the rear, but no one was apparent. In fact no other person could be seen in the vast entrance hall. Taking a step toward the door he looked out into the cold dark autumn afternoon, all was silent and still. So convinced was he that someone was playing a trick on him that he look around each square buttress which lined the wall of the hall to either side of the doorway.
He shivered, the afternoon was turning into evening and the easterly wind blow around the quadrangle, tonight would be a cold one. Quickly he returned into the warmth of the entrance hall and closed the heavy wooden doors behind himself.
Apart from the distant sound of voices and crackle of the fire all was quiet, or at least it should have been. He could hear the sound of something creaking. For a moment he looked around the large empty room. The rhythmic sound was too constant to be a door moving in a draft. It could have been a clock which required its workings oiling, though he could not see any time pieces in the room.
Having swept his eyes around the ground floor his gaze turned upward to look around the high ceiling and suspended light fittings. As his head turned up his eyes where drawn toward what looked like, no it couldn’t be…
“Look,” said one of the first year students, James wasn’t sure of his name, Tompkins he thought, “it’s snowing?” he called out in an excited voice. Though the fact may be a source of excitement for the more junior members of his group everyone else was hanging on every world the Head was saying.
Outside the leaded windows thick flakes of snow had begun to drift down from the black inky sky. All the younger children gasped with excitement, the thought of having a white Christmas made up a little for having to remain at the school. The rest of Head Masters audience where left in an emotional limbo, they all wanted to know what it was that Brady had seen all that time ago.
Mr James looked tiered, one or two of the masters wondered if he’d manage to complete the tale before dropping off to sleep sitting in his chair.
The young members of the group finally settled themselves down back into their seats ready for the final instalment. James finished the last dregs of his wine before preparing to continue.
Silence rained for a moment. The Head seemed to be staring over his group toward the window. An uneasy murmur ran around the masters as he looked over their heads, just as one of them took a step forward James sprung back into life, “So, where was I? Oh yes…”
Brady could see something hanging down from the high ceiling; the shape was swinging on a rope. His eyes struggled to focus on what appeared to be a manifestation, semi transparent.
The creaking noise was perfectly synchronized with the swinging motion of the object, but what was the object?
The harder and more intensely he tried to make out the image the less he was able to focus upon it. Not until he turned away and court sight of it from the corner of his eye did he see, the figure was a man, but not just any man. It was the man they had just buried an hour before in the school grounds.
Instantly he turned to look at the phantasm in an attempt to view it more detail, but now it was gone.
“So we leave him there, standing in the hall all alone. Would you like to know what happened next?” James asked the question directly at the younger members of the audience, on his face he bore a smile, “Yes?” he prompted the ore struck students.
Most of them nodded indicating their eagerness to know.
“If the natural course of events where to follow then Nelson I. Cowes would have taken up his promised position as the Head Master of this great old school, but it was not to be. How many ghosts have we encountered in this tale so far?”
“Two.” Said one boy, quickly followed by several others.
“Two, you think. I counted three.” He waited a moment for the revelation to take effect before continuing, “In the hall of this very building where you all walked tonight on your way here hangs a series of plaques containing the details of famous old boys of the school. Did any of you notice the tribute for Nelson I. Cowes?”
Of course no one had, even the masters were blasé to the adornments which hung around the school walls.
James corrected their omission, “Nelson I. Cowes, 1782 – 1806. Killed in action aboard HMS Victory.
Cowes was killed at Trafalgar.”
“But?” began one of the older boys, “he came back hereafter the battle to take up his post surely?”
“Yes, yes he did, didn’t he? I think he came back for this,” James reached his old hand over to the table and slowly picked up the silver cup. As he drew it back toward him his hands where shaking, “The cup he found. You know in all the years I have occupied these rooms it is the first time I have ever drunk from it.
So, there we are, three spectres walk the grounds of this fine old establishment and they are all connected in some way with this challis, and a poison challis it has been over the years.
That’s it I’m afraid. No twist at the end of the story, but I find a story from real life much more chilling then any manufactured ghost story. When you’re walking through the grounds or the hall keep an eye out for our uninvited visitors.”
Later that night the last few masters were leaving the Heads study. The candles had burned low while the fire was glowing a deep red colour. Heat still radiated from it warming the room.
Only three members of the staff remained, naturally the conversation was in association with the past affairs of the school brought on by the story just told. As they bid Mr James a goodnight the Head gave them a pleasant smile and thanked them for their attendance before wishing them the complements of the season, “Doctor McDonald, could you stay a moment, I will not take up much of your time.”
The doctor was planning on speaking to the Head so was glad not to have to find an excuse for his remaining in the study.
“You were keen to say something earlier this evening?” so the old Head had noticed his concerned expression.
“I did Head Master. Your tale tonight awoke a memory from the research I did many years ago.”
“Oh yes, was it to do with the supernatural?”
“No not really, it’s the challis.”
James broke his sentence, quite uncharacteristic for him, “Oh, what about it?”
Though slightly taken aback by the interruption the doctor carried on, “it’s not a drinking cup. That cup is used for the last drink given to a man before bring sacrificed.
Could that be the reason for the trail of death which has followed it, and Sir you drank from it tonight.” He stopped, almost out of breath such was the intensity of his statement.
Mr James merely smiled and finished the dregs of his wine before replacing the cp on the table.
Christmas that year at Woodgates was a sombre affair. When the New Year had arrived the new Head Master of the school, Doctor McDonald stood at the window looking out over the grounds.
The Christmas snow which had fallen deep and crisp and even had now melted away leaving the ground soft underfoot.
McDonald turned to look at the challis which sat in the middle of the mantle. Quickly he removed it from its spot wrapping it up in an old blanket.
Minutes later he was replacing the turf on a patch of ground in the wood were it had first been discovered.
Unbeknown to him from behind his back a figure stood watching him. The man dresses in a naval uniform, the style of which was worn around one hundred years previous smiled to himself.
Three quarters of a century later bombs where falling in abundance on both hull and the near by village of Brough, a strategic target, an aircraft factory.
Both pupils and staff required a shelter from the air raids. A team of men came to the school armed with picks and shovels, the turf was hardly of the ground when a shovel hit something metal, “Hello, what’s this?” asked on of the workmen.
