The Secret Caverns
of Black Rose Jed

CHAPTER ONE

A Penny for your thoughts.

        James was a pretty boy .... no doubt about that ... beautiful hazel eyes that could see into your soul ... long black eyelashes ...  natural ash blond hair ... ... small in stature ...  slim, no, perhaps wiry would be a better description ... as fit as a butcher's dog ... fed on red meat and big on attitude ... with an insatiable appetite for all things new which attracted the girls like pussycats to catnip .... and perhaps we should also mention at this point ... still a virgin.

      Celebrating his eighteenth birthday ... and still a virgin?

     Well, not strictly speaking, there had been that one time when he was fifteen and had been plied with strong liquor by this older 'put-it-about-a-lot' woman who had led him astray and had had her wicked way with him down some dark back alleyway.
      He wasn't impressed. He couldn't understand how putting one's pride and joy into something so dry, rough and flaky could possibly result in the fabulous mind-blowing sexual ecstasy that his mates were always raving on about. Luckily for James they were interrupted quite quickly by another couple who practically fell over them in the dark and his misery was short-lived.
       It wasn't until much later that he realized how lucky he had been not to catch a severe dose of the Galloping Clap from this wayward dirty old woman, but the immediate result of this unfortunate experience was to put him off repeating such unpleasantness with any other girl, for quite some time.
       That woman had a lot to answer for ruining his sex life at so young an age, and depriving a lot of other young ladies of their rightful enjoyment.
      Some girls must have thought he was 'queer' because he would get them all worked up, wetting themselves, and all to eager to consummate the liaison, then he would suddenly say, "Thank you for a wonderful evening," pick up his bat and ball and go home, leaving them all frustrated and wondering what the hell was going on here, but he was just off to keep himself well in hand, if you know what I mean?
      But let's face it, rampant hormones can't be denied forever and some young lady was definitely going to take James in hand soon enough and show him that his mates were right after all ... it was only a matter of time and of letting nature take its course.
        And the fates conspired together to produce the solution to his problem in the form of a salubrious young lady, called Penny, who visited the office where he worked as a draughtsman, and by all accounts his day of redemption should be coming soon.

        Every day without fail the delicious Penny would travel from drawing office to drawing office delivering blueprints, in much the same way as those blonde dolly-birds would drive from car repair shop to car repair shop delivering their spare motor parts, and driving the local mechanics crazy, with their skimpy uniforms.
        And every day Penny would stop off for a quick canoodle with James in the privacy of the store cupboard in the printing room. Nothing deep down and dirty ... much to Penny's regret ... as they were far too likely to be caught in any knickers-off situation, but they got in as much heavy petting and fondling as they could muster, in the limited time they had together.
        James was quite adept at getting a young lady's motor started, the problem came about with his not getting around to engaging the clutch, and Penny was beginning to realise this ... after all, how many times did she have to leave the store cupboard with knickers wet enough to put out a house fire, and never getting to play with a hose-pipe.

         "It was my birthday yesterday," James interjected as he came up for air between bouts of head-spinning snogging at one of their daily sessions.
           "Aw, and I never got you a present, how old are you then, lover boy, seventeen?"
           "Eighteen actually, I look younger than I am because of my healthy lifestyle ... and having to ride my push-bike all the way from Baycliffe Island into work every day keeps me fighting fit."
      "Did you get what you wanted for your birthday?" she purred.
    "No I didn't ... I'm still working on it ... or should I say I'm working on you, my brown-eyed brown-haired beauty," he intimated, moving his hands up inside her spotlessly white blouse, and slipping it back over her shoulders, and then sliding her bra off those pert pear-shaped breasts, so he could revel in the velvet smoothness of her baby soft skin.
     Her small but hard nipples yielded to his caress and Penny responded with thoughts of: "Here we go again, all wet knickers, and no chance of getting his clothes off, damn it, I really am going to have to take the lead here."
          "The problem is," she said, feeling his hardness pressing against her body, "that you live way out on the Island and I live way over the other side of the town. We are never going to get it together at this rate, and you won't be getting your birthday present, will you?" She rubbed up against him in no uncertain manner and he nearly came right there and then, on the spot.
         He began to wonder if his aching balls was synonymous with all frustrated teenagers who couldn't get their end away.

          "Are you on holiday, next week, same as us lesser workers, or are you superior Drawing Office staff different?" Penny asked, rearranging her clothing to its work-a-day style, and getting ready to continue her travels round the various offices.
            "I'm on holiday, same as you."
            "Then why don't you come over to Yorkshire with me and stay with my friends?  There's about a dozen of us. We usually meet up there every weekend at a little village called  Ingleton in the Dales, but most of us are on holiday next week. We call ourselves the Happy Ramblers," she said, fumbling in her blouse pocket to produce a hand embroidered badge.
            "I made this myself," she said, proudly, "actually it's the Happy Ramblers Climbing and Potholing Club, to give it it's Sunday name,"  she laughed.

        "The rope's for climbing, the ladder's for going down caves and the book was the original Potholer's Bible which listed all the known caves ... from way back goodness knows when."
         "So, what do you think ... are you coming to Ingleton with me for your birthday present ... or what?" she pouted promisingly.
       "Sounds very ... interesting," James smiled back at a beaming Penny, "and just what would I need to bring with me, besides this sexy young body and some money?"
        "Bring some spare underwear and a big smile," Penny laughed, "we always eat at Ernie's Café, and I have a double sleeping bag and a tent, so there's no problem about where or who you're sleeping with ... sound good?"
            "Sounds good to me ... so, we are meeting up at Ernie's Café in this Ingleton village on Saturday, and you promise to give me my special birthday present," he laughed.
           "I'm really looking forward to giving you one," she retorted wickedly as she gave him a quick peck on the cheek and quietly exited the Print Room to carry on with her deliveries. 
           James picked up some drawings and sidled back to his board in the office, trying to look both inconspicuous and busy at the same time.
            "I hope you're giving her one by now," his overseer barked as he shuffled past, in a voice the whole office could hear, seeing as they all knew about his exploits anyway.
             James went red with embarrassment and tried to hide his anguish by unfolding the drawings and hiding behind them.
             "Ah well," the voice floated over his shield, "better luck tomorrow." A Mexican wave of good natured laughter rippled down the office, as he tried to crawl under his drawing board.
            His exploits were, after all, one of the highlights of an otherwise boring day for most of the older men in the office, and although they were a bit envious, he was a likeable enough lad and they all wished him well, and some of them wished they were him, and some of the girls in the office wished they were her.

             After work James cycled back towards Baycliffe Island  and called in to see Mr Butler, a local fisherman who he knew drove his van to Lancaster every Saturday morning to deliver the shrimps and cockles he had harvested throughout the week on the tidal sands around Baycliffe Island.
             These Morecambe Bay delicacies were eaten with relish by the hungry tourists who flocked to the Northern seaside towns of Morecambe, Fleetwood, Blackpool and Lytham-St-Annes in their thousands during the holiday season.
             James had spent many a happy hour on Mr Butler's tractor trawling the shallow gullies of the Bay with drag nets for the shrimp and langoustine lobsters which provided the farmer-cum-fisherman with the now much needed revenue after the "Foot and Mouth" fiasco had devastated all the local farms last year, and bankrupted many tenant farmers.

              Competition was fierce, however, from the hoards of  illegal immigrant cockle pickers who had descended on the tranquil-looking Bay to exploit the bountiful harvest, for the little cash money that the gang bosses begrudgingly paid to them.

              Day and night they came, in all weathers, most of them totally oblivious to the danger of being cut off on a sandbank by fast rising tides and subsequently downed, especially on a dark stormy night. All the locals knew this was a catastrophe just waiting to happen.

               Still, James had always felt safe with Mr Butler who knew every nook and cranny of the ever-changing Bay, and had always treated her moody ways with the utmost respect.

            It was Mr Butler who had shown a much younger James how to tread for flat-fish with his bare feet in the shallow rock pools. Flat-fish? That's Plaice to you ... or Flukes as they were called by the locals ... but actually they were two distinct species ... Plaice had orange spots and Fluke hadn't ... not that it mattered to anyone ... except maybe another Plaice, and of course the Trading Standard Officials who wouldn't let the fishermen sell Flukes. Plaice yes ...Flukes no.
             Well, everybody ate Plaice and Chips on holiday, and Trading Standards went to a great deal of expense to make sure that is exactly what they got, wasn't it? The local fishermen used to take great delight in scraping the spots off a Plaice and putting it in with some Flukes and asking the official to pick it out, which they never could, of course ... as the only way to tell the difference was with the spots. Needless to say the locals ate the Flukes because they were all the same kind of fish.
          The outcome of all this, however, was for James to reach the conclusion, at a very early age, that most officials were pen pushing bureaucrats who hadn't a bloody clue about real life and weren't fit to shovel manure when it came down to it.
          James decide he liked real people ... with real skills ... who didn't rely on this 'Big Brother' Politically Correct government for a living but made it in the world with their own two hands ... people like Mr Butler... and the Happy Ramblers, those climbers and potholers, they were doers ... and he was sure he was going to like them.
           His late father had once said, "Those that can do, lad, and those that can't pen push for this commie government and kiss ass for a living. So be a doer, son."

           Mr Butler said: "Of course I'll give you a lift to Lancaster on Saturday, young James, but remember I will be setting off at about four o'clock in the morning to get to the fish market bright and early. And I can arrange a lift with my mate Bill Fowler to take you the rest of the way up the Dales to Ingleton when he goes back over to Settle with the fish for his market stall."
          'It's a done deal,' thought James and he said: "Thank you, Mr Butler, I'll be at your farm at 4am, sharp."
           Mr Butler said: "No problem ... now I suppose you'll be off home to take your dog Tornado for a walk along the beach, as an excuse to go bird watching, and by bird watching I mean ogling those topless young ladies who hang out on the far side of the Island."
            "But of course," James grinned, "there are birds and then, there are birds" and he cycled off along the causeway out to Baycliffe Island, where he lived alone with his mother, who was the live-in warden for the Wildlife Nature Reserve.

            Frequent signs left no doubt that this was a .....

WILDLIFE RESERVE

RESTRICTED ACCESS

Permit Holders Only

All dogs must be kept on a lead

by Order of            
                W R Wilkinson              
                                      Cumbria County Council              

           However, this had not deterred a group of local naturists from taking over a secluded beach on the remote far end of the Island where they would bathe topless in the warm Summer sunshine, at every opportunity that presented itself.

         James arrived home to be greeted by a whirlwind of excited barking dog who threatened to knock him off his bicycle, as she hurled herself at her young master, with unrestrained joy.
         A huge 'brick-outhouse' of a dog, half Alsatian, half God knows what, hairy beyond belief with a huge red mane, like some African lion, and as daft as a brush with two handles.

           "Soft as putty with people," James thought, "lick them to death, but put so much as one foot inside our house, or one finger on my mum ... and you'd get it bitten off in a trice."
             "That's our Tornado," he mused, "what a dog."
            James yelled: "Get down, Tornado, you daft dog, you're going to knock me bum-over-elbow, again," but Tornado took absolutely no notice whatever until her mother appeared at the cottage door.
           "Sit!" she ordered, and Tornado promptly did just that, mentally straining at the leash in every fibre with her desire to jump on James, but not daring to disobey the boss lady, the undisputed leader of the pack.
            "Hi mum," said James putting his bike away in the shed.
            "Your tea will be ready in about an hour," his mum smiled, "so can you take Tornado for her walk and check on those 'bird-hides' for me up on the north end of the Island, there's a good love, and don't you go talking to those 'nudie' people, they shouldn't be there and I don't want you encouraging them, ok?"
            "Right mum." said James, wondering why his mum needed a huge battle-wagon of a dog like Tornado around for protection when he wasn't there ... 'cos hell ... "his mum could scare the 'bejeezus' out of any would-be intruder with a single glance."
          "Oh, by the way mum, some friends have asked me to go on holiday with them in Yorkshire next week ... will you be alright here on your own?"
          "Of course I will, love, off you go and enjoy yourself, I have our Tornado to keep me company, and your Aunt Florence will be bringing the kids and their friends over to go swimming, so I'll have my hands full, and I've also got to finish off all that damned paperwork on this year's nesting statistics, as well ... boy am I really looking forward to that  ... hmmm?"
         "Thanks mum," said a relieved James, "come on Tornado let's go chase some seagulls" and Tornado burst into furious action.
          His mother laughed at the ridiculous thought of Tornado ever catching a seagull.   "She couldn't catch one if it was nailed down to the sand", she chortled, but by the same token her beloved Tornado wasn't allowed out during Springtime nesting, unless she was on a tight lead.

           They walked together along the deserted pebble beach, a young man and his dog, soaking up the solitude and the warm Summer sunshine.
            Well, by together I mean James beach-combed the tide line to see what the morning's tide had washed up on the beach while Tornado was attempting to beat the land speed record by hurtling around the sandy flats chasing seagulls, who, being old hands at this game, simply waited until the last minute before lifting effortlessly into the air a few feet in front of her frantic barking and then drifting back down to earth behind her.
          James laughed as he watched the dog going through her daily work-out and then he noticed a black speck low down on the horizon, way out to sea.
         "Heh, Tornado," he yelled, "here comes your namesake."
         "WAROOOOOMPH" ... a low flying RAF Tornado fighter jet plane roared directly overhead, so low that James was sure he could have just reached up and touched it.

          "WAROOOOOMPH" ... another one closely followed while Tornado the dog made desperate attempts at jumping into the air in a futile attempt to catch one of these new big noisy seagulls.
           Morecambe Bay and the Irish Sea were part of the RAF's  training area for low-flying jet fighters and out here on the sandy flats they could come right down on the deck as low as they wanted, whenever they wanted and wherever they wanted.
           Blowing pebbles off the beach on Baycliffe Island with their afterburners was all part of the fun and there were times when James could swear that they would buzz him on purpose, especially as they sometimes gave him a wave as they thundered past, a spit's throw above his head.
            The planes were out every day ... same old routine ... one trying desperately to get away from its companion chase planes who was equally determined to catch up and shoot it down.
           "Do you remember the time that F-117 Nighthawk stealth fighter came over," James asked the dog out loud, "never did figure out what a night-flying stealth fighter was doing out in broad daylight but our lads were all over him like flies on rotten meat."

          "Did he say meat?" thought Tornado, raising her ears and looking at James with those big brown soulful eyes.
         James' cousin, Edward, who was an aircraft fanatic, thought they were probably checking the radar cover over the North-West Region at BAE Wharton Radar, where the company was manufacturing the Tornado aircraft and the new Euro fighters.
            The noise of latent power faded as quickly as it had begun, leaving James with a very hard decision to make.
           He thought: "Do I go for a swim down in the rock pools, if one can call my being able to stay afloat for a few minutes being able to swim, or do I go up to the 'bird-hide' and watch the topless 'nudies' through the telescope?"
           "Gosh, that's a very hard decision to make," he reckoned, already heading off in the direction of the 'bird-hide'.

           The 'bird-hide' was on the side of a sand dune overlooking the salt flats which were one the primary feeding sites for migratory sea-birds in mid-Winter, but this was mid-Summer and the only birds on the beach now were wearing bikini briefs and very little else.
            James located the key to the equipment locker, hidden above the door to the 'hide' ... how novel ... and took out the 100x magnification telescope.
            Putting it in it's slot in one of the windows he quickly focused it and ... Bingo ... a bevy of beautiful topless beach babes came into view ... but not quite as clear as he would have liked.
          "These lenses need cleaning," he complained.
 

 
         They say if you've got it ... flaunt it ... well these girls had certainly got it and weren't too shy about flaunting it, either.
           It wasn't as though they would have minded if he had gone down on the beach and joined them ... he was sorely tempted but if his mum found out he would be in deep manure.  It would be paramount to his consorting with the enemy.
           He couldn't recognise any of them, carefully going from group to group, so as not to miss any detail, lingering on some more than others. Well, I mean to say, which red-bloodied horny teenage male wouldn't have done exactly the same?
 

         "They're not locals, not these beauties," he thought, "word must have spread about the 'nudie' beach and they are coming here from all over the place for their holidays."
           "Ye gods," he mouthed, "mother's going to love that."
          After finally getting bored with looking at all those bare tits, and not really getting aroused enough to do anything about it, if you know what I mean, James packed up the telescope in the locker, and put the key back in its hidey-hole.
          "Come on, Tornado, we're off," he yelled at a sand-covered dog who was trying to dig her way all the way down to China after chasing some rabbit into a hole ... a rabbit, no doubt, that was surely long gone by now, through the back door of the warren.

          The tide had come in as they wandered back along the beach for their tea, each deep in thought, Tornado with her rabbits, and James imagining what his birthday present off of our Penny might be, when they were both rudely interrupted.
      "WAROOOOOMPH" ... a Tornado came from the landward side of the Island and made him jump ... as well as kicking up swirls of dust and dead grass all down the beach

        "God, he really is low," he exploded to no one in particular, "they must be getting really serious about something or other."
          Mum was waiting to greet them when they got back home, and they all retreated into the kitchen where the smell of home cooking wafted like a warm blanket over James.
          James said: "Smells good, mum."
          "Doesn't it always... did you see all those planes today?"
          "Yes, mum, a lot more than usual."
         "They're up to something, mark my words, there's going to be another war somewhere, you can bet on it, probably going to bomb that militant El Queda lot again, and very soon."
         "You're probably right mum" he said. She usually was.
         "Did you check the 'bird-hide'?"
         "Yes, mum, everything was ok."
         "Did you talk to those 'nudie' people?"
         "No, mum, but there was a lot them on the beach."
         "Did you finish your homework for the college?"
         "Yes, mum, and I will tidy my room and get everything ship-shape and Bristol-fashion for when I leave on Saturday."
          "How are you getting there?"
          "Mr Butler is taking me but I need to be up at 3-30am."
          "I'll set the alarm and make sure you get up."
          "Thanks, mum I appreciate that."
          "And I'll put you some spare underpants out, and socks, and don't forget your toothbrush, and remember to keep your willie in your pants where it belongs."
          "Mum," cringed James, as he flushed bright red, a condition to which he seemed quite prone lately, and one which told his wise old mum that he was still a virgin.

           James beat a hasty retreat to the safety of his room and switched on his computer to go on to the internet and swot up on climbing and caving and such.
         'Now it says here .... stalagmites grow upwards and stalactites grow downwards ...  and helictites grow sideways.'
           "Well that's easy enough," he thought, "the mites go up and the tites come down, and hell's when one bites your back-side."
            He gleaned a lot of information on the science of caves, or Speleology, as some referred to it, and about Speleologists, the posh name for cavers and potholers.
            "From the Greek, spelaion = cave" he noted.

            "Pity there isn't somewhere I could learn the facts-of-life as easily," he thought, not daring to try the porn channels again, because last time he had done that he had gotten into one of these scam porn sites that wouldn't let him get out again ... every time he clicked the close button it threw up five more sites on the screen.  He had to pull the power plug on the computer in the end and then reboot it ... and then it took him hours to delete all the spy scam porn cookies off his hard drive before his mother could find out what he had been up to ... once bitten twice shy.
           "And that facts-of-life talk we had when I was at school was laughable," he winced at the memory, "with old Mr Privy, the Head Master getting all us Fifth Form boys into a room and giving us a twenty minute lesson, with illustrations, on, this is a girl's vagina and this is a boy's penis ... and if you poke your finger up your anus and stimulate your prostrate gland all sorts of fluids will drip from the end of your penis, and its all very nice, and you don't need a girl there to do that?" and he had smirked as he said it and looked for all the world like some exhibitionist flasher in a dirty old raincoat who had just exposed himself.
          "What?" James couldn't believe what he'd heard.
         "He just said stick your finger up your bum," a fellow school chum had whispered, giggling away in a demented fashion
          James' young mind had just boggled at that and all the other lads in the class had looked .. shocked .. bemused .. astounded ... bewildered ... baffled ... dumbfounded ... quite at a loss what to think.
           "What the hell was that all about?" the lads had murmured one to one another, "is old Privy a 'poofter' or what?"
           All in all young James had not scored very highly in the joyful arts of getting it away where girls were concerned ... bloody disaster to be honest ... but hopefully as from Saturday all that was going to change ... for the better ... when Penny delivered on his birthday present.

            Roll on Saturday.

CHAPTER TWO

Ernie's Café.

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              It was still dark when James set off for Mr Butler's Farm, mum had made him some breakfast, "Bless her," and Tornado had stayed curled up in her basket with one disdainful eye peeping over the edge, watching his every move, for all the world saying, "It's the middle of the night, for woof's sake, what does a dog have to do to get some sleep round here?"

              "Put your bike in the barn, James, and we're off," said a bright and cheerful Mr Butler, him being a farmer and him being used to getting up at such a 'god-damn' unearthly hour.
              The trip to Lancaster was pretty uneventful, there being very little traffic about at this time of the morning, but this all changed when they pulled into the Fish Market courtyard and had to fight their way through a host of vans, and people, loading and unloading, scurrying here and there, a bit like Piccadilly Circus at rush hour.
          Mr Butler said: "Give us a hand with these, young James,"  in the typical farmer's way of thinking: "Seeing as you're here, you might as well earn your keep," and James helped him unload the shellfish on to a long counter top.
             "There's a café over there, look, under the stairway, go get yourself a cup of tea and a read of the paper while I get your lift to Ingleton sorted out with Bill Fowler, I've just seen him come in."
             It was cheery in the café, bright lights and people coming in and out. James got in the queue, ordered a tea, took it over to a vacant table, picked up the newspaper which was lying on it, and looked at the front page.
             "The War on Terrorism Continues," screamed the headline, with forecasts of gloom and doom all round, damned if we go to war, damned if we don't, 'Are the terrorists making a dirty Atomic Bomb to use on Britain?'
 

              James, being overly-wise for his age, had long ago reached the conclusion that newspapers contained very little news anymore and would hype anything up, just to sell the newspaper, so he took most of what he read with a pinch of salt, well it was obvious that the papers never ever said "they are", it always asked "are they?" and concluded it was all 'Bollocks'.

              The weather forecast was good, an anti-cyclone centred over the British Isles would give fine sunny weather for at least a week,  'And a week is all I need,' thought James, 'let's hope the weather forecaster knows what he's doing,' remembering the time when one forecaster had said: "There definitely won't be a hurricane over night," but by morning half the Southern Counties had been flattened and a million trees uprooted.
             Typical modern teenager, our young James, one minute he was as worldly wise and cynical as they come, and next minute he was as gullible as a monkey with its hand stuck in a fruit jar because it hasn't got the brains to let go of the fruit and unclench its fist, but I suppose that's how it has always been with young people, they just lacked experience, and experience was something that James was going to get, 'in spades' as they say, over the coming week, but he didn't know it yet. 

               Bill Fowler was a real character, a blunt speaking gregarious Yorkshire man with a fish stall on Settle Market. He kept James entertained with his ample wit and local dialect all the way over to Yorkshire and Ingleton village.
              None the less Bill was a very shrewd businessman and as he dropped him off in the village his parting words to James were: "If tha does art far nart, James, doit fer thissen," which James roughly translated as "If you do anything for nothing, James, do it for yourself," which James thought was rather odd because Bill had just give him a lift to Ingleton for nothing.
             "Perhaps these stereotype characters of penny-pinching Scotsmen, the sheep-shagging Welshmen, and these tight-fisted Yorkshire men were just so much hype as well," he said to himself, as he rounded a corner and saw a bright illuminated sign which read ..

Ernie's Café
Run by cavers for cavers.

        It was just striking 9am on the church clock as James approached the door, and heard it being unlocked from inside by a tall athletic-looking man, who, not expecting anyone to be poised on his doorstep, quipped: "You're bright and early!"
           "And you're Ernie."
           I think they took a liking to one another from that very first moment, as Ernie ushered him into the café, and pointed to the menu board up the wall, which, despite its size, was lost in a blizzard of caving photos and equipment which hung festooned from every available vantage point.
           An attractive blonde lady appeared from the kitchen, and smiled at him, "You're bright and early."
           James grinned at her, "Yes, and you are?"
           "I'm Janine, his better half," she nodded at Ernie who was tidying up some ropes that hung over the counter, "want a full breakfast, young man?" she asked, establishing the ground rules that she was in charge here, "or beans on toast, perhaps?"
          "Yes, please, full breakfast, I'm starving," said James, thinking to himself:  'It's six hours since I had my first breakfast, no wonder I feel hungry, and I like it here already, this lady is just like a younger version of my mum,' ... "Oh, and I'm James."

           He was tucking into a huge plate of ... well ... everything that could possibly be fried ... when Ernie came across.
            "Going walking?"
            "Probably, but I'm really in here to meet up with the Happy Ramblers, do you know them?"
             "Oh yes, they come in here every weekend, have been doing for some time now .. nice lot .. bit over the top sometimes .. but, what the hell .. you're only young once," Ernie sighed ruefully, giving the impression that despite his athletic stature he was not as fit as he used to be, a twinge of rheumatism creeping in, perhaps?
            "When do they come in?"
           "Usually come in about ten o' clock, but they won't be in until teatime today, because, I heard they are doing something over Malham way, don't know what, climbing the Cove, I think, bloody nutters that they are, I wouldn't put it past them," he smiled, admiring their audacity.

            "You remind me of someone, James, I just can't put my finger on it, Janine," he yelled towards the kitchen, and when she appeared, "the lad reminds me of someone but I can't put my finger on it, you've a good memory for faces, any idea?"
             "I thought that myself," she confided, looking at James with those same all-knowing eyes that his mum had, "ye gods, he's the spitting image of Black Rose Jed in your photograph."
            "You're spot on, old girl," he said with admiration and affection, "he is the spitting image of Black Rose Jed."
            "Black Rose Jed?" James was a little afraid to ask, the name conjuring up images of Black Beard the Pirate or someone just as infamous.
           "The Secret Caverns of Black Rose Jed are the most famous legend in these parts, James, people have been looking for them for over fifty years,"  Ernie told him, "and Jed was the pioneer potholer of his day, the best ever at finding new caves, nobody could hold a candle to Black Rose Jed."
          "A proper Speleologist," chipped in James trying to impress him with his new-found knowledge, courtesy of the Internet.
          "Go wash your mouth out with carbolic soap," Ernie exploded, "Black Rose Jed would turn in his grave to be called a Speleologist, he was a Potholer through and through, only those half-baked naff-head  Americans used the term Speleologist or maybe some daft school teacher who doesn't know any better."
         "We are all potholers up North, lad, we even refer to those pansy Southerners as cavers, just to keep them in their place ... we have potholes up North, let me tell you, great gaping chasms in the ground that go down to Hell itself, not piddling little excuses for a cavern like they have down South," he grinned at James to show him he wasn't being all that serious.  
         "Take no notice of me, James, we Northern potholers have a chip on each shoulder, it's the only way to keep a balanced outlook on life," he laughed at his own joke, "let's face it,  you've got to be a bit of a nutter in the first place to dangle hundreds of feet down a damp black hole on the end of a bit of thin rope."
           "So, this Black Rose Jed was a legend eh?" James beamed, sort of quite liking the idea that he looked like a famous legendary hero.     
            "Black Rose Jed was years ahead of his time,"  Ernie told a now fully enthralled James, who now hung on every word.
            "Instead of burning his name on the wall of a cave with a carbide light flame to show where he'd been, or using a lighted candle to write his name with the soot from the flame, he used to carry these little enamelled metal discs with a black rose  on them .... like this one I have here,"  he pointed up above the counter, above a rainbow of coloured ropes, "it used to be black on white ... but after 50 years it's gone yellow with age."

           "Can I see it?" said James, really meaning, "Can I hold it?"
           "Sorry, ... these discs are as rare as hen's teeth, and I've got it screwed down to stop it going walkies when I'm not looking. There are plenty of people who wouldn't think twice about nicking my little pride and joy for their own collection ... you can come and have a closer look, if you want."
            James duly complied and gave the disc the once over, after getting permission to actually touch it. It felt very cold to the touch, well of course it would, stands to reason, metal is cold to the touch.
           "See what you mean about it going yellow with age, and there's a bit of rust showing through on the edges as well."
            "He didn't put them down every cave," Ernie added, "only those caves, or extensions to other caves, which he had found himself ... y'know, the new bits, unsullied by vandalism."
          "Find one of these discs and you're definitely into something new, that's for sure ... he was one hell-of-an explorer, was that lad, and he always went off on his own."
         "Would have been a legend in his own lifetime, but he disappeared one day. Just went out and never came back, so they tell me," he added, "way back before my time, of course."
        "As I recall the story, there was an earthquake that day which shook the whole of Ingleton, especially round the church where his childhood sweetheart was buried ... oh yes ... the bells started ringing on their own ... some say that Black Rose Jed had finally dug his way right down into Hell, but never the less ... he never came back ... no one has seen hide nor hair of him from that day to this, and we're talking fifty years ago."
         "Occasionally, very occasionally, we get someone coming in with a disc, and they are usually really pissed off that Black Rose Jed had got into that new cave before them."
         He paused and giggled like a little schoolboy reading a comic, "Hell, he was in there ... before they were even born."
           "I keep offering to buy them, but they always go all coy on me and suddenly the disc is more important to them than finding that new cave ... which they weren't the first to find, anyway."
           "There's nowt as queer as folk," Ernie sighed, "but I haven't heard of a disc being found for some years now ... maybe they've all been found by now, but I doubt it."
           "Did you find this one then?" asked James.
          "No such luck, it was brought in to the café by a council worker who found it when they were working on some road drains that had collapsed ... up on the Waterfalls Walk it was ... after a heavy thunderstorm."
           "It cost me dear, that little souvenir." 
         "And the photograph, in the frame, next to it, with the waterfall?" James enquired, "the old faded one, I presume that is this Black Rose Jed character."

         "That's the only known photo of Black Rose Jed down Weathercold Cave. I really only put it up there to annoy those toffee-nosed geeks from Cravenford Pothole Club. They think they're God's gift to caving, the pillocks, but even they can't get to go down Weathercold Cave anymore... nobody can now."

           "That photo was taken in an age when no one had ever heard of 'political correctness' or the sick 'compensation culture' and a knock by a caver on a farmer's door was all that was needed for permission for them to visit any cave.
          This all ended when someone was given permission to explore the Weathercold Cave - and then they went somewhere that they shouldn't have - and they got squashed flat by a falling rock - and their relatives sued the owner of the place for a vast amount of money - for showing the warm-hearted generosity that one associates with Yorkshire folk - the townie bastards."
            Ernie seldom swore which high-lighted the seriousness of the matter, "So now, of course, no one is allowed anywhere near the Cave, and other landowners, and farmers are now very reluctant to let people on their land for fear of being prosecuted - and who can blame them?"             
            "And that drawing," James enquired, attempting to calm the suddenly tense atmosphere by rapidly changing the subject, "I presume that has something to do with it, as well."

         "Supposed to be Black Rose Jed exploring his caverns, but I very much doubt it," Ernie said, "okay so it's very old but it's probably way before his time, a hundred years or more before his time, at least. They've been exploring potholes round here since time began."
            "And the other picture," James enquired, "I presume that's the same or is that the real McCoy?"
             "You can bet your last penny on it," Ernie asserted, "that's a genuine 'pen and ink' drawing of Black Rose Jed down the Secret Caverns ... or as some would have me believe ... it's the Pillar Chamber in Clapham Cave ... but they only say that so they can get their hands on my picture ... but they must think I was born yesterday ... I know it's real."

        "How's that then," asked James, pushing his luck.
         Ernie bridled: "I just know it, alright?"
      "Good enough for me," said James, beating a strategic withdrawal in the face of the such fervent testimony.
         "It's very old," said Ernie, softening his stance a little.
          "Yes, you can see that, it's going brown at the edges."
         "The black ink has faded to brown, and you only get that with very old drawings, right?"
          "Right," said James, "it must be unique."
         "Yes, and one day some caver is going to find that pillar, I just know they will, and who'll have the last laugh then, eh?"
          "I guess you will Ernie, but tell me something, why was he called Black Rose Jed, what was that all about."
           "Oh, that's a sorry tale and no mistake," sighed Ernie.

      "I guess it all came about when his childhood sweetheart met with a tragic accident and died a few weeks before they were to be married. Pretty young thing she was, and they were devoted to one another. Rumour has it that Jed gave her a single red rose as a token of his everlasting love, on a cold winter's evening after they had been out together, at the local Cinema. Jed walked his sweetheart home, she was still living with her parents of course, in those days, and she retired to bed and put the rose on her bedside table, in a vase of water. It was cold, so she lit the gas fire, which must have gone out during the night, and the gas was still escaping. She died peacefully in her sleep, but when they found her in the morning, the red rose had turned to jet-black. They say the gas did it, but that was a strange to-do and no mistake."
          "Jed was inconsolable, and spent all of his time trying to find a  natural underground tomb that would be worthy of being the final resting place of his one true love. Some say he had found it in the Secret Caverns, others say they are just a myth, time will tell ... but they buried his sweetheart in the local church yard ... and now, can I get you another mug of tea?" he said, a clear indication that he considered he had talked long enough about Black Rose Jed and that subject was exhausted.

            "So, Ernie, I'm going to have to find something to do until the Happy Ramblers get here, at tea time,  any ideas about what I can do ... is there anything around here worth seeing?"
             "Of course there is, don't you know that Ingleton is the centre of the Dales as far as tourists are concerned, we have waterfalls to see, mountains to climb, and White Scar Caves, the longest show cave in the country, and there are plenty of tourist shops in the village, not that they are going to interest a young lad like you that much."
              "How far are the waterfalls then?"
            "About a four mile round trip, very picturesque," he pointed at a picture on the wall advertising the Waterfalls Walk

and his memory brought the waterfalls to life. 

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              "Too far," groaned James, "I was up at three thirty this morning and I'm a bit knackered, how far are the mountains?"
            "Well Ingleborough's nearest but it's about four miles away and half a mile high," laughed Ernie, pointing at another photo on the wall, "so I guess that's out as well?"

             "And the Show Cave?" James knew the answer already.
             "A four mile round trip, and that's not including a couple of miles down the cave," Ernie said, pointing at yet another photo stuck up on the wall, "have you got any transport?"

              "No, so I guess I'll go shopping then," sighed James.

               "You could always do George's Old Cave," remembered Ernie, "that's only just up the hill here, and it's quite pretty, from all accounts, an old show cave, easy peasy."
           "You can't be sending him off caving on his own," Janine intruded from behind the counter, where she had been ear-wigging, "he might look like Black Rose Jed but he's still wet behind the ears as far as caving is concerned."
             "He'll be fine, Janine, it's a doddle, it used to be a show cave, simple walking all the way, no pitches, nowhere to fall down, I'll give him two lights, one spare in case the other fails, a helmet to protect his noggin,  and the basic rules before he goes, the very worst that could happen to him is getting a bit wet when he gets up to the waterfall."
            "It has a waterfall, underground?" asked an expectant James, getting all excited at going caving, albeit on his own.
             "Well, he'd best be very careful, I don't want to have to tell his mum you sent him underground on his own," she fussed, going back into the kitchen.

              "They do go on," confided Ernie, quietly, "but she's right, if you're going caving on your own you must be very careful, and you can start by putting this candle and matches in your pocket as an extra safeguard.  Up at White Scar Show Caves they say that Christopher Long, who found the place in, when was it? ... 1929, I think? ... used only candles on the brim of his bowler hat to find the Master Cave. They had guts in the old days, and we still light a candle in memory of all the potholers who have died over the years, drowned mostly, so you must never forget, James, that these caves were made by water and in wet weather they flood right up to the roof." He pointed at a small plaque pinned up on the shop's notice board.
   

 
And the Lord said
<"Let there be light" 

And there was light
And you could see for bloody miles.

For our absent friends
who pushed the blackness just a little too far.

              James put the candle and matches in his pocket.
             "Now," said Ernie, "you don't need a proper caving suit because all you will be doing is walking in an easy passage. You don't need a harness or anything like that because you won't be climbing down any pitches, there are no vertical drops in George's Old Cave. Try this helmet on, does it fit?"
                "Seems okay."
                "Fasten it," ordered Ernie, "it will be no good to you if it falls off when you need it ... it's to stop you hurting your head on the roof of the cave ... Limestone rock is pretty hard stuff."
                "Yes, it fits okay."
               "Good, now this light has an elastic strap on it which fits round the helmet, so," he eased  it on to the rim of the helmet, "and it keeps it in position ... this battery pack goes on your belt, and this other torch you keep in your pocket as a spare, but make sure they both work before you go into the cave. There is nothing as black as the darkness underground. If your lights ever fail you must never move around in the dark or you will end up falling down a hole ... you must stay where you are until someone finds you, okay?"
              "Okay."
             "These batteries look very small, Ernie," stated a worried James, "they are only penlight size and they don't look big enough to last any length of time underground?"
              "That's because they are the latest LED technology."
               "LED?"
              "Light Emitting Diodes," Ernie said, the cogs turning in his head as he tried to remember the technical bumf he had just been reading, "anyway, there's a new way of doing things so you get more light for much longer with less weight ... not like those heavy lead-acid miner's lamps we used to use that would burn your leg off if the case cracked and they leaked the acid."
              "Think I prefer LED," grinned James. 
              "Very wise," he grinned back, "now, leave your rucksack just inside the cave, out of the sight of any opportunistic thieving townie bastard who just happens by, and it will also tell us you are still in the cave if you don't show up back here at teatime."
              "Seems easy enough, how do I get there?"

           "Go up the valley on the footpath, down by the river, until you meet a small waterfall, from a little stream on your right, and just follow the little stream until you come to where it bubbles up from under the ground. The cave is nearby, a big open tunnel with a flat concrete floor, you can't miss it."
             "Thanks Ernie, what do I owe you for the gear?"
            "Call it a fiver, and you get the four quid deposit back when you bring the gear back, so it will only cost you a quid for the day, fair enough, James?"
             "Sounds good to me, thanks Ernie," paying the man and saying his farewells as he set off on his very first underground adventure."
            "Nice enough lad," said Janine, "The girls are going to love having him around, he's such a sweetie."
           Ernie raised his eyebrows and nodded as he sorted through some dishevelled woolly hats and gloves in a big cardboard box, and said: "You're right, as usual, I think we are going to see a lot of him ... hmmm ... so you think he's a sweetie eh?"
           "Oh yes," she grinned, "a real pretty boy, so young, so innocent looking, so sweet, those Happy Rambler girls are just going to eat him for breakfast," she paused, "afterwards, that is."
            "The lucky sod," laughed Ernie, getting his own back.

     James found the long walk up to George's Old Cave quite exhilarating ... the fresh air ... the views across the Dales ... unobstructed views all the way across to the mountains of the Lake District, far away to the north. Simply beautiful countryside.
      The birds were singing to one another as colourful butterflies flitted from flower to flower in search of pollen and nectar.

Please Click the Green Refresh Button NOW

        "Was that a Peacock butterfly?" he asked himself, answering, "Yes it is," as it flittered back into view. "How wonderful, I didn't think they could be found this far inland, in Yorkshire."
        He paused to examine the tiny purple flowers that had attracted the butterfly and the unmistakable smell of Wild Mountain Thyme wafted up at his touch. Other flowers gathered round in abundance but James wasn't too sure what they were called, except of course, the buttercups and daises.
       The distant bleating of a wayward sheep floated gently across the valley from a distant fell side, and there was not another soul in sight.  James sat on a boulder and soaked it all up. God was in His heaven and all was at peace with the world, as they say, when ....

       "WAROOOOOMPH" ... a low flying Tornado fighter plane roared directly overhead, so low that James was sure he could have reached up and touched it ... touched it that is, if he hadn't had been scared half to death with the sudden shock of it all.
           A stark communications mast on a nearby hill top, sticking out like a boil on a sore bum,  prompted the memory that the Dales were part of the RAF's training area for low-flying jet fighters and of course, he had decided to sit down right under the flight path, hadn't he, just how lucky could one get?
          He looked down the valley watching the tiny speck of the offending plane heading out towards the shimmering silver band which were the waters of Morecambe Bay and the Irish Sea ... where he knew that the pilot could really get his aircraft "deep down and dirty" by skimming only feet above the flat sands of the estuary ... he had seen them do just that ... many times before.
        Again his view was intruded upon by two huge square buildings on the horizon ... the Atomic Power Stations at Heysham ... built right on the foreshore of Morecambe Bay ... for easy access to unlimited amounts of salt water for the gigantic cooling system needed because of the tremendous heat generated by nuclear power.
       'Well, that's necessary progress ... I suppose,' thought James, 'but all we need now are a mass of those gigantic wind turbines up on yon hillside and we've got a bloody hat-trick, God forbid, but we all know that could never happen in a National Park, or could it, I wouldn't bet on it.'

         "WAROOOOOMPH" ... he ducked involuntary as two other Tornados roared past chasing their companion down the valley, veering to one side in an attempt to intercept it.
           'Still training for the war against terrorism,' he supposed.
         An inquisitive cow and the local wildlife didn't bat an eye-lid at this intrusion and carried on with the more important things in life, like eating, as though nothing whatever had happened.
          'Strange,' mused James, 'how easily they get used to something like that, so after a while they don't even notice it'. 

CHAPTER THREE

George's Old Cave.

     Following the river upstream James came upon the small waterfall and after an easy climb up from the valley without any further intrusion he soon found the obvious entrance to George's Old Cave.
          It was exactly as Ernie had described it.
        A small stream emerged from a spring under the rock face and to one side, next to a tumble-down wooden hut, was the large open passageway with a smooth concrete floor which simply pleaded for one to: "Explore me, explore me, please explore me."

        A tatty-looking painted sign attached to the hut proclaimed the cave had once been a Show Cave. 'But why had it closed down?' James wondered, 'I hope it's still safe.'
       Checking that both lights worked, James put the spare in his coat pocket, and attached the other one to his helmet, with the aid of the stretch-elastic head-band.
        He left his rucksack just inside the entrance, as Ernie had suggested. Out of sight of those opportunist thieves who made their living off unsuspecting tourists ... the kind who went walking and left their valuables in full view on the back seat of their parked cars ... but where it could still be easily found by someone needing proof that he was still in the cave, after coming a cropper for being so stupid as to go caving down there on his own in the first place.
         Maybe he was pushing his luck by going on his own, but then again James had spent so much of his life on his own as a child, wandering the lonely shore-line of his childhood home on Baycliffe Island that being on his own here wasn't going to bother him none, well not that much anyway.
        Taking a deep breath .... James walked into the darkening tunnel ... pausing for a few short moments to let his eyes get accustomed to the darkness ... and was immediately rewarded for his effort with a fabulous display of flowstone which draped down from the roof in a cascade of white and multicoloured hues. This was quite unexpected so close to the entrance, but still breath-taking, none the less, and really pretty.

      Small pools of crystal clear water held back by thin walls of calcite overflowed and washed the formation from top to bottom.
       Some of the formation had been there a long time, that was obvious, but parts of it, where water dripped on to it from the roof looked like it had been made yesterday, or today even.
      James ventured further into the cave and was beginning to see the fascination that these underground realms held for cavers.

        He looked up and saw these tiny silver pouch-like things hanging from the roof and wondered what kind of stalactites they could be. He climbed up on a rock for a closer look and got the impression they were moving, ever so slightly.
          'How odd,' he thought, and stood on tip toe to get a closer look at this strange sight, 'not just silver balls but jet-black ones as well.' and then he nearly shit himself as this huge two-foot wide spider loomed into view, right in front of his eyes.
           "K'nell," he ejaculated and jumped backwards off the rock ... and the spider came to ... and then disappeared.
            Cold chills ran up and down his spine as he frantically turned left and right, going in ever-decreasing circles, looking for this giant spider .... and then he saw it ... and felt a right pillock.
           It was all of two inches across, legs and all, but had been dangling down from the brim of his helmet only a few inches in front of his eyes but in the deceptive half-light of the cave it had appeared to be gigantic.
          The black balls were harmless cave spiders just trying to mind their own business, and the silver balls were their egg sacks.  Their home was inside the cave on the threshold of darkness, and it was James who was the intruder here.
           James shuddered .... and carefully checked that he wasn't an unwitting host to any more unwelcome travellers. He was learning fast that things were not always what they seemed to be down here under the ground.

             A small stream ran along the floor of the cave, playing hide and seek among the slabs of fallen rock, so it was quite easy to proceed without getting ones feet wet by stepping from slab to slab .... something that James had done all his young life among the rock pools at Baycliffe Island.
             James decided to check out just how dark it was underground. He chose a safe perch on the cave wall, sat down and turned out his light. Total darkness ensued. He decided to stay like this for a while to see if his eyes would adjust to the dark, and as he sat listened to the tumbling and splashing of the stream it seemed to get louder as his ears tried to compensate for his lack of vision. All his senses were heightened and he felt a  light breeze like gossamer wings brushing against his cheek, so he quickly turned his light back on to see what it was ... not another spider he hoped.
               Perched on the cave wall not three feet in front of his face was a small brown bundle, which moved ever so slightly, and James realized it was a bat, small, brown and cuddly, and it stretched its wings and preened itself it in the light of his lamp. He edged nearer for a closer look and it promptly took flight and disappeared off into the darkness. The bat didn't need lights to find its way around underground, and could navigate the twists and turns without any problem at all.
            'One day,' James thought, 'they will have bat vision for cave explorers, just mark my words.'

          Ernie had said that the formations in these caves had taken thousands of years to form, as the calcite slowly deposited itself on any suitable surface .... and he had also said that many of the formations in George's Cave had been vandalised by its many visitors .... and it was going to take  thousands of years for them to regain their former grandeur.

         But these looked okay ... despite the dark stains ... where people had touched them ... and it certainly was a temptation to touch them .... they just asked to be touched ... and unfortunately many had succumbed to temptation ... including  our hero.
          James found a small piece of stalagmite on the floor of the cave, that had been broken off by vandals, and tentatively poked at it with his fore-finger, not quite knowing what to expect.
          It was certainly hard, not at all soft, as he had imagined it might be ... but very brittle.  It was a sort of translucent, mucky yellowy-gold colour with an obvious crystalline structure showing where it had been broken through ... and it was made up of concentric rings, James noted, just like the rings in a tree trunk.
         This meant it must have grown in size, layer upon layer, just like a tree, does, but these rings would indicate differences in the rate at which the calcium carbonate was deposited, and that would depend upon the rate at which the water was dripping at the time of deposition ... or so it said on the Internet.
         The time he had spent swotting up on caves on the Internet was already beginning to pay dividends. He may not be able to walk the walk yet, but he could certainly talk the talk.
         Where the stalactite had dried out it was also quite dull and life-less.  Seemingly these stalactites lose their sparkle if they are not permanently wet ... which means it is pretty pointless breaking them off and taking them home, they would just 'die' on you the minute they dried out.

          The distant splashing of water caught his attention and he made his way quite easily to the base of a high, yet small waterfall. After all, George's Cave had been open to the public in the old days as a show cave and the footpath was still in fairly good condition ... apart from the odd mangy pieces of semi-rotten wooden walkways which were coated here and there with a thin layer of white calcite, almost like the icing on a cake, and which James learned, at a later date, was called 'cave-ice' by cavers.

          The waterfall was novel ... one just doesn't expect a waterfall underground. The cavern roof had lifted considerably and James could see the water cascading out of a hole some twenty feet up in the top of the cavern roof and sort of spreading out into a wide heavy spray by the time it had splashed down into the turbulent pool at the bottom of the fall.
          Very refreshing that spray ... but it wouldn't take much for it to become very cold for anyone foolish enough to loiter round here for too long, and James wisely decided to move on.
          The journey into the cave had been remarkably easy, seeing as it had been closed as a show cave for many years, in fact the only obstacles to be avoided were some large rocks that must have fallen out of the roof during the earthquake that Ernie was going on about, 'When did he say it was? ... 1959? .. 60? ... can't remember .... a long time back, anyway.'
        "Perhaps I should keep my eye out for those rocks," he voiced, "on my way back, because this is as far as I go. I certainly can't climb up that waterfall, and I can't stay here, it's getting cold."

        Turning back from the waterfall with his head bent to watch for boulders on the floor James promptly head-butted the lowering roof with his helmet, such a WALLOP!!
        He staggered backwards with this colourful array of bright stars and flashing lights in his head ... one of them being his own caving light which went clattering away to the side of the cave and it rolled out of sight under a low overhanging rock.
       "Ouch, ouch, ouch ... bloody ouch ... that hurt," he said out loud, to no one in particular, as he cradled his sore head in his hands, and he was wondering, 'what would that have been like without a helmet on?'
         Luckily his caving light had stayed on, shining out from the depths of the overhang, and he lay down to try and reach under the overhanging rock to get at it, being very careful this time not to bang his head again.
        "Bloody Nora, that hurt," he said, caring little that he had started talking to himself, "come on little lightie, come to daddy."
        He managed to get hold of the light and he was just about to pull back from out of the crevice when he realised that the overhang wasn't solid rock but had a narrow rift-like chimney going upwards behind the rock into a larger section which meant one could just stand up and push through it.

       He squeezed upright through the narrow chimney to find himself looking at some pretty stalagmite bosses ... and then suddenly he came nose to nose with a Black Rose disc, yellowed with age and laying upright against a stalagmite boss on the left hand wall ... looking for all the world like it had been there forever.

    A black void beyond the stalagmites echoed invitingly ... a cool sweet draft blew in his face ... enticing the young explorer to venture further into the unknown darkness. 
      'Surely these could not be the Secret Caverns of Black Rose Jed,' thought James, 'they were far too easy to find, someone must have been here many times before.' 
        Little did he realise at the time that no proper potholer would ever have expected this passage to be where it was ... in the wrong place, going in the wrong direction ... no ... this passage was found through the blind ignorance of youth by someone who didn't know any better than to bang his head on the roof of the cave. Actually there was more chance of winning the lottery, you lucky sod, but old Black Rose Jed knew about it too ... which make's one wonder?
       With baited breath James reached out and gingerly picked up the Black Rose tag, not quite believing it was real ... but the cold metal against his fingers only reinforced its reality. He carefully put the treasured souvenir inside his jacket pocket and zipped it shut, for safety.</