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The
Secret Caverns CHAPTER ONE A Penny for your thoughts.
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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.
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.
"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.
"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.
"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."
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. 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.
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." 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
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.
"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."
They walked together along the deserted pebble beach, a young man and
his dog, soaking up the solitude and the warm Summer sunshine.
"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.
"Did he say meat?" thought Tornado, raising her ears and looking at
James with those big brown soulful eyes.
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. |
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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.
"God,
he really is low," he exploded to no one in particular, "they must be
getting really serious about something or other."
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.
"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.
Roll on Saturday. |
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CHAPTER TWO Ernie's Café. Please Click the Green Refresh Button NOW |
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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.
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.
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. Ernie's Café
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!"
He was tucking into a huge plate of ... well ... everything that could
possibly be fried ... when Ernie came across.
"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?"
"Can I see it?" said James, really meaning, "Can I hold it?"
"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.
"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."
"How's that then," asked James, pushing his luck.
"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
"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?"
and his memory brought the waterfalls to life. Click the Green Refresh Button NOW if the water isn't moving.
"Too far," groaned James, "I was up at three thirty this morning and I'm a bit knackered,
how far are the mountains?"
"And the Show Cave?" James knew the answer already.
"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."
"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. |
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And there was light For our absent
friends |
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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. Please Click the Green Refresh Button NOW
"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.
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CHAPTER THREE George's Old Cave.
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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.
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.'
Small pools of crystal clear water held back by thin walls of calcite
overflowed and washed the formation from top to bottom.
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.
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. 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. 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.
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 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. | |||||