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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Adventure
- Published: 04/04/2022
Walking the dog with Dr Ötek
Born 1948, M, from Kent - garden of England, United KingdomWalking my dog with Dr Ötek.
For many years I had been intrigued by the legend of the lost Westwell treasure, the story of which circulated from time to time around our village. It occasionaly came up as a subject of conversation in the local pub, as almost everybody had heard the story of the steel cashbox, buried for safety during World War Two by three local farmers, who had been drawn into the conflict.
The English county of Kent, only twenty miles from France across the English channel, had seen extensive bombing during the period of the blitz on London, as many enemy aircraft released their bombs here, trying to cripple the supply routes into the city and also to destroy the surrounding wartime manufacturing and military bases. Many of these bombs missed their intended targets, instead falling all over Kent, which was possibly the most intensively bombed county in the whole UK during the war.
The three farmers made plans to move their families away from the dangerous area of Westwell, which is only a short distance from the coast and very close to the industrial town of Ashford, a town which was producing heavy machinery and weapons for the war effort and which became a major target for the bombers.
The trio thought that it would be wise to bury their savings locally, to be easily recovered after the war, as like most country folk at the time, they were suspicious of banks, and as with many farmers at the time, relied upon accepting cash, which was usually in the gold sovereigns used as currency at that period when trading at local agricultural markets.
Well, the three friend's plan was to fill a strongbox with their savings, find a good quiet spot some way from the village, and when there, to carefully measure and triangulate a spot between three mature trees, in true pirate fashion, where they would then dig a neat hole in which to bury the cashbox, a heavy steel box that they had taken care to seal carefully against moisture, in order to fully protect the contents.
You may have already heard the story.
A place for the burial of the money was agreed on, they would hide it on the western escarpment of The Pilgrims Way, an ancient trackway used for many hundreds of years by pilgrims to journey to Canterbury Cathedral, a narrow path high above the village. This strange and lonely spot had the advantage of being a wooded area, overlooking the village but close to the trackway, making it easily accessible on foot, and rarely frequented by anyone but local people during the war years.
Deciding on the burial spot, a map of the small area that they chose was made and deposited safely until after the war, so that the box could be easily found again.
The box was buried, and the three men returned to their families.
Sadly, all three of the farmers died during the conflict, two fighting in Europe, and the other from a heart attack while a prisoner in Germany.
Of course, at the end of hostilities, the remaining families looked for the treasure.
But things had changed.
Unfortunately the small wood in which the three trees were situated, had been cut down during the war, the wood from them to be used as emergency structural material, and now, as the surviving family members could see, only recently cleared ground, now with few recognisable features, remained.
The treasure was lost.
For some years they would still try to locate the spot by digging during the winter period, when the undergrowth was sparse and searching was possible, but eventually they gave up the search as it seemed impossible to find the exact spot. At the time metal
detectors were not available, so they had little chance of finding anything.
Over time the escarpment went back to nature, becoming overgrown with low bushes, small trees and tall weeds, and it is still like this today.
I walk my dog along the trackway when the weather is good, as the views over the valley are very pleasant and the air is fresh and invigorating. Our dog is an elderly crossed terrier, who when she was a puppy was quite ill, and this has left her a little disabled, so she needs constant rest periods during our walks to recover from the effort.
It was these periods of inactivity which inspired me to find something interesting to do while she rested.
I tried taking a sketch book and watercolours to record the views, but this became tiresome, as, just as I got going with the paints, she would want to walk on again, so I looked at other interests which might be easy to pass the time with In the fresh air outdoors as a hobby, and which required little equipment to carry.
A friend had told me of the discovery of a lead pilgrims badge, found by a young boy whilst metal detecting along the track. The badge was apparently early medieval, and although not particuarly rare or valuable was a lovely relic of the long distant past.
Inspired by this find, discovered along a trackway that I knew well and visited often whilst on our walks, I decided to look into buying a metal detector of my own - this treasure hunting sounded like fun, and would give me something to do whilst Frankie took her frequent rests.
This was when I discovered Dr Ötek, who became my therapist.
I had looked at the local sellers of metal detectors, and had had several demonstrated to me, but they all seemed to be rather over complicated, seemingly 'Boy's toys', either costing the earth or almost needing a university degree to understand and operate, plus of course, I would have to buy all the other gear which one apparently needed to carry, in order to dig up the finds. Also, I am a bit adverse to camoflaged clothing, which seemed to be the normal gear for detectorists to wear.
To me it seemed a little crazy to spend hundreds of pounds to find just a few bits and bobs and coins here and there. No, this was not for me, so I gave up on the metal detector idea.
The dog and I have a combined age of around a hundred and forty, given that one year of a dogs life is seven for a human, and anyway, you cannot teach an old dog new tricks, canine or human!
So a few weeks passed, the weather got warmer, and Frankie and I went down to the seaside for the day.
She loves the firm sand by the waters edge and splashes about until she is tired, at which point she collapses on the dry sand and falls asleep, usually to wake up looking like a dog shaped sand castle.
It was whilst she was sleeping that I spied a young chap walking slowly along the sea line and swinging a metal detector from side to side. Every now and again he would stop, crouch down, scrape the sand and pick something up, putting it either carefully into a pocket, or sometimes into a plastic bag, which I later found was filled with all the rubbish.
I watched him for a while as he got closer and as he passed us he stopped to pat Frankie, who was now awake and ready to play.
'Found anything' I asked, and he gladly showed me his treasure.
Just walking along the beach he had discovered several one pound coins, a fair quantity of copper coins and an interesting but very corroded metal comb. 'Not a lot of good stuff so far today' he said, 'but we live in hope of something special before the sun goes down'.
He seemed a nice chap, and we easily got into conversation, he about the dog and her disability, and me about his finds and the metal detector that he was using.
'I discovered a long time ago that you do not need an expensive detector to find good stuff' he said,'what you really need is a good reliable one, like this, along with a little knowledge of where best to search to find interesting things'. 'Take this one that I am using for example, it is very efficient and light enough to carry and use all day, I call it the doctor, as using it makes me feel good, and the exercise actually does me good'. 'There is nothing like that bleep sound to get the adreneline running, the excitement is quute addictive'.
He handed the detector to me and gave me a quick resume of how it worked and what it could do. It seemed so much more intuitive than the expensive and complicated types that I had been encouraged to buy by the salesman at the shop. 'Look, said the chap', his name was Jim and he lived locally, 'Let me walk the dog with you, and then you can have a go yourself to try it out'.
Well of course I jumped at the chance to have a go at treasure hunting, and off we went, Jim happily leading Frankie, whilst giving me advice on using the detector to its best.
Just a few minutes had passed when a double bleep sounded. 'Looks like you have found something' said Jim, 'give it a waggle over the spot and we will see if we can pinpoint it, just press the red button'.
With rising excitement I followed Jim's instructions, pinpointed the spot and then dug away at the sand with my hand. Suprise, suprise, a few inches down I felt something, enlarged the hole and pulled out a brass key on a short beaded chain. 'Somebody must have been unhappy when they arrived home' said Jim, 'looks like they lost their front door key, although it seems to have been there for some time to me, as it is so corroded'.
But I was now hooked, old key or not, to me it was my very first piece of 'treasure'.
We carried on along the beach and about a quarter of an hour later I had added a couple of pennies, a unicorn hair slide and a small toy car to my collection of finds.
'This seems to be a great metal detector' I said to Jim, 'did you buy it in town?'
'No', he replied, 'it was from the internet'.
My heart dropped. I have never used a computer, and the mere thought of actually buying anything on 'The Net' was completely out of this world for me.
'Well thats it', I said to Jim, 'looks like I will have to stick to dog walks, as computers and using them to buy stuff is something I will never understand'.
'It is easy' said Jim ' but I understand that not everyone has access to buying this way'.
'But listen, if you would like to have one like this I could arrange it for you'.
Jim invited us both round to his home, and over coffee he ordered a metal detector, exactly the same as his from the website. 'Pay me when it arrives he said' and that is how I became the proud owner of my MT-X detector, what a beautiful device!
Over the next couple of weeks I went out with Jim several times and he patiently explained the settings and how to use 'the Doctor', as I now called it, to its best advantage. Soon I had mastered the controls and had begun to find lots of even more interesting stuff, as well as a small bin load of junk, which went straight into our recycling box, as it seemed silly to leave any found litter behind.
So, as well as discovering treasure, I was now clearing up the countryside as well as doing my bit for the enviroment.
I soon discovered that I could metal detect and walk the dog at the same time, although Frankie did give me the odd strange look as I stopped to dig at the ground so often.
The 'Doctor' was such a delight to use and so light to carry that I took it out every day, along with my small long handled trowel. It would find the tiniest of things, often lead airgun pellets, small coins and hundreds of bottle caps. I soon discovered that it was possible to change the settings to exclude unwanted metals, and this was where Frankie and I really progressed.
Our walks along the Pilgrims Way became more frequent, and I started to take less notice of the wonderful views, and more notice of the ground and soil types. In some places it was rocky, in others either sandy or of light clay. The clay was often difficult to dig, as I was only using a small bricklayers trowel, because there was no way that I could carry a spade, detector and lead the dog along too, and of course, taking Frankie for a walk was the real reason for being out and about anyway.
The rocky areas were mainly small flint boulders and stones, being very unproductive, apart from the odd coin lodged in the deep crevices. The sand however gave up some wonderful items, mainly junk of course, but also older coins such as farthings and the big old pennies that we had when I was young, and before British money became decimal, in the early seventies.
These small items were usually found alongside the path, obviously having dropped from peoples pockets when hands were pulled out.
It was while detecting in the sandy areas that I realised some places along the way had been cleared at some time and the present trees were small and younger compared to other wooded sections along the escarpment of the track.
My search area widened to take in these places, although Frankie was not pleased to go beyond the sites where she could smell the scent of her friends who had passed that way, and had marked their progress with a frequent pee. It was on one of these trips that I got the 'Signal'. Dr Ötek bleeped and the pinpointer buzzed as it passed over the sandy ground. Frankie was more interested in a squirrel who was teasing her from the branches of a nearby tree, and I could see that at any moment she would be off in persuit of Nutkin, although her chances of catching him or her were completely nil, owing to Frankies weak leg and subsequent limp. I put her back on her lead, before she could be off after the squirrel, and looping her lead over a branch to restrain her, I returned to where the good Doctor had bleeped.
But now there was no bleep! All was silent, only the leaves made a sound, a light rustle in the soft breeze across the hill.
I tried and tried to find the spot again, but to no avail. Frankie was getting restless, fed up with being tied to the tree whilst the world went on around her, so giving up for the day we trudged back home along the Pilgrims Way.
That evening the sound of the bleep kept coming back to me in a very haunting way. What was it, an old coin, a dropped artifact from a medieval pilgrim, or a coke can, thrown away by a littering hiker who could not be bothered to dispose of it properly?
It was several weeks before we traveled that way again, the rain had been teeming down for many days and the path was soggy and chewed up by the tyre treads of motor cyclists and mountain bikers who had seemingly passed that way back and forth endless times in the last few hours. We gave up the muddy track and walked along the grassy verge, as Frankie the dog only has short legs and her tum easily gets soaked with mud, which takes days to wash off effectively, and leaves her nice and normally white hair an unusual blend of browny green.
As an aside, our cat Lucy, as white as a clean bed sheet, sometimes climbs right up the inside of the chimney above our open fire and returns both perfectly clean and free of soot, as white as when she went up, so what is it with dogs and mud?
When we finally arrived back at the place of the bleep, or as near enough as I could remember, I suddenly got the feeling that we were being watched - but there was absolutely nobody around.
The feeling lingered on with me, and I also noticed that Frankie was feeling agitated, as she pulled on the lead trying to get back out of the clump of young trees.
It had been a bright day only minutes before, but it now seemed that darkness was approaching fast, although it was only about eleven o'clock in the morning. Outside the clump the sky looked as bright as ever through the trees, but inside, it became cold and gloomy, in fact I shivered and could not help looking over my shoulder just to check that nobody was there and staring at us.
'I am just being stupid', I thought, and patting Frankie's head, I powered on Dr Ötek and started to swing it carefully above the ground.
Just before we had left home, I had replaced the batteries with new ones, fresh out of a sealed packet, and only bought the evening before. But Dr Ötek, who had worked just perfectly for weeks was dead. I pushed the power button again, expecting the faithful detector to spring into life, but with a weak bleep, the battery check indicator faded to nothing, and death took over the otherwise wonderful Doctor again.
Weird, or what?
At just the same time, Frankie began to wail, a haunting sound that I had never heard her make before, and she ran back and forth like a thing possesed, trying to release herself from the tied lead, and in great agitation.
I could not see the dog suffer, so quickly untying her lead, and picking up the Dr. and trowel, we both made our way out into the warm sunshine. It was as though we had passed through a murky screen from the inner darkness to the comforting light and warmth of day.
Frankie had recovered to be her old self almost instantly, and amazingly, so had Dr Ötek. The detector came back to life, it's bright screen turned on, the battery indicator showed full power again and it just seemed to bleep with joy. I felt much the same way myself, being out of the woods!
I thought about this event a lot over the next few days. I am not normally taken by such things as the supernatural and superstition, but it did occur to me that I might be wrong. Maybe something unknown did exist. Maybe the spirits of the trees were watching us.
I phoned my new detecting friend Jim, and asked if he might like to come on a jaunt to the Pilgrims Way on the next weekend, and he quickly agreed. I had not mentioned our weird experience of the weekend before, as Jim seemed to be a very rational young man, and I thought he might think me to be a little crazy.
On the following Saturday we met up and made our way to the trackway.
Jim had insisted that we took Frankie along. He had really taken to her and enjoyed playing with her as we walked slowly towards Westwell.
We climbed from the small park up the steep side of the hill to the escarpment, and made our way slowly along the path back towards the trees, both of our detectors swinging and singing through the soft grass on the verges of each side of the track. Jim found an old toy cannon, deep in the sandy soil, lost by a passing child long ago, whilst my only find was a heavy but short length of lead pipe, which weighed down my pocket for the rest of the day.
Reaching the trees, we entered just short of where I had had the strange experience the time before.
Frankie was hesitant but followed, and Jim started to swing his MT-X with slow deliberate sweeps across the weedy ground.
I turned on my own detector, let Frankie off of her lead and followed Jim. In a few moments we had both got decent signals, although we were searching about ten yards apart, and, we both found coins. Jim came up with a 1948 copper penny very close to the surface and I dug a modern two pence coin from about six inches down in the leafmould. The detectors both worked perfectly and within a few minutes more, we had started to find the bottle tops, ring pulls and silver foil, which is the norm in these modern throwaway times, along with an old button, a brass washer and a couple of pennies.
In the meantime, Frankie had wandered off close to the base of a small tree, and was franticaly scraping at the ground with her good paw whilst turning interestingly wild circles in her own length and barking loudly. I called her over, and she came grugingly, with a thick twig between her teeth. I gave her a dog treat from my pocket, making sure she sat and shook hands first, before taking it.
For a minute or two she was happy as she munched away, but then she started to wimper and ran back to the tree. Jim came over, putting some junk into his plastic bag as he walked. He was concerned that Frankie seemed to be a little afraid of something.
It appeared to me that it had darkened a little, and certainly the wind had risen somewhat through the trees, but Jim seemed not to have noticed. He strolled over to the dog, swinging his detector as he went, and, just as he reached her, he suddenly fell to his knees. From his belt he pulled out a thing like a narrow torch and poked it deep into the hole that Frankie had been digging. The black torch made a soft buzzing sound from inside the hole, and Jim suddenly stood up. At this very moment, the clump of trees darkened, the wind howled through the branches and long dead leaves swirled dancingly around the hole in the ground.
My flesh began to creep and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. The world grew silent.
Jim threw a look over his shoulder and suddenly shouted 'Who's there', as I watched the colour fade from his face. He looked around as though he had seen a ghost, and, maybe he had!
By the tree, Frankie suddenly went crazy, scratching frantically at the ground around the hole, making it bigger and deeper. A strange feeling surged through my body, as if I had been touched by cold and clammy hands, I shivered and shook.
And then suddenly, the sun reappeared, the wind dropped, birds sang again and both the two of us, along with the dog, gazed down into the hole, only to see the rusted corner of an old metal box, brightly caught in a shaft of sunlight, the sunbeam glowing down as though from heaven, from between the mottled leaves above us.
The feeling of being watched remained, but now it was a different feeling. It felt like a stare of appreciation, almost of achievement, as though thanking us for our help.The cold shivers down my back were replaced by a warm glow as I stared at the box, now revealed to us in the glow of light.
We, the dog and of course, the two excellent doctors, had found something special, something that was mislaid when the world was in the chaos of war, and was now destined to be reunited, after nearly eighty years, with its rightful owners, the surviving heirs to the legendery lost treasure of Westwell.
Things for us will never be the same again, Jim and I became firm friends, and still we detect, as Frankie ambles along with us, the two great Doctors leading the way, hopefully to even more treasure.
And with a detector in your hand, you can do this too!
Copyright - Ken DaSilva-Hill 2022.
Reproduction in any media only with
the specific written permission of the author, who retains all intellectual rights to the work.
Walking the dog with Dr Ötek(Ken DaSilva-Hill)
Walking my dog with Dr Ötek.
For many years I had been intrigued by the legend of the lost Westwell treasure, the story of which circulated from time to time around our village. It occasionaly came up as a subject of conversation in the local pub, as almost everybody had heard the story of the steel cashbox, buried for safety during World War Two by three local farmers, who had been drawn into the conflict.
The English county of Kent, only twenty miles from France across the English channel, had seen extensive bombing during the period of the blitz on London, as many enemy aircraft released their bombs here, trying to cripple the supply routes into the city and also to destroy the surrounding wartime manufacturing and military bases. Many of these bombs missed their intended targets, instead falling all over Kent, which was possibly the most intensively bombed county in the whole UK during the war.
The three farmers made plans to move their families away from the dangerous area of Westwell, which is only a short distance from the coast and very close to the industrial town of Ashford, a town which was producing heavy machinery and weapons for the war effort and which became a major target for the bombers.
The trio thought that it would be wise to bury their savings locally, to be easily recovered after the war, as like most country folk at the time, they were suspicious of banks, and as with many farmers at the time, relied upon accepting cash, which was usually in the gold sovereigns used as currency at that period when trading at local agricultural markets.
Well, the three friend's plan was to fill a strongbox with their savings, find a good quiet spot some way from the village, and when there, to carefully measure and triangulate a spot between three mature trees, in true pirate fashion, where they would then dig a neat hole in which to bury the cashbox, a heavy steel box that they had taken care to seal carefully against moisture, in order to fully protect the contents.
You may have already heard the story.
A place for the burial of the money was agreed on, they would hide it on the western escarpment of The Pilgrims Way, an ancient trackway used for many hundreds of years by pilgrims to journey to Canterbury Cathedral, a narrow path high above the village. This strange and lonely spot had the advantage of being a wooded area, overlooking the village but close to the trackway, making it easily accessible on foot, and rarely frequented by anyone but local people during the war years.
Deciding on the burial spot, a map of the small area that they chose was made and deposited safely until after the war, so that the box could be easily found again.
The box was buried, and the three men returned to their families.
Sadly, all three of the farmers died during the conflict, two fighting in Europe, and the other from a heart attack while a prisoner in Germany.
Of course, at the end of hostilities, the remaining families looked for the treasure.
But things had changed.
Unfortunately the small wood in which the three trees were situated, had been cut down during the war, the wood from them to be used as emergency structural material, and now, as the surviving family members could see, only recently cleared ground, now with few recognisable features, remained.
The treasure was lost.
For some years they would still try to locate the spot by digging during the winter period, when the undergrowth was sparse and searching was possible, but eventually they gave up the search as it seemed impossible to find the exact spot. At the time metal
detectors were not available, so they had little chance of finding anything.
Over time the escarpment went back to nature, becoming overgrown with low bushes, small trees and tall weeds, and it is still like this today.
I walk my dog along the trackway when the weather is good, as the views over the valley are very pleasant and the air is fresh and invigorating. Our dog is an elderly crossed terrier, who when she was a puppy was quite ill, and this has left her a little disabled, so she needs constant rest periods during our walks to recover from the effort.
It was these periods of inactivity which inspired me to find something interesting to do while she rested.
I tried taking a sketch book and watercolours to record the views, but this became tiresome, as, just as I got going with the paints, she would want to walk on again, so I looked at other interests which might be easy to pass the time with In the fresh air outdoors as a hobby, and which required little equipment to carry.
A friend had told me of the discovery of a lead pilgrims badge, found by a young boy whilst metal detecting along the track. The badge was apparently early medieval, and although not particuarly rare or valuable was a lovely relic of the long distant past.
Inspired by this find, discovered along a trackway that I knew well and visited often whilst on our walks, I decided to look into buying a metal detector of my own - this treasure hunting sounded like fun, and would give me something to do whilst Frankie took her frequent rests.
This was when I discovered Dr Ötek, who became my therapist.
I had looked at the local sellers of metal detectors, and had had several demonstrated to me, but they all seemed to be rather over complicated, seemingly 'Boy's toys', either costing the earth or almost needing a university degree to understand and operate, plus of course, I would have to buy all the other gear which one apparently needed to carry, in order to dig up the finds. Also, I am a bit adverse to camoflaged clothing, which seemed to be the normal gear for detectorists to wear.
To me it seemed a little crazy to spend hundreds of pounds to find just a few bits and bobs and coins here and there. No, this was not for me, so I gave up on the metal detector idea.
The dog and I have a combined age of around a hundred and forty, given that one year of a dogs life is seven for a human, and anyway, you cannot teach an old dog new tricks, canine or human!
So a few weeks passed, the weather got warmer, and Frankie and I went down to the seaside for the day.
She loves the firm sand by the waters edge and splashes about until she is tired, at which point she collapses on the dry sand and falls asleep, usually to wake up looking like a dog shaped sand castle.
It was whilst she was sleeping that I spied a young chap walking slowly along the sea line and swinging a metal detector from side to side. Every now and again he would stop, crouch down, scrape the sand and pick something up, putting it either carefully into a pocket, or sometimes into a plastic bag, which I later found was filled with all the rubbish.
I watched him for a while as he got closer and as he passed us he stopped to pat Frankie, who was now awake and ready to play.
'Found anything' I asked, and he gladly showed me his treasure.
Just walking along the beach he had discovered several one pound coins, a fair quantity of copper coins and an interesting but very corroded metal comb. 'Not a lot of good stuff so far today' he said, 'but we live in hope of something special before the sun goes down'.
He seemed a nice chap, and we easily got into conversation, he about the dog and her disability, and me about his finds and the metal detector that he was using.
'I discovered a long time ago that you do not need an expensive detector to find good stuff' he said,'what you really need is a good reliable one, like this, along with a little knowledge of where best to search to find interesting things'. 'Take this one that I am using for example, it is very efficient and light enough to carry and use all day, I call it the doctor, as using it makes me feel good, and the exercise actually does me good'. 'There is nothing like that bleep sound to get the adreneline running, the excitement is quute addictive'.
He handed the detector to me and gave me a quick resume of how it worked and what it could do. It seemed so much more intuitive than the expensive and complicated types that I had been encouraged to buy by the salesman at the shop. 'Look, said the chap', his name was Jim and he lived locally, 'Let me walk the dog with you, and then you can have a go yourself to try it out'.
Well of course I jumped at the chance to have a go at treasure hunting, and off we went, Jim happily leading Frankie, whilst giving me advice on using the detector to its best.
Just a few minutes had passed when a double bleep sounded. 'Looks like you have found something' said Jim, 'give it a waggle over the spot and we will see if we can pinpoint it, just press the red button'.
With rising excitement I followed Jim's instructions, pinpointed the spot and then dug away at the sand with my hand. Suprise, suprise, a few inches down I felt something, enlarged the hole and pulled out a brass key on a short beaded chain. 'Somebody must have been unhappy when they arrived home' said Jim, 'looks like they lost their front door key, although it seems to have been there for some time to me, as it is so corroded'.
But I was now hooked, old key or not, to me it was my very first piece of 'treasure'.
We carried on along the beach and about a quarter of an hour later I had added a couple of pennies, a unicorn hair slide and a small toy car to my collection of finds.
'This seems to be a great metal detector' I said to Jim, 'did you buy it in town?'
'No', he replied, 'it was from the internet'.
My heart dropped. I have never used a computer, and the mere thought of actually buying anything on 'The Net' was completely out of this world for me.
'Well thats it', I said to Jim, 'looks like I will have to stick to dog walks, as computers and using them to buy stuff is something I will never understand'.
'It is easy' said Jim ' but I understand that not everyone has access to buying this way'.
'But listen, if you would like to have one like this I could arrange it for you'.
Jim invited us both round to his home, and over coffee he ordered a metal detector, exactly the same as his from the website. 'Pay me when it arrives he said' and that is how I became the proud owner of my MT-X detector, what a beautiful device!
Over the next couple of weeks I went out with Jim several times and he patiently explained the settings and how to use 'the Doctor', as I now called it, to its best advantage. Soon I had mastered the controls and had begun to find lots of even more interesting stuff, as well as a small bin load of junk, which went straight into our recycling box, as it seemed silly to leave any found litter behind.
So, as well as discovering treasure, I was now clearing up the countryside as well as doing my bit for the enviroment.
I soon discovered that I could metal detect and walk the dog at the same time, although Frankie did give me the odd strange look as I stopped to dig at the ground so often.
The 'Doctor' was such a delight to use and so light to carry that I took it out every day, along with my small long handled trowel. It would find the tiniest of things, often lead airgun pellets, small coins and hundreds of bottle caps. I soon discovered that it was possible to change the settings to exclude unwanted metals, and this was where Frankie and I really progressed.
Our walks along the Pilgrims Way became more frequent, and I started to take less notice of the wonderful views, and more notice of the ground and soil types. In some places it was rocky, in others either sandy or of light clay. The clay was often difficult to dig, as I was only using a small bricklayers trowel, because there was no way that I could carry a spade, detector and lead the dog along too, and of course, taking Frankie for a walk was the real reason for being out and about anyway.
The rocky areas were mainly small flint boulders and stones, being very unproductive, apart from the odd coin lodged in the deep crevices. The sand however gave up some wonderful items, mainly junk of course, but also older coins such as farthings and the big old pennies that we had when I was young, and before British money became decimal, in the early seventies.
These small items were usually found alongside the path, obviously having dropped from peoples pockets when hands were pulled out.
It was while detecting in the sandy areas that I realised some places along the way had been cleared at some time and the present trees were small and younger compared to other wooded sections along the escarpment of the track.
My search area widened to take in these places, although Frankie was not pleased to go beyond the sites where she could smell the scent of her friends who had passed that way, and had marked their progress with a frequent pee. It was on one of these trips that I got the 'Signal'. Dr Ötek bleeped and the pinpointer buzzed as it passed over the sandy ground. Frankie was more interested in a squirrel who was teasing her from the branches of a nearby tree, and I could see that at any moment she would be off in persuit of Nutkin, although her chances of catching him or her were completely nil, owing to Frankies weak leg and subsequent limp. I put her back on her lead, before she could be off after the squirrel, and looping her lead over a branch to restrain her, I returned to where the good Doctor had bleeped.
But now there was no bleep! All was silent, only the leaves made a sound, a light rustle in the soft breeze across the hill.
I tried and tried to find the spot again, but to no avail. Frankie was getting restless, fed up with being tied to the tree whilst the world went on around her, so giving up for the day we trudged back home along the Pilgrims Way.
That evening the sound of the bleep kept coming back to me in a very haunting way. What was it, an old coin, a dropped artifact from a medieval pilgrim, or a coke can, thrown away by a littering hiker who could not be bothered to dispose of it properly?
It was several weeks before we traveled that way again, the rain had been teeming down for many days and the path was soggy and chewed up by the tyre treads of motor cyclists and mountain bikers who had seemingly passed that way back and forth endless times in the last few hours. We gave up the muddy track and walked along the grassy verge, as Frankie the dog only has short legs and her tum easily gets soaked with mud, which takes days to wash off effectively, and leaves her nice and normally white hair an unusual blend of browny green.
As an aside, our cat Lucy, as white as a clean bed sheet, sometimes climbs right up the inside of the chimney above our open fire and returns both perfectly clean and free of soot, as white as when she went up, so what is it with dogs and mud?
When we finally arrived back at the place of the bleep, or as near enough as I could remember, I suddenly got the feeling that we were being watched - but there was absolutely nobody around.
The feeling lingered on with me, and I also noticed that Frankie was feeling agitated, as she pulled on the lead trying to get back out of the clump of young trees.
It had been a bright day only minutes before, but it now seemed that darkness was approaching fast, although it was only about eleven o'clock in the morning. Outside the clump the sky looked as bright as ever through the trees, but inside, it became cold and gloomy, in fact I shivered and could not help looking over my shoulder just to check that nobody was there and staring at us.
'I am just being stupid', I thought, and patting Frankie's head, I powered on Dr Ötek and started to swing it carefully above the ground.
Just before we had left home, I had replaced the batteries with new ones, fresh out of a sealed packet, and only bought the evening before. But Dr Ötek, who had worked just perfectly for weeks was dead. I pushed the power button again, expecting the faithful detector to spring into life, but with a weak bleep, the battery check indicator faded to nothing, and death took over the otherwise wonderful Doctor again.
Weird, or what?
At just the same time, Frankie began to wail, a haunting sound that I had never heard her make before, and she ran back and forth like a thing possesed, trying to release herself from the tied lead, and in great agitation.
I could not see the dog suffer, so quickly untying her lead, and picking up the Dr. and trowel, we both made our way out into the warm sunshine. It was as though we had passed through a murky screen from the inner darkness to the comforting light and warmth of day.
Frankie had recovered to be her old self almost instantly, and amazingly, so had Dr Ötek. The detector came back to life, it's bright screen turned on, the battery indicator showed full power again and it just seemed to bleep with joy. I felt much the same way myself, being out of the woods!
I thought about this event a lot over the next few days. I am not normally taken by such things as the supernatural and superstition, but it did occur to me that I might be wrong. Maybe something unknown did exist. Maybe the spirits of the trees were watching us.
I phoned my new detecting friend Jim, and asked if he might like to come on a jaunt to the Pilgrims Way on the next weekend, and he quickly agreed. I had not mentioned our weird experience of the weekend before, as Jim seemed to be a very rational young man, and I thought he might think me to be a little crazy.
On the following Saturday we met up and made our way to the trackway.
Jim had insisted that we took Frankie along. He had really taken to her and enjoyed playing with her as we walked slowly towards Westwell.
We climbed from the small park up the steep side of the hill to the escarpment, and made our way slowly along the path back towards the trees, both of our detectors swinging and singing through the soft grass on the verges of each side of the track. Jim found an old toy cannon, deep in the sandy soil, lost by a passing child long ago, whilst my only find was a heavy but short length of lead pipe, which weighed down my pocket for the rest of the day.
Reaching the trees, we entered just short of where I had had the strange experience the time before.
Frankie was hesitant but followed, and Jim started to swing his MT-X with slow deliberate sweeps across the weedy ground.
I turned on my own detector, let Frankie off of her lead and followed Jim. In a few moments we had both got decent signals, although we were searching about ten yards apart, and, we both found coins. Jim came up with a 1948 copper penny very close to the surface and I dug a modern two pence coin from about six inches down in the leafmould. The detectors both worked perfectly and within a few minutes more, we had started to find the bottle tops, ring pulls and silver foil, which is the norm in these modern throwaway times, along with an old button, a brass washer and a couple of pennies.
In the meantime, Frankie had wandered off close to the base of a small tree, and was franticaly scraping at the ground with her good paw whilst turning interestingly wild circles in her own length and barking loudly. I called her over, and she came grugingly, with a thick twig between her teeth. I gave her a dog treat from my pocket, making sure she sat and shook hands first, before taking it.
For a minute or two she was happy as she munched away, but then she started to wimper and ran back to the tree. Jim came over, putting some junk into his plastic bag as he walked. He was concerned that Frankie seemed to be a little afraid of something.
It appeared to me that it had darkened a little, and certainly the wind had risen somewhat through the trees, but Jim seemed not to have noticed. He strolled over to the dog, swinging his detector as he went, and, just as he reached her, he suddenly fell to his knees. From his belt he pulled out a thing like a narrow torch and poked it deep into the hole that Frankie had been digging. The black torch made a soft buzzing sound from inside the hole, and Jim suddenly stood up. At this very moment, the clump of trees darkened, the wind howled through the branches and long dead leaves swirled dancingly around the hole in the ground.
My flesh began to creep and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. The world grew silent.
Jim threw a look over his shoulder and suddenly shouted 'Who's there', as I watched the colour fade from his face. He looked around as though he had seen a ghost, and, maybe he had!
By the tree, Frankie suddenly went crazy, scratching frantically at the ground around the hole, making it bigger and deeper. A strange feeling surged through my body, as if I had been touched by cold and clammy hands, I shivered and shook.
And then suddenly, the sun reappeared, the wind dropped, birds sang again and both the two of us, along with the dog, gazed down into the hole, only to see the rusted corner of an old metal box, brightly caught in a shaft of sunlight, the sunbeam glowing down as though from heaven, from between the mottled leaves above us.
The feeling of being watched remained, but now it was a different feeling. It felt like a stare of appreciation, almost of achievement, as though thanking us for our help.The cold shivers down my back were replaced by a warm glow as I stared at the box, now revealed to us in the glow of light.
We, the dog and of course, the two excellent doctors, had found something special, something that was mislaid when the world was in the chaos of war, and was now destined to be reunited, after nearly eighty years, with its rightful owners, the surviving heirs to the legendery lost treasure of Westwell.
Things for us will never be the same again, Jim and I became firm friends, and still we detect, as Frankie ambles along with us, the two great Doctors leading the way, hopefully to even more treasure.
And with a detector in your hand, you can do this too!
Copyright - Ken DaSilva-Hill 2022.
Reproduction in any media only with
the specific written permission of the author, who retains all intellectual rights to the work.
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Lillian Kazmierczak
04/28/2022Ken, I adore your stories and this one is no exception! Had my unwavering attention from first word to the last. Never a dull moment in your village! Congratulations on short story star of the day!
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Ken DaSilva-Hill
04/29/2022Hi Lillian, thanks for your nice comments. Like others of my stories this has a basis of fact mixed with a little fiction. I do in fact go metal detecting along with our disabled dog, an hobby that I recommend for anybody who wishes for both some exercise and a little real excitement each day. As for the village, you are right, never a dull moment - our next extravaganza is a festival of The Field of The Cloth of Gold, as Henry stopped over at Charing Palace on his way to France, 400 years ago. This will include jousting, a tented medieval village, etc, and quite likely a lot of noise, congestion and expense for us inhabitants! However, I will use it for inspiration for a coming tale (watch this space), and probably clean up the meadow of dropped cash using the metal detector the very next day.
Well, thanks again for your comment, hang in there, Ken
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Shirley Smothers
04/28/2022What a fun read. This story made me think of all the old tales of treasure hunting youths.
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Ken DaSilva-Hill
04/29/2022Hi Shirley, you can also find treasure! Metal detecting is great fun, good exercise and full of the promise of finding gold. Try it and just finding your first coin will hook you for years to come. There is so much lost treasure out there!
Thanks for your nice comments, Ken
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Charuth
04/28/2022Great story Ken! The content was well laid out. However, I do recommed varying your sentence length and structures in order to keep the audience engaged.
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Gerald R Gioglio
04/11/2022Wow Ken, what a cool story. You had me hooked and rooting for the big find. Here in the States we have the History Channel which often features treasure hunt stories. Your tale is clearly History Channel worthy. Jerry
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Gerald R Gioglio
04/29/2022That's quite a haul, Ken. My father used to have a scanner he used at the New Jersey shore. Just trinkets and small change for him I'm afraid. Still, he enjoyed himself. Best, jg
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Ken DaSilva-Hill
04/29/2022Hi Jerry, I am still looking for the big find myself, but even the little finds have added up to over £100 in spendable cash since Christmas. Try it yourself and be amazed!
Best regards, Ken
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Lori Hjelmeir
04/09/2022Always love a treasure hunt! Especially when based on some factual historical background. I saw a few episodes of a British show called the Detectorists with each episode bringing out the characters and their relationships. I never got to finish watcing it and now i want find it again anc see how it developed! British shows always delve deeper into their characters than American shows!
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Ken DaSilva-Hill
04/29/2022Hi Lori, thanks for your kind comment. I have never seen the Detectorists show, but do agree that characters seem to be more rounded and humanised in UK produced programmes. One of the things that I do like is that even the tough guys are shown to have a softer side. Sadly good British TV shows are becoming rare, being replaced by cheaper imported TV. However, we have a wonderful channel called Talking Pictures, a tiny family produced channel that specialises in showing both old UK TV, and also vintage British films. Watching long dead people seems to be much better than viewing modern actors, and anything with humour in it is actually engaging and fun to watch rather than tired and poorly produced. Likewise UK radio is also better for being recycled from the past, as it seems is vintage American radio.
Don’t even get me started on modern songs and singers!!
Well, thanks again for enjoying my work, and if you ever get the chance, have a go at detecting yourself, an interesting activity, really full of surprises.
Best regards, Ken
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