carry on cthulhu part six

 

The next day, nursing unforgiving hangovers, we finally achieved ingress to the presumed resting place of the tribal king. The way in was through a walled tunnel that sloped downwards until it reached the burial chamber. The walls were hewn stone supported by wooden pillars, which for the most part, were rotten and eaten away. Tattered tapestries lined the wall, though these were soon to corrode as fresh air entered the chamber. Our eyes lit up when we saw the treasures that had been interred in the hallow grave: an ornate cauldron, a wonderfully decorated sword and shield, bracelets, brooches, combs and a fabulous torc. The only thing that was missing were bones.

"A burial chamber with no bones" observed Professor Digger. "What do we make of that. Like a pudding without the plum, eh?"

Miss Rutmore was examining the jewellery. "The same green metal as before Professor. We really need to get it to a laboratory."

Spadely had gone ahead slightly and was examining the floor and the walls. He suddenly crouched. "Here," he said. "Inscriptions."

We all went over. Runes had been carved into one of the paving slabs. They were obviously of great antiquity. Spooner started to run his finger over them and mumble. His expertise was Arcane languages. In fact, as he liked to boast, there wasn't much in the lingual area he couldn't get his tongue around.

"Careful in this light" said Digger. "You don't want to rune your eyesight."

Spooner muttered as he slowly deciphered the worn glyphs, "Hmmm .. Enter not. Evil. Please leave parcels round back." He stood up. "There's more symbols but their not celtic, gallic even, never seen them before. The best I can do is make a copy."

I took a look myself. To my suprise I recognised them from somewhere .. of course, the Woblinoblicon .. in that forgotten language it called Bugalug .. spoken apparently in the time before man .. if such a thing were possible. I thought briefly of sharing my revelation with my companions, but something made me bade my tongue, perhaps the fear of appearing foolish.

Spadely began to tap on the stone with a sounding rod. It rang hollow, as hollow I supposed, as would my theory of a primeval language. "If there is a tunnel going down to the ravine, this is it" he said.

"Well okay dokey then" said Digger. "No point in standing around playing guessing games. Lets get the lifting bars and props." A few hours later, we had the slab raised on its side to reveal the foul smelling chamber underneath. It dropped down to another stone floor, and shining our torches inside, we could make out steps leading downwards.

The professor withdrew his head. "Phew," he said "I've stuck my face into some foul smelling cavities in my time, but that really takes the biscuit." I heard Miss Rutmore mutter something about the difficulties of maintaining personal hygiene on a campsite, but failed to see the relevence.

"What do you say," he continued. "Should we go down and have a look now or leave it til the morning?"

"I say we have a quick look now" said Spooner. "what harm could there be?"

There was general assent. "I'm quite certain" said Miss Rutmore "that nothing dreadful or awful could possibly befall us."

So down we went, handkerchiefs held to our noses to shield us from the noxious fumes emerging from below.

"By golly" said Digger. "Its worse than my Aunt Marys after she's been out for a curry."

We kept going down. It was unnerving. We went far past the point that would have brought us to the bottom of the ravine, and the slabs, as we descended, became more roughly hewn at the same time as the walls became more densely inscribed with the weird glyphs that had accompanied the runes on the entrance slab. It was Spadely who eventually expressed our unspoken thoughts - "This wasn't the work of the celts" he said "or any ancient Briton. Look!"

Two steps below we found our first skeletal remains. The skull was broad and flat, the frame of the body barely bipedal. "Those remains are stone age" he said, quavering. "Early stone age, maybe a million years ago."

We halted. The implications were impossible. Spooner had taken a camera from his knapsack and began to photograph the glyphs on the walls. The bright flash was sudden and shot down the tunnel like a bolt of lightning. In response, from somewhere deep down below, we heard a weird sort of giggling - like, 'ubble ubble ubble ubble'. The darkness wrapped itself around us again and we froze.

"Other people did hear that didn't they?" asked Digger.

"Er yes Professor," I said " and if you step into a puddle unexpectedly, don't worry that's just me."

"ubble ubble ubble ubble", closer.

"And er.. n-now that I think about it," added Gladys "I'm not sure I turned the primus stove off. I might just run upstairs to check."

"Thats right" said Digger. "We don't want any accidents."

"A bit late for that." I muttered.

"All this damp air anyway" added Spooner. "Its no good for my joints. A quick sprint will help loosen them up."

And so it was we decided to depart the tunnel in a brisk but timely fashion. Or as Digger later put it in his report - "Bloody scarper."

We chose not to sleep that night, but instead, made a cheering fire to ward off the gloom and tried to revive our spirits with generous portions of whisky. But neither did much to dispel the impression that something unwholesome was waiting to emerge from the freshly opened tomb behind us. We were all relieved when dawn finally rose.

"... and really" Spooner was saying, "there's no point going back down until we research what we've already discovered. We've got the inscriptions, the finds .. its groundbreaking stuff already. And what do archeologists do if they don't break fresh ground?" he laughed weakly.

"But really we should go back for the skeleton" said Spadely. This was not a popular opinion.

"No I agree with Mr Spooner" said Gladys. "It would be rash to go back down until we know more. Don't you think so Mr Bodkin?"

"Well mother always said. the further down you go, the more likely you are to get a rash."

"There you go."

"All the same, professor Digger," I added "you wouldn't regret, not attempting to locate the source of this strange Tartarus?"

"Its no good looking for Tartarus source lad" he replied, "if you've already had your chips." That summed it up nicely.

"Do you have regrets Ivor?" asked Gladys.

I shook my head. Indeed i did not. The only thing I regretted was taking a look behind as we pelted up the steps. For I swear I saw, in the receding light, that white bubbling mass suggested to me in the old saxon records of Godleys library. That terrible thing the locals call a 'Shaggit'. I shuddered.

"So thats decided" said Spooner. "We go back to the Ginantonic and take it from there."

Just as i was getting used to the whisky, I thought.

carry on cthulhu part five

 

A few days later my researches bore fruit, as Digger decided to redirect our archeological efforts to the side of the Circle facing the ravine. Before long we had uncovered the entrance to a burial chamber and set about the careful business of obtaining access without destroying the tomb. This was no easy matter, and our arduous labours were punctuated with trips down to the village, to sample the dubious merits of it's alehouse - the Firkin O' Plenty. Although I had some reservations about the virtues of said establishment, the garrulous Professor Spooner was much more at ease, one might even say wallowing, in his native environment. So whether it was a good natured tussle with the locals (which nearly cost him an eye) or an amusing flirtation with a barmaid (which cost him two back teeth), his antics led to us being tolerated as a brief novelty. As for the rest of us, Professor Spadely was content to be part of a constituent among which his appearance might pass without disparaging comment (and the rumour was, Ma Whimple had already taken a shine to him), while Professor Digger, the only one of us capable of inspiring anything like respect from the populace, was an intermittent companion, preferring the opportunity to spend time with Miss Rutmore, working on the best way to gain entrance to a previously unexplored shaft.

And myself, enlivened perhaps by the atmosphere (or was it the four pints of Old Nob?), I felt emboldened to engage the barmaid Agnes in conversation. It was a parlous jug of ale that granted me the opportunity to broach her foreboding facade.

"I think you'll find, if you pull on it more gently, you'll get less froth."

"Expert in pouring pints now are you?"

"More accustomed to drinking them I'm afraid."

"You're afraid. Why?"

"I meant .. I just meant.."

"I know what you meant darling. Don't worry, I'm just yanking your chain. As an accustomer you should be customed to drinking, don't you reckon?"

"I reckonise a saucy wench when i see one."

"Ooh, getting right down to it aren't we?"

"I wouldn't mind."

"Well, you're a bit too forward, if you ask me."

"You'll have to forgive me. Its the Old Nob, I'm not used to so much of it at one time."

"I wish I could say the same. Wirkin in the Firkin, I end up pulling Old Nob, all day."

No doubt there would have been much more in this vein but we were interrupted by a drunken local, who staggered over and laid a hand menacingly on my shoulder, staring into my face with a mad leer. I could smell the beer fumes.

"Yer foolin with things yer dont understand boy."

I looked over at Agnes. "Well yes, thats true to some extent. But one needs the opportunity.."

"You go diggin too far in one yer 'oles, yer gonna find summat yer wasn't expectin."

"My 'oles?.. holes.. you mean the excavation?"

"Aye, thats right, yer excursions. I been seein wot yers up to see? An youse askin me, yer dont want to dig too deep. I bet youse never eard tell of a Shaggit, 'as yer?"

"Really sir I'm not sure I understand, perhaps you should do something about your grammar."

"Why, whats she up to now?"

"Sh.. never mind. Your warning is heeded sir. I shall pass it on to my companions post haste."

"Aye, see as 'ow you do!"

Well, by the time that little discussion was over, Agnes had moved on to serving customers at the other end of the bar, so I sojourned back to my own table with the drinks.

"About bloody time," said Spooner. "I thought you'd got lost in that tart's bosom. What did the old boy want, looking for trouble?"

"Not exactly. More in the business of distributing warnings"

"A warning eh? You warn him about sticking his nose into other people's business?"

"It was just local superstition, nonsense as far as I could tell"

"Bloody yokels" said Spadely. The beers had excacerbated his twitch in the most lively fashion. "Speaking of which: Ma Whimples invited me over to try some of her dumplings. The folks in here reckon its only a fool passes up the opportunity."

He stood up and downed his drink, before retrieving his coat from the stool and setting off into the night.

carry on cthulhu part four

 

It seems that the air around Gently Bottoms, fulsome as it may be, lent itself to peculiar dreams. Or perhaps it was the excitement and restlessness stirred up by my first foray into the archeological world. Whatsoever the impetus, i dreamt that I was standing outside the mansion, still wearing his excellencys rather florid paisley pyjamas. The same spectral mist as before had crept in from the Downs and I could see Mr Grimes standing beside me wearing, in the logic peculiar to dreams, a white cowled robe.

"It is time sir" he said, and set off across the manor houses expansive back lawn, fading into the mist as he went. I do not know why, but I feared to be on my own, so I started to follow him. I saw dark shapes in the fog that eventually became clumps of trees as we reached the landscaped portions of the garden, but there was no time, and it was difficult to tell how long we'd been walking, save that occasionally Grimes turned and beckoned me to continue. The the mist began to recede and we were next to the hunting lodge. There were two lines of robed men standing in front of it, the voluminous cowls hanging down over their faces. They were chanting in a low monotonous drone. It sounded like an incantation and I tried to make out the words, something like: Ptang Ygrrh Tsthhl Yig.

Sorry about that, my typewriter got jammed.

The chanting continued for a while, then one of the figures stepped out of line and pulled back his cowl. It was Count Godley.

"No no no" he yelled. "Your doing your Ptangs when you should be doing your Tsthhls. Try to get it right will you. I don't want to have to explain this shoddy performance to the Ancients Beyond the Stars, they're tetchy enough as it is. Lets start again."

There were a few groans and grumbles, but the chanting restarted and continued until Godley was satisfied. As it reached its apex, Godley raised his hands and called out loudly, "Bring forth SHE, who gave birth to a thousand young, the mare who pleaseth the multitudes beyond the stars", at which point a stout formidable but womanly figure stepped out of the hunting lodge, her robes garlanded with flowers and pungent herbs. She pulled back her cowl to reveal her matriarchal features, casting a stern gaze over the gathered throng.

"Alright Godley, tone it down, there's no need to make me sound like a total slapper. Is it here?"

A third figure stepped forward and pulled back their cowl dramatically (this is something they really seemed to enjoy doing). If this had not been a dream I would not have been able to account for it, for the man was Hardy Ramsbottom, assistant dean of the library at my very own Ginantonic University! it was he who had directed me towards the dread Woblinoblicon, which he now held in his hands!

"And the lamb, is he here too?"

The gathered throng turned towards me, and I felt Grimes take a firm grip of my arm.

"Excellent" said the matriarch, "for I am set and ready for excessive mating!"

I woke up in a cold sweat. I must have been sweating profusely, for my pyjamas were soaked, as though I had actually been out in a fog! But when I looked out of the window the night was clear. How to explain my nocturnal emissions to his excellency? It was quite embarrassing. I got up and changed into my day clothes, hanging the jammies up to dry. And how to account for the aching all over my body. I felt like I'd been trampled all over by a herd of angry bison. I was limp and completely drained, in every conceivable sense.

When Grimes came in with my breakfast he seems relatively unsuprised to find me dressed and also curiously concerned for my welfare.

"And how is sir feeling this morning?" he asked solicitously.

"A bit under the weather if truth be told Grimes. I spent the night before last in a tent, and perhaps the damp air ... I seem to be labouring under some sort of malady."

"Ooh yes sir, I've seen people labouring under malady before and they always feel weak afterwards."

"Er, yes. Something to do with the country air eh Grimes?"

"Its something to do with an air alright sir, you'd be right about that."

"Tell me Grimes. You don't sound native to these parts, How did you come to be in Count Godley's service?"

"Right you are there sir. I was a parson at one time, doing a spot of missionary work out in the near east. I'm afraid I fell into somewhat ungodly ways out there, and if it hadn't been for meeting Count Godley, out there on a diplomatic mission ...he saw that I was on a terrible path sir and took an interest."

"So you went from ungodly ways to N.Godleys ways, is that right?"

"Ha ha ha. Very good sir."

"Its understandable that you might have lapsed. Ive heard the position of missionary becomes quite dull after a while"

"I think it was more of a parson fancy sir."

"Ha ha. Very good yourself Grimes. Well I feel a little better. I think I'll try some brekko and then set off back to the encampment. I've already encroached excessively on the houses hospitality."

"You've been a very accomodating guest sir. I'll let his excellency know you're ready to depart."

Count Godley was waiting for me as I made my way downstairs from the guest wing.

"Oh dear," he said. "You've been a bit feeble by all accounts."

"Oh no no. Its just these country activities have left me bent out of shape a little. A bit more time learning how to handle myself and I'll spring right back."

"Thats good to hear. Well, I hope it was worth it Mr. Bodkin. Its not every day someone looks through our annals and finds something interesting."

"Oh, i found them fascinating .. a little weathered by the passage of time perhaps, but still with much to offer for the curious."

He once again apologised for Lady Godley's absence, explaining that, as an adjunct to the previous days grousing, she had gone down to the village, where they knew how to stuff a plump bird properly. It was this delightful image of rural interaction that stayed with me as I drove back to the encampment.

carry on cthulhu 3

 

Count Godley, as it turned out, had an imposing manner as well as an imposing manor. He was waiting for me outside its splendid 18th century facade.

"So you're the young man come to rummage about in my archive, are you?"

"Yes, your excellency, that would be me."

"Well, its been a long time since somebody came to do that. I hope it's not too dusty in there. By the way, I hope you understand if Lady Godley doesn't join us, she's out shooting peasants .. er, I mean pheasants."

"No, you're excellency thats quite alright."

"And drop the excellency pleaaasse, that's only for public functions. Out here in the grounds of my palladian estate I like to believe we're all sons of adam."

"Of course y .. of course. The grounds are delightful by the way, and the building of course."

"Ah yes, built by one my illustrious ancestors the Reverend Godley, to replace the old medieval hall after the fire. Burnt down by some over zealous witch finders would you believe? The reverend made them pay of course .. in the courts I mean .. nothing gruesome or horrible happened to them whatsoever.. but why are we chattering out here, let me show you around."

So I spent a pleasant morning being shown around the manor. I was fascinated by the portraits of his recent ancestors, made by a series of well regarded and not so well regarded artists, and their attempts to capture the 'Godley sneer'. I stopped at one in particular.

"Ah yes, that's the good reverend, painted by the Dutch master Jan Van Glockenmeister."

"Its remarkable. Almost as though he's sneering at me personally. No earlier portraits survived the blaze I suppose."

"All that survived the blaze were the contents of the reverends study. You can count yourself fortunate that these included the kernel of the library - documents and manuscripts going back centuries."

"And how did the study come to escape the flames, exactly?"

"Ah well, thats interesting. The reverend had moved the study to a temporary location on the edge of the grounds - an old hunting lodge - so as not to disturb the household. He was involved in some .. alchemical experiments .. and was known to produce some noxious fumes. Speaking of which .. here is my manservant Grimes, he can show you to the library, isn't that right Grimes?"

"Yes m'lud."

"And if you'll excuse me I have some matters to attend to. Did we manage to catch those poachers Grimes?"

"Oh yes m'lud."

"Ah well then, I suppose I better report them to the proper authorities. On a completely unrelated matter, have you seen my branding iron and pruning shears?"

It sounded like the Count had a busy afternoon planned and I was keen to start my researches, so I let Grimes, who really wasn't quite as squalid as his name would suggest, take me to the library.

The collection was impressive - a small number of modern works, mostly esoteric in nature, then alchemists tracts dating from the 16th to the 19th century: among them I was shocked to see the forbidden Kulten Ghoulies by Comte de Bidet and Rottenkultens by the mad priest Helmut Grosse. All that was missing was a copy of the Woblinoblicon, and I thanked the stars that one of the very few surviving copies was safely ensconced at the Ginantonic university. I had suffered the misfortune to read some of that dreadful text (I imagine you empathise gentle reader) and wonder where it's compiler, the heretical arab Sheik Yabuti had uncovered such forbidden lore. You could say, that it almost sent me on the wrongs tracts!

I turned with relief to more sound historical matter, the Chronich Saxons and a good collection of supporting material, then folios of medieval manuscripts, and lastly the Roman record, on carefully preserved and bound papyrus.

Although these tried to maintain an official tone, between the lines it was apparent that Bran Flakius was a cause of much dread and loathing. Referred to as the great All Bran by his kinsfolk, it was obvious, that although lacking moral fibre, he was effective in clearing out the Romans. Enough so that the regional Leggit had done much to earn his title. Even more dreaded were the Seven Maidens, where it was said, druidesses would lure legionnaires to their grisly end, at the hand .. no, tendrils .. tendrils, of the white bubbly things that crawled out of the ravine. My translation is weak here, my apologies. Which brings us to the resting place of Bran Flakius. for the saxon legends say, that after his fatal wounding at the battle of Upsen Downs, he was not buried but taken down into the ravine and hidden by his blasphemous accomplices.

My work was interrupted by a knock at the door from Grimes and I was suprised to see that many hours had passed and the light was beginning to dim.

"His excellency was worried sir, he thought maybe I should prepare one of the guest rooms, He has a spare set of jim jams and a toothbrush if you failed to anticipate an overnight stay sir."

I looked out of the window. It was getting dark and I fancied not trying to negotiate the tortuous lanes that led back to the camp in darkness.

"Tell his excellency I would be most grateful, thank you Grimes," I said, wondering what other experiences might await me on my visit to the manor house.

carry on cthulhu 2

 

I awoke under canvas in the damp morning chill. The evening mist had crept into my tent and brought with it strange dreams. In these dreams I had awoken, my slumber disturbed by a fitful moaning. When I looked out to determine the source of these disquieting ululations, I saw that the whole field was covered with a spectral fog, and that in the distance, peculiar unnatural lights danced around the standing stones. One of these lights seperated itself from its twirling brethren and floated its way across the field until it landed not nine yards from where I peered out on this absorbing spectacle, upon which it transformed into a ravishing damsel, dressed all about in ancient garb, who beckoned me to leave my tented abode and join the merry throng who pranced and caterwauled around the archaic edifice, revelling in the freedom from sane and moral law (that was a long sentence wasn't it? only apropos for one so guilty of murdering the english language). Well, all that sounded like a bit of a lark, but I didn't want to get my pyjamas wet. At which point the lights and the damsel disappeared, and the fog receded until it was the normal mist you might expect to find hovering over the Upsen Downs.

Over breakfast, I ventured to ask if anyone else had heard strange moaning during the night. Professor Digger and Miss Rutmore exchanged quick glances.

"Oh .. oh, that will be the Professor's lumbago, won't it Professor?"

"What? Oh.. aye, my lumbago. Plagues me something rotten it does. I must have put it out when I was working on Miss Rutmore's trench. The one she dug I mean."

By now, Miss Rutmore was concentrating with excessive seriousness on turning over the bacon. The stove must have been hot because she appeared quite flustered.

"More breakfast anyone" she said abruptly. "Personally I think I could handle one more sausage."

"I don't know about that Gladys," said the Professor. "I expect young Bodkin here ( for that was my name, Ivor Bodkin, did I not say?) .. young Bodkin here is curious to see my trinkets."

Indeed I was! And fortuitously, the Professor had laid them out ready for me to admire. The trinkets were small at first, but gradually worked up to something more impressive. So, there was pottery, then finely crafted hairpins and brooches, and finally bone fragments.

"But look at this," said the Professor. From the box where he'd stored his best finds he pulled out a complete skull. "Look at this fellow, he doesn't seem happy does he?"

"Well, you did disturb him from his slumber, so to speak."

"No, I reckon its just because he's got nobody to hang out with."

"Yes, but maybe that's because he's got no backbone."

"True, but he seems 'armless enough."

"Maybe if we took down to the pub and got him legless too."

"I don't know about that by the look of it he's already out of his skull."

"We need to stop ribbing him."

"Well, enough of that, the important thing is... look here."

He handed me a brooch. It was like no piece of jewellry I'd seen before. With its intricate swirls and complex geometry it reached and surpassed the heights of celtic craftsmanship. And the more you looked at it, the more its patterns began to interlace and twist. It hurt my eyes. And the material.. was not gold or even copper, but a greenish metal that was alien to me, and must have been alien to the celts, from all I'd read.

"So what is it? Not native surely," I asked.

"Native in design . but the material .. and the craftsmanship, only a wizard could have made such a thing surely, maybe even the great Melvin himself, eh?"

"It was found with the skull?"

"That it was, and I reckon there's more hereabouts. The roman records speak of a feared tribal king .. Bran Flakius they called him .. whose druids summoned dreadful creatures to fight off the latin invaders. In the end, the provincial Leggit brought in five whole legions and a priestess from the temple of Hecate Thump, who called upon the goddess to drag all the demons back to the underworld.

"A marvellous legend, but subject to tremendous embellishment surely?"

"Well, that's what youre going to find out. I'm sending you down to the manor house to meet his excellency Count Godley and examine his archive. Its a trove of regional history apparently. "

"And is he a real Count?"

"Oh he's a real Count alright, you can be sure of that."

What an opportunity! Although I was uncertain, if I were more excited to be meeting the local aristocracy or for the chance to immerse myself more in this intriguing story.

carry on cthulhu 1

 

I was yet unproven in the field of archaeology, having only just graduated from the Ginantonic University, where i'd earnestly studied the subject for five years. It's true, i also had some experience in the field, most often with the Professor of Ancient Affairs Miss Wilma Gladcock, but all I'd managed to uncover was a set of outdated relics. Now i was hoping to get the chance of a proper dig, having being invited to assist Professor Emiritus Rusty Digger in his exploration of the Seven Maidens near Gently Bottoms. Apparently, he'd already unearthed some promising material, enough to convince him that there might be a celtic treasure hoard nearby, but some of my more skeptical colleagues had warned me that when it came to this subject, he tended to be all torc.

All the same, it was enough of an opportunity to send me driving out there in my Garland Imp, waving goodbye to the cloistered halls and wending spires that had seen the best of my youth. How i would miss those nights at the Merry Winkle, where we would debate the merits of our respective tools under the watchful eyes of the barmaids. Or afternoons in the dusty library poring over ancient tomes, such as the illicit Woblinoblicon, which you had to get special permission to read.

Nothing could prepare me for quite how isolated Gently Bottoms was, or its location at the end of a particularly treacherous ravine. In fact, the only safe way to approach it was via the rear entrance. So arriving that way it was the manor house I saw first, the official residence of Count Norbert Godley (I had been fortunate enough to notice the sign while attempting to locate the obscure village - N. Godley Manor, 2 miles). It was a fine piece of architecture in the baroque style but the same could not be said for the rest of the village, which expressed a shabby, down at heel countenance. In fact, many of the buildings could be said to be downright decrepid, as looking around, could many of the villagers. They had a surly inbred quality that failed to delight me. Thank heavens Professor Digger was there to greet me, for I welcomed not the prospect of explaining my prescence to these scowling brutes!

The professor reassured me that many were not as forbidding as their dour exterior would suggest. In fact, several had helped him select a location for his encampment and dig the first trenches. All he had to do was heed their warnings not to go near the Maidens themselves, particularly after dark. It was whispered that bad luck befell men who entered their enclosure, and that during the long winter nights, strange whoopings and screechings could be heard that distressed a person to hear them. Although, as it turns out, the same could be said of Ma Whimple's back room once the pub had closed.

"A superstitous bunch to be sure" said the Professor. "It comes of living in such a close knit community. But I concede your point. Some of them do look as though as though their mother dropped a stitch."

I drove the professor back up the encampment, which lay up a winding road somewhere parallel to the ravine. We must risen some distance for here the air was damp and misty. I could only just see the seven standing stones that made up the Maidens but half a mile away. Our encampment consisted of four tents and a small truck stacked with excavation equipment. The working day been done, the dig team had settled around a primus stove and were washing down their meal with tea, I presumed, although often, later, this was replaced with whisky. The team stared at my car as it entered the field and then rose as we got out and approached the camp.

"Thats a motor and no mistake", said one, a portly, garrulous man who Digger introduced as Professor Ernest Spooner.

"Well, it gets me where I want to go." I said modestly

"Ooh, that reminds me. About the time a hitchhiker asked me if I was willing to go all the way .."

"Not now Spooner" the Professor sighed.

I quickly shook hands with the remaining pair - a tall gangly fellow with thick spectacles and an unfortunate twitch, going by the name of Joshua Spadely, and a delightfully buxom filly who was introduced as Gladys Rutmore. Gladys it seemed had also attended the Ginantonic. I was at a loss as to how I might have remained unaware of her existence, even if she was two years my senior. True, our arenas of study were different, with Gladys undertaking a degree in Applied Engineering. Her quite obvious attributes had brought her to Professor Diggers attention and she had the pleasure of working under him for several years, bringing her knowledge to bear on the reconstruction of ancient building techniques. In fact, many was the time she had been called on to help with the erection of an old pillar, or some other such thing.

Alas it was getting too late to examine the Professors nik naks, anxious as I was to see if they were as impressive as described to me in his letters. I had yet to pitch my tent and it seemed that work proper had best wait till morning.

epsilon5 cont 8