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most often with the Professor of Ancient Affairs Miss Wilma Gladcock, but all I'd managed to uncover was a set of outdated relics.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.