The Historians

Chapter 7

Matt was up early next morning. Cranbourne had told him to bring his gun just in case and wear a warm coat, because it could be cold and windy on top of those Cornish Cliffs.

He had looked in the closet that Kitty had assigned to him and found a brown jacket – similar to his trail coat. It fit perfectly even though he was wearing the shoulder holster with the Glock. Strange – he hadn't noticed it the night before. It seemed to be cut to allow a little extra room for the weapon under the left arm. He found the "wranglers" she had bought for him and they fit well too. He wondered how Kitty could always pick the right size when he had the hardest time finding clothes to fit.

He made some coffee, and was just about to take a cup to Kitty when his phone rang. It startled him to begin with, but he remembered how to answer it. He touched the green button on the screen.

"Hi Matt, it's Allen, I'm down here with a taxi to take us to city airport."

"I'll be right there." He remembered to touch the red bar at the bottom of the screen to disconnect the call and slipped the phone in his pocket. He took the cup of coffee he had poured for Kitty and took it to the bedroom.

"I have to go now, I'll see you later. Maybe I can call you on this phone – I'll try." They exchange a kiss and he heads on down to the street to meet up with Cranbourne.

The taxi started its chaotic journey as soon as Matt had closed the door and sat down. Cranbourne began a running commentary telling him about the roads they were traveling on.

"We are going over Waterloo Bridge now." Matt looked out the window of the cab and saw the river beneath him. "It is interesting in that this bridge was started in the 1930's to replace the old bridge that was constructed in the early 1800's. Women did most of the work because the men had gone off to fight in the Second World War. That's the Thames, you should have seen it lit up with fireworks when we celebrated the Queens Diamond Jubilee." They turned right along The Embankment and he pointed out Somerset House and other landmarks. There was not so much traffic at this hour of the morning – it was barely daylight – and the cab was travelling even faster than the one they rode in yesterday. They passed along the East India Dock Road and Allen was explaining how London used to be a great port, but most of this area was destroyed by the bombing of the second world war.

The cabbie slid open the glass that separated him from his passengers,

"Which part of the airport you wanna go to gov?" he asked

Cranbourne leaned forward and gave him directions.

They arrived at the biggest building Matt had ever seen. It had the words "Hanger 4" printed across it.

Cranbourne paid off the cabbie and started walking towards a small door in the side of the enormous building. There was a man behind the desk who he spoke to for a few minutes.

"They're all ready for you, sir, go on through."

He led the way through a door at the back of the room and once outside Matt

saw this strange object straight ahead of him. There was a gap in the side and a set of steps leading down. He followed Cranbourne as he led the way up and into the craft. The seats were large and looked to be made of soft leather. A man in a uniform came and told them his name was Jonathan Taylor and he was the pilot, at their disposal for the day. He indicated a small cabinet to one side of the cabin, which, he told them, was fully stocked, and once they reached cruising altitude they could help themselves. Their flight path had been filed and cleared and it would take about an hour to get there.

250 miles in one hour, I have to see this thought Matt.

They took seats, He watched as Cranbourne buckled some kind of belt from the seat around his waist, and he did the same.

A few minutes passed and everything began to vibrate as the noise from what he presumed were the jets built up.

Cranbourne looked at him and smiled, "Yes you hear that a lot more on these small jets than on the big commercial ones– but it'll be fine once we're airborne."

Matt watched out the window as the giant bird began to move, he watched as they turned to face a long straight road, and then they got faster and faster. His heart was racing. He kept glancing at Cranbourne who sat reading a newspaper like nothing was happening. Then the sense of speed gave way to a different sensation as the front of the plane tilted up and they began to climb. Matt watched out the window as the city below got smaller and smaller. He could see green fields and the river as it wound its way to the ocean. Soon clouds got in the way and the ground was visible no more.

There was a pinging sound. He looked around.

Cranbourne undid the buckle from around his waist and got up to investigate the small cabinet.

"There's some coffee here in a thermos if you'd like some, and some sandwiches, or fruit. Just help yourself."

Somehow Matt did not feel like anything right now, he wasn't sure how his stomach was handling this.

"No thanks I'll wait a while, I had coffee before I left this morning."

It was almost an hour later when the pilot told them to sit back in their seats and fasten the safety belts, they would be landing shortly.

There was a car waiting for them when they landed.

"Good, they left the keys in the ignition for me and a full tank of petrol – er .. gas in your language, I think. Come on let's get going."

Matt had thought the drive through London's streets was hair raising. These roads where many times worse, narrow winding lanes with tall walls and hedges on both sides.

There were many places not wide enough for two cars to pass and Cranbourne was driving like he was trying copy the jet they had just arrived in. He seemed oblivious to the distress he was causing his passenger and embarked upon telling some of the history of the area.

"We are going to Tintagel. It is a small town perched high on cliffs forming part of the northern coast of Cornwall. It is famous for an old castle which, legend has it, was once occupied by King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Probably not true – but it makes a great story. We are only about 20 miles away, we'll be there soon.

Several times they screeched to a stop and had to pull into the side so a car going in the other direction could pass.

After a while Matt relaxed – thinking that his driver led a charmed existence.

"That's Tintagel Castle I was telling you about." He drove on a little further and then pulled off into and open area. "We'll park here and walk over to the cliffs. I'll show you the area where we think they are bringing the stuff ashore. We cannot figure how they are getting it up these cliffs though."

They walk across an open grassy area until they reach the edge of the cliffs and look over into the ocean. The tide was in and they looked down on waves crashing against the rocks. For Matt the cliffs and the ocean where far removed from the scenery he was used to in Kansas. The wind was blowing continuously and he could taste the salt in the air. This was certainly not terrain he was used to. Looking further along the cliffs there was a smooth sandy area where the cliffs gave way to a gentler landscape. He remembered something about tides. "How far does the water recede at low tide?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, but I do know that in these parts the deeper water comes fairly close to shore. Matt looked again at the scene in the other direction. "Looks like you could walk down to the water over there."

"There is a goat trail, but I don't think men could carry much stuff up and down. You have to go further along to find a decent foot path – and that comes up into the village so would be too visible."

"Lets walk over and have a look. You reckon they bring this stuff in at night?"

"They'd have to or else they would be seen."

"That means they can only land here when the tide is lower and it is dark. The timing has to be right."

"We can look up the tide tables on the internet."

Matt thought a minute – internet – that was something Thomas had tried to explain.
They had walked about half a mile and further round the headland the scenery changed again. Matt was looking along the beach towards the town.

"What is going on down there?"

Oh that's old Ben Bardee. He brings his donkeys and mules down to the beach so the kids can ride and he makes a little money. He also has a small

farm out towards Bodmin where he puts on a wild west show every now and again and lets folks pretend they are cowboys. You know, like the old wild west days of your country. He rents out cottages and people come for the weekend to make believe they are riding the range or whatever."

Matt nodded. He couldn't understand why people from this time would do that.

Cranbourne looked at him.

"Westerns were quite popular here at one time. Not so much now but there is still a fascination, and Ben Bardee makes money from it. He's got that whole place set up like a ranch. Calls it the Bar D."

They walked along further and Matt could clearly see what Allen had referred to as a goat path. He wanted to see where it went.

He walked along the cliff edge looking for where it would emerge onto the top of the hill here. Finally he found what he was looking for. He bent down to look at the sandy soil that was exposed by the small trail. No sign of goats at all but there were other tracks. On this windblown headland though, he could not be certain.

"How far is this place Bodmin?"

"About 10 or 12 miles buy road, less as the crow flies."
"Can we go there?" Matt hated the idea of travelling in that car again through these narrow winding lanes, but needs must.

"Tell you what there's a very old Pub there called the Jamaica Inn. Used to be used by smugglers. It's about 400 years old. Bit touristy now – but they do a good lunch I hear. We'll head that way."

It took about an hour for them to arrive at the Jamaica Inn. It was a small inn with low ceilings and a rather motley clientele. There was a large fireplace and hearth where logs burned and people gathered around it with glass mugs full of beer. There was a small table near a window, and Cranbourne indicated for Matt to sit there. He went up to the bar and returned with 2 beers. He sat down putting one in front of Matt. "Cheers," he said raising his glass. Matt did the same. The beer was very different to that at the Long Branch. It had a stronger flavor, and a slightly creamy texture. Very pleasant.

"I ordered the special for lunch, beef stew with potatoes and carrots – I hope that is ok."
"Sounds good to me."

The food arrived shortly and the men ate appreciatively.

"I'd like to see this Bar D ranch, can we drive by it?"

Cranbourne checked his watch. "Yes we can do it fine, then we'll go back and get the plane to take us home. I told you we'd be back in time for supper."

Matt had become more accepting of this wild ride through the lanes of Cornwall. It was not far to the Bar D. Matt looked at it in amazement. The entranceway could have come from a ranch in the Texas of his time. The house he could see was also a typical style for the era. To one side was a large barn and parked to one side of that were several very large vehicles.

"What are those?" he pointed.

"They are horse boxes – used to transport the animals. Ben will take his wanna be cowboys out riding over Bodmin Moor which his property backs onto. It's like one of your national Parks. Sadly most of his riders get tired after a couple of hours so he leaves a couple of horse boxes out there, loads up the horses and drives them home then brings his 'cowboys' home on a small bus."

"How often does he do that?"

No particular schedule, whenever he gets enough customers I suppose."
Matt nods thoughtfully.

"If it's OK with you we need to be heading back now. I told you we would get back in time for supper"

TBC