(aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2114 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad
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As we assembled in the courtyard, Cindy and Danni were last down, Danni wearing a very short skirt over leggings. The first job was to anoint everyone with insect repellent, and if the insects find it as repellent as I do, we should be fairly safe.
Simon then outlined the route we’d take, which was essentially a traipse round the estate, avoiding the grouse moors and their murderous occupants. No matter how much I objected to killing for fun, he reminded me that without the shooting, there’d be no moors and possibly no estate. While it didn’t overly concern me, I was aware that the land had been in the family’s possession for over three hundred years and it survived war, pestilence and famine. It had cleverly stayed aloof from the Jacobite troubles and therefore from the post Culloden reprisals carried out by Butcher Cumberland, as the Duke of Cumberland was known locally.
The weather looked a bit uncertain, so I checked everyone had a waterproof, their lunch and a drink–preferably water. Finally I slipped on my binoculars and pulled on my ruckie–it was some time since I’d walked any distance carrying one. On Simon’s command, we all set off at a gentle pace out into the great grey yonder.
Trish was good company, taking photos of anything I couldn’t identify–which was plenty–and asking why I didn’t know. I was able to point out at least two types of heather and gorse–bell heather and cross-leaved, so that gave me some credibility.
I tried to explain how the acid soil stopped the breakdown of organic material and formed peat, and that occasionally it caught fire and could burn for months or even years. I reported to wide eyes that a fire on a mountain in South Wales, which incidentally bore the southernmost population of red grouse, had burned for years despite the efforts of local fire fighters and that in the end they brought in bulldozers and buried it, the idea being to exclude the air and stop the fire. Last heard it was still smouldering underground and had been for twenty years or more.
As we walked Simon said quietly, “That’s an urban myth, isn’t it?”
“Ah no, Si, I’ve actually been up the mountain which rejoices in the name of the Blorenge.” So there won’t be too many poems written about it.
“Go on, you made that up,” my unbelieving hubby suggested.
“Indeed I didn’t, in fact there’s a famous horse’s grave up there as well.”
“Go on, don’t tell me it’s the real resting place of Bucephalus?”
“Very funny, no, it was Col. Harry Llewellyn’s show jumper called Fox hunter.”
“And what’s so special about this horse?”
“He was part of an equestrian team which won GB’s only gold medal in 1952 in the Olympics.”
“No wonder I’ve never heard of it then.”
“But if you’d been an equestrian, you would have done,” I argued.
“Possibly, so what were you doing up there, looking for dead ’orses?”
“No, I was actually on a school biology field trip looking for signs of red grouse.”
“What like notices saying, ‘Yer be red grouse?’”
“Yeah that sort of thing but in their poo.”
“What?”
“Red grouse have a particular sort of poo.”
“Now I know you’re bull shitting me.”
“I’m not.”
“Bird shit is bird shit, is bird shit.”
“Sorry to disagree, Si, but you’re wrong.”
Just then we were passed by a Land rover which stopped and the window was wound down. “Laird Simon, Lady Cameron,” said a respectful voice.
“Morning, McVitie, how are the birds doing?” replied Simon.
“Aye, they’re doing fine, twa hundred since Monday.” My tummy flipped, even Kiki couldn’t eat two hundred grouse.
“Could you settle a slight disagreement, McVitie?”
“Aye, if I can.”
“Are grouse droppings individual–I mean are they same as other bird droppings?” Simon looked at me and smiled assured his man would back him.
“Only wi’ other grouse, m’ laird.”
“So my wife could say she knew grouse were about by finding some droppings?”
“Aye, if she ken whit she wis lookin’ fa’.”
“Thank you, Mr McVitie,” I beamed towards the estate keeper.
“Yer welcome, ma’am.” With that he drove off to continue his slaughter of the innocents.
“Traitor,” Simon mouthed at the disappearing 4x4.
“You should know better than argue with Mummy about wildlife,” offered Livvie who smirked at Simon.
“We’ll show you in the book when we get back,” promised Trish.
“Can’t wait,” humphed Simon, ever the bad loser.
We continued our trek, the path rising to some hills. “What’s up there, Daddy?” asked Trish.
“Not a lot, the occasional bird nest and a couple of caves, I think.”
“Caves?” squealed Danni and Trish, “Can we see them?”
“I suppose we could have lunch up there, it is nearly twelve. You okay with that, Cathy?”
“Fine with me.”
So it came to pass that the family Cameron had their lunch sitting on a few rocks inside some sandstone caves. Despite being dressed as a girl, Danny rushed into the caves yelling and listening to the echoes he got back, which seemed more reminiscent of boy behaviour. It made my toes curl and pleased me at the same time.
I saw some flashes as they took photos and then shouts of, “Don’t go in there.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“No you won’t, Trish–Trish where are you? Mummy, we’ve lost Trish.”
I walked rapidly into the cave closely followed by Simon. “What d’you mean you’ve lost Trish?”
“She went through there,” Danni pointed to a fissure in the wall of the smaller cave.
“Through here?” I examined the crack in the wall–there was no way anyone my size would get through it. I called through the hole but there was no reply which may or may not be serious.
I yelled again and this time more insistently. No response, I began to get a little worried. Simon shone his torch through the hole and it was obvious that Trish wasn’t there–but where was she?
“Want me to go look for her?” Danni offered sounding more like a brother than a sister.
“I don’t know, we don’t need to lose two of you.”
“Yes, go on girl, here take my torch.” Simon wasn’t going to equivocate.
“Stupid tits,” hissed Danni, hurling his chest adornments on the cave floor as he squeezed through the crack which was barely bigger than he was.
“I’m coming too,” Cindy Squeezed in after him and being smaller did so before I could stop her.
“Bring her back here,” I shouted to Danni.
“No good, it’s narrower from this side, we’ll have to find a way round.” Then they seemed to fade into the gloom.
Livvie handed me Danni’s boobs and I shoved them in my backpack.
“Any idea where that goes?” I asked Simon.
“None whatsoever, I didn’t even know it was there.”
Some help he was–as usual. Typical isn’t it, you can never find a good speleologist when you want one?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blorenge
Comments
Very Dangerous Behavior
Now there are three potentially lost children. This could be very, very bad.
Portia
Indeed.
There's still the body of a stuck caver in one of the caves near Castleton in Derbyshire. He got stuck and rescuers were unable to free him and he eventually died. The cave is, of course, sealed now.
I remember it well as it got a lot of publicity at the time.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neil_Moss_%28caver%29
Robi
I don't like how Cathy is compartamentalizing behaviors
Boyish? Girlish? Tomboyish?
Sometimes I think T folks are more intolerant than the 'normal' folks.
*sigh*
Kim
Perhaps...
I've seen examples of your "some T folks being LESS tolerant" than non T folks. But, luckily no more often than non-T folk being intolerant (or at least not much more often). I think some folks are just less tolerant in general... They expect the entire world to conform to THEIR perception if what is what, and expect the world to accept that they don't conform to others expectations.
*sighs*
Annette
Never mind
I believe I have misunderstood your comment for a second.
Kim
find a good speleologist
"never find a good speleologist when you want one"
I used to be one in my earlier days. And despite being a very good one I once crawled into a tight spot that I feared I wasn't going to escape. Being at two failed rescues (body recoveries) cooled my ardor for the sport.
This could be bad for the Cameron clan. On the other hand, the UK has very good cave rescue organisations, as does the USA.
Kris
{I leave a trail of Kudos as I browse the site. Be careful where you step!}
Grousing about a bunch of droppings?
Simon should know by now that Cathy really knows her shit.
*sighs*
Sorry, I blame the adults at least as much as the kids for what happened... Not that blame does anyone any good at this point.
What needs to happen ASAP:
1) get out where there's cell coverage and call in help. (Help includes local spelunkers as well as rescue personnel (not all human).)
2) Head Count the other kids and keep an eye on them
3) DON't PANIC
4) Look around inside/out - always in sight of others.
5) Nobody else get separated while waiting for above EXPERT help.
Hindsight being 20:20... Some rope (& florescent markers) might have helped. Some actual supervision of the kids who are well known for wandering off when they see something interesting. Some discussion of the dangers of caves...
Completely different approach would for Cathy to attempt to "pull" the girls (& Dann?) back using the "force"... She's talked people back from places before... Perhaps not like this. But there's always a chance it might work.
Quite an interesting day... Things were going way to well. Interesting what Dann?'s reaction was to things getting in the way. Once everything works out, crisis related, it may prove helpful to the youngster in figuring out what is needed with their life.
Thanks,
Annette
"It never rains but it pours"
So the old saying goes and that is certainly true for Cathy at the moment , As seems to be most often the case its Trish who is the catalyst for trouble, With her impetuous nature is it any wonder that if there is a problem she is normally involved... Whilst i am not worried that they will all be found safe its what they might find that interests me ....Who knows what secrets those caves may hold.
Kirri