Chapter 42 I never knew my mother,
But did have a box which I always pretended belonged to her.
Looking back now,
I see no one else was in the slightest bit aware of its importance.
It must have once belonged to someone in Cornelius's family,
And I remember sitting in my bedroom at the farmhouse as a child,
The heavy summer rain falling outside,
As I opened the bundle which had been given to me with instructions to amuse myself for a while.
But as always the valley beckoned,
And before long I slipped down the curving oak staircase and through the side door which led into the courtyard,
And from there escaped.
I could hear the thumping of a rolling pin in the kitchen,
But had no interest in domestic duties,
And soon found myself in the valley,
Warm and dry in my favourite tidy hole,
Near the chapel and beneath the rocks.
It was the perfect place,
Sheltered from the rain,
And due to a spreading beech tree hidden from anyone who might be passing.
There was a blue cloth which I immediately discarded to reveal the most beautiful wooden box I had ever seen.
Even at my young age I knew it to be special,
And took a moment to wander at the trees and animals,
A hare and a fish,
And the sun,
Moon and stars so delicately carved,
And in the middle of the top a woman holding a chalice.
I lifted the catch carefully,
And felt a stab of disappointment,
For inside lay a few items which seemed interesting enough,
But then again were nothing special.
There was a brown flint arrowhead,
Or was it too large for an arrow?
A spearhead maybe?
Cornelius would be interested,
I thought,
As I placed it to one side.
And a sort of wooden pendant,
Which although I could see had once been carved,
Was now no more than a smoothed wooden disc,
With the vague outline of a tree upon it,
As if someone had held it a lot,
And worn away most of the carvings.
Apart from those,
A twisted piece of stick,
A stub of candle,
And then,
This made me sit up and take notice,
A small silver cup.
No chalice was what it would have been called,
Tarnished with age,
Yet which I instinctively knew could be bright and shining,
Given a little attention.
And that was all.
I wondered how I was supposed to amuse myself with these items,
And eventually lay back against the rock,
And closed my eyes.
It was then I find it.
The rain had increased,
Heavy summer rain,
And I pushed myself as far as I could beneath the overhang of rock for shelter.
There was a surprisingly large space there,
Bigger than I had previously realised,
Almost a cave,
And I felt a sense of security as I lay listening to the rain pattering on the leaves of the trees,
Hidden from the rest of the world,
And wondering if I was the first person to lie there,
Or if others had done just the same before me.
As I lay,
Eyes closed,
Mind idly drifting into another place,
My fingers came upon something smooth,
At odds with the rough texture of the soil.
I explored further,
Felt around the object,
And finally,
Stirring myself,
Found a long pointed crystal of green and violet,
Lying cool and heavy in my hand.
It must have been there for ages,
I thought,
For it was cloudy with dirt and dust,
And yet,
As I held it,
I saw a shimmering in the weak sunlight,
And after wetting my hand and rubbing the crystal with raindrops,
It shone brightly,
Giving the impression of returning to life,
After a very long time.
It was beautiful.
The rain cleared away,
And then I was able to step outside into the sunshine,
Holding the crystal up to the light,
Watching the way the green and violet twinkled and sparkled with a life of its own.
I could not begin to imagine how it came to be in the soil beneath the rocks,
Or who could have left it there,
But had the strongest feeling it was as much a part of the valley as I was myself,
And so I placed it carefully in the carved wooden box with everything else and headed for home.
Who does the little chapel belong to?
I asked Cornelius on our next visit to the valley.
Summer was passing,
The bracken turning to brown and dying back.
Since losing the key,
We no longer played our usual game.
Perhaps we had grown up a little,
And this time simply walked to the chapel to spend the afternoon gazing at the river and hillside opposite,
Until the day began to turn chilly and we decided to return home.
I'm not sure,
He hazarded.
The church,
Maybe,
Or even our family.
After all,
We farm the land hereabouts.
He continued walking,
As if it was of no consequence who owned the chapel,
But as I passed through the gateway of the field in which the chapel enclosure stood,
I could not help thinking how wonderful it would be to own the little field,
And by default,
The chapel itself.
