Page 87 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
‘Good evening, Ava,’ he says in his formal way. Then helooks at his watch. ‘Almost evening,’ he corrects himself. ‘I do hope I’m not disturbing you?’
‘Er, no,’ I say, casting a quick glance over his shoulder in case Callum was already making his way along the path. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘You remember I said I was going to do some research on those old ruins up on the hill?’
I nod.
‘Well, I’ve found out some quite interesting information, and you said you’d like to hear about anything I discovered. I wondered if now might be a good time?’
‘Yes . . . er, sure,’ I say, opening the door wider to invite him in. I could hardly say I was expecting Callum for . . . Why was Callum coming here tonight? I didn’t actually know if it was simply to talk or to tell me he couldn’t be with me again, or something else . . . ‘Come on in.’
I guide Lonan through to the sitting room, and after he’s made a fuss of Merlin and accepted a glass of wine from one of the bottles left over from Easter, we settle down to talk.
‘I knew this area would be filled with intrigue,’ Lonan says, looking eagerly down at his notebook. ‘There’s just something about the place that when I originally came to visit suggested it would be of some interest to me.’
‘What sort of intrigue?’ I ask, taking a sip from my own glass. I’d decided when pouring one for Lonan that a bit of Dutch courage wouldn’t go amiss before Callum arrived.
‘It appears from the research I’ve done so far that the ruins on the hill were, as we suspected, once a large manor house; and the family that lived there controlled all of this area.’
‘How did they control it? Wasn’t there a government that did that, or a King?’
‘Usually that would be correct. But it seems like I said at your delightful dinner party, much of this area was originally deemed Royal Forest, which is why it was called Kingswood before it was later renamed Bluebell Wood. However, I’ve discovered that Henry II actually bestowed this particular area of Royal Forest on one of his subjects as a reward for looking after and protecting one of his children.’
‘Really? How exciting.’
‘I believe the King, his young son and some of the King’s men were out hunting one day – that’s what Royal Forest was usually claimed for: good hunting ground for the King and any nobility he wished to share this privilege with. The boy got distanced from the King and his party and, new to horsemanship, he was soon thrown from his horse. A local farmer found him unconscious, with his horse still wandering nearby. He took both the boy and the horse back to his own modest dwelling, little knowing, of course, that the boy was royalty. The boy came to eventually, and after the farmer and his wife had fed and watered him, the boy told them who he was.’
‘Gosh,’ I say, completely enthralled in this fairy tale of a story. ‘Then what happened?’
‘The King’s men, out searching for the lost boy, saw his horse tethered to the outside of the farmhouse. When they banged on the door demanding to speak to the farmer, they were surprised and relieved to find the King’s son inside. Luckily for the farmer and his wife, the boy spoke nothing but praise for their kindness to him. When the King was told what had happened, he went back to the wood with his men and spoke to the couple himself, and as a way of showing his gratitude gave them a small area of the Royal Forest, an area that now covers both the village of Bluebell Wood as we know it today and the surrounding villages.’
‘Wow, that story is like something you read in a children’s book. There is definitely something magical about this place, though. How did you find all that out?’ I ask.
‘I began by speaking to a few of the older members of the community. It’s amazing how much you can discover having a chat over a pint in the local hostelry – even in this modern day of websites and Google.’
I can just imagine Lonan chatting to the locals in the pub and getting them to spill all the gossip and tall tales about the area – even if those tales are hundreds of years old.
‘And then I did my own searches on more reliable sources – the internet and local libraries. There’s a wealth of information in the Cambridge University Library about the local area; luckily, I have a friend who’s one of the fellows there so I could access it.’
This obviously all came very naturally to Lonan. He’d told me before how much research he did for his novels.
‘I’ve a lot more research still to do,’ Lonan concludes, ‘but it would seem the ownership of the piece of land that the farmer was bequeathed stayed in his family for many generations. The ruins up on the hill are part of one of the homes his descendants built.’
‘Whoever lived there really was lord or lady of the manor, then?’
‘Most definitely. Like I said, I’ve still got some digging to do – metaphorically so – but I hope to find out more about the generations after the farmer, and also possibly before.’
‘This is really interesting, Lonan; thank you for sharing it all with me.’
‘Not a problem. I’m more than happy to share it with someone. It’s been incredibly rewarding to find out more about where I’m residing.’
We both take a sip of our wine, but I get the feeling by the agitated look on his face that there’s more Lonan wants to say.
‘Why are youreallyhere, Lonan?’ I ask. ‘There’s something more than the history of Bluebell Wood you want to discuss with me, isn’t there?’
‘Ah, you’ve rumbled me,’ Lonan says, nodding. ‘I knew you were too bright to be fooled by my cover story.’
‘Your cover story is great; I’m intrigued and definitely want to know more. But you wouldn’t have come here tonight just to tell me that.’
