Blackhall Rocks

A rather different experience for our little family team this day, we ventured into a practically modern melee by comparison with our usual historical haunts. We sought an adventure at the beach, but hoped to escape the throngs of excitable sun-seekers at the better known resort locations along the north east coast.

Blackhall Rocks and Blackhall Colliery are predominantly recognised for their associations with the coal mining industry.  For many years the area was heavily industrial and to our pleasance attuned minds, probably devilish. Black coal strewn beaches and thick smog plumes apparently smothered the once pristine landscape, but this particular industry came upon hard times and eventually ceased altogether, now effort and finance has been put forward to clean up the spoilt seaboard and as such, nature has since reclaimed the land as its own.

The original colliery was built and run by Daniel Hall, known locally under the alias ‘black’ due to his coal mining association, and so, Black-Hall became the town’s official label.  It seems to have reached its peak during the 20th century when the railroad and mining masses were in full swing but has since witnessed severe economic decline. The beach itself appeared in the 1971 movie Get Carter, where the sand can be seen strewn with coal and colliery debris.  We were delighted to see that tourism and leisure are now assisting with a gradual rekindling of the areas popularity, and it is very easy to see the current appeal.

The most spectacular thing about this remote edge of our little island, is its stunning coastal nature reserve.  Wildflowers and grassland meadows blanket the clifftops, birds and insects float and frolic, basking in the sunshine breeze.  The walks are plentiful and have a real feel of some heavenly paradise as the wind ripples over the long grass stalks in twirling waves, mimicking the endless ocean beyond.

Apparently, during the mid-19th century a lone hotel used to stand upon the cliff here. The old hotel must have offered quite a reclusive prospect, a single antagonistic figure resolutely squaring up to the might of the North Sea.  Sadly it no longer remains, though we had a lot of fun vocally reanimating the colourful and creepy characters that must have passed through its remote halls and slept under its wind and weather beaten roof.

We wandered through the wonderful wild meadows until we reached some suspect looking steps leading down to the beach and the dark blue ocean.  We continued with caution down the steep track, careful of our footing but enamoured by the wonderful wildlife surrounding us in every direction as we closed in on the sands below.

The beach is a wonder of its own, littered with coastal Magnesian Limestone rocks and pebbles, it appears like a vision of some alien planet, a distant lunar landscape stretching in a thin band, toe to toe with the ocean to infinity.  Millennia of water erosion has left these smooth round rocks with all manner of hollowed patterning, we wanted to fill our pockets for souvenirs, such were the unique enchanting aspects of these gems.

After a good amount of time skimming stones and splashing about in the ocean, enjoyed most especially by our darling Audrey, whose affinity to the waters of the world are already clearly evident, we made our way.  We paused for the unexpected drama of a police helicopter chase along the coast, a completely paradoxical experience to our leisurely sojourn but an interesting inclusion none the less. Finally we arrived back on the road.  The twisting tarmac accepted us gladly and more adventures await, but this was a perfect little escape and a relaxing chance to while away the hours and not feel at all bad about any of it.

Mystery of the Forsaken Mariner - Part 6: Dr Dee and The Elixir of Life

Dearest Emily

Let me immediately delve into our illuminated discoveries following that contentious hero of ours Sir Francis Drake.  Walking in his footsteps led upon an indubitably curious trail.  We have come across some fascinating correspondence between Drake and none other than that most remarkable of fellows, Dr John Dee.

As you are well aware, Dr Dee is utterly infamous in his field.  His field being the realms of science fiction, the occult and the exquisite glamorisation of folklore and legend, cleverly disguised in the respectable mask of history.  He was I hasten to add, one of the foremost genius mathematicians and cartographers of his generation, a truly brilliant mind, albeit one who saw spirits of the dead through magic mirrors and had the odd casual chat with angels about wife swapping.

Though my mind dismisses many of Dee’s beliefs, I cannot deny his trust in the magical possibilities available to a good Christian soul in the Tudor world.  Therefore I do not question his ambition as he sought several treasures of mythological importance.  Dee was a scientist of his era, there was just a wider scope of what might be accepted scientific.

It is within the realms of continued enlightenment that his passions led towards that most desirable of scientific treasures, the elixir of life.  Dee craved the secrets held by the shamans and witch doctors of old, he wished to discover the path to prolonged life, to find the philosophers stone, the nectar of the gods, a liquid to heal the sick and even raise the dead?

If nothing else, Dee was a true scholar, a patron of the library system and a believer in the power of learning. During his research he studied the ancient texts and histories of Britain, longing for secrets hidden in the foundation of our island.  One such legend truly piqued his interest, a Celtic cauldron believed to harbour the power to bring the dead back to life.

Dee’s belief in this legend stemmed from his incredulous library.  He begged the Queen to found a national Library, but she refused, so Dee collected manuscripts from all over the globe and built his own magnificent library to house them.  Here he retained many medieval Welsh and British histories. My darling, through this love of literature Dee claimed to have personally witnessed the famed missing document upon which that embellishing Welsh chronicler Geoffrey of Monmouth based his most famous of works, Historia Regium Brittaniae, the Histories of the Kings of Britain.

This is where things get interesting my love, two important and relevant revelations come from old Dr Dee. 

Number one, he wrote an entire tome, Brytanici Imperil Limites, claiming the rightful ownership of the Americas in the name of Elizabeth.  This inheritance he claimed was due to her familial lineage, and dated back to her apparent ancestor, none other than that literary British monarch and folk hero, King Arthur! (Whom Dee also claimed ancestry with, there’s nothing quite like name dropping a mythical King to get you favoured!) Monmouth, along with several other contemporary scholars, had claimed Arthur sailed to the Americas and conquered those lands, long before the Spanish or Portuguese had ever laid their bogus claims, or the Pope had unjustly divided the spoils between those nations.

Number 2, the Queen was unwell, her Doctors confided in Dee and no lesser persons than Walsingham and Leicester begged Dee’s assistance in her recovery.  Elizabeth was in a state of panic.  The Armada would sail on English shores; the entire nation knew it was only a matter of time.  England was a blight on the Catholic dominions, and the power of Spain was undeniably mighty.  Elizabeth required her health and an advantage over her enemies and was willing to go to any lengths to acquire such necessities. Dee’s cauldron was now more than a folk tale in the Celtic pantheons.  It was a potential weapon.

The cauldron was supposedly property of Celtic god Bran the Blessed, son of the god of the sea Llyr and ruler of Britain.  Bran had bequeathed the cauldron to Matholwch, the King of Ireland in penance for his brother Efnysien’s rash actions following Matholwch’s marriage to their sister Branwen.  The Irish King mistreated Branwen which led to a war during which the Irish would ultimately use the cauldron against Bran, replenishing their war dead by reanimating the corpses.  As the Irish were on the brink of victory, Efnysien, seeking redemption, disguised himself as a mortally wounded Irish soldier until his body was placed in the cauldron, at which point using great force he split the cauldron and halted its power, bursting his own heart in the exertion.  Bran was mortally wounded during the battle and ordered the surviving seven of Bran’s great army to cut off his head and take it, along with the shattered pieces of the cauldron, back to Britain. After 87 joyous years, not perceiving the passing of time and Brans head still alive and conversing happily, a door was opened facing Cornwall causing their sorrow to return and Brans head to finally die.  His followers buried it as promised along with the associated treasures, beneath the White Mound in London, known traditionally today as Tower Hill.  Bran demanded that it be placed there facing the enemies of England, for as long as there it remained, the island would always be safe from invasion.

But that is not where this story ends my love, as you well know, for the legend states that centuries later, Bran’s skull was disinterred from its final resting place beneath the White Mound; the culprit of such a deed, that recurring mythical protector, King Arthur.  Arthur is said to have been dismally hurt by the notion Britain may require any more protection than his own, and as such had gone to lengths to prove his absolute authority by removing the talisman.  Despite having no need for it, you would surely want such an item hidden at the ends of the earth, so that your enemies could not get control of it.

This is where we find the frayed threads of literature evidence split and fade, intertwined but not altogether complete.  Dee had a hunch, an idea of what became of his desired legendary cauldron.  One assumes that if such a thing had ever existed, we might imagine an item of singular beauty such as the Gundestrup Cauldron, a stunning Iron Age creation fused with religious iconography, enough to inspire belief in the occult and the power of the gods for any who laid eyes upon it.  Perhaps a Romano British Knight or leader in possession of an item so wonderful, seeking future conquest or merely escaping the horrors at home as the Saxon raiders took control; would carry such a treasure with them to the far reaches of the known world.

Of course Celtic Gods and fantasy Kings are not worth chasing, as archaeologists we must sift through the fantasy and deal with the evidence in a scientific manner to gain a greater understanding of past events, but I cannot help but wonder.  Drake and Dee corresponded before the circumnavigation.  Elizabeth required a weapon and a medicine.  We know that both individuals placed enough trust and belief in Dee’s recommendations that Drake attended his home for lectures, and Elizabeth consulted the man regularly on all manner of topics, including the ownership of the Americas and her health.  In fact it was Dr John Dee who chose the date of Elizabeth’s coronation, based upon his understanding of astronomy and the perfect alignment for such an occasion.  On Drakes return, Elizabeth travelled with all haste to Dee’s home for consultation.  There are many links, they cannot surely all be coincidence?

And then we have our Mariners message.  I told you of the manuscript, of the understanding Drake hoped to hide something in the far reaches of the world. Perhaps the Mariner was mistaken, perhaps the reference was to something hidden historically in the Americas, a weapon, a treasure, a secret, but now that secret had to be retrieved.  Dee believed he knew the location and assisted in the planning of the expedition. Upon a certain map of the Northern hemisphere, drawn by Dee the year of Drakes return, there is a curious point on the west coast of America marked only as C De ☩, could this cross mark the point of King Arthurs apparent destination as he understood it?  We know Drake spent a good deal of time on the west coast of America, beyond the reach of the Spanish.  And then of course there is our discovery in Cornwall, in the very part of Britain that both the fabled Arthur called home, and the direction blamed for the final destruction of the god Bran. That beautiful bronze curved plate, a mere fragment no more, but all the indications it once belonged to a greater whole, a cauldron.  Not only that, but the story told in its engravings.  It is unmistakeable my darling.  The symbol of the raven, a bird long associated with Arthur and the literal translation of Bran.

I do not wish to get carried away in folklore and legend, in myth and magic, but I cannot help to feel a thrill of wonder at the idea we may have unearthed some part of the origins of these fantastic tales.  A revered object owned by a great leader who fell in battle, buried beneath a sacred mound until discovered by Romano British Knights who hurried it away from enemies.  Then century’s later war on home soil encouraged the recovery of this treasure.  What did Drake really find out there in the Americas?

I shall remain immersed in this study my love, I fear we may need to go further afield to learn more, so keep free your diary, we shall uncover the secrets together anon.

All our love always

Craig and Audrey

Lullingstone Roman Villa

Sometimes, even on the dreariest of weekends, when the ceiling of grey drizzle shuffles so low to the earth you could touch it and the stubborn winter dark seems to drag its heels through the domain of day, there remains a longing desire to escape the confines of walls and windows and taste the fresh crystal countryside air.

It was on one such dismal day that we ventured towards the rumoured remains of a Roman Villa in Lullingstone, near the village of Eynsford in that glorious garden of England, the county of Kent.  The Villa was built in the Darent Valley around 80-90 AD and was likely the lavish home to a wealthy family, possibly even a country retreat for Governors of the Roman province of Britannia.

Before exploring the remarkable remains of this Roman Villa, Bramble and I explored the surrounding landscape in hopes of further understanding the unique qualities which led to such a location choice.  It is indeed remarkably scenic, rolling fields and tree covered hilltops with the Darent River cutting a swirling valley through it all.  It seems the ancient lure of luxury still hangs in the air, a miasma of pure privilege in our modern day, as a well maintained golf course now overlooks the 15th century Lullingstone Castle, a manor house of singular beauty and prime location upon a great body of the river.

These surroundings suitably investigated and our curiosities perfectly piqued, we re-joined our darling family to delve into the well excavated depths of Lullingstone Roman Villa.

Incredible indications of the activities occurring nearly two thousand years ago are littered in every corner of this magnificent ruin.  Leather shoes, hypocaust tiles for under floor heating, bone dice, intricate carved stone, spectacular mosaic floors, lavish pottery, coins, beads and domestic items of every calibre offer a striking glance into the life of a wealthy Roman family in Britannia.

A fascination of this empirical luxury residence lies in its early links to Christian worship, new to our little island at the end of the earth.  It appears that a space already utilised for religious ceremony saw a 4th century conversion to indulge in the worship of Christ.  This makes it one of the earliest known advocates of this contemporarily rare religion, a new arrival to British shores and one which must have appeared entirely alien to many of its inhabitants.  Frescos displaying the Chi-Rho appear to be the only known Christian paintings from the Roman period in Britain. Furthermore, during the Anglo Saxon period, a Christian Chapel was built amidst the ruins of a Romano British Temple-Mausoleum. The chapel stood into Norman times and is one of the earliest examples of its kind in England.

A curious little twist to this tale comes in the form of a rude pagan temple beneath the Christian example.  Perhaps this was an indication of a wealthy elite projecting support of the newly celebrated Christian cult, whilst maintaining their personal preference to worship of the old gods in secret?

We circumnavigated the site, taking in each individual room and the treasures within.  It is true that the centrepiece of this delightfully opulent residence are the incredibly well preserved mosaic floors in the reception room, depicting the abduction of Europa and Bellerophon riding Pegasus and killing the Chimera.  It would have made for a striking sight on entering the building, a proverbial punch in the face letting people know just how important, wealthy and well read the owner truly was.  In our modern madness, a lightshow and audio accompaniment help to colour the story of the Villa for its visitors, since no longer are you able to walk upon the precisely patterned stones of the ancient empire.  Of course I believe this to be a suitable substitute given the important preservation needs of such a palace, but it always seems nice to get a closer look...

It appears that in the 5th century a fire destroyed the majority of the Villa, and aside from occasional reuse, it was all but forgotten to time.  It was first rediscovered in the 18th century when the building of a deer park dug through mosaic floors beneath the ground, but proper excavations were not carried out until the 20th century when the full extent of the Villa was finally uncovered.

Thoughts wandered to the inevitable of course, what of the pre-Roman natives in this story, such a location must have been of importance before our empirical oppressors took hold?  It seems that some Belgic pottery pre-dating the conquest has been discovered here, along with evidence of agricultural activity, but settlement is lost to us due to the nature of the structures and materials utilised.

After a long casual stroll around the entirety of the ruins, we decided to make for home, suitably infused and energised by the sight of such historic splendour rediscovered beneath our feet.  The dreary grey afternoon stretched out into an early night, and the lure of hot tea and pyjamas awaited us at home in the cottage, not quite in the same league as the lavish Villas of the ancient elite, but just perfect for our little family.

Castlerigg Stone Circle

In the remote wilds of Cumbria we found ourselves in the midst of a prehistoric marvel.  The Castlerigg Stone Circle is a thing of true wonder.  Ancient stones set in an otherworldly surrounding, it echoes with the memories of two hundred generations or more.  Dubbed the Druid circle, the carefully positioned stones are enclosed by the epic majesty of the fells, languishing stylishly at the centre of an impossibly enormous natural amphitheatre.

The circle is thought to be Late Neolithic or Early Bronze Age in date and its function has been argued for centuries, the debate still rages.  From meeting place to astronomical device, trading post to ritual centre, its mysteries continue to draw fascinated fandom from all over the planet.  Here we were the next in line.

We made our way up a steep hill by car and found a suitable place to alight. Only a little gate and a lot of sheep remained between us and the ancient stone circle. There is no price to pay, witnessing the archaic architecture costs only the will to make the journey and to brave the cold. From within the stones, which you can approach and explore up close, the views are simply ecstatic. The intimate experience of this mystical construction whilst the wind, frost, rain and fog whips around you like a dancing demon is indescribable.  You become a part of its endless mystery by merely standing within its hallowed centre.

The stones are composed of volcanic rock from the Borrowdale Volcanic group, some are over 2 meters high and weigh up to 16 tons.  The process of monument creation would have been both a feat of utter genius and extreme exhaustion.  Archaeo-astronomers have suggested the stones line up with the midwinter sunrise and certain other significant positions of the moon.

The earliest written record of the circle comes from that antiquarian intrigue and prehistory scholar, William Stukeley.  His account, published after his death in 1776, recalls the monument as a Celtic work with a mysterious grave at its east end.  Whilst there is no evidence of human remains being uncovered at the monument, little recorded archaeological work has actually been conducted. However, nearby at White Raise Cairn, human remains were discovered in a stone lined grave within.

Though the incredible structure is constantly linked to Druidical practice, there seems to be no genuine evidence of its function during the Iron Age.  3 Neolithic stone axes were discovered within the circle giving rise to a belief it may have been a trade and exchange post of these valuable items.  Polished axes such as these were quarried high in the fells thanks to the qualities of the local volcanic rock.

Legend has it that the stones move when not being watched, mischievously switching places or even hiding so that it is said you will never count the same number of stones twice.  Glowing orbs have been persistently reported at the site, giving rise to a belief the stones may be the haunt of faeries and ghosts.

Close to the Castlerigg Stone Circle, a recent speculative magnetometer survey discovered a substantial possible Roman fort complex beneath the undisturbed earth.  The giant enclosure is believed to have been a temporary camp for troops advancing north to the far unknown reaches of the island. The stories of horror and marvel which must have been spoken within those walls, of the monsters and gods that dwelt in the barren wilds of the north, of the treasures and wonders that were surely to be discovered during those treacherous treks.  If walls could only speak. It remains unexcavated but perhaps one day will add much to the story of this historic area.

Before our fingers and toes became completely numb to the bone, we made our way back through the lustrous landscape towards the nearby idyllic town of Keswick.  A picturesque postcard of a settlement, Keswick offers the outdoor adventurer a welcome retreat from city bustle and daily routine.  Littered with good old fashioned pubs (dogs and children welcome everywhere it seems, with the Twa Dogs and Dog and Gun being our very favourite) and countless cafes and shops, it has become a base and a shrine for all things explorer.

The jewel in this magnificent landscape crown is Derwentwater, a glorious pool of twinkling silver surrounded by a circle of emerald mountain giants, peering down into its mirror-like depths.  Boats glide effortlessly across the choppy waters seeking unforgettable pleasure from otherwise unobtainable scenic views.  It is easy to see why this place has been revered throughout the ages.

After many a locally brewed Jennings ale, we gathered our family entourage and made for the comfort of our lodgings.  Such a place as this seems straight from the pages of classic literature, as though all the words of the great romantic poets, the settings of legend and fantasy authors and the songs of folk troubadours collided and from the dust emerged their imagined Elysian fields.

We will sleep well tonight in this cosy corner of Albion… or dare I whisper, Eden?...

THE MYSTERY OF THE FORSAKEN MARINER PT 5 - A SECRET OF IRON AND MAGIC

My dearest Emily,

I have hated these past days more than any I can recall.  Being forced to leave your side, following the harrowing experience on the hilltop.  I now fear for all of all of our safety and utterly despise the idea of not being close enough to offer you additional protection.  Not that I think you need my protection of course, nor would ever ask for it, you are far more fierce and skilled than I, anyone who might attempt to cross your path in a negative fashion should certainly be pitied, as they clearly underestimate what a force they are dealing with!  Perhaps it is more my own safety and that of our darling Audrey for which I fear, I wish that you, my dear and Bramble, our ferocious ball of fluff were here with us.

I have been trying exhaustively track down our evil assailants.  I trust you have by now examined the damage they caused to the site?  Thank goodness our excavation had reached completion before they took the opportunity to strike!  One can only imagine the devastation had we lost the data, the archaeological record would have been obliterated.  Thank goodness we had already transferred the artefacts safely to museum storage, could you imagine what might happen had they got their hands on that?

Speaking of which my darling, I remain in a complete fizz of emotion regarding that incredible discovery! You know of which I refer, I still have to pinch myself when I recall it, to think it lay undisturbed in the Devon countryside for millennia.

I have to believe that this is somehow connected to the Mariners message.  To discover such intricate Iron Age artefacts is rare enough, but bound in that overly coined phrase, Celtic iconography, and to find it in a burial context, depicting precisely what it did, is just… well, there are no words.  Imagine if it were accurate, imagine if it’s suggested story is real, now that would be something to hide from enemies, something that had to disappear!

If it should happen to be real, and Captain Drake was charged by Elizabeth with its concealment, then maybe, just maybe it remains in its carefully selected hiding place.  It could be out there somewhere still, on the west coast of America.

There must be some way in which we can gain a clearer understanding of the American locales explored by our good Captain Drake.

Audrey and I shall return to the archives and I shall contact a few Drakeologists we are familiar with.  Perhaps a fresh clue can be ascertained from the new information we have gathered?

In our other affairs, Audrey and I visited the quaint market town of Hexham.  We explored the Abbey, founded by Wilfred in 674.  It is a building of singular beauty today, and we found our way into the original crypts.  It is exciting to witness stone reused from Roman ruins from the nearby epic construction of Hadrians Wall and its adjoining forts and Vicus.  One particular block went for many years unnoticed as a floor slab, until it was discovered to be the facedown headstone of a Roman soldier, incredible reuse of elaborate masonry.  Hexham was a target during William Wallace’s campaigns against the English and has a rich and turbulent history. The Gaol gives a unique portrait of this troublesome past. We were on the hunt for Saxon understandings and learnt that AElfward, King of the Northumbrians had been buried here in the Church after being slain by Sicga.  It is a fascinating and pretty town, well worth the visit.

Visit Hexham

For now, I beg of you my love, stay safe, stay surrounded by those we know and trust completely.  I will send you news of our progress and beg that you do the same should your avenues of investigation prove fruitful.

With all the love and care in the world, we remain as always,

Forever yours,

Craig and Audrey

XOXOXOXOX

The Mystery of the Forsaken Mariner PT4 - Horror on the Hill top

Transcript follows:

There were disturbing scenes yesterday evening [6th January 2019] close to the former national village of the decade, St Neot.  Local residents have described their terror as a vicious raid and prolonged gun fight took place on the outskirts of the village.

The explosive assault broke out at approximately 19.35 GMT.  Witness reports indicate that an archaeological expedition had been working around the clock at a protected site to unearth ‘at risk’ prehistoric remains thought to have survived beneath the ground.  The site lies close to known archaeological remains on Berry Down, understood to be an Iron Age hillfort.  Professional investigators were researching linked communities in the area when the gang of masked raiders arrived on quad bikes and attacked.

Despite the isolation of the area, and the surprise of the attack, the archaeology team were able to act swiftly to protect all members of their staff and escape the hill top unharmed, however, it is feared the site may have been significantly damaged during the raid.

The parish of St Neot resides within a dynamic landscape and boasts part of Bodmin Moor on its northern border.  The Moor is famed for its thriving Bronze Age community with over 200 settlements recorded in the landscape, including the remains of a vast quantity of roundhouses.  This style of structure continued into the Iron Age and buildings here are likely to have belonged to the Dumnonii tribe, thought to hold the balance of power in Iron Age Cornwall.

Though there is clear evidence for prehistoric farming communities throughout the area; sites close to St Neot are believed to have gained prevalence due to the thriving tin trade for which Cornwall is famous.  Tin was a valuable commodity and was traded globally from this corner of ancient Britain.  The wealth of the metal, used in the manufacture of bronze, was well known and documented in classical accounts of the age from Pytheas to Herodotus, amongst others.

Mining and metalwork is thought to have been closely associated with ancient perceptions of magic. It is argued that these hidden treasures from deep within the earth and the alchemy of merging liquid metals to create beautiful and possibly sacred objects, were highly regarded mystical aspects of Bronze and Iron Age life.

The excavations in St Neot are funded by local societies and businesses hoping to further understand the communities residing in the area 2500 years ago.  Rumours were sparked amongst local residents earlier in the month when a journalist reported the discovery of an unusual artefact from a structure on one of the several archaeological sites.  These rumours are as yet unconfirmed and the archaeology unit involved have so far been unavailable for comment, leading to further speculation surrounding the nature of last night’s raids.  Enforced legal restrictions mean neither the unit involved nor the object in question can be named at this time, but the archaeology unit are confirmed to be cooperating and working closely with police on the matter.

“I heard they found a new type of metal, 100 times stronger than steel and it’s gonna revolutionise the aerospace industry, so they’re trying to keep it under wraps,” said one resident who preferred to remain anonymous.

“It’s a seam of gold they found, worth billions, but they don’t want residents to know anything about it because they know it belongs to the public,” claimed Bryan Berrywinkle, a customer relations officer at a Plymouth based gift store.

“I think they unearthed some bodies, but they were not anatomically correct… not for this planet anyway.  That’s why the government have been stopping people getting through,” said Jilly Perry, a local school teacher.

Whatever has been excavated on the hill top, authorities are keen to keep publicity to a minimum.  This reporter was threatened with severe action should this story go to print.  It is my personal opinion that the importance of such discoveries belongs in the public realm, implications of the discovery are thought to be far reaching and therefore it is a duty to report on such events.  Particularly in light of the incidents yesterday evening.

Police remain at the scene where it is understood excavations will continue once a cleanup operation and an inventory have been completed. A senior officer confirmed the event is not being treated as a terror attack but may involve gang related activity.

The suspects have been described by police as four men in their mid twenties, all above six foot tall with muscular build.  They were dressed in grey body suits and wearing dark gas masks during the raid, and were riding four TGB Blade 1000LT deluxe silver quad bikes.

If you have any information regarding the events of last night’s attack, a police hotline has been set up on 01579 957 9921, alternatively an email account has been created for anyone who wishes to relay information, at hilltopincident.info@devonandcornwall.police.uk.  Police are urging anyone with information to come forward immediately.  The assailants remain on the loose; they are armed and considered a serious threat to public safety.  Police are pleading with the public to remain vigilant and under no circumstances to approach suspected gang members.

This publication also welcomes any information which may lead to the capture or identification of the gang members, and any information regarding the findings of the excavation which may assist the enquiries.  We pay for your stories. See below for contact details.

The Mystery of the forsaken Mariner - update....

Dearest Emily,

Progress had been a slow meander of late, until these last few exhilarating days.

We enjoyed the pleasant luxury of life at a becalmed trot, exploring the beautiful territories of south west England in all its exquisite glory. The weather delayed our initial exploits, occasionally with severe authority, however the sun broke through with its wondrous life galvanizing greatness and made the hilltop rambling bearable again.

So this brief letter to you my love is a quick update on the case, I am certain you are in eager anticipation to hear our news.

The complexities of our recent discovery have yet to be fully revealed. It is clear however, that what our good Sir Drake buried over there in the Americas was no standard trove of treasure. We are not talking gold and silver here, but something more complex, more powerful, powerful enough to change the fortunes of a tiny island on the edge of the civilized world into the greatest power ever to grace the planet.

My first thoughts were of those ancient mines, perhaps in the keen enthusiasm for prosperous trade, the need for tin led to a chance discovery, buried deep within the mines, hacked away with primitive tools in meager light.

Or perhaps it is a more sinister a thing, something of black magic, As a Tolkien movie adaptation once suggested…

“You fear to go into those mines. The dwarves delved too greedily and too deep. You know what they awoke in the darkness of Khazad-dum... shadow and flame”

or maybe something utterly worse, uncomprehending…. a secret?

It is abundantly clear that we are not alone in our desire to discover the truth of this matter. Our interest is being monitored, and I fear our adversaries may be willing to stoop significantly low to achieve their goals.

With that in mind, we have assumed false identities during our travels, I shall not disclose our new personas here for fear of interception, but I think you will get a real kick out of them when you hear! :)

Well my darling, that is all I have time for, I head for the library to continue this delicate research. We will be in touch again soon. I hope your party will reach us in the next few weeks and trial excavation may begin to assist our project.

Keep a keen eye on the Twitter page and Instagram accounts for pictorial updates, I shall do my best to update as often as possible.

With all our eternal love

Craig and Audrey xxx

The Mystery of the Forsaken Mariner Pt3 - The Mariners Message

Dearest Emily,

Where to begin, oh where to begin?

As always, we miss you dearly and long to be reunited soon, but our occupations have been assiduous of late, so much so that we have barely had time to stop and breathe.

The acquaintance I told you of, Mr Pritchard, found himself in dire peril and was forced to cancel our rendezvous. I must admit, I fear for his safety and have been unable to contact him since our brief Whatsapp exchange.  I have informed the police of his disappearance but there seemed little they could do under such ambiguous circumstances.

Fortunately, before his disappearance, Mr Pritchard managed to supply us with a makeshift map, apparently locating the whereabouts of the document he hoped we might examine.

It was Mr Pritchard’s wish, that our team might infiltrate the British Library’s heavily secured storage facility and retrieve the document before it fell into the hands of undesirables.

Well my darling, you can imagine my surprise at such a request.  I fancy it would be easier to break into the bedrooms of Buckingham Palace!

British Library Architecture

Fortunately, we still maintain excellent relationships with certain members of that institution, so with a little assistance, and a lot of stealth, I was able to slip in unnoticed and locate the mysterious document of which Mr Pritchard cryptically alluded.

The manuscript was hidden amongst an obscure 18th century printed volume of floral illustrations and descriptions.  It seemed an odd place for the pages to have been bound, completely out of context with the remainder of the folio.  Perhaps it was due to the frequent illustrations and observations; however crude, included in the sheets, leading an early conservator to incorrectly assume a connection, or perhaps it was a predetermined act to ensure a limit to the exposure of the information. Either way, I was glad to have found it before our enemies had discovered its whereabouts.

Without a moment to lose and not wishing to dwell in restricted areas unauthorized, I made a hasty exit from the library, but not before getting some quick snaps of the folio and ‘re-shelving’ the item in a place where other interested parties would not think to look; a place that I could inform relevant staff at a safer date.

So what of the content you ask?  Well my dear, here our story ascends to an incredulous peak of excitement and intrigue!  I learnt that the Mariner in question (I shall refrain from writing the identity of said mariner here, for fear my emails are being monitored) was a native of Folkestone, that seaside port town on the southeast coast of England.  I understand that Folkestone has been occupied since at least the Mesolithic period and was home to an extensive Iron Age oppidum, thought to have engaged in regular trade with the continent before the Romans asserted their dominance following conquest.  But its fascinating origins as a town seem to have risen from the Anglo-Saxon period.  The daughter of an Anglo-Saxon king of Kent, Eanwythe, refused all marriage proposals and founded a nunnery, where she is said to have performed miracles.  Following her death around 640AD Eanswythe was sainted, and her remains are still cared for by the Parish church of St Mary & St Eanswythe in Folkestone, on the site of her original nunnery.

Folkestone Miracle?

I needed some time to study the document and with such easy access from London, I decided to make my way to Folkestone , hoping that I might learn more of our author in his hometown.  Folkestone is a rough round the edges little gem, with glorious sea views, Victorian mansions adorning the cliff tops, and cute winding alleyways peppered with shops, bars and cafes, it retains a little more of its original charm than many seaside resorts in Britain.

Visit Folkestone

Audrey and I made our way to a local portside tavern, of which none seemed more suitable than the aptly named ‘Mariner’.  I called upon the expert assistance of some associates from across the pond.  With their help, we made the discovery of a lifetime; I can barely contain my excitement at the mere thought of it!

In all the accounts of Drakes famous circumnavigation, we are reminded of his diversion tactics.  So not to upset delicate relations with Spain and Portugal, it was announced that Drake would make a trade voyage to Alexandria.  Of course soon after leaving England, Drake pointed his ships towards the new world, where we have been told his true purpose was to harass the enemy, infiltrate their monopolies and discover a fabled northwest passage, the Anian Straits, so that a secure route between England and these new riches could be utilised.  Although the strait turned out to be a myth, Drake did return to England laden with riches, plundered from Spanish and Portuguese vessels.  The voyage was considered to be the most successful in England’s maritime history and the Captain, crew and all the financial backers profited greatly by it.  The voyage would lead to a knighthood for Drake, on board the very ship which carried him around the globe.

The Circumnavigation

But oh, my darling... that is merely the tale they wanted us to believe.

According to this single document, which I believe, as do my associates, to be genuine, that account of events is the report they advertised, a double diversion, to disguise the truth of this famous voyage.  Our sailor tells a very different tale.  This voyage was never about what could be pilfered from enemies abroad.  It was never about what could be transported from the Americas back to England. It was about something important that needed to be removed from England, and hidden deep inside a new, uncharted world.

Spain was threatening; the Armada on the horizon, tensions between Catholic Europe and Protestant England were high.  King Phillip would invade English shores; the question was only, when?

Of course history reminds us of England’s glorious victory in the Armada battle of 1588, but there was no way of predicting such a victory and the odds were very much in favour of the Spanish superpower of the age.

Elizabeth needed to hide something, something so valuable, so important, that it could only be safe in the furthest reaches of the unknown world. England had many enemies worldwide, it was unsafe to leave this mysterious secret within touching distance of her rivals.

So Drake set out on his secretive mission, with bluff after bluff covering his tracks, diverting the attentions of the world.  It seems that at some point on this epic voyage, our sailor was privy to a hushed conversation between Captain Drake and a select few of his generals.

Sadly the folio does not allude to just what this mysterious item might have been, but I can only assume that if the concealment of this secret was regarded with the highest level of importance, it must be something truly phenomenal.  Drakes voyage diaries and maps are to this day still missing.  The Queen hid them quickly following his return and repeatedly denied Drake the opportunity to publish his exploits.

There were minute tantalising suggestions within the document, that whatever was hidden so secretively was possibly prehistoric.  The sailor exclaimed that his Captain spoke of a treasure so ancient that only those who worshipped the old gods of Albion, before the truth of Christ was understood, might have been able to translate such a thing.  Drake also boasted of the fact this ancient treasure had originated in the southwest of England, Drakes homelands, and this is why he personally, was tasked with such an important mission.

Cornwall cropmarks discover prehistoric sites

That is all we were able to ascertain from the document, the years have not been kind to its condition, and it was a crude piece of work to begin with.  I shall inform the Library of its whereabouts, but I shall endeavour to ensure its security is deemed paramount and its conservation is a priority.  Perhaps their skilled employees will discover more information than we were able to in our brief examination.

Our elation was short-lived however.  We had no sooner bid a fond farewell to our associates, that we distinctly got the uneasy feeling we were being followed.  Sure enough, two figures hovered at a distance, mimicking our actions.  Fortunately, the narrow alleys and labyrinth street layout enabled a stealthy escape, but on return to our hotel room, we discovered it had been ransacked.  Clearly we are under surveillance and whoever followed us, believed that we would still have retained the physical document.  I have booked train tickets under a false name and will be extra vigilant in our departure.

That is all I have to speak of for now my love, we shall make for the southwest and explore the prehistoric landscapes in more detail, perhaps a better understanding of the area and its recent archaeological revelations will reveal the path we must now follow.  I will send you all details ASAP and perhaps you can select some excavation teams to do a little exploratory work of our own?

I hope to see you soon my love, every day apart is like a million knives in my soul.  I send you all the affection, love and kisses that we have to give.

Forever yours

Craig and Audrey xoxox

The mystery of the forsaken Mariner pt2 - a sudden twist...

The mystery of the forsaken Mariner...

Dearest Emily,

I must apologise for the paucity of correspondence of late.  Though insufficient, I do hope that these emails offer some comfort whilst we are so far apart.

Let me get straight to our exhilarating news. Just as we feared that all might be lost, our prior expedition funds depleted and the routine monotony of life’s labours on the horizon, our darling Audrey and I have stumbled upon the most fascinating of characters.

I can’t say too much this soon, but oh my, what a potential opportunity awaits us.

Let me start at that eternal anchor of literary bloom, the beginning.

The gentleman in question is a Mr Roy Pritchard, a most electrifyingly excitable chap, full of dreams and impossible schemes.  Audrey and I were enjoying the comforts of a local watering hole when the aforementioned Mr Pritchard approached.  From my attire, he recognized a man of the archaeological persuasion, and from the gleam in our Audrey’s eyes, he deduced adventure was never far from our thoughts.

Mr Pritchard recounted an intriguing tale of undiscovered wealth, all centring on the life and mysteries of an obscure humble crew member belonging to a most famous voyage.  The captain of this voyage just happened to be none other than that heroic and fearful gentleman pirate, Sir Francis Drake.

Well, my love, I am certain that you of all people will understand my excitement as the puzzle pieces fell into place, revealing an enticing labyrinth of clues yet to be explored and a promise of archaeological riches which may rewrite the antique tomes of historical knowledge.

The good Mr Pritchard has promised to share a sensitive document with us, a manuscript he claims to have unearthed from a contemporary folio; held within none other than that most famous of establishments, the British Library.  How he came to procure this document I cannot guess and dare not ask, but if the importance of such an unknown and extremely rare correspondence is as he claims, then I am certain the library would not willingly allow it to pass through their hallowed doors unnoticed.

The British Library

Should it be an original article, I will, of course, ensure its return to the relative safety of that establishment, but oh my darling, curiosity and intrigue demand that before I send it back to some dusty basement, I must at the very least, verify its validity.

Mr Pritchard appeared justifiably nervy during our brief recourse.  He hinted towards the possibility others may share an interest in the document, though their acquisition desires would appear conflicting to our own honest intentions.  Should it fall into the hands of certain other parties, an important piece of our nation’s history might be forever lost, smuggled to the darkest corners of black market bidding and wasted in the sealed vault of some disinterested tycoon.

In his haste to remain unnoticed, Mr Pritchard arranged a second meeting with us this very week, two days from now, in a secure location known only to us three.

So my darling, we have taken these spare moments to refresh our understanding of the good Sir Francis and his most famous of voyages.  I am certain my dear, that you remember the length of our investigations surrounding the queens favourite pirate, our tantalising expectations regarding the discovery of that fabled Nova Albion site, or the final resting place of his daring flagship the Golden Hind, left to publicly rot in a dark Deptford creek.  You will then be equally enthused by this promise of original evidence regarding his legend.  His journals remain missing, his secrets well hidden, his vast wealth unaccounted for.  Perhaps here we may discover a key, a key to unlock the treasures of his life we thought forever lost?

The Golden Hinde living history museum

We began, as did he, in Tavistock, a bustling town once one of four principle Tin trading centres in this region.  The town retains its ancient character, though modern economic necessity has coupled with a celebration of Sir Francis to create a novelty caricature of a once important administrative hub.  The remains of the Abbey now parade as ornamental garments for touristic pleasure, as is the custom of historical monuments in our country; a pleasure to observe but entirely out of original context.  One thing stood out in a brief survey of the historical landscape, an abundance of prehistoric features; stone age tools, bronze and iron age structural features, a long tradition of area reuse, a plentiful setting, and a lasting reliance on the wealth of tin production, globally invaluable materials before even those most civilising conquerors, the Romans, had wearily dreamt of inhabiting this ghostly island at the edge of the world.

Visit Tavistock

From here we made our way to Crowndale farm, the conjectured birthplace of our swashbuckling protagonist.  With electronic cartographic assistance we found the location, but discovered it to be private land, and not wishing to disturb nor upset any potential allies, we observed from distance before progressing on our journey.

Birthplace of Drake at risk article

Our final homage on this Devonian pilgrimage was a visit to the Drakes prized home of Buckland Abbey, a property purchased with opportunistic cruelty from courtier and unfortunate rival Sir Richard Grenville.  Buckland was already a renovated religious monument when Drake acquired the lands. Every successive age appears to have included something of its own aesthetic to the structure, though rumour has it, Drake himself made no changes to the property.  Here in Buckland, my dear Emily, we discovered uncountable personal treasures of the man, safely locked away in secure confinement, yet a perfect portrait of an adventurous individual with a colourful and confusing personality.  Maps, jewels, artwork and tools adorned the corridors, items of singular beauty and interest, usefulness and charm.

Buckland Abbey

We explored intently my love, but I must warn you of the strangest of sensations, wherever we travelled throughout the house, both I and Audrey could not shake the distressing feeling, that we were being observed.  Perhaps it is the unconscious paranoia which comes with years of archaeological investigation, a constant fear of judgemental critique causing a heightened sense of augmentative reflex, or perhaps it is a fear our latest pursuit might have attracted attention from old adversaries, or worse still, new villains with faces unknown, but certainly there is an air of uneasiness to our current predicament.  We remain guarded and vigilant, keeping a watchful eye on any unusual activity.

Well, my darling; that is all I may relate at this time.  We miss you dearly and hope that you will write to us at the earliest opportunity.  Your assistance in this latest antiquarian adventure will most surely improve our chances of the greatest success.

Do not worry for our safety, I have assured all the necessary precautions should we run into any bother, and of course, Audrey is more effective than the most potent dynamite when it comes to opposing villainous treachery.

I shall write again as soon as our meeting with Mr Pritchard has concluded and we have a greater understanding of the direction this plight will eventually lead us.

Until then darling Emily, with all the love, hugs and kisses we have within us, we bid you goodbye for now.  Every ounce of our love goes with you; please take it with the greatest of care, for it is our most precious gift.  We shall see you again soon.

TTFN

Craig and Audrey

xoxoxoxox