Free Constable Through the Meadow by Nicholas Rhea Page A

went on to say these charms were used beyond our shores too, examples having been found in Sicily and Germany, and that in some cases three earthenware jars were used with similar contents, in this case each being buried beside a churchyard footpath seven inches below the surface and seven inches from a church porch.
    When I had concluded my lecture on local witchlore, she smiled. ‘So what am I going to do with this bottle? Is it something you should know about, officially, I mean.’
    ‘No, but thanks for showing it me. You could replace it!’ I suggested. ‘Or keep it as an ornament …’
    ‘No thanks! I wouldn’t want that collection of stuff on my shelves!’
    I mentioned the local Ryedale Folk Museum and felt it would be a suitable place to keep this bottle and its odd contents. She agreed.
    ‘Mind you,’ she smiled with a twinkle in her eye. ‘I suppose that if I remove it from the house, I’ll then be open to the machinations of the local witches? They might ruin my flowers, cause them to wilt or die, or even create havoc in the house itself.’
    ‘That’s the risk you take,’ I confirmed with a chuckle. ‘It seems this cottage has been free from strife over the years!’
    ‘It’s always been a happy house,’ she said. ‘Always.’
    Draining my mug of tea, I left her to make her decision and never asked what she had decided. I felt I should not mention the bottle again, and although I did see her from time to time, she refrained from bringing up the subject. But I have never seen that bottle in the folk museum, and so far as I know Dolly-Ann’s cottage and business have remained free from trouble. And her front path is now neat and level, with the threshold firmly in place.
    Among the other discoveries was a magnificently ornate silver spoon which a householder discovered buried in the thatch of his cottage; this was identified as a seventeenth-century dessert spoon worth around £2,500, and the coroner decided that it was treasure trove. He said due to the peculiar place in which it was found, it must have been deliberately hidden for reasons which we shall never know. So much treasure seemed to be discovered in the thatched cottages around my beat that I was almost tempted to buy one!
    But perhaps the most satisfying discovery was the one that occurred at West Gill Farm, Aidensfield, the centuries-old home of Reg Lumley and his family. Only months earlier, I had seen Reg devastated by a terrible outbreak of Foot and Mouth Disease. It had resulted in the slaughter of his entire herd of pedigree Friesians, a herd which had taken him twenty years to establish but which had been wiped out in hours by that mostdreaded of cattle diseases. The story is told in Constable along the Lane.
    I knew that Reg, his wife and son Ted, were struggling to re-build their lives but no new cattle had yet appeared on the farm. I did not like to pry into their affairs nor discuss matters like insurance or compensation, nor did I wish to cause anguish by reminding them of the outbreak, so it was a pleasant surprise when I received a call from Reg. On the phone, he sounded in unusually high spirits.
    ‘Can thoo come, Mr Rhea? Ah’ve summat to show you.’
    ‘Sure Reg, when’s a suitable time?’
    ‘Any time, we’re about t’spot all day.’
    ‘How about just after two o’clock?’
    ‘Champion,’ he said and rang off.
    When I arrived just after lunch, I found the family in the kitchen. They were sitting around their massive scrubbed pine table with huge mugs of tea, and in the centre was a tray full of muddy coins and bits of broken pottery.
    Reg, beaming with happiness, shoved a mug into my hand and pulled out a chair. I settled on it, staring at the treasure before me.
    ‘That’s it, Mr Rhea. How about that?’
    ‘Reg!’ I said. ‘Is this yours?’
    ‘That’s for you to say, Mr Rhea. Our Ted dug it up wiv ’is plough this morning, down in oor fifteen-acre.’
    ‘Did he now!’ I couldn’t resist