gesture, the Museum rewarded the co-finders with one thousand pounds each.
Butcher, the true finder, was happy and surprised to receive so much money. He
did not realize that had he been allowed to take the treasure home originally,
he would almost certainly have revealed its existence and would thus have
become eligible to receive one hundred per cent of its value, which could have
been anything between half a million and a million pounds.
Nobody knows what Ford thought about it all. He must have been relieved and
perhaps somewhat surprised when he heard that the court had believed his story
about pewter. But above all he must have been shattered by the loss of his
great treasure. For the rest of his life he would be kicking himself for
leaving those two spoons on the mantel above the fireplace for Dr Fawcett to
see.
The Swan
Ernie had been given a .22 rifle for his birthday. His father, who was already
slouching on the sofa watching the telly at
nine-thirty on this Saturday morning, said. "Let's see what you can pot,
boy. Make yourself useful. Bring us back a rabbit for supper."
" There's rabbits in that big field the other side
of the lake," Ernie said. " I seen ' em ."
"Then go out and nab one," the father said, picking breakfast from
between his front teeth with a split matchstick. "Go out and nab us a
rabbit."
"I'll get yer two," Ernie said.
"And on the way back," the father said, "get me a quart bottle
of brown ale."
" Gimme the money, then," Ernie said.
The father, without taking his eyes from the TV screen, fished in his pocket
for a pound note. "And don't try pinchin ' the
change like you did last time," he said. "You'll get a thick ear if
you do, birthday or no birthday."
"Don't worry," Ernie said.
"And if you want to practise and get your eye in
with that gun," the father said, "birds is best. See ' ow many spadgers you can knock
down, right?"
"Right," Ernie said. "There's spadgers all the way up the lane in the 'edges. Spadgers is
easy."
"If you think spadgers is easy," the father
said, "go get yourself a jenny wren. Jenny wrens is ' alf the size of spadgers and they never sit still for one
second. Get yourself a jenny wren before you start shootin ' yer mouth off about ' ow clever you is."
"Now. Albert," his wife said. looking up from the sink. "That's not nice, shootin ' little birds in the nestin '
season. I don't mind rabbits, but little birds in the nestin '
season is another thing altogether."
"Shut your mouth," the father said. "Nobody's askin ' your opinion. And listen to me, boy," he said
to Ernie. "Don't go waving that thing about in the street because you ain't got no licence .
Stick it down your trouser-leg till you're out in the country, right?"
"Don't worry," Ernie said. He took the gun and the box of bullets and
went out to see what he could kill. He was a big lout of a boy, fifteen years
old this birthday. Like his truck-driver father, he had small slitty eyes set very close together near the top of the
nose. His mouth was loose, the lips often wet. Brought up in a household where
physical violence was an everyday occurrence, he was himself an extremely
violent person. Most Saturday afternoons, he and a gang of friends travelled by train or bus to football matches, and if they
didn't manage to get into a bloody fight before they returned home, they
considered it a wasted day. He took great pleasure in catching small boys after
school and twisting their arms behind their backs. Then he would order them to
say insulting and filthy things about their own parents.
" Ow ! Please don't, Ernie! Please?"
"Say it or I'll twist your arm off!"
They always said it. Then he would give the arm an extra twist and the victim
would go off in tears.
Ernie's best friend was called Raymond. He lived four doors away, and he, too,
was a big boy for his age. But while Ernie was heavy and loutish, Raymond was
tall, slim and muscular.
Outside Raymond's house, Ernie put two fingers in
Sharon Kleve, Jennifer Conner, Danica Winters, Casey Dawes