Free Buried Fire by Jonathan Stroud Page B

perched himself on the window seat and read on quickly. The book continued,
    One hundred years later, at the end of the 17th century, the Fordrace Parish Records mention the names of two parishioners, Tobias Thomson and George Pole, who died of exposure while sheltering in Wirrenlowe Hollow in Midwinter 1692. Oddly, their remains were interred outside the churchyard in the common ground.
    Not long after, the Stanbridge Chronicles record one of the last known outbreaks of Witch Fear in England. In a tragic episode in 1734, two women of a farm near Fordrace were pursued by a mob to the summit of the Wirrim and beaten to death with sticks. Their bodies were thrown into die Wirrinlow and left as carrion. The Chronicles explains the matter thus:
    'These women were accused of witchcraft and idol-worship, and of coming of a long line of idolaters. One of these, Meg Pooley, had been seen flying over the Wirrim; this same Pooley was likewise accused of firing her neighbour's barn. Both she and the other, Mary Barratt, were also said to have looked upon their neighbours with an evil eye and stolen from them gold and precious things. The Justice could find no witnesses to the women's deaths and was forced to abandon the inquiry.'
    A line in Fordrace Parish Records, written in an unknown hand, seems to refer to this incident: 'Pooly and Barat – returned to The Pitt, their proper place.'
    Thereafter, Wirrinlow fades from the local traditions, except from an aside in Rev. Colver's 'Memoirs' (1825):
    'There was at this time, a fading flame of folk memory, which ascribed to areas of the Wirrim an unsavoury reputation. In particular, the region about the barrows on the summit, called by some The Pit, was largely avoided by the common man, and those who went there were looked upon with grave suspicion. I encouraged, in my sermons, strong scepticism on the subject of demons and fairies, and I fancy I have been largely successful in this endeavour, for I have not seen evidence of such belief for nigh on twenty years. But the details of these dark things, I was unable to discover.'
    The Rev. Colver seems to have been justified in his belief, for there are no further records of such obscure beliefs that this author can find. We must assume them consigned to history.
    Here the chapter ended. Beside it was one character, heavily scored on the paper: !
    It seemed to Tom that this was written in felt-tip pen.
    He closed the book. There had been no mention of the cross, and no concrete information of any kind. But he knew now that there were hidden traditions of the Wirrim, which were closely tied to death and superstition. And it could well be that they continued in some form to the present day. Could there be any connection with the theft, and the witterings of a sad old woman? He himself knew of the Pit, a large hollow on High Raise, popular with picnickers and ramblers. He had heard no ill of it, nothing to reflect its seemingly chequered past.
    A slight cough disturbed him from his reverie. Ms Sawcroft was standing near him. She was still wearing her grey twill, yet was unflushed in the heat.
    "It's early closing today, Tom." She smiled at his confusion.
    "Sorry, Ms Sawcroft, I was miles away."
    "It's closing time. Did you find anything of interest?"
    "A few scraps. Nothing much."
    She eyed the book resting on his knee. "Was there anything you were after in particular? I know my way around these parts, you know."
    Tom was about to answer her question with some vague nicety, when from thin air, he asked, "Arthur Willis. Do you have anything by him?" As she hesitated, frowning, he added, "I'm not sure if you will. In fact, I'm not even sure he was published. But he was a local writer, referred to in here. Late 19th century, I think."
    "I don't think so . . . Let me check."
    She returned to the desk to consult the computer file, and Tom replaced the book in the Reference cabinet. When he had done so, he found her shaking her head and