Chapter Four

I had enough food and victuals for the day because Mary had given me a stack of sandwiches and lots of cans of drink for the journey home which I had placed in the boot of the car. I removed them and sat there munching away as I waited for the mechanic to return. I had already decided to return to the village but this time I reckoned that the further I stayed away from the police station the less chance there would be for me to be caught. If I was recaptured, it would be a headache for them as to where to incarcerate me. Having once escaped from one of the cells, I was likely to do so again. The hours passed by and I decided to walk back to the village. If I had driven my car there, I would have been an open target. I had to use common sense. At seven fifteen that evening, I made my way to the village hall and entered. It was too early for anyone of the villagers to be there. I stared at a number of large flags, bearing strange emblems, hanging from all four corners of the hall and hid behind one of them out of sight of anyone who came for the meeting. It wasn’t long before the villagers began to arrive. They dribbled in after seven-forty-five to take their seats and, exactly at eight o’clock, the Chairman and his committee stepped on to the stage and sat in their chairs. By this time, every seat in the hall had been filled.

‘Good evening, friends,’ began the Secretary officiously. She stood on the low platform holding a sheaf of notes. ‘This extraordinary meeting has been called to consider the situation regarding a stranger who refuses to leave the village. We have no idea of his intent at the present time or whom he might represent. The man was arrested and placed in a cell from which he escaped and his current whereabouts are unknown. For further discussion I pass you on to our Chairman, Mr. Townsend.’

Townsend got to his feet as the Secretary sat down. ‘Friends,’ he began. ’We are a separate community and proud of it preserving our heritage since the days of Josiah Numbwinton. However this stranger within our midst who has his own agenda which is unknown to us and we need to stop him before he does something to upset the balance within this community. I recommend that we post a guard of at least two people at the main entrance of the village in case more strangers arrive and that we hunt down the man in our midst who escaped from our prison.’

‘What do you intend to do with him if he’s caught and refuses to leave?’ asked a member stopping the Chairman in his flow.

’Let us capture him first and decided what to do with him later,’ continued the Chairman. ’What we eventually do with him is entirely up to you... the members of this village. Let us hope that he sees sense and leaves us of his own accord. ’

’If he refuses to leave, can’t we just send him packing with a flea in his ear?’ demanded a woman near to the front.

The Chairman paused before replying. ‘The problem is that he mentioned the word ‘pharmacy’ when in jail which puts a completely different complexion on it. I have no idea how he found out about it.’

‘Are you suggesting that we may have to dispose of him in one way or another... execute him?’ ventured a man in the middle of the hall.

‘Desperate deeds require desperate measures,’ came the reply from the Secretary who was becoming annoyed at the questions posed to the Chairman.

‘Surely he can’t know anything about the pharmacy!’ declared a woman in the centre. ‘No one would dare to have revealed any information to him about that.’

‘Than how did he know about it?’ accused another woman near to the front.

I stood behind the flag in one of the corners of the room wondering what they were wittering about. I had heard the word important that they would be angry enough to execute me to hide their secret.

‘It might be possible to integrate him into the community if he simply wants to stay in the village,’ uttered another woman at the rear of the hall which caused me to feel a slight sense of relief.

‘We can’t do that without a woman!’ stated another man adamantly.

‘But there is one,’ stated the same woman firmly. ‘Bridget McBain. She’s on her own now.’

The room seemed to erupt noisily at the news and the Chairman was forced to use his gavel to maintain order.

‘Why wasn’t this brought to my attention?’ he asked irately.

‘Because her husband only died this morning,’ came the reply. ‘He refused to take his tablets over a period of time and died.’

‘That means our population’s fallen to one thousand and ninety-nine,’ calculated another man in the hall. ‘We need this stranger to balance the books.’

‘Then we need to find him to check his motives,’ called out another woman. ‘But what if he doesn’t like Bridget McBain?’

‘We’ll have to wait and see,’ related the Chairman solemnly. ‘The police will undertake a thorough search of the village tomorrow morning to apprehend the man. If he’s still here, he’ll soon come to light.

The meeting went on in the same vein for a while and I wasn’t certain whether they were out for my blood or willing to let me meet Bridget McBain... whoever she was. It was sad that her husband had died but why didn’t he take his tablets over a period of time? What had that to do with anything? And why was the Chairman so concerned that the population in the village had been reduced by one person.? It didn’t make sense! Clearly, everyone in the village was young but that didn’t obviate the fact that accidents happened... some of them with fatal results. And what did the Chairman mean when he said ‘there is a stranger within our midst who has his own agenda which is unknown to us and we need to stop him before he does something to upset the balance within this community’. It all sounded so sinister. What possible danger could I be to this village?

The meeting broke up just after nine o’clock and everyone left the hall with the Secretary being the last one to leave after turning out the lights. I stepped out from behind the large flag and wandered to one of the bench seats to rest my weary bones. Then I climbed on to the stage finding a couple of cushions on the seats which I used as a pillow and back-rest for the night. It was more uncomfortable that the filthy slim flea-bitten mattress in the cell but at least I had somewhere to sleep. I lay behind the table on the stage, placing two chairs on their backs to hide me from sight which was just as well because the door to the hall opened, the light went on, and the Secretary returned looking round as though searching for something that she had dropped. However, she soon switched off the light and closed the door so that I was left in peace. Oddly enough, I slept very well that night. There was an eerie silence all around but no one was there to disturb me.

When daylight came, I rose, shook myself down, and went outside. As I inhaled the fresh morning air, Basra seemed to be more hospitable than Numbwinton. At least in Iraq I was free to roam anywhere I wanted to... within reason. Here I was to be arrested on sight in my own country for a deed of which I was innocent. I suddenly realised how angry innocent people became when arrested and tried for something they hadn’t done. Such feelings of emotion were entirely negative and I gave myself some very good advice to stop the self-pity. It would do me far more harm than good in the long run. I wondered where Wayne Austen was at this particular moment, smiling as I envisaged him in the oldy-worldy clothes that he wore in the village. He was probably miles away hoping not to have to face my sister with the news that I was still in the village.

For the moment, I needed to do something desperate to secure my position and an idea quickly formed in my mind. Moving into action, I went to the nearest house and knocked on the door. A woman answered staring at me in surprise.

‘Excuse me,’ I began politely. ‘Can you tell me the address of Mr. Townsend... the Chairman of the village committee?’

She paused to think for a moment and then conceded. ‘I’ll take you there,’ she offered, closing the door behind her and leading me out on to the path. She walked on for about two minutes with me in tow and then pointed to one of the houses. ‘He lives in that one!’

Before I had the chance to thank her for her kindness she had turned on her heel and was making her way back leaving me to face the man alone. I knocked on Townsend’s door and he answered swiftly, eyeing me up and down with a strange expression on his face.

‘The stranger,’ he uttered slowly, wondering how I had the audacity to enter into the lion’s den without fear.

‘Yes,’ I returned casually. ‘I’m the stranger... and I’ve come to you to tell you that I know about the pharmacy but I’m willing to stay in the village to make up the number. I would like to meet Bridget McBain. Now you can have me arrested but I’m giving myself up to save you the trouble.’

He was stunned by my declaration... most so by the fct that I knew so much about the pharmacy and Bridget McBain. It was the last thing he expected to hear from a stranger and my plan of action struck him right between the eyes. It was sufficient for him to invite me into his home and I sat in the small lounge facing him.

‘What do you know about the pharmacy?’ he asked nervously.

‘I’m not prepared to answer that because it’s a secret known only to the villagers,’ I bluffed. ‘Like them, I promise never to divulge it to any other person. That’s how much I’m committed. Let me say that your secret is my secret.’

He paused for a moment to reflect my answer which actually told him nothing. ’How do you know about the number concerning our population?’ he pressed.

’I was there at the meeting last night,’ I admitted freely not wishing for him to catch me out on a lie. ‘I stood behind one of the flags in a corner of the hall.’

‘And that’s where you learned about Bridget McBain,’ he went on sombrely.

‘I was there and heard everything that went on.’

‘I didn’t realise that anyone could hide behind the flags.’

‘I was well hidden.’

‘Hm,’ he muttered sharply. ‘I’ll have to take that one up with security. If a stranger can remain hidden in the village hall without anyone knowing about it there must be something wrong.’

‘So where do I stand, Mr. Townsend?’ I asked meekly, placing myself entirely in his hands. ‘I did escape from prison but I tell you I was incarcerated there wrongfully. There was no charge, no arrest, yet I was put into a cell for no other reason than that I was lost and couldn’t find my way to my sister’s house in Bishopstown.

He stared hard at my apparel. ‘And I suppose you didn’t steal the clothes you’re wearing,’ he accused bluntly.

‘Not so, sir,’ I explained. ‘They were given to me by one of the villagers. I did not steal them.’

Thee was silence for a while and I could imagine his mind working overtime like a computer to find a solution.

‘I’ve no alternative but to hand you over to the police, you realise that,’ he said eventually.

I shrugged my shoulders aimlessly. ‘I understand, ’I uttered miserably, ’but you could recommend leniency and allow me to meet Mrs. McBain.’ Suddenly, a woman whom I had never seen or head of before became my only hope of redemption as far as the villagers were concerned. She had been married and probably had a child or children but, for the time being, none of that mattered. The fact was that her husband had died and there was some fetiche amongst the inhabitants there that the population figure had to be retained at eleven hundred. Why? I hadn‘t a clue but it appeared that instead of them having a hold on me it was the other way around. The point was that I was the only person available to fill the gap.

We drank some coffee together and he put on his jacket to take me to the police station, explaining that I had handed myself in voluntarily and that I was willing to meet the widow, Bridget McBain. Despite the dispensation offered to me by the Chairman the desk sergeant was livid with the damage I had cause to the floor of the office upstairs and the ceiling of the cell below. I offered my services to help repair the plasterwork but he had already arranged for someone else to undertake the repairs.

Townsend left shortly afterwards and I sat on a wooden seat in the police station facing the desk sergeant.

He stared at me with a sullen expression on his face. ‘You’re a trouble-maker,’ he spat angrily. ‘I knew that the moment I laid eyes on you!’

‘Is that what you think of me,’ I asked cheekily. ‘Do you know, last week I was walking around the outskirts of Basra in Iraq holding a machine-gun in my hands, watching out for anyone who might want to take a pot-shot at me or any mines that might have been dug in at the roadside. My role there was a peacekeeper.’

He stared at me with an element of disbelief and it soon became evident that his view of me started to change substantially.

‘You were in the army in Persia,’ he uttered in amazement.

‘Well it’s called Iraq now,’ I corrected deciding to press home my advantage. ‘I was in the Fourth Regiment putting my life on the line for quite some time. I won an award of merit for saving the lives of four soldiers on the front line under severe fire.’

The information stunned him into silence but that didn’t quench his inquisitiveness. ‘How come you ended up in Numbwinton?’

‘The story I told you was true. I got demobbed from the arm and was going to my sister’s house in Bishopstown but got lost... What surprises me is that this village is so much behind the times... so far from the bustle and bustle of modern life... so remote from television, computers and the like. How do you keep it that way. I mean surely some of the people want to leave here to set up elsewhere. Some of them must have that kind of ambition.’

‘We’re happy here,’ he responded. ‘We don’t like strangers to interfered in our way of life.’

‘Hopefully I’m not longer a strange. I’d like to live this kind of peaceful life. When do I meet Bridget McBain?’

‘Very shortly,’ he told me.

He stared at me long and hard, weighing me up, and then returned his attention to some papers on his desk to continue to work. I stood up and went to the door. It was remarkably how his attitude had changed towards me.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he demanded officially.

‘I’m just going to get some fresh air,’ I replied.

‘Just because you wre brought in by Mr. Townsend doesn’t mean you can treat this like Liberty Hall,’ he reproached me sharply. ‘You’re helping the police with their enquiries. If that doesn’t suit you, I can offer you another cell... only this time there won’t be a bed or a chair in it.’

It was a sobering thought. His tone reminded me of my Commanding Officer when I went into Basra with an army colleague one night. It was off limits but I went there with him anyway. The CO read me the Riot Act when I returned, warning me that if I ever did anything like that again I would be put on a Charge. The inference of this civilian situation was pretty much the same thing. So I went back to my seat and sat down, cooling my temper. The desk sergeant recognised that he had damaged my ego and he leaned over the counter to pass me a book. I looked at the title to note that it was the Holy Bible.

‘Read the eleventh commandment,’ he told me.

‘But there’ only ten.’ I corrected.

‘Look again!’ he persisted before going back to his work.

‘I suppose you’re going to quote a passage from Mark, Luke or John,’ I uttered.

.’No,’ he expounded, ‘but I don’t suggest you read from the book of Exodus!’ He burst out laughing at his little joke.

It was the first time I had seen anyone smile or laugh in the village. There was indeed some hope for them yet! I realised that I was digging a deep hole for myself in which I might be buried. My intention to stay in the village was more of a whim, hardly carved in stone, yet I was intrigued to meet the widow scheduled for me. With the tightening of security in the village, it might never be possible for me to leave. I was a prisoner of my own resort. Almost certainly I would be watched every hour of the day so that the authorities within the village would be sure I never failed to toe the line or reveal any secrets it harboured... if only I knew of one!

***

At three o’clock in the afternoon, Townsend turned up at the police station to collect me. My heart was in my mouth with questions flooding my mind. What was she like? Was she pretty... slim... pleasant? How old was she? Would she like me?

‘We’re going to Bridget McBain’s house,’ he told me flatly. ‘I can confirm that she’s a widow and has one son.’

‘How old is the boy?’ I asked innocuously.

‘You’ll find out when we get there,’ he responded briefly.

We walked together in silence along one of the paths until coming to the residential part of the village. In due course we arrived at the McBain house and I held my breath as we waited on tenterhooks for the next development. Townsend knocked on the door and a young woman answered. I reckoned that she was in her mid-twenties but the boy by her side was only about eleven years old. He looked very similar to the lad I had found sobbing in the church who told me that he was forty-two.

Bridget McBain was an exceptionally attractive woman. She was slender with a beautiful face, an excellent complexion, blonde hair, a retrousse nose and she had the body of a high-class model. I couldn’t believe that any husband would prefer to die by not taking his tablets as against living with this angel. I revised my position in an instant, This was the kind of woman I could fall in love with quite easily. I was amazed that was being introduce to her the day after her husband had died. It appeared that grieving was not one of the village’s strong points. After all, in most cases, a widow’s grief would last for a year or maybe more at the death of her husband. Not so in Numbwinton! Even though it was fringed on the edge of Victorian life, mating was considered to be far more important as was the population count of the people in the village.

‘This is Samuel Ross,’ said Townsend introducing me to the woman. ‘He knows of your recent loss.’

She smiled at me and I felt myself go weak at the knees. She really was extremely beautiful!

‘Happy to meet you, Samuel, she cooed. There was a lilt in her voice which made every sound seem fabulous to the ear.

‘You too,’ I managed to say without being able to take my eyes away from her face. For me it was love at first sight, I had enjoyed the company of many young women in the past, both before and during my army days, but I had never experienced such an uplifting wonderful feeling that surged through my veins at this precise moment. It may have been lust, it may have been love, but it was all the same to me. ‘You look lovely,’ I went on before I became speechless.

She smiled at me again and it appeared that the chemistry between us was right. I turned my attention to the boy.

‘How are you, young fella,’ I went on, rubbing my hand over the boy’s hair as a token of affection.

‘I saw a friend of yours in the church today.’

‘He’s not my friend.’

‘We went to the church to pray for the soul of my husband,’ she told us.

I was about to say that the boy had told me he was forty-two years of age but I bit my lip to stop myself saying it. This was not the time for questions. It would also have put Townsend on his guard.

‘Come inside!’ she welcome, turning so that we could follow her.

We entered and went into the tiny lounge. All the houses were identical in shape and size with the same number of rooms... and even the same furniture. We sat down as Bridget went into the kitchen to make some tea while the boy sat down holding a book wearing a sullen expression on his face.

‘What are you reading?’ I asked with interest.

The boy looked up at me tiredly. ‘Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens,’ he stated firmly.

‘It’s a good book. I saw the film of it some years ago,’ I advanced smiling at him.

‘What’s a film?’ he asked bluntly, not knowing what I was talking about.

‘It’s a...’ I notice that Townsend was shaking his head fiercely and stopped in my tracks. He did not want me to explained anything that happened in the world beyond the year 1900. It would affect the minds of the people in the village and could never be redressed. ‘No... I think Oliver Twist is a very good book,’ I said recovering quickly as the boy returned his attention to the text.

Very shortly Bridget returned with a tray loaded with a teapot, teacups, a bowl of milk and of sugar, and some scones.

‘You’re a stranger,’ she stated. ‘I don’t know why they brought you here to me.’ The comment certainly put me in my place.

’I don’t know myself,’ I responded weakly. I found myself staring directly into the eyes, not listening to anything further she had to say. It must have been evident to any observer that I was completely besotted by the woman. However, despite my fascination for her and the chemistry that clearly existed between us, she was damaged goods having been married before and having a young child. Nothing would ever change that. There was a lot of baggage in two. If I became involved with her, the boy would have to come into the equation as well. There was no alternative. Yet it suited my purpose well into deluding the villagers that I had become a fully-fledged member of their community. At the same time I had to admit that I was beginning to enjoy the aura which appeared to enshroud the village ensuring a peaceful atmosphere to exist... well away from all the hustle and bustle of the greedy, ambitious, hostile world that concentrated its attention on power and money, causing poverty for the millions and riches for the few. None of that was evident in Numbwinton.

Townsend stared at Bridget and took up the conversation after pondering her comment.

‘Samuel’s a newcomer in our community. I brought him along in the hope that you might be able to get on together. It’s not right that you should have to live alone for the rest of your life.’

I found his remark insulting to the woman. Why shouldn’t she have the choice to remain a widow bringing up her son to live with her if she wanted her independence? It seemed incredible that the only reason he wanted me to be there was to make up the population so that it remained at eleven hundred.

‘I’m sorry to come to you in your hour of grief,’ I apologised firmly standing up feeling sorry for the woman. ‘If you want me to leave I shall do so. I don’t wish to intrude unnecessarily into your life.’

‘Sit down!’ snapped the Chairman sharply. ‘You’re here under my authorisation. Say nothing... do nothing... unless you’re asked.’

I was taken aback by his sudden change of attitude and sat down again. Why was he so angry when it was clear that both the woman and myself were embarrassed? The situation began to resolve itself quite swiftly because Bridget began to cry. Large tears rolled down her cheeks and the boy went over to her, putting his arms around her shoulders to comfort her. Townsend was suddenly at a loss as to what to say or do. I couldn’t really determine the reason why we had visited the woman in her hour of grief. It was completely insensitive. She was obviously upset due to the death of her husband while the Chairman of the committee was making matters worse by taking me along to see her. I could only imagine I was there as a replacement for the dead man... a thought which sent chills running down my spine. It was inconceivable in reality but the woman was so beautiful she aroused something inside me that made me want to be with her.

We left the house shortly and I promised Bridget that I would return at a later date although I wasn’t certain that a repeat performance was on the agenda. It was entirely up to the committee. I felt that if there had to be a marriage with the woman, for me to stay in the village, it was one I would welcome for she was the one in my life from that moment onwards... even as damaged goods with baggage in tow!

***

On the way back to the police station, Townsend was in a foul mood, waling swiftly in front of me with a dour expression on his face. Regardless of the disappointing meeting with Bridget, I plied him with questions which lay at the back of my mind.

‘How does this village cope with political control?’ I asked innocuously, wondering about local and General Elections and a wealth of legislation.

He cleared his throat before answering. ‘We’re not in any constituency in Norhumberland and we decline any connection with political parties or politics. They have nothing to do with us... we are totally independent.’

‘Are you saying the no one comes here to canvas you at General Elections?’

‘I would think not1’ he retorted, as though I had pricked him with a needle. ‘We manage our own affairs!’

‘How does that make you feel being isolate from the rest of the country?’ I enquired. ‘I mean how do you cope financially with pensions, benefits, job seeker’s allowance and the like?’

He stared at me with the same doleful expression. ‘We don’t avail ourselves of any of those things. As far as the authorities are concerned, we don’t exist. We prefer it that way. Everyone in the village is quite young. They don’t need pensions and they’re all employed so they don’t need benefits. As I said, we’re independent.’

‘That brings me on to another point,’ I advanced boldly with the bit between my teeth. ‘No one here seems to be above the age of forty. What’s happened to all the old folk?’

At that point the clammed up. ‘Let’s move on!’ he muttered quickening his pace. ‘You know too much already for a stranger!’

We returned to the police station where I sat down on the wooden seat facing the desk sergeant. Townsend turned to me before leaving.

‘I want you to go to the church in one hour’s time,’ he ordered in a flat tone.

‘The church,’ I responded in surprise. ‘What for?’

‘I want you to see the priest,’ he went on sombrely. ‘I’m going to arrange the appointment now.’

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ I pressed irately. ‘First you take me to Bridget McBain for reasons I cannot imagine. Now you want me to see the priest. Is this to be some kind of initiation process. What’s going on, Mr. Townsend? I think I’m entitled to know.’

‘You’ll do exactly what I tell you or you will not like the consequences. Of that I assure you. You will visit the priest in one hour’s time.’

He left the police station and I had no idea what was going on. Perhaps he was starting to believe that perhaps I could be one of the villagers and was making me run the gauntlet. On the other hand it might be a false assumption. Yet despite all the things that were happening, I was no nearer to learning the secret that held the village together.

I sat in the police station for a while reading a passage from the Bible before deciding to leave early, wandering along the path to the church. I had no idea if anyone was watching me but I presumed that PC7 as somewhere in the vicinity keeping an eye on my movements. Next to the church there lay the graveyard and I stepped into the compound to read some of the epitaphs on the gravestones. I recalled a jingle we used to chant at the training barracks in Aldershot It was customary to do so as we marched carrying our rifles and knapsacks mainly to keep up the morale of the soldiers. It went: ‘Here lies the bones of Elizabeth Charlotte, born a virgin, died a harlot. She was a virgin at seventeen, a remarkable feat in Aberdeen!’ I smiled to myself at the memory of the squad of soldiers marching up and down chanting the same verse time and time again. It had seemed so important to do so at the time. Although I was free of the heat and dust in Basra, I was already beginning to miss the camaraderie of my friends in the army. There was something special about living with men and woman in a tense atmosphere so close to edge of warfare and death. It was a relationship one never forgot.

The graves were relatively few for a community of this size and I began to read the epitaphs on the gravestones. ‘George William Hamlin. Died aged 72. ... 1860-1932.’ ‘Harvey Tomson. died aged 66. 1874-1940.’ ‘Albert Grimsby... died aged 68. 1835-1903.’

I paused to reflect for a moment and my blood ran cold as I realised that the graves were those who had died many years ago. Where were the modern graves... the people who died over the past fifty years. There weren’t any! I raced through the cemetery as fast as I could but I was unable to find any gravestones of people who died in recent years... and everyone in the village looked so young. What the hell was going on? I looked around to see whether I could find a crematorium. Perhaps the villagers had decided to cremate their dead but there was no sign of such a place. Very few people, with the exception of Mr. McBain ever seemed to die here. I wandered out of the graveyard with a dozen thoughts rushing through my mind as I tried to rationalise the situation. Maybe I was getting nearer to learning the secret of Numbwinton but did not have the intelligence to understand it.

On entering the church, I found the priest on his knees praying before the altar I was unable to quench my curiosity and I went to him as he completed his prayer. He was surprised by my audacity and was taken aback at being questioned by me so abruptly.,

‘How is it that no one had died in this village over the last fifty years?’ I enquired.

‘That’s not true,’ he countered bluntly, ignoring the essence of my question as he climbed to his feet. ‘A man died two days ago. You met the widow McBain.’

His comment stopped me in my tracks for a moment until I was able to rally. ‘Other than him, no one had died over the last fifty years,’ I repeated.

‘There were people who left the village,’ he responded slowly although I knew that to be a lie. ‘They died elsewhere... we’re not to know that.’

It was clearly a falsehood and I was stunned that a priest should be so callow. To my mind, no one ever left this village for any reason whatsoever.

He paused for a moment staring carefully at my face. ‘I’m wondering whether you will fit into this community,’ he muttered thoughtfully. ‘You’re attitude is over-ambitious for the style of life here. I believe you think we hold a secret and you’re trying to get to the bottom of it simply to satisfy your own curiosity.’ He pointed to a front pew and I sat down looking up at him.

‘Now what makes you think that, vicar,’ I retaliated swiftly. ‘I’ve just been demobbed from the army and I’ve come across your village by accident. It’s very peaceful, if not archaic, ande I certainly would like to settle here. It’s very different from the rest of the world.’

‘And we like to keep it that way with no interference from the rest of the world,’ he rattled on. ‘You say you want to settle here. We don’t like strangers. We have carved out our own way of life and the people here are happy to live in an aura of peacefulness. Anyone who comes here tries to change our ways by commenting of the advances in technology and a better way of life. But we like the way we are. We’re contented with the way we live.’

‘If I’m allowed to stay, will I ever be regarded as a villager and not a stranger?’ I asked with interest.

He paused to consider my question for a moment. ‘Where do you come from?’ he asked politely.

‘From Redruth in Cornwall,’ I replied.

‘How do they cope with strangers there over a long period of time?’

I smiled understanding the element of his argument. ‘Tourists are called emmets. They come and go each year. Outsiders who come and stay to live there are never regarded as Cornish even if they become totally committed to the Cornish way of life. Over a period of thirty years. That’s the truth of the matter.’

He nodded sagely. ‘Then you’ll understand our reluctance to accept you at face value.’

‘You have a point,’ I agreed readily, believing that he was going to reject my application to stay in the village.

‘However you come at a time when there is a need to replace one person to ensure that the number of our population remains at eleven hundred people,’ he went on.

‘Yes... why is that?’ I asked him point-blank hoping for a reasonable answer. ‘Why do you have to remain at exactly one thousand one hundred people?

‘Ask no questions, be told no lies,’ he countered smartly. ‘Perhaps you yourself will learn the answer in thirty years time. He clapped his hands together in front of him. ‘You future here depends on your commitment but you’re young enough to be accepted.’

‘I spent six years in the army,’ I told him. ‘I’ve been trained to be committed. I really want to stay. I’ll do anything you ask.’ I wasn’t certain that I could hold on to this figment of my imagination even though there was an element of truth in my response. I held the image of Bridget McBain in my mind and she was the one, apart from my curiosity, who forced me to make this decision. She was so beautiful I could not get her out of my mind.

‘If only I could believe you,’ retorted the priest, staring directly into my eyes as though he wanted to read my mind. ‘What we have here is something precious, something unique, denied to the rest of the world. We wish to preserve it and, for that reason, we reject all that is happening elsewhere. We have no newspapers, no telephones or communications, no electric devices which they use in other places. We remain alone and survive alone.’ There was a moment of silence as he paused to collect his thoughts. ‘I’ve already told you too much.’

‘But you’ve told me nothing!’ I expostulated curtly, trowelling through my mind at the comments he had made to try to find something that he had let slip. What we had discussed were issues of which I knew... unless there was something behind them that I had missed. The clandestine perplexity of the situation was beginning to annoy me greatly.

‘Are you a religious person?’ he inquired changing the subject. ‘Do you go to church often, occasionally or not at all?’

‘Occasionally,’ I submitted, without telling him that I was an atheist. ‘I’ve been on duty in Basra in Iraq. There wasn’t much time to go to church there. We had to guard the perimeters twenty-four hours a day and be friendly with the Arabs but there was the danger of being ambushed by insurgents at a moment’s notice.’

He nodded as if understanding the situation. ‘I think it’s time for you to go and see the doctor,’ he suggested, seemingly to have completed the interview with me. ‘The surgery is located on the left hand side of this church about two hundred yards down. You’l find it quite easily.’

I shook my head slowly and left at that point walking out of the church wondering why I had been sent to see him. Nothing in particular had been achieved. Perhaps it was another test of my commitment to stay in the village. I had no idea. It was yet another mystery to me.