By Kathleen Bradford, based upon characters created by E. F. Benson and expanded by Tom Holt, Guy Fraser-Sampson and Deryck Solomon
TILLING’S DRAINS UNEARTH ROMAN HOARD
April 1st, Tilling, East Sussex—Roman-age treasure was discovered by a work crew digging up an apple tree for the installment of new drains. The incredible find of over 40 coins and several pieces of jewellery, all in excellent condition, were buried in a lead pot and exhumed from amid the roots of the ancient tree. Tilling Town Councillor and Mayoress Mrs Elizabeth Mapp-Flint, in whose garden at Grebe the find was made, said she is “thrilled.” She had no comment on the fact that her relentless opposition to the updating of Tilling drains, had it been successful, would have left this significant find hidden in the ground. When pressed for information, the Councillor’s husband, Major Benjamin Mapp-Flint fiercely intervened, saying only, “We must wait until the Museum fellows have their say; until then, the Mapp-Flint’s have no comment.” He then ordered this reporter to leave his property under threat of a trespassing complaint.
According to Tilling’s Town Surveyor, the find will be examined by experts from the British Museum who will release their report later this week. Workers refused to comment on the find; it is rumoured that the coins are of precious metal, possibly Romano-Celtic gold staters, and that the treasure includes several ornate arm-rings and fibulae of gold and silver.
Mayor Lucia Pillson, who is also President of the Tilling Archaeological Society, took time out from her busy schedule to grant this reporter an interview. Over a cup of tea, Mrs Pillson stated, “If the hoard is genuine, this will be a great find for Tilling. It could encourage more local archaeologists to dig deeper into Tilling’s past.” Mayor Pillson, who spear-headed the drive for new drains and whose munificent gift made the spadework possible, stated, “I would be pleased if my drains contributed to the understanding of Tilling’s history, in addition to relieving local unemployment.”
Readers may remember that Mrs Pillson discovered a Roman temple buried in the garden at Mallards House, her home, which is the undisputed centre of the municipal, social, intellectual and artistic life of Tilling; unfortunately, she had to abandon her excavations due to publicity, which she dislikes, unless such publicity is for the good of Tilling. Mayor Pillson laughed, saying that her husband Mr George Pillson (President of the Tilling Historical Society) “must have a large lawn for croquet, like Alice in Wonderland” and so the excavations were stopped before they could completely destroy her Old World garden; her laughter was as the sound of angels rejoicing, so affectionate and forgiving it was. She also intimated that the Archaeological Society and the Historical Society would soon be joined into one body, of which her husband would be President. “Much like the Cricket and Football Clubs have united,” she said.
This reporter contacted Professor Arbuthnot of the British Museum via telephone. The Professor stated, “If genuine, the coins would likely be staters, possibly contemporaneous with the reign of Boudicea.” He refused comment upon the jewellery, which he has not yet examined.
Elizabeth Mapp-Flint read the news item in the Tilling Gazette with a mixture of distain and excitement. Distain because it made her Benjy-boy appear argumentative and because it had such a glowing report of the interview with Lucia. Excitement because the find might be real. She must decide upon how she would react when told her coins are genuine; a bright-eyed and winsome smile should do it, giving the appearance of gratification instead of greed. She would practice the expression in the mirror when she got home.
“Oh, why didn’t I give Mr Meriton a cup of tea and a few minutes from my busy schedule?” Elizabeth regretfully wondered aloud as she walked home after the morning’s marketing, the newspaper laying in her market basket atop a leg of salt-marsh mutton. Instead, Benjy blusters. I should have had Benjy give him a whisky-and-soda, and talk man-to-man. I should have told Meriton my opposition to new drains was entirely out of concern for the good of Tilling’s rate payers, Elizabeth reflected. Too late, she thought of this reply to Mr Meriton’s impertinent questions.
Elizabeth paused outside the hornbeam hedge which lay between Grebe and the roadway and regarded the diggers’ work with disfavour. One of the hardiest of the hornbeam bushes had been dug up, and a large trench ran from the roadway and through the front garden to the house, passing under where the aged apple tree once stood. The tree was now laying on it side in the grass (and partly crushing a few of her sweet, dancing daffodils), waiting for Coplen the gardener to cut it up for the fire. The digging had stopped until word from the British Museum would set it in motion again and turn the garden into a real archaeological site or would return the “site” to the Tilling labourers. Neither option pleased Elizabeth, and she was uncertain whether she wanted more gold to be found or if she wanted the drains finished and the trench filled in.
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Tilling Town Council had voted for the new drains, the only dissenting votes coming from Elizabeth and Harold Twistevant, the greengrocer. Because Elizabeth provided a great deal of fresh produce for his shop, Twistevant had agreed to support her vote in return for lower prices on her garden produce. There was even a written contract signed by both Twistevant and Elizabeth, stating how much he would pay her; it was dangerous to have it in writing, as it proved bribery, but Twistevant knew from long years dealing with Elizabeth that if it was not a written contract, she would find a way to make him pay more or she would take her produce to the seasonal stand that was opened on the quayside in early summer and remained open until winter shut it down. Twistevant knew from long years of being a Councillor that anything too explicit would damn him if in the contract fell into the wrong hands, so the contract looked more like a shopping list than a legal document. Elizabeth was none the wiser. Twistevant was also canny enough to know that all the other councillors favoured the plan (especially since Lucia had agreed to pay for much of the work) and the Mapp-Flint faction would be outvoted. He held his peace, making no statements during the heated discussions about drains and rates, and simply voted nay. After the vote, Councillor Mapp-Flint’s vociferous opposition to new drains was moot.
So the Mapp-Flints, the Mayoress and the Major, were left with a dilemma: should they put Grebe on the new drainage system or opt out? Elizabeth was in favour of opting out, “But I must show Lulu that her drains are profligate and wasteful!”
“But we—I mean, you—have to pay the higher rates anyway,” said Major Benjy, thinking, It’s only a few shillings a year; just pay up, old girl! “And the old septic system here is—well—old! Every spring tide causes it to back up. And we’ll—you’ll—get to tap into the new system nearly for free. All the waste carried off using the same pipes you have now, feeding into the new system. I had a word with the Town Surveyor and he said they just dig out the tank in the front yard and hook the new lines up to our old ones—”
Elizabeth interrupted, “It’s the principle, Benjy! I don’t want That Woman’s drains in my yard!”
“New drains for Grebe means they’ll have to dig out that old apple tree, too. You’ve been saying it needs to be dug out since it’s not producing many apples. Coplen’s too old to dig it up, you’d have to hire a crew to come out. Instead, by agreeing to the drains, you’ll get it dug up for free—”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue, but Benjy cut her off. “All Coplen will have to do is cut the tree up for firewood. Think how nice an applewood fire will be in the autumn. A great savings on coal and gas, the old tree completely removed, no more drains backing up, and all for a few shillings a year.” Marriage to Elizabeth had sharpened Major Benjy’s skills at argumentation, although he used those skills sparingly: no sense in aggravating the wife without good cause.
“Yes, Benjy, I see what you mean,” said Elizabeth, swayed by the savings that Lucia’s drains would ultimately bring. She smiled playfully at her Benjy-boy, “It shall be as you say! Naughty Benjy-boy! Mischief! You can always persuade me, and although it’s against my principles, I cannot refuse you.”
Benjy, who was longing for a tumbler of whisky-and-soda, which would certainly be refused him, hastily replied, “Always glad to help out, Girly,” and fled to the more liberal and alcoholicly accessible confines of the golf club.
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The Reverend Kenneth Bartlett, called “Padre” by his friends, and his wife Evie were at Grebe for tea, with a game of Bridge to follow. Elizabeth had known that she must devise a “spin” on the story reported in the Tilling Gazette for the Padre and Evie to report to their mutual friends. What a dreadful gossipy town Tilling is, but I suppose I’ll just have to bear it, thought Elizabeth to herself.
“A’well, Mistress Mapp-Flint,” the Padre greeted her. He had a jocular habit of speaking in Elizabethan English and spurious Scottish. “I see you’ve let the workers have their way in your wee front garden.”
“Yes, Padre. I decided that since it was inevitable, and all the other councillors wanted it, I’ll have to go along with Dear Worship’s drains, even though she’ll make paupers of us all.”
Evie Bartlett squeaked a little. She was a small, grey-brown, mousy woman, often ignored.
“Ah, but such progress is good. Good for our town and good for th’ parish,” countered the Padre.
Evie supported her husband. “It is a good thing, Elizabeth; many of our poor parishioners have running water but bad drains. The new drains are a God-send.” She managed to stop herself before she began to praise Lucia and her support of the new drains.
“Aye,” continued the Padre. “Many poor homes fair stink with foulness, worse than Auld Reekie, when I do my parish visits. I ken my elderly parishioners, whose small incomes are sorely stressed, are happy with the getting of new drains.”
Not knowing what, or who, Auld Reekie was, Elizabeth rejoined, “Yes, Padre, but it’s a huge drain on my own small income, reekie or no.” She had thought of the phrase “huge drain on my small income” yesterday and had practised saying it so that it would appear to be an off-the-cuff, witty comment. Then to distract him, she offered, “More shortbread, Padre?” as she smiled widely, knowing his weakness for the Scottish national biscuit.
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TILLING TREASURE FAKE
April 3rd, Tilling, East Sussex—Roman-age treasure unearthed by a crew of men digging new drains has been declared counterfeit by experts from the British Museum. Professor Arbuthnot, a noted authority on Roman remains in Britain, stated that the coins did not bear the distinctive markings of genuine coins of the period. “These coins are Elizabethan angels, over-stamped with dies to make them appear to be staters. They are fraudulent. The jewellery is bronze and of an alloy which was commonly used in the Elizabethan Age,” said Professor Arbuthnot; “Not gold but Elizabethan counterfeits, and not very good ones at that,” was the British Museum’s verdict.
Elizabeth lay aside the Tilling Gazette, looked out over her front garden, and sighed. Withers, her maid, announced, “One of the diggers would like a word, Ma’am.” So Elizabeth went to the door to speak with the man. Old Johnny, the Town Surveyor’s oldest employee, stood on the doorstep of Grebe, cap in one hand, a parcel in the other, the other workers loitering behind him. “No, I do not want to keep the fake treasure,” she said as politely as could a lady who has just suffered a great disappointment. “Throw it away.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Ma’am,” he replied, “but I thought my boys might want a souvenir of our ‘great find’, as we call it.”
“Of course, take it. I don’t need to keep someone else’s trash in my home,” she said.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Old Johnny bowed. “We’ll get along and fill in that great hole and re-lay your sod. In a week you won’t even know we’ve been here, except for the old apple tree.”
Elizabeth nodded peremptorily and turned away from him, in what she thought was the grand gesture of dismissal given to a lackey by a great lady; in reality, she appeared pompous and rude, not grand, and certainly not a lady.
The workmen returned to the garden, but before filling in the trench, they had a short discussion: “Before we share it out, I’d like to see if anyone’s interested in buying some Elizabethan counterfeits. What do you say? Let me keep it for a few more days? If I can’t sell it, we’ll divvy it up. If I can sell it, we’ll divvy up the proceeds.” The workmen all agreed.
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FAKE TREASURE SOLD
April 5th, Tilling, East Sussex—Roman treasure dug up in the garden at Grebe, just outside of Tilling, was determined by British Museum authorities to be Elizabethan-era counterfeits. The owner of Grebe gave the ‘treasure’ to the workers who found it, “as a souvenir, she said,” reported John Wagstaff, Crew Foreman. Wagstaff, through an unidentified broker, sold the entire find for an undisclosed price to Lord Iredale, an avid collector of Elizabethan counterfeits, who owns an exquisite Elizabethan manor house at nearby Battle.
Via telephone, Lord Iredale said he had a long-standing interest in coins counterfeited during the reign of the Tudors. He stated, “There were a few die-makers who took older coins and re-stamped them to make them appear ancient, and then sold them as Roman or Celtic treasures. If caught, they suffered violent penalties. King Henry VIII had debased the coinage, and Elizabeth I withdrew the debased coins and melted them down, issuing her own coins of precious metal; she felt she had a personal stake in the coinage and had no tolerance for counterfeiters.” Lord Iredale further stated, “This hoard will be a prized part in my collection, which will become the property of the British Museum upon my death.”
Professor Arbuthnot of the British Museum, when told of Lord Iredale’s intended donation said, “We will be thrilled to obtain such a rare and historically important collection."
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Georgie Pillson looked up at his wife after reading her the news story. “Isn’t John Wagstaff the navvy called ‘Old Johnny’ who came to see you a few days ago?”
“Yes, Georgie,” Lucia replied. “I was happy to help the poor, underpaid workmen get a good price for their collection. I remembered that Lord Iredale had come to my house in Brompton Square for dinner once or twice and that he was interested in Elizabethan Era antiquities. After Adele Brixton bought the Hurst in Riseholme from me, he stayed there and sent me a wonderful note saying how well I had retained the Elizabethan features of the Hurst. Such a kind man. As dear Lord Tony said, he’s ‘quite loopy’ about all things Elizabethan.”
“Well, now Lord Iredale’s happy and the workmen are happy, and the British Museum, which wasn’t interested in the hoard before, will be happy,” Georgie smiled. “But Elizabeth Mapp-Flint isn’t at all happy. She’s seen the article. Diva says she plans to sue to try to get a share.”
“She’s not got a leg to stand on, as Mister Causton, my solicitor, put it. She gave it to the men freely, and they all witnessed it. A surveyor from the Gasworks was there as well and, as a disinterested witness, supports the men's story,” said Lucia. “Not a leg to stand on,” she repeated with some relish.
THE END
For a short article on Tudor coinage, please visit:
Copyright 2012 Kathleen Bradford
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