New Update...
“At gunpoint?” interrupted Adara. This time, there was no rebuke from Paul. They both stared intently, in a sense of near-captivation which Michael thought strange.
“Yes,” replied Michael, “there was very little food and the village decided it could only feed a certain number of people. The man who ran the village decided we had to go.
We weren’t left defenceless – the pistol had three bullets in it. I didn’t need much sense to work out why.”
“One for each of you,” said Paul, “the option was for you all to commit suicide.”
“Indeed. That may have been an option for him but not for us,” replied Michael firmly.
“Where did you go?” asked Paul.
Michael remembered the plan he and Ann had hatched as they left Trink. Ann remembered her grandfather’s cottage at St Just but that was a good fifteen miles on foot across difficult country. They had made slow progress keeping clear of settlements and wary of the occasional corpses they saw in the fields and on the roads.
It had rained that first night – they had found a barn and taken shelter. It had only been the following morning when Ann discovered they had not been alone in the barn – the woman had been young, not much older than a schoolgirl. She had been dead for some time, perhaps from hunger, perhaps from radiation, they couldn’t tell. Though they had all seen enough of death, this single death had shaken them more than anything else.
They cried individually and together – for their own loss, for her loss, for the world’s loss.
On the second afternoon, they reached Botallack and good fortune smiled on them as they were greeted by a friendly man working on repairing a house.
“My father?” said Paul.
“Yes, your father, Paul,” replied Michael. “He was working on repairing a house when he saw us. He smiled and said hello. He invited us all to stay with him and your Mother.”
“My Mother,” said Paul quietly, “I never really knew her, you know,” he added quietly.
Michael knew that only too well. He had met Paul’s parents before his birth, a difficult birth from which Paul’s Mother had never recovered. He understood why Mary had chosen Paul to hear his Testament – it can’t be easy for him but it gives him some sort of link to his own heritage.
Paul’s parents, Ray and Carole, had come to Botallack just before the Exchange – Carole’s family had originated from Botallack and she still had a sister and parents living in the area. They had survived the Exchange in Botallack but her parents had died in the following year. Ray had befriended Michael almost from the start – Michael had never understood why. He soon grew to admire and respect Ray.
Botallack had provided a haven, a shelter for some months after the departure from Trink. They had lived with Ray and Carole in one of two cottages on the outskirts of town. Botallack had been, in contrast with Trink, well-run and well-organised. The community had tried to plant vegetables and raise other crops.
Ray also said they had seen some evidence of authority returning – the Police had put in an appearance as had a small Army group. The Army had brought supplies from an international relief convoy – not much, not nearly enough, but pre-Exchange supplies from Australia and New Zealand.
Unlike the soldiers Michael had seen at Trink, these seemed more disciplined and organised. They were, he discovered, “regular” forces, sent from the Government at Portsmouth to “check” on isolated communities. Michael had got to know the young Lieutenant in charge – the things he had seen and done in the previous year, well, Michael hadn’t asked and he hadn’t volunteered. His family were dead – they had lived near Bovington Camp but he had met a young woman in Portsmouth – there were plenty of young girls, orphans or bereaved, who had come to see a soldier as a meal ticket at worst and security at best.
“How long did you stay with my father?” asked Paul quietly but insistently.
“Oh, just a few weeks,” replied Michael, “we found a cottage nearby which had been abandoned and made that our home. I worked with your father but with others as well, in the fields and elsewhere. We stayed in Botallack perhaps a year, then decided to head for Ann’s grandfather’s place at St Just.”
“Why?” asked Adara, “you had everything at Botallack.”
“Up to a point, perhaps, but it was just time to move on. Ann had family at St Just and we thought we could make a home there. Botallack had just been a place to stay but we stayed much longer than I had expected.”
“My father told me that – you said you wanted to move on. He never understood why but he was busy with my Mother,” said Paul. “Sorry, sir, please continue your story.”
Michael continued – they had embarked on the long journey to St Just in the spring time. The day was bright and sunny and they had arrived without drama. Ann’s Grandfather’s cottage had unfortunately not been empty when they arrived. They had found his frail broken body at the bottom of the stairs – Michael surmised he had fallen and simply died there. It had taken time, a long time, to get the small of his death out of the house.
St Just had been disorganised and almost anarchic when they arrived but Michael, old Crowther and others had slowly turned things round though it had taken many months. Michael had managed to contact the Lieutenant from Botallack and he had provided a couple of patrols and had apprehended a couple of small gangs who had been attacking travellers and settlements over Madron and Sancreed way. Justice had been swift and brutal - in that moment, Michael had resolved things had to be better.
Michael and Ann had settled into St Just life and had made new friends. Bob and old Crowther had been the first and it had been Bob’s idea that the locals get together and form a local “Council” to organise the administration of law and the distribution of food.
“You formed the Council?” asked Adara in open-eyed astonishment.
“Hardly,” replied Michael, “I was one of those who got things organised in a small way in one town.”
“That’s not what my Father says,” replied Paul. “He says you started it all – first in St Just, then in Botallack, then elsewhere.”
“Your Father’s a good friend and is very kind,” said Michael quietly, “but it wasn’t quite like that. Look, let’s pick this up in the morning if you don’t mind.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Paul respectfully, “have I spoken out of turn? I meant no disrespect.”
“No, no, that’s fine, “replied Michael, “It’s getting late and we’ve got a lot still to cover in the morning.”
After saying goodnight to both Paul and Adara and ensuring they were settled upstairs, Michael went to his own room and lay in what was and had been all too often a lonely bed. Rachel had kept him company on occasions as had Susan – if he was to take another woman, it would be Susan, but he hadn’t out of respect for Ann and all they had accomplished together.
As he lay in the bed, Michael’s mind wandered back to those manic early days, two or three years after the Exchange. He had travelled to Botallack, Pendeen, Madron, and Sancreed and even down to St Buryan and had spoken to people in all those communities. He had tried to get people to organise themselves, to form small local groupings, to get organised but not to become too insular.
He had been away from home too much though Ann was always welcoming. He had fought brigands and killed to stay alive but over time the various communities had come to trust and respect him. He had even started to get the communities back into contact with each other – a postal service, a limited carriage service.
The Army had been helpful at first though their priorities lay elsewhere – the plans to rebuild the shattered cities – too much, too soon, too ambitious, Michael had realised, and so it had proved. The impoverished workers had risen against the thin line of Authority and all had dissolved in a paroxysm of violence out of which had come the Faithmongers, the Anti-Lifers, the Manics and others.
In the far West of Cornwall, far from Portsmouth, London and elsewhere, all this had passed almost unnoticed except that the Army had gone – the Lieutenant came with his woman to Michael and told him his Unit had deserted and gone with the Anti-Lifers. He had been broken and desolate but in that moment, Michael had come up with the idea of the Peacekeepers. The Lieutenant had brightened noticeably – he had started to train individuals like Bob to watch the communities.
It had taken a few years but in time Michael had got representatives of the communities together – the first Council – they had met in the repaired dining room of the old Land’s End Hotel. Michael remembered the first meeting – anarchic, disorganised with lots of shouting and argument. As one, they had asked him to be Chairman and he had reluctantly agreed.
Someone had found a Bible and Michael had sworn an oath of sorts – he remembered Ann’s smiling face and the other inquisitive face looking over at him wondering what it all meant, what it would all mean and it was in that moment that Michael had planned for the future.
The day dawned bright and clear. Michael had woken after a peaceful sleep to hear movement down below. For a moment, he imagined Ann would be there, preparing breakfast, but the sound was wrong. He remembered Paul and Adara. It sounded as though they were preparing breakfast – the smell was good, eggs, mushrooms and was that bread?
Michael dressed quickly and took down the pot. He quickly disposed of that in the street before greeting his guests. Paul looked tired – the guest bed wasn’t that comfortable – but Adara looked bright and gleaming. She was in the kitchen, just as another had been once so many years ago.
“Good Morning, Sir,” she said eagerly, “I hope you don’t mind me preparing some breakfast. Mary provided some supplies. She said you would be happy.”
“Mary is rarely wrong about these things,” said Michael earning an approving smile from Paul. Michael was concerned the young wardens were more acolytes than free thinkers. He had impressed on Mary the need for the wardens to be free to think and act but she had been scared of the Faithmongers and had resolved to resist their doctrine.
The three ate a hearty breakfast, one of the best Michael had eaten for many months. Adara cooked well – she would make a good woman for someone one day.