Constable Through the Meadow Read online

  No one knew what had prompted her to tackle the cupboards and corners, but she attacked the job with much gusto, lots of mops and dusters and gallons of perspiration. The stuff that was thrown out was bewildering – old curtains and cloths, ancient notices and posters, stacks of battered hymn books and a load of assorted jumble which would have graced the best junk-sale for miles around. It is just feasible that some important documents got lost in her enthusiasm, but she operated like a whirlwind. There was no stopping her once she had started and for days the church was almost lost in a cloud of dust or bonfire smoke.

  And then, right at the back of a massive oak cupboard in the vestry, she found a chalice. It had obviously been there for years for it was dirty, very battered and full of dust. Like most other discoveries, she decided to throw it in the bin, so removed it from the shelf and took it outside. Then she had a second look in the strong daylight and for some reason changed her mind about casting it in the bin. It was at that precise moment that I arrived. I was undertaking a patrol around Elsinby and had noticed the frantic activity within the church. Attracted by the piles of rubbish outside, I thought I’d pop in to see what was going on and to pass the time of day with Ada.

  As I strolled up the path towards the porch, I saw Ada clutching the chalice; she was peering intently at it.

  ‘Morning, Ada,’ I greeted her. ‘Still busy, eh?’

  ‘Never been so busy,’ she grumbled. ‘Wish I’d never started this. The more I chuck out the more I find inside, it’s never ending. Makes you wonder where it comes from.’

  ‘You’re doing a good job.’ I decided to praise her efforts. ‘It must be benefiting the church. So, what’s that you’ve found?’

  ‘An old cup,’ she said, holding it up for me to see. ‘Been stuck in the back of a cupboard for years, it has. Junk I’d say, by the look of it. It’s made of tin, I think, been battered about a bit. They’d never use this sort o’ thing now for communion.’

  She passed the chalice over to me and I held it, weighing it in my hand.

  ‘It’s pewter, I think,’ I told her. ‘And very old by the look of it.’

  ‘It’ll not be worth owt, then? It’s not gold or silver, is it?’

  ‘No, so what are you going to do with it?’

  ‘I was thinking about chucking it out,’ she said. ‘Then when I got out, I had second thoughts, I’d like to show it to t’vicar, but he’s away at a conference.’

  The Rev Simon Hamilton, Vicar of Elsinby, was away at a Diocesan Conference; I knew that because he’d told me that the vicarage would be empty for a whole week and had asked me to keep an eye on it during his absence.

  Still holding the chalice and turning it in my hands, I said, ‘I think he’d like to see this,’ and then, in the strong light of that morning, I noticed the faint engraving on the face. It was very difficult to determine but it looked rather like a crowned sovereign in a sailing ship; he was carrying an upright sword and a shield.

  ‘You take it and get somebody to look at it,’ she said quite unexpectedly. ‘Then I can tell t’vicar what we’ve done. You deal with found treasures, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, if they’re treasure trove.’

  ‘Well, mebbe it’s a good thing you turned up like you did. Do you happen to know anybody that’ll look at it, say what it’s worth or summat?’

  ‘I’m going into York tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Off duty, but I’ve a pal who’s in the antique business. I’ll show it to him if you like.’

  ‘Aye.’ She looked relieved, for the decision had now been taken out of her hands.

  And so I took the chalice from her. I found a piece of brown paper among the rubbish and wrapped it up, then placed it in the cubby-hole of the mini-van. Next day, I popped it into a carrier bag and took it to York. Mary and I did a little shopping, had a meal and then I remembered the old chalice. I went back to my car and removed it, then walked along Stonegate to my friend’s antique shop.

  ‘Hello, Paul, how’s things in the antique world?’

  ‘Hi, Nick,’ he said. ‘Things are bloody fine. So what brings you here?’

  ‘This,’ I said, and I placed the battered old chalice on his counter. ‘I think it’s pewter but wondered if it’s worth anything!’

  He took it and held it very carefully, turning it in the strong light of an angle lamp as he first studied the cup itself, and then examined the engraving on the front.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ was all he said. ‘Where’s this come from?’

  ‘One of the churches on my patch,’ I said. ‘The cleaning lady found it in a cupboard. Been there years by the look of it.’

  ‘Centuries more like,’ he said, and I saw his face was flushed. ‘You’ve no idea what this is?’

  I shook my head and said lamely, ‘A chalice?’

  ‘A chalice, yes. But what a bloody chalice! Worth a bloody fortune,’ he whistled. ‘A bloody fortune, or I’m stupid. You say she found it in a bloody cupboard?’

  I explained the circumstances of its discovery, and then asked why he was so enthusiastic about it.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Take a look at this engraving. What is it?’ he shone the light upon it and pointed to it.

  ‘I think it’s a king in a ship.’

  ‘Right, with a sword and a shield, eh? The sort of arms you’d get on a bloody coin, not on a bloody pewter chalice!’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘This might have belonged to a king, see? Or to the priest who was the king’s confessor or something. Henry IV it would be,’ he continued. ‘Reigned 1399 to 1413, he did. And see this?’ He pointed to the shield, but I could not determine precisely what he was showing me. ‘His shield, it’s only got three fleurs-de-lis, not four. He changed his royal arms, you see; coins with only three fleurs-de-lis are so bloody rare it’s unbelievable. And see this rudder on the ship? There’s a star on it. Now most rudders on Henry IV coins are blank, but some have crowns on and some have bloody stars. Nick, if I’m not mistaken, this is a bloody rare find – a really rare bloody find.’

  ‘No kidding?’ I was awestruck by the thought.

  ‘No kidding,’ he said. ‘You need expert valuation of this, my lad. Try Sotheby’s.’

  ‘I don’t know anybody there.’

  ‘I do, and he’s a whizz-kid on medieval pewter. I’ll fix up a bloody appointment, right now if you like.’

  ‘The vicar hasn’t even seen this yet; if it’s what you think it is, no doubt he’ll want to be involved, and maybe even bring his bishop or the Archbishop into this find.’

  ‘Too bloody right he will when he finds out what it is. Right, show it to him, tell him what I said, then ring me and I’ll fix up an appointment at Sotheby’s for it to be expertly assessed. Somebody’ll have to take it down to London.’

  ‘Right, Paul, thanks. I appreciate your advice.’

  ‘And if your church wants to sell this bloody thing, let me know! I’d mortgage my shop to get my bloody hands on that.’

  When the vicar returned, I informed him of this conversation (although I omitted Paul’s colourful flow of expletives) and he promptly rang the Archbishop of York who suggested we let the Sotheby expert have sight of it. And, he said, the diocese would pay the train fare of the person who took it. We nominated Ada, with the proviso that she be told to take great care of the chalice at all times. Simon Hamilton felt she could be trusted to look after it – after all, who’d think this countrywoman was carrying treasure?

  ‘I’m off to London,’ she said next time I saw her. ‘With that cup, Mr Rhea. To show a chap down there. I’ve never been to London, you know, never even been on a train.’

  And so, dressed in her heavy brown shoes, lisle stockings, headscarf and her only overcoat which was of heavy tweed, Ada Jowett set about the journey of a lifetime. Excited both at the prospect of travelling to London and of riding on a train, she was driven to York Station by the vicar and would be met at King’s Cross by the man from Sotheby’s. He’d promised to care for her du
ring her visit, bearing in mind the circumstances. I’ve no idea what he made of Ada when they met, but she had a most enjoyable day. Upon her return that same evening, she was collected from York by taxi and the vicar invited me to go along and hear how she’d progressed at Sotheby’s.

  The vicar’s wife had arranged a late supper for her and I was invited. And when Ada came in from the taxi, she was carrying the chalice in a brown carrier bag; in fact, she’d put one bag inside another to give greater protection to the chalice! That was her notion of taking care of it.

  ‘Well, Ada,’ began Simon Hamilton. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘By, yon train goes fast,’ she said. ‘And then in London, they rushed me down some stairs under t’ground and there was more trains, coming every few minutes … I’ve never seen owt like it … and folks! Thousands of ’em all pushing and shoving … there’s no wonder folks get bad-tempered with all that rushing about.’

  ‘Yes, but the chalice …’

  Ada ignored the vicar and continued to enthuse about London, giving her highly colourful interpretation of life in the capital. She rambled on about guards in funny hats at Buckingham Palace, messy pigeons, Eros, Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, the department stores, the different nationalities she noticed, buses that came every few minutes instead of twice a week and trains whose doors shut without being pushed by the travellers.

  Eventually, she ran out of talk of the City and Simon took the opportunity to mention Sotheby’s and the chalice.

  ‘They would have nowt to do with it, Mr Hamilton.’ She shook her heavy grey head. ‘Didn’t want to know. This young chap met me off t’train and took me in a taxi where I saw the chap you mentioned, him what reckons to know summat about cups like that.’

  ‘And he examined it?’

  ‘He did, in a manner o’ speaking. It took nobbut a minute or two, and that was that.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘You offered to leave the chalice for a more thorough examination, as I suggested?’

  ‘Oh, aye, I made that clear. I said I’d leave it for him to have a better look and he could mebbe post it back, but he said he’d have nowt to do with it, Mr Hamilton.’

  ‘Nothing to do with it?’

  When I heard this, I wondered about Paul’s assessment – Paul would never have allowed Ada to go all the way to London with a dud. I was sure Paul knew his antiques …

  ‘Nay, nowt. Summat to do with insurance, he said. He wouldn’t take it off me, so I had to fetch it back.’

  And she dug into the paper carrier bag and lifted it out.

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Well, he said he’d be having words with you about it, I told him your telephone number. Tomorrow, he said, all being well. He’ll ring.’

  There was clear disappointment on Simon’s face and I knew mine also showed similar feelings. It seemed that the so-called experts in London had merely fobbed off poor old Ada. The vicar should have gone, he should have taken it and presented it in a more sophisticated manner.

  ‘Leave it with me, Ada,’ said Simon. ‘We’ll see what they say tomorrow, eh?’

  ‘Aye, and it’s my bedtime now. See you tomorrow,’ and off she went.

  I remained with Simon for a while, each of us expressing our sorrow at her apparently callous treatment in London, and then I went home. Then at lunch-time the following day, I got a call from Simon Hamilton.

  ‘Can you spare ten minutes, Nicholas?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I’ll come now.’

  When I arrived at the vicarage, he showed me into his kitchen where Ada was seated at the table. Mrs Hamilton was also present and I noticed a glass of wine at each place setting. And in the centre was the dirty old chalice.

  When we were all gathered together, Simon said, ‘Ada, PC Rhea, I’d like to thank you both for your work in rescuing this chalice. I’ve had a call from Sotheby’s this morning, Ada, and they thank you for taking it to them.’

  ‘The cheek of ’em!’ she pouted. ‘Nearly threw me out they did … didn’t want to know about me …’

  ‘I think you have misunderstood them, Ada.’ He spoke softly. ‘They did a proper and expert examination; it’s a Henry IV pewter chalice, a very rare object and more so because of the arms which it bears. It seems pewter chalices were used in medieval times, but most of them were buried with the priests when they died. Very few from this period have survived, especially of this quality. Now, did he say what it was worth?’

  ‘Well, he muttered on about it being worth summat in the region of half a million pounds. Now I ask you, Mr Hamilton! Half a million pounds for that bit of awd tin?’

  ‘And you didn’t believe him?’

  ‘I did not! I reckoned he was having me on ’cos I’m a country woman who doesn’t know about such things.’

  ‘Ada, he does genuinely believe it would bring that amount in a sale at his auction rooms. It is unique, Ada, a real treasure.’

  ‘You’re all having me on!’ She flushed deeply now and looked very embarrassed. ‘That’s why I said nowt to you about what they’d said it was worth. A bit of awd tin can’t be worth that much, it just can’t.’

  ‘No, we’re not teasing you, Ada, none of us. His problem was that he could not keep it overnight because he was not insured for that particular cup. So you took it sight-seeing …’

  ‘Aye, and I nearly lost it over London Bridge, an’ all,’ she said grimly. ‘Can’t say I’d have missed it.’

  ‘So you’ve a problem now.’ I put to him. ‘Your church will never afford the premiums to insure this!’

  ‘I must speak to the Archbishop,’ he said. ‘This is a real shock, Ada, a massive shock. I’m reeling from the thought that this has been standing in my vestry for years and, but for you, would have been thrown out …’

  ‘Half a million pounds!’ she said. ‘For that bit of awd tin? I’d not give it house-room!’

  She was steadfastly refusing to accept the truth of that statement, and left the vicarage shaking her head. After being assured Simon would place it in a bank vault for safe keeping, I followed her out, stunned that I’d carried it around in my car and had left it unattended in a York car-park!

  It would be about a month later when Rev. Simon Hamilton called me again. ‘I thought you’d like to know the outcome of the chalice saga,’ he said.

  ‘Love to,’ I said, and drove to his vicarage for a coffee with him.

  When I was settled, he said, ‘As you’ve been involved with this from the start,’ he strode up and down his spacious kitchen, ‘I thought you’d like to hear the Archbishop’s decision about the chalice.’

  ‘Yes, thanks, Simon. I appreciate that.’

  ‘It is a problem, Nicholas,’ he said. ‘We cannot keep it because of the risks and the necessarily high insurance premiums. We could not afford them. And, as you know, we do need a regular supply of money for upkeep of our church.’

  I let him take his time on this explanation.

  ‘If we allowed Sotheby’s to auction it on our behalf, it might raise that huge sum; half a million pounds does seem excessive, but I am assured it could bring as much as that on the open market, maybe from international buyers.’

  ‘So you’re selling it?’ I asked.

  ‘Not by public auction. As the Archbishop says, if we did sell it through Sotheby’s, it might go out of the country. There is no telling where it might get to. We don’t want that – we want such a unique chalice, our chalice, kept in England, Nicholas. It must never leave these shores.’

  ‘But you’re in a cleft stick, Simon,’ I said. ‘You can’t afford to keep it, and you can’t dictate where it goes if it is sold. You cannot issue conditions for sales of that kind.’

  ‘A solution has been reached, Nicholas,’ he said. ‘A museum has offered us £45,000 for it; it will be put on display and kept in this country for all time.’

  ‘But that’s a fraction of its true value,’
I protested.

  ‘Perhaps, but it’s all that museum can afford. If we invest that cash, it will give the church a very nice income for years ahead and that will safeguard it and permit us to maintain it in the manner it deserves. After all, we want nothing more than that. You see, this method pleases everyone because the chalice can be viewed by the public, we get some income from it and it will never again be lost or taken out of England. It’s an admirable solution.’

  ‘But you’re throwing money away!’ I said.

  ‘Not really, because we’re getting more than we’ve had before, and we don’t really need half a million, Nicholas.’

  ‘It’s a real Christian decision,’ I heard myself say.

  ‘It was made by the Archbishop, I might add,’ said Simon as if that explained everything.

  Today, Ada’s name is upon the notice which provides a history of the chalice as it stands in a famous museum, and soon after the sale, Ada got a new apron, some new brushes and dusters. So the chalice was of benefit to her as well.

  And she still refuses to believe that such a ‘piece of awd tin’ was worth so much money.

  4

  ‘They inwardly resolved that … their piracies should not again be sullied with the crime of stealing.’

  Tom Sawyer Abroad, Mark Twain, 1835–1910

  The crime of theft, known legally in England as larceny until 1968, is among the earliest of criminal offences; not only is it a crime, however, it is also a sin, and as such features in the Ten Commandments. ‘Thou shalt not steal’ could hardly be a more direct prohibition.

  A universal loathing of theft has, over the centuries, provided it with many penalties, some of them dreadfully severe. Some five hundred years before Christ, for example, the Romans hanged those who stole crops at night. They were executed at the scene of their crime as a sacrifice to Ceres, goddess of the harvest. Here in England during Danish times, a thief could be killed without fear of having to pay compensation to his family because his act of stealing had rendered him valueless. During medieval times, theft continued to be a capital offence along with others such as murder, treason, arson, burglary and robbery; Henry II, however, said that crimes which involved the theft of five shillings (25p) or less could be punished by amputation of a foot instead of death.