The name itself is fictitious, given to the most favoured playground of every boy in our village. According to our elders the woods had been a hive of industry since medieval times with ancient iron smelting and later, coal mining. They say that there was a Victorian hall of some substance, Clough Hall that stood atop the hill, overlooking Cheshire to the west. To us young explorers it is a place of great adventure, cowboys and Indians, German and British armies, loosing ourselves amongst the overgrown, Victorian planted rhododendrons which give the woods its name.
“Help!”I cried in panic. “Help!” I called at the top of my voice. Crawling through the undergrowth in an effort not to be captured by the enemy, I had fell into an old abandoned manhole uncovered by the falling of a huge old ash tree, uprooted by the recent March gales. The ground beneath my feet felt spongy, as if hollow below and supported by unseen rotten shoring.”Help!” I cried, as I feared for my life. Try as I might, scrambling and clawing with my nails, I could not reach the lip of the old crumbling brickwork that imprisoned me. “Help!”
“What’re doing down there Rushton?” Andy’s stupid grin was a welcome site as his large, strong hand was thrust down toward me. We gripped each others hands with the force and strength of true, caring friendship and as Andrew heaved with all his might, I kicked out and dislodged the loose ground beneath my feet.
The rest of the gang, Mattie, Paul and Dave, came running and crashing through the woods asking breathless, exited questions as I and Andrew sat breathlessly staring toward the dark, damp void below us. “What’s up Rush?” they asked in breathless unison. “I was running from the Germans when I slid in this old loose coal spoil and I went straight down that hole there” I said pointing toward the blackness below us. “Buggerin Hell” exclaimed Dave in astonishment. “Where did that come from?” “I think that old tree there” I said, looking over the edge of the ravine, where the remains of the fallen ash tree lay on the disused rail lines below. “I think it uncovered this old manhole” The waning light of dusk began to descend upon Puzzle Wood. The light beneath the dense canopy became weak and feeble and before long it would prove to be very difficult, even for such intrepid explorers as us, to find our way out. So, heeding our parents’ threats to be home before dark, we made our way out of the woods with plans to come back the next day tooled up!
A bright springtime sun entered my bedroom, filtered by the roughed net curtains in my window. “Make sure you clean your teeth” mother called, as she heard me hurriedly leaving the bathroom. With no breakfast inside me I ran through the street and on through the park where the gang were to meet. We had a vast selection of ropes, shovels, trowels and flashlights between us and every one of us was ready for adventure. On the way towards Puzzle Wood, we all spoke and laughed with nervous excitement but, as we got closer to yesterdays scene we began to speak in hushed whispers, the way of all good adventures.
As we looked down into the manhole, the renewed light of a springtime sun revealed a brick built archway at the very bottom of the square, deep hole. “It seems to face south” said Mattie, as he looked up toward the top of the hill. We all knew that he was good at directions, him being the only one of us who spent time in the cubs and, his mum had brought him a pair of “Path Finder” shoes for his birthday, the kind with animal footprints on the soles and a compass in the heel. He fearlessly tied the rope around his waist; we all grabbed the other end and lowered him down. His voice echoed back to the surface as he called for us to tie him off. “Pass down a spade and tie a bucket to the other rope!” he called up to us and for the next half hour, panting and sweating, we hauled bucket after bucket of earth until finally, Mattie shouted up “come on down lads, you won’t believe what is down here” and one after the other, we lowered ourselves down to Mattie’s level.
We stood in the cramped space and stared in awe at the well formed but old and crumbling brickwork that formed the arch. The darkness beyond was all consuming, foreboding and heavy with the smell of rot and damp. “Who’s for going in and having a butcher’s?” asked Paul. “Not me” said Dave, always the cautious of us all. “Oh, come on!” The rest of us cried, itching with excitement for adventure. Dave looked up at the small square of sky above us, as if saying goodbye to the world, followed us into the tunnel and exclaimed. “We must be chuffing nuts!”
