The Secrets That We Hold

Ash-Tree Farm and The Calling

Imagine yourself for a moment, on a shady lane in England. As you walk along, you come to a wooden gate. On the gate is a sign with the words - Ash Tree Farm. You walk along a shady drive, through a wood of oaks, hazels and rowans, past a small lake, and through an orchard with it's apple and damson trees. Emerging from the orchard you come across a double story whitewashed farmhouse. This is the home of Jim Weller.

A blonde figure dashed across the wide lawn, in hot pursuit of a streak of golden fur, which was all that could be seen of Jim's dog, Tait.

A tall, fair, brown headed man, and a slight, dark haired lady observed the race from the warm, cosy drawing room. The blonde figure came slowly around the corner of the house dragging a hot, but happy golden retriever.

"You're just in time for tea Jim," announced his mother, "and get that poor dog some water!" she added, looking pityingly at Tait, who wagged his tail and looked at her expectantly with his big amber eyes.

"Yes, Mother" said Jim, as he went off obediently to fetch some water. The man looked up from a newspaper he was reading.

" Look at this dear!" He said. " This might be a fun surprise for Jim!"

Jim, who was just coming out with a biscuit stuffed in his mouth and firmly clutching a bowl of water inquired "What's a surprise?"

" Something not to be looked into by certain people." He emphasized these last words. Jim shrugged and set the water down. "I say Dad, can you take me fishing down at Willow Bend this afternoon? I saw a whopper yesterday."

"Well, I have a couple of things I need to finish writing for Mr. Manson, and a call to make, but, I'll see." replied his father.

Jim nodded, grinned, snatched a scone, and was off running with Tait at his heels, to find the fishing rods. He had always lived at Ash Tree Farm. His parents had bought the estate from a man in the spy network who was retiring and moving to London. They had fixed up the old house with the help of a few obliging neighbors.

Jim entered a small shed at the bottom of the orchard where tools and other oddments were kept. It had once been a tumbledown old shed, but, with the help of his father he had turned it into his 'private' workshop.

As he entered there came a waft of fine laurel shavings from his latest projects- a fishing box. He was immensely proud of it, despite its wonky nature.

Back at the house Oliver Weller was just getting up to finish his work, when a maid came out of the house and, upon seeing him, walked up to him.  "A telegram for you master Oliver"

She announced,

holding out the piece of paper on which it was written-

'Oliver and Bobby must come. stop.bring luggage.stop. important business.stop. SSB.stop. taxi coming tomorrow morning.stop'

"Blow!" Gesticulated Oliver "We better start packing! Of course I'll have to leave that extra work I've got to do." He started for the bedroom.

Bobby called after him

"What about Jim?"

"We'll call up Minnie. She'll look after him. Poor chap, I won't have time to go fishing with him."

"I'll pack for you. You go off with him. It won't take long."

Jim, summoned to attention, trotted off with his father to fish for trout and perch in the little stream surrounded by willows, hence called, Willow Bend. They spent a happy two hours tickling trout. The art of tickling trout is a difficult skill to master, but Jim had had much practice over the years they had lived there. First of all you have to give it something to eat. Usually a fly or an ant. Then the trout comes up to the surface, and you carefully wiggle your fingers through the water to the trout. You keep wiggling till you touch it, then you let your fingers gently draw tight around the fish, tickling all the time. Then you simply throw the fish up and out of the water towards the land.  Some  were thrown back because of size . They caught 8 between them, Jim 5, and Oliver 3. They then took them up to the shepherd on the hill who lived in a little hut. Jim loved the shepherd, or Old Mertie, and his hut. Old Mertie was a tall old man with as many wrinkles as a paper bag. After he had skinned, boned and filleted the 8 little fish, he invited them in to his cosy kitchen for a cup of hot tea. Oliver told him that he and Bobby had to go off for work for the British Government and that they were sending Jim down to London to stay with a nurse while they were away. Mertie promptly threw up his hands and said, "Why! The boy can stay here, and welcome! Much better than going down to that big town! It wouldn't be 'ealthy!."

"I would send him to you, but, he can't really just go and play about the moors for heaven knows how long, can you lad!" The man winked at his son.

Jim sighed "I suppose not father." "Well we had better skip back down to the house now. Thank you for the tea Mertie." "Well! If he needs anywhere to go, he's welcome here." Said the old shepherd showing them out.

" It won't be for long." said Mr Weller to his son. The two of them wandered down the track that led to the farm, Jim carrying the fish.

Little did he know how long it would be.