The Adventures of Gally and the Roundtable

In the Dead of Night

The moonlight beams down from behind me, my shoulder lit up from the light. Like Peter Pan my shadow takes a life of it's on the mossy ground underfoot. Looking at my little home I am overcome with a sense of calm. The familiarity of it is comforting, and I think I will miss this. I take one last look at the map on the back of the letter, as I bring it out of my pocket. Confirming the route, I turn to face the opposite direction and pace down the path. About this time people are settling down for dinner, or bathing after a long day. The paths are pretty quiet at this time which awfully handy, my means of leave, not even escape, have naturally been made easier.

Coming to the end of the path I need to turn right down towards the Southern perimeter. On the left-hand side of the path there is a corn field, stretches as far as I am able to see towards the East. An unmade road leads you down alongside the corn field, a dilapidated farm building is on the other side. The thoughts of the homestead fill my mind, as the nights darkness consumes me. As much as I disliked the perimeter walks after a while, I am missing them already. Thinking of my poor mum being worried, and disappointed at me leaving alone. At least she will have Merlin to keep her company, dozy bloody dog. Although I kept myself to myself for the most part, not seeing those same faces everyday will be odd. I wonder if Jerry is doing ok, I do hope he was just sleeping.

Getting to the end of the trail I come to the checkpoint, a small little wooden hut like the others sits to the left. A little worse for wear compared to the others as it sits at the furthest point from the homestead. Some of the wooden slats are missing and the roof now sits at an angle, the poor little thing does look very sorry for itself. The flickering light from a lit lantern scatters across the path, illuminating all of the potholes and stones ready to trip me. Delicately placing each step around the large stones in the road, I eventually get to the front of the hut. The lantern is there but Donnal isn't, the stool pushed to the back is free of an occupant. To be honest as much as I am disappointed, him not being here is better for me. I don't have to lie to someone else or try and think of some elaborate story as to why I am leaving the homestead at dusk. My cheeks puff out as I release a sigh of relief, my shoulders drop a little as some tension releases.

Going across the path is a wooden beam, sitting on a plinth at both ends. This was put in so visitors on horseback were made to stop, those travelling by foot were able to walk around. However, for me to do that I would have to walk partly into the corn field. The long stems reaching up at about six feet in height freak me out, like giants swaying in the night air. I wish to avoid it at all costs, so I walk over to the wooden beam. Normally a winch would lift it at one end, but I don't have the strength to operate it. Instead I choose to slip under it to make my get away. Crouching down on my hands and knees, I drag my knees across the stone path. Wincing in pain I make my way to the other side.

"I should have walked around it," I say to myself as I scramble to my feet.

Standing up I brush myself down of the dust and grit from the road, straighten my hoody and readjust my neckerchief belt. Then up from behind the hut, from the direction I came from, I hear someone coughing. The dragging of feet across the gravel floor follows as the sounds carries through the still night. Not wanting to get caught at this point I go against my better judgement; I quickly shuffle to the edge of the road jumping into the corn field. Using it as cover I am just on the inside of the first row. This where my dark attire will come into its own, against the dark eery back drop of an unharvested corn field. I look up from where the coughing came from and see Donnal dragging his feet under him down the path, it looks as though he hasn't been up for long.

Lucky for me...

He is just in the light from his lantern as he gets closer. Walking around to the front of the hut he perches himself down on his stool. Fumbling in his scruffy deep pockets he pulls out a little hessian bag full of tobacco and stuffs a small pinch into the top of his elaborate smoking pipe.