Southend U3A

October 2023

The Key - Malcolm Fyfe

Sitting in my less than comfortable armchair, once again I viewed the small wooden trunk that had frustrated me in my attempts to solve a series of clues once hidden within its depths.

Over a long span of some thirty years, I had solved two of the three but the third proved more than elusive.

A knock on my door startled me and the door opened. A bearded man of about thirty now stood in the open doorway calling with a cheery ‘good morning.’

My grandson David sat down and after the usual pleasantries tripping backwards and forward, looked at the trunk, ‘still causing you problems?’ knowing the obsession I had developed.

He walked over. ‘Can I open it?’

‘Yes, the key is inside but don’t lock it please, I was told years ago when Peter Gilbert made the key. you on got one go. as the mechanism is very old.’

He paused, his eyes viewing me over his mug of coffee. ‘You know I’ve been thinking about the trunk, or box, or whatever it is. I know a tallyman, he’s retired now, used to work on the docks at Tilbury, he’s a bit of an expert on wood, worked in the import of timber from all over the world. Maybe if you could identify where the wood came from, you might be able to track down its origins. Now he’s an antiquarian, studied items in particular from the far east.’

‘I’ll I take some photos, clicking away with some ultra-modern gadget beats me how they get cameras into phones.

After a while he left and I settled down with my paper and a box of shortcake, courtesy of my thoughtful visitor, while I eyed the trunk with a combination of mild irritation and dislike.

A week or so my phone rang, ‘Its David. Got a bit of news for you. Mark, the man I told you about, the retired Tallyman, is very interested and would like to talk it over with you. I’ll get a meeting set up.’

Time passed and I was beginning to wonder if David had forgotten but he did call in a while. ‘Theres a bit more to your trunk than I thought, can you come up to London and meet some people?’

‘I can but what’s it about?’

‘I don’t really want to discuss it on the phone, I’ll give you some directions in a couple of days bye from now.’

Several weeks later I found myself approaching a small museum off Russell Square in London, having had a tedious journey on the tube to Holborn, with the trunk in a rucksack tucked between my feet.

In twenty minutes or so of walking I pulled over the one half of the glass double doors of a brick-built museum and saw David standing in the Atrium.

Shaking hands, he guided me to a small side room at he back of the entrance hall where three men stood waiting.

David said, Let me introduce Mark, the chap who has done some digging for you, this is Simon Redwood, the Director of the museum and Adir Soolum, the Cultural Attache at the Egyptian embassy here in London.

I spotted a cloth covered object on a side table.

Simon Redwood spoke in a very polished manner, ‘I must say welcome to the museum, thank you for coming, looking at his watch, ‘dead on time I see.’

‘We may have some news for you about your trunk, I see you brought it in your backpack?’

‘Yes,’ and I lowered the pack carefully, lifting out the small trunk. As I did so, the Attache lifted his hands almost in a prayer-like gesture.

The director stepped forward and carefully opened the lid, whilst examining the trunk. Taking out the key, he held it up to the light, examining it with interest.

Kneeling down, he took from his waistcoat pocket the smallest of penknives, as would have been used to sharpen a quill pen a while back.

Applying a little pressure, he ran the flat side of the tiny blade down the side of the back panel. ‘Now, let’s see . . .’ and stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Ah, got it,’ and smiled at the now semi rigid Attache. ‘This is it’.

‘Let me explain, David and Mark have done a lot of work and, knowing my interest in Egyptian history, sent me copy of the picture of the trunk. It’s the wood that tells a story as Mark suggested, it’s made from cedarwood – very rare and very old. I too recognised it as being extremely rare, probably dating back to the twelfth or thirteen century B.C. The Cairo Museum of Art have what we consider to be a duplicate. I contacted the Mr Soolum, the Egyptian Cultural Attache, here in London, who made some enquires in Cairo.’ He gestured to the attaché, ’perhaps Adir, if I may call you that, should continue.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said the smiling man. ‘I spoke to the museum in Cairo and I would say this discovery has caused a bit of a sensation. To verify matters, we have arranged for the original to be sent here. It took a little time but we have it. So can we carry on please,’ he said, with a slight lisp.

With a nod the museum director peeled back the cloth that covered the object on the table, resulting in an absolute silence and five intakes of breath. There was an exact copy of my trunk down to the last detail.

He picked up my trunk and placed it side by side with its double, glancing at the attaché for approval he said softly. ‘Let’s try your key, bearing in mind this has not been opened for many hundreds of years.’

Easing the key in, he gently turned it and, with a soft click, the lock opened. He lifted the lid and looked into the dusty interior. Tucked in a corner was what might have been a rolled-up papyrus.

‘Now that’s something we must not touch, its very fragile and we need a expert on that. Now I think we have one more surprise, the historical notes are correct,’ and reached for the key.

‘Be careful, when Peter Gilbert first opened the lock, he warned me that you only get one go.’

‘Very well but no turning back now but we’ll keep the lid open.

He moved the key again and a small metallic scrape could be heard.

‘I believe that your trunk has a small groove in the side, if we put them together, there will be a latch coming from the original box, it will lock to your box,’ he said, tapping the lid for effect. ‘If we do that they will be locked for ever, no separation.’

I can know tell you that this original belonged to an Egyptian King and your trunk was to be a wedding gift to his future wife, to be filled, we believe, with gold, various items to be locked together, with no separation for all time.’ He smiled. ‘Very romantic but events intervened and the marriage never happened and the trunks remained separated . . . until now.’

‘Quite a story.’

When we settled down, Simon Redwood spoke. ‘I’m sure you understand, we would like the trunk of yours here in our museum. Quite a coup for us and we would be willing to pay a reasonable sum.’

With a polite cough, the smiling Egyptian said softly, ‘Indeed its part of our history, we don’t want a bidding war but I can assure you the Egyptian government would compensate you very well if you would agree to its homecoming, it would be cared for and well protected.’

‘I agree.’ This coming from Simon the Director, ‘If you trust us, leave it with us and we will be in contact. I’ll probably phone you when we’ve sorted it out. Just a few weeks.

Feeling slightly strange, I made my way home, feeling slightly unsure about the way things had gone and my rucksack, light but for a map of London and a bottle of water.

About three weeks later, there was a soft drop of an envelope on my door mat. Curious, I turned over the letter to see a logo ‘The London Museum of Middle Eastern Studies’. Feeling unsure, I telephoned David and asked him to come round, telling him of the, as yet, unopened letter.

Next morning, he appeared, all smiles. ‘Let’s see what they have to say, eh?’

He scanned the letter, paused and read it again, this time a little more slowly.

He read it out, the gist of it was that if I agreed, both the trunks would go to the museum in Cairo to be established in their Centre of Egyptian Art for further study.

‘Hold on to your hat . . . the directors of the Centre would be prepared to make an offer of five million pounds, which is an estimate of its value at a Public Auction. We would appreciate hearing from your as to whether this is satisfactory. Simon Redwood (Director)

I sat there, slightly stunned. ‘What do you think?’ breathed David.

‘Yes of course, the money doesn’t matter, although it’s very generous, the money matters in that the boxes are together as they should have been a very long time ago and I’m happy with that. It’s a good outcome and for the first time in years life felt very good.