April 2012
The rabbit was not white; it did not have glasses perched upon its nose, nor was it holding an oversized pocket watch in its paw and it definitely, most definitely was not wearing a jacket and waistcoat . . . but when you are three years old and you are called Alice and your most especially favouritest book of all is about the wonderland adventures of another little girl called Alice, there was no possibility of any doubt at all.
Alice let out a shriek, 'Mummy, mummy, it's the white rabbit!', and ran as fast as she could towards it. The rabbit, idly munching on a particularly tender dandelion leaf looked up in surprise; but it didn't really believe the diminutive human represented that serious a threat, he was certain he could easily outrun her from a standing start, and, besides, this leaf was just too good to abandon unless he absolutely had to. However, when her six year old brother came thundering past her the rabbit spun around and showed them both a clean pair of heels.
Marion sighed; she had carefully explained before they left home exactly what an Easter Egg Hunt entailed – how they had to walk around the town park gathering clues at every post marked with a bright yellow happily smiling chick and then, with a full and correctly answered card, they would win a small chocolate egg at the end. But neither of her children had grasped the concept; not in the slightest. Charlie had still searched diligently under every bush expecting to find an egg concealed beneath, and Alice . . . well, Alice was three . . . everything in life was exciting and novel when you were three and, with the attention span of a goldfish, she was racing randomly around the park at anything that moved and an awful lot that did not. Marion was not worried, however, because, she conceded that, if they could spend the whole afternoon in the sunshine, getting fresh air and exercise far away from CBeebies, then it was all worthwhile in the end.
Charlie pursued the rabbit across the lawn, through a flower bed – despite the cry of warning from his mother – and into the churchyard that lay beyond the high stone wall. Of course, the rabbit was not hampered by the gate; it ran underneath it without breaking its stride. Charlie and Alice, however, by the time they had located and wrestled with the ancient catch, were only just in time to see the flash of its white tail as the rabbit disappeared down a large round hole near the far wall.
Marion was not rushing to catch up with them, she knew they could come to no harm in the churchyard, but when she got closer, she was horrified to see Charlie physically restraining Alice from following the rabbit down the hole. She was struggling violently and screaming out, 'Drink me! Drink me!'
It took a while to brush the dirt from a pretty yellow dress and pacify her distraught daughter, but eventually Marion managed to sit her on a bench, and was patiently trying to explain the difference between a story and reality, when Charlie called out, 'Mummy, there's an Easter Egg down here.'
Alice immediately wriggled free and ran over to her brother to share in the excitement. Exasperated, Marion hauled herself up again and followed, 'Charlie, I have tried to explain to you – there are no eggs hidden here, it's all about you collecting the clues, and besides, the church is not a part of the hunt.'
Charlie pulled his arm out of the rabbit hole and knelt to face his mother with that look of intense frustration that only six year old boys can achieve, 'I know, Mummy, I know you've said; but here – look.' Marion reluctantly crouched down beside the hole and peered in; there was nothing but dirt until it disappeared around a bend. 'Charlie, there's nothing . . .' The sun came out from behind a cloud and for a brief instant there was a warm yellow glow. The object half buried inside the hole certainly looked egg shaped, but it was beyond Charlie's reach and she was not prepared to scrabble about herself to investigate. 'Ok, Charlie,' she said, brushing herself down, 'you are absolutely right, there is something down there and I think we should speak to Reverend Shaun rather than try and do something ourselves.'
The church doors were open, but it looked deserted; with a child clutching each of her hands she wandered down the aisle towards the open door in the far corner where the discretely muted sound of Led Zeppelin was playing. Inside she could see Reverend Shaun huddled over a laptop, humming softly to himself, his fingers dancing expertly over the keys. He jumped when she knocked politely on the door. Marion apologised profusely for disturbing him, but, when she had explained the reason for their visit, he leapt up enthusiastically, 'Buried treasure!' he grinned at Charlie and Alice, 'Sounds exciting – we must go and have a look right now.'
With his longer arms it was at least possible to reach the strange object, but while he could run his fingers over its smooth surface, he was no more able to move it than they were. At last, defeated, he reached into his pocket for his mobile phone, 'Terry, it's Shaun; can you help us out at the churchyard – and bring your doo-dah and shovel . . . and a torch – we think we might have found some buried treasure!'
Terry, the church's odd job man, was also a metal detector enthusiast and he arrived a short while later with his equipment slung casually over his shoulder. Alice and Charlie watched, fascinated, as he slowly rotated the donut shaped ring inside the rabbit hole, producing a weird collection of crackles and beeps, while Terry watched the oscillating dial with an expert eye. Finally, he switched it off and said, 'Shaun, you don't really want me poking about in there with my shovel, there are several distinct areas of different densities and maybe even different metals; I think you might be right, this could easily be buried treasure and from the looks of the bit we can see, this should really be professionally excavated.'
'Like on Time Team?' Charlie asked, having watched Tony Robinson on TV after they had done a dig near his school last year. The program had stirred up his adventurous instincts, which had resulted in a book on the building of the pyramids for his birthday.
Terry laughed, 'Well, I am sure we couldn't get people like that interested, but I do know some locals who sometimes get involved in digging.' He looked at Shaun, 'Is there anyone you need to talk to before we start excavating the churchyard?'
Shaun said, 'Well, strictly speaking the church is my sole responsibility, but I might run it past Ken . . . I took over from him when he retired. What he doesn't know about church business you could write on the back of a postage stamp.'
When the dig began, Charlie squeezed himself into pole position where he could observe every single piece of the exciting action as it unfolded; every shovelful of earth removed, every scrape of the trowel, every gentle tease with the palette knife. Alice, however, once she had realised that they were neither going to find her white rabbit, nor help her to crawl down the rabbit hole herself, rapidly lost interest and she spent most of the time in the swing park making her mother's arms ache.
When Marion finally got back she could see that the crew were all quite excited; balanced on the piles of earth around them were several heavy duty plastic bags, in each of which a dull earth coloured object sat looking perfectly ordinary. But the expression on Shaun's face was enough to convince her that they must be far from ordinary. An old man was standing beside Shaun, his white hair cascading out from under his trilby hat, his long black coat was very 'Matrix'. He looked for all the world like a Vicar, but, when he turned to greet her, it was quite obvious that his open necked shirt bore no trace of a clerical collar.
'Hello,' his smile was warm, comforting, professional, 'You must be Marion . . . and this . . .' his knees cracked painfully as he crouched down to a three year old level, 'must be Alice.' He ruffled her hair and said, 'I have heard so much about you, my dear . . . quite the adventurer – seems you and your brother have truly found buried treasure.'
Alice was warming to this strange man; she said, earnestly, 'Have you found the white rabbit yet?'
He grinned, 'Sorry, but no . . . we have, however, found some very beautiful things, which we would never have found without the help of a very clever little girl and boy.' Groaning he pulled himself up to his full height again, 'Marion, according to the Parish records, a hundred years ago the church was broken into, cleaned out of all of its valuables: plates, candlesticks, the lot. Seems the police pounced on the local villain, but he had nothing on him; they thought he must had stashed it somewhere close for safe keeping until the heat died down. Trouble was, the old boy suffered a fatal heart attack during the questioning, so the secret of where it was hidden died with him. They apparently searched everywhere, but it was never found. If this is where he buried it, that would make perfect sense – the very last place anyone would ever think to search for his booty.'
Ken opened one of the bags and held up what appeared to be a goblet, he wiped it gently on his sleeve and the golden glow shone through. Cupping his fingers around the bowl he said, 'There now, doesn't that look just like an Easter Egg to you?'
The following Sunday Marion received a call from Shaun and she and the two children hurried back to the church before the service was due to begin; Shaun was carefully arranging silver plates, candlesticks, salvers and goblets on a small table in front of the altar. 'Aren't they beautiful?' he said, his voice vibrating with pride and passion, 'we are going to show the congregation our good fortune today and then we are going to get a proper cabinet to display them in – together with a photograph of the adventurers who discovered them, of course.'
He smiled at Charlie and produced from the front pew a long box; as soon as he saw the picture on the side, the boy whooped with joy, 'Our Terry goes metal detecting on the local fields most Saturdays and he thought that if you had your own machine you might like to go with him sometimes.' Charlie was ecstatic and, most unusually, lost for words.
Shaun handed an enormous bag to Alice; she reached inside, her fingers sinking into soft fur. As she heaved it out of the bag she squealed with delight . . . this rabbit was white; it had glasses perched upon its nose, it was holding an oversized pocket watch in its paw and it definitely, most definitely was wearing a red jacket and a yellow waistcoat.