Five Carls Came Riding

Five Carls Came Riding.

Appleby, the market town of Westmorland, is a very pretty and distinguished little place. Nestled in the Eden valley with a fine view of the austere sheepscapes of the Pennine range, the town is thronged with visitors in the summer months and upon the occasion of its famous annual gypsy fair. When the sun shines Appleby's fine high street of whitewashed houses and shops gleams with a crisp, neat beauty unmatched by any other in Cumbria. Appleby is pretty, and is modestly aware of the fact.

This town has as much to offer the visitor as Kendal or Penrith in that it boasts a fine old Church, castle, zoo, and museum. If you want a hypermarket , bowling alley or cinema complex you've come to the wrong place. The shops are small, friendly, and accommodating in the way that they all used to be in "the good old days". In truth, Appleby still resides in the good old days and if no more evidence for this than the presence of a genial fishmonger and butcher would suffice, then that would be qualification enough nowadays. From the handmade coiled Cumbrian sausage to the Norman Keep, Appleby is the sort of Olde England that American tourists so want to see, and so rarely ever do.

Hilda Westgarth, 38, married, with two children at Appleby Grammar, was an atypical resident, if you will excuse such a generalization. She was a fine representative of her generation though. She went to Church every Sunday, tucked into fish and chips with her mushy peas three days out of five, and enjoyed her share of crack at the Copper Kettle.Not the cocaine derivative - but good clean gossip. At twelve stone she wasn't light for her height of five foot six, but her wide girth and powerful freckled arms were not considered unshapely by her peers. Unlike most Applebyans she still watched The Price is Right on a twelve inch black and white TV set, and she worked nights.

She was the cleaner at Appleby Museum and she knew every inch of the place. Her friends and relations enjoyed a 15% discount on visits, she enjoyed her residence in one of the castle's cottages at a nominal £15 per week with the free range of the grounds that went with it. When asked where she lived she could say "Up at t'castle" and this was worth every bit as much to her as the £400 pay packet. Her husband, Alf, was a long distance truck driver, so the family was financially well set.

It caused quite a stir in town when the Lottery fund granted £95,000 for modernisation of the museum. Hilda's boss, Doctor Prosser celebrated by giving her a feed at The Royal Oak. Over a full platter of lamb chops he proudly announced his plans for an expansion in the Anglo Saxon section. He revealed his intention that the museum should gain a reputation for specializing in this area, after all, the store rooms were rich in finds from the tumuli of Gaythorn plains. His own finds in fact. Prosser showed her a scatter chart indicating the demographic constitution of the museum's visitors in 1998 and asked her for an opinion.

"Family groups. A lot of children." she observed. " Eee, were there really 29,786 visitors last year?"

"Yes, but very few teenagers, don't you see?" Dr. Prosser's eyes gleamed."We need to appeal more to the youth of today."

Hilda smiled uncertainly, if he meant the bunch of good-fer-nothings that hung around the market cross on weekends she wondered quite how he thought he would appeal to them - offer them disco lights and cheap lager perhaps.

"Interactive computer kiosks, looped video clips, big displays." Prosser smiled. "It'll be a whole new kind of cleaning for you."

"That's wunderful, it'll be reet grand." Hilda tried to match his enthusiasm.

"I'm sending you to Carlisle Museum to see the cleaners in action up there." Prosser continued.

Hilda pursed her lips thinking "there's nowt they could teach me about cleaning", but she remembered stories in the Herald about staff training, it was going on all over nowadays, she smiled and said "professional develipmint trainin' will be interestin' I shouldn't wonder."

"Yes, yes. We must move with the times, Hilda." Prosser condescended, his mind framing the prize exhibit - Jarl Thorgrim enthroned.

*******

Six months later, on a bright May 8th, Appleby Museum hosted local VIPs and members of the press and Cumbrian Tourist Authority to a preview and cocktail party.

Hilda was among the sixty-eight guests. After five minute speeches from Dr.Prosser and Sir Roderick Snayle, the MP for Cumbria, who cut the ribbon in a stroboscopic blitz of flash photography, the guests surged into the museum. Dr. Prosser led Sir Roderick by the arm. The camera team from Look North were there, and it was all very exciting.

Hilda knew every inch of the new set-up too, of course, she had been busy putting the gleam in the cabinets' glass, but she found the visitors' excitement contagious.

They saved the best exhibits to last, those upon the fourth floor. As the MP' stepped upon the trigger plate at the top of the stairs, a low hum of synthesized music rose from the quadraphonic speakers and spot-lights gradually gained intensity - illuminating the armoured skeleton seated upon his tall carved throne.

"I am Thorgrim Swiftsaex, Lord of all Gaythorn." An imperious voice boomed."Enter if you would know more of my World and its ways."

"I say, very good!" chuckled Snayle. "Is it real?"

"Oh yes, Sir. I found the Jarl two years ago, in the great Tumulus Strickland Mound, we recreated the scale mail to the authentic design, likewise the sandals, but the helm, shield cover, sword and belt ornaments are all original - as are the bones of course."

"Most impressive, most impressive." Snayle blinked owlishly at the Jarl. Thorgrim's dark sockets stared back at him.

"Was his throne really decorated with skulls, birds and snakes, like that?" inquired Harry Oldfield of The Gazzette, "Frankly, I think it is rather vulgar."

"The throne is my representation of an assumed original." Prosser said stiffly. "These symbols had iconic value."

"Weren't the Saxons Christian?"Oldfield asked.

"Some were, others were Odinists. Thorgrim was heathen."

" Did you find other skeletons?"

"Yes. It is a major site. See the board here?" He pointed out key features of the dig, "The central mound contained Thorgrim, his wife and horse. These five surrounding tombs contain members of his bodyguard and their horses, his key hearth companions, the Carls."

"You left them there?"

"Yes, we didn't want to disturb the site unduly, but we have some of their equipment in the cases on the right."

"What about the smell? How did you prevent him from smelling bad?" Lady Snayle asked with her nose wrinlkled in obvious distaste. He would have preferred the ghoulish interest that he had anticipated.

Prosser's pale cheeks flushed an angry red, but he answered levelly, " After fourteen Centuries under ground, he smelt as sweet as when he was newly born when we excavated him." He cleared his throat, hot under the TV crew's lights.

Marriane Lees, regional stringer for The Guardian, seized the moment to engender some controversy. " Dr. Prosser, how do you counter the argument that too much is being spent resurrecting the past, and not enough on serving the needs of the people of today?"

"The need for people to understand their past, where they came from, is stronger now than it ever has been." Prosser smiled for the cameras, wishing her to Hell. "We have taken pains to design new facilities that appeal to the youth."

"But this hardly serves the interest of minority groups does it?"

"I'd say that it is very much in their interests to learn about the country in which they now reside."

"Are you saying that Anglo Saxon culture is more important than their own?"

"I am saying that they have every reason to be interested in the national heritage."

"There's no mention of gay life in your depiction of Saxon community is there?"

"In early Saxon communities homosexuals and weaklings were traditionally garroted or trampled into swamps under boards of basket-work." Prosser explained with veiled relish. " Jarl Thorgim's notion of political correctness may differ somewhat from yours."

"If you will step this way now." He led them over to the cabinets on the left side of the room. Here we have a series of five dioramas depicting important aspects of early Saxon life here in Cumbria." Prosser led them over to the first display case. "Press the buttons to hear the descriptions."

Half an hour later, over cocktails, the Camelot representative expressed his satisfaction with the work and praised Prosser lavishly. His appraisal " An edutainment triumph" provided headlines for the local pressmen. Truly the money had been well spent. It was now possible to spend a good hour in the museum, worthy of the 2.50 entrance fee.

Look North briefly filmed Hilda interacting with Aelfric, the computer kiosk in the foyer. She got five out of five in the quiz on The Saxon Home and stressed how interesting it was to learn about domestic life in them days. She said that she was reet proud with the new arrangements, but that she had a lot more dusting to do now. That was Look North's punch line for the feature.

A fortnight later Hilda was to feature in the news again, sadly, this time in a less favourable light.

The trouble began at about half past eight on an otherwise unremarkable Wednesday evening. She was mopping the fourth floor with a mixture of one part shino to seven parts water and the new long mop recommended by the time and motion man, when her back sweep set off an awful chain of events.

She was standing in front of the Jarl with her back to his dais when she drew the mop toward her with her usual vigour. The long handle jabbed up and caught Thorgrim in the eye socket, neatly hooking his head up and off its wire join.

She felt and heard the collision, but had automatically begun her forward sweep. Before she could cry "Oh Lorks!" the head tumbled down and lay on the Jarl's leather skirted lap, spilling its helmet onto the drying floor with an appalling clatter.

On Gaythorn plains the five Carls stirred in their tombs.

"Oh Lorks! I've gone and brorken it." Hilda was horrified. She laid down her offending mop and bent to pick up the helm. The damage was minor, but noticeable.

The five carls began digging.

"Eee, dammit. The helmet's bent in!" Hilda moaned worriedly. "T' professor'll murder me."

She began to hit the inside of the binge with the end of the mop handle in an attempt to restore its shape. Thorgrim's head remained face down in his lap, the direst insult to his honour imaginable.

Limestone rocks tumbled from the five mounds as bony fingers thrust upwards into the cold misty night air.

Hilda thought that her work on the helmet was doing some good. She paused for a pull on her quarter bottle of Bell's.

Five carls stood beside their tombs as their horses assembled.

Hilda picked up Thorgrim's skull and tried to fix the Jarl's skewed lower mandible.

The five Carls came riding. Brynnider, Hoff, Hengst, Grythnoth and Jorling ame riding for their Loafgiver's honour. Brynneder led as he was Thorgrim's sister's son. They spurred their skeletal mounts to greater speed. Wind whistled through their nose bones as they came.

Hilda was trying to reaffix the Jarl's head now.She had some difficulty in setting it at the correct angle. As the five Carl's passed Appleby's War memorial and turned up the castle's drive, Hilda stood back and warily eyed her reconstruction work.

"It'll do" she observed, and then angrily set to complete her mopping. At this rate she wouldn't finish up until ten.

The five Carls dismounted beside the workman's entrance to the museum. The door was propped open to "freshen the air" and allow Hilda easier access to the outside bins. In the foyer the Carl's split up to search the rooms for their Hlaford and the wretch who had wronged him.

As usual, Hilda completed her work by vaccuuming and dusting the Professor's study / office on the second floor. The sound of the Dyson drowned the 'click click' of exploratory skeletal feet as they approached the office door.

Hilda turned to unplug her machine and saw Hoff in the doorway. Hoff balled his brittle fists to do battle.

"Gyahh! A skelinton." Shrieked Hilda in terror.

Hoff scuttled forward for the honour of his Lord. Hilda retreated behind the portmanteau and grasped for something with which she could defend herself.

As Hoff skirted the desk, his jaw gnashing with righteous anger, 9 kgs of metal and plastic smashed clear through his ribs and spine. It would be true to say that Hoff didn't know what hit him, for he had never seen an antiquated typewriter before. Hoff's last thoughts were the shame at not having avenged his loafgiver.

Hilda gaped at the heap of bones in astonishment. From far away on the fourth floor she heard the booming voice, "I am Jarl Thorgrim," something had set off the pressure plate.

At the foot of the stairs to the third floor, she stood blinking in indecision as she heard the breaking of cabinet glass. Sixteen years she had been woring here, she would be damned if she'd see the place wrecked. She strode for the cleaning cupboard as more glass broke upstairs.

On the A66 a police car was radioed news of tripped alarms in the Appleby museum, it executed a deft U-turn and accelerated in the direction of Appleby. "We're on our way." Constable Andrews spoke into his mike. "We'll be there in ten minutes."

With mop in hand, Hilda approached the door of the Saxon room. She peered inside. Brynnider, Hengst and Grythnoth were within. One skeleton, armed now with black iron and green bronze stood beside his Lord. The other two were assembling the remains of Thorgrim's war charriot. Transport fit to return him to his tomb.

Brynneder pointed his saex at Hilda menacingly and vented a harsh gutteral scream of Anglo-saxon.

Hengst and Grythnoth snapped smartly to attention and advanced on her with ash spears raised to the shoulder.

With bucket in one hand and mop in the other, Hilda held her ground. Behind her the soft 'snick snick' of skeletal heels approached stealthily up the stairs.

Hengst lunged first, his thrust was true, but deftly parried by the swinging bucket. As he stepped back to lunge again, the mop handle swept through his fragile neck vertebrae. Hengst fell, as Grythnoth lunged. His ash spear caught harmlessly in Hilda's apron as she twisted to the right and ran a few yards to have the wall at her back. Ducking low her mop scythed effortlessly through Grythnoth's knees and up to collide with a glass diorama cabinet. Grythnoth fell forward, jabbing even as he fell for the honour of his loafgiver. The ash spear plunged deep into the diorama achieving damage that was unmatched by any Viking raid.

Breathlessly, Hilda stood again, with two foes at her feet, she was emboldened to advance upon Brynneder. Jorling charged her from behind his saex raised high, his toothy gape broad in his eagerness to serve the loafgiver. The swell of synthesized music alerted Hilda to the attack on her rear and she turned to greet the saex upon her ample bosom. The dull flaking black metal poked her painfully, but failed to penetrate her linnen apron. Her bucket flailed upards sending Jorling's arm and hand bones sailing through plate glass on the far side of the room. On the back stroke, her galvanized bucket struck Jorling with brutal force, his helmeted head was rammed deeep into his rib cage. Her kick to his pelvis ended Jorling's service to the loafgiver.

It now fell to Brynneder alone to avenge his Lord and hearth companions. This "troll" was cunning and mighty. He too would be cunning. He hurled his Lord's double headed hand axe at the "troll's" back while she was finishing Jorling.

Perhaps it was the many summers' lack of practice? Perhaps it was the shiny floor?

At any rate, Brynneder had thrown better. The axe whipsawed through the air unnoticed by the "troll" and span off into the dark stairwell to finally embed itself in the screen of Aelfric, the twenty-thousand pound Kiosk, on the ground floor.

Seizing the sacred shield of his loafgiver, Bynneder approached Hilda with his saex waist high. She hurled her bucket at him with a grunt. It arced gracefully over his ducked head and impacted the right-hand spot-lights.

Brynneder scuttled forwards as she sidled towards the display cases with her broom held out to hold him off. From the corner of her eye she saw the two handed broad sword propped against an explanatory card. Dropping her mop, she reached through the broken glass and grasped its great wirebound hilt.

Brynneder swung out with his Saex. She danced off sideways swinging her own sword back and above her shoulder as she moved. Her rubber-soled tennis shoes gave her the traction that enabled her to out-manoever Brynneder. She withdrew behind the Jarl as Bynneder struck out again into the space she had occupied just moments before.

Teeth clenched with effort she began the fatal swing. Brynneder saw her intention and knew that he could avoid the ponderous blow, but her sweep would assuredly catch his lord at its extremity. Selflessly he lunged into its path to block the blow with his shield and body. No hearth companion would have done less.

Sadly, in his excitement he forgot that he had no body to speak of. The heavy sword hit the shield driving it straight through his thin bones and into the back of the throne.

Jarl Thorgrim was knocked forwards from his throne and fell to pieces on the floor.

Constables Andrews and Partridge arrived to find Hilda sitting on the throne with an empty bottle of Bell's and a broadsword. He assumed that Hilda had by herself, and for her own wicked pleasure, wrecked the museum.

In the days that followed, the perplexing evidence was sifted and sorted, she was interviewed time and again. The police were quite baffled because there seemed to be only two possible theories that matched the forensic evidence. The first very disturbing theory was that Hilda was telling some version of a very peculiar truth. The second, no less disturbing, was that she was suffering from very complex delusions and had gone to great lengths to engineer evidence that would substantiate her tall stories.

Either way, Dr. Prosser was anxious that she take early retirement from her duties. This didn't happen, however. Thanks to a psychological evaluation that deemed her to be otherwise sane, and her good length of service and long union membership, she retained residence at her cottage and Dr. Prosser was forced to put her on ticket sales instead.The notorious reputation of the haunted museum now drew even larger crowds and Prosser had the five Carls mounted too. He was pleased to note the increased attendence of teenagers, and comforted himself in the knowledge that the museum appealed to the youth of today.