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The Magazine
For all the Family
June 26, 2000
ARGOLYN'S BELL
By
James W.B. Laing
They sat silently in thought on the concrete embankment that separated the railway tracks from the water, their sneakered feet dangling inches above the deep, peat- darkened water at the eastern end of the loch. They were gazing toward the bright orange evening sun as it slowly lost its hold on the day, slipping behind the Cairngorm Mountains barely visible far to the west. They hadn't spoken for ten minutes, each feeling a little sadness with the knowledge that this would be their last summer together before going their separate ways to further their education and careers. Their thoughts were retracing all the good and bad episodes of their eighteen years of inseparable life together. Their melancholy was soon replaced with the anticipation and excitement of their lifelong ambition and challenge with all its planning that would finally be realized the following morning.
They looked at each other then synchronized their watches and nodded their heads in unison knowing there could be no backing out...they were committed to the 'assault.'
Mike MacDonald was six feet, one inch tall, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and of athletic build. Jake Gordon, at five feet, eleven inches, slim with dark brown hair, and piercing dark brown, eyes, also of athletic build. Ian McCallum stood at five feet, nine inches, with reddish blonde hair, pale blue eyes, powerfully built with very broad shoulders and inclined towards feats of strength rather than speed in sporting events.
"We'd better head home before it gets dark. We've gotta get an early start," said Ian, to which the others grunted in agreement, scrambling to their feet. Ian leaped across the railway tracks and on to the two-lane highway shouting, "See you guys bright and early." He headed east along the highway for half a mile to the granite stone cottage where he was born.
. Mike and Jake jogged along the tracks heading west for a short time, not saying anything, their minds fully occupied with the following morning's project.
Jake nudged Mike, veered off the tracks, leapt the wire fence separating the golf course from the tracks, and headed towards his parent's house, a hundred yards from the edge of the seventh fairway of the local golf course, at the eastern end of the village.
Mike continued on; abandoning the tracks just before the railway station and trotted to his grandparents' house facing the village green in the centre of the village of Argolyn on the banks of the River Dee.
The wheels were now in motion. At long last they were now ready to fulfil their lifelong dream. The ancient castle with its surrounding acres of wooded estate would be totally deserted at the scheduled 'assault' time of 8:30 a.m. The timing would be perfect. Being Sunday, everyone in the village would be either having their breakfast or getting ready for church; services were held at staggered times, starting from 9:00 a.m., and normally dragged on for at least an hour and a half.
The castle was partially surrounded by the village on the west, south and east sides. To the north, lay the Granite Hills, strewn with huge glacial formed granite boulders and with scattered clumps of broom interspersed with their brilliant yellow flowers that clung to the otherwise barren hills. Small splashes of budding purple heather and bright green ferns hid the ice cold springs of water that gurgled, trickled and tumbled melodiously over hidden rocks and pebbles, flowing hurriedly into Argolyn Loch. Fortunately, the castle was uninhabited, as it had been for many years.
They'd rambled throughout the castle so many times during their lifetime; they knew every room, passage and stairways. Even certain ancient secret passages leading to small hidden rooms they'd discovered by their gentle removal, and replacement, of some of the various rooms' wall panels, the knowledge of which they kept to themselves. They'd roamed its dank and dusty rooms and corridors both day and night.
As for their dream, they'd had it since as far back as they could remember, and had promised each other they'd fulfil it when they were older...and bigger. Each had sworn to the other absolute secrecy many years ago and now felt the thrill of excitement and anticipation of the long awaited 'assault.'
A friend of the families, retired General Anthony C. Paxton, had unwittingly inspired them to come up with their plan and taught them a great deal about similar escapades and clandestine tactics that he'd experienced during his military years in India and North Africa. The General was a tall man, about six foot six inches, lean and bony with a large Roman nose that separated his bushy spiked eyebrows and shadowed his thick black and grey moustache. An outstanding and impressive figure of a man who was well noted for being outspoken, much to the consternation of many of the society-conscious people who had retired to Argolyn, it being the preferred area of residence for many aristocratic families. He wasn't impressed with, nor had time for, their societies and committees they persistently organized to provide aid to the local less privileged people. Such people whom stubbornly refused their charity and constantly had to resort to vociferously proclaim their lack of appreciation for the unwelcome attention. They were a very proud and independent people. However, the 'societies' carried on with their ego boosting efforts regardless, and continued to assault the General with a perpetual barrage of invitations to attend their affairs, which he continued to ignore, much to their frustration.
The trio would approach the castle from three directions, Mike from the West Gate on Balwhidder Road, Jake from the South Gate at the northern end of the village and Ian from the East Gate on Home Farm Road. All would be wearing subdued-coloured clothing that would enable them to blend into the colour scheme of the estate, hoping they wouldn't be noticed by the three grounds-keepers residing at each of the grey, stone gate-houses...or by any of the village people who happened to be about at that time of day.
They'd been planning this long awaited 'assault' for months, long before the high-school closed for the summer at which time their high-school education would be complete and their presence there no longer required. They felt somewhat melancholy about the finality of it. They'd spent a good part of their lives at Argolyn Public High School. Now, the bond that they felt unbreakable would soon be torn asunder, becoming just another uncertain chapter in the books of their lives.
Each had girlfriends who had 'tom-boy' attributes. They were almost as rough and tumble as their boyfriends, and not considered 'lady-like' by most of the people in the village...something that neither of the young women could care less about. Mike went with Susan, a brunette, whose father was the local doctor. Ian, with Mabel who had a twin sister, Margaret, who went with Jake. The twins were blue-eyed blondes whose father owned a high tech. communications and electrical supply company. He provided half the country with sophisticated communication needs...transmitters, receivers, portable radios and speaker systems for all the various events that took place where needed. He was known locally as the 'brain,' not in a derogatory sense, he was well liked by all that knew him, but due more to his electronic and communications experiments.
As expected, the three girlfriends were somewhat annoyed by the lack of attention they were receiving from their boyfriends during the past few months, especially since they'd been going steady for several years. About seven, or eight, weeks earlier, the twins had given Jake and Ian identical gold neck-chains with thick gold lockets, each containing their photographs inside, as a memento of their affection. The recipients felt it was more of a gesture to ensure that there would be no 'roaming off to greener pastures' and felt a little guilty about their neglect of the girls, but their 'assault' had to be planned and carried out. Their close affairs with the young women were, at times, becoming somewhat serious; sometimes they felt a little too much so. The three young women were, obviously, becoming suspicious that perhaps their boyfriends were tiring of them and were in the market for new 'squeezes.' They'd tried many times to find out how things were with their young men, but all they were told was, their studying for final exams, plus their preparations for further education and major steps towards future careers, was taking up their time, and that everything would soon be back to normal. The young women didn't believe a word of it.
Their 'assault' had been mentally rehearsed over and over, down to the smallest detail. They'd worked so long and hard; they'd forgotten what had prompted them to carry it out in the first place. When they'd discussed it later, they remembered it was the tale of the 'Green Lady.' A superstition that had endured in the village for centuries about a green, copper weather vane.
This weather vane was situated on top of one of the peaks of the several slated roofs of Argolyn Castle, and was forged in the shape of a young woman dressed in a flowing robe with her arms outstretched. Being of copper and with the course of time and frequent wet weather, it had turned green, thus the birth of the 'Green Lady'. Over many years, and perhaps a few too many glasses of whisky, some of the villagers had laid claim to having seen this 'Green Lady,' walking across the castle's front lawn at night, only to disappear in the shadow of a huge and ancient oak tree that commanded the east side of the spacious front lawn. Rumour had it that it was the ghost of the sixteen year old daughter of the Earl of Argolyn who, in the seventeenth century, had killed herself by jumping from the top of the south east tower after her father had killed her lover in a fit of rage. He hadn't approved of the young man, or of his family, who, the Earl believed, had killed one of his deer that abounded on his estate. The villagers considered the killing of a deer, which were plentiful, as no cause for the slaying of the young man.
The Earl's vicious temper had been displayed throughout the county and his tenants or the people of the village did not hold him favourably, most of who worked for him in the castle, on his estate and on his many farms.
Outwardly, they'd begrudgingly displayed respect for him due to his position of being ' The Laird' and their employer, but behind closed doors, and in the local pub, "The Argolyn Arms," they'd expressed their intense dislike of him, almost to the point of hatred. In fact, the more the locals drank; the more they'd seemed to detest him. In any case, that's how the story of the 'Green Lady' began. Very few people would walk near the castle late in the evening and never in the dark of night. Word had been passed down through the years, that on certain warm summer nights, the inaccessible castle's bell could be heard softly and mournfully tolling and the young lady's spirit seen standing atop the ramparts of the southeast tower. No one living could ever recall hearing the bell ring. They were good people, who worked hard for a living each day, but were totally naive about that which they didn't understand and believed almost everything supernatural that others told them. It had always been this way in Argolyn
The castle was still partially habitable. In fact, a small section of it had been considered a temporary home for a group of conservationists for many years, until the present Earl, true to form, had them evicted about five years previously. He was certainly not disappointing his ancestors with a change of inherited reputation.
Many a midnight, the trio had slipped into the castle and successfully petrified the conservationists with their 'ghostly wails.' Their mischievous pranks gave them numerous memorable hours of pleasure on reflections of their past deeds, and from all this, the 'assault' was born.
The night before the 'assault' was a troublesome one. Unable to sleep, and to make matters worse, a ferocious thunder and lightning storm with torrential rain was jeopardizing all their plans. Each prayed that the summer storm would soon blow itself out and the ground would dry quickly in the warm, early morning sun. It would be impossible for them to carry out the 'assault' if the weather didn't co-operate. This would be their last opportunity before they left the village to pursue their various future lifestyles.
Mike was to spend the summer with his mother in the city (his parents were divorced and he was living with his grandparents). Ian had promised to help his uncle on his farm. That left only Jake, who wasn't committed to anything for the summer. They all agreed that Jake couldn't possibly carry out the 'assault' alone...it was dangerous enough for three...unthinkable for one.
They'd been close friends since starting school on the same day, and after all these years, were now inseparable; everything they did, they did together. This would be the first summer they'd be separated. They knew it would have to happen sooner or later as they grew older, but it seemed to come upon them so suddenly. Although Jake didn't have to go anywhere or do anything for the summer, he knew that if he didn't find some form of occupation, even farm labouring, he'd go out of his mind with boredom...Ian and his uncle took care of that situation when the time came.
They had many other friends, but they weren't compatible, and not the kind who would be capable of, or willing, to participate in some of the many risky pranks they were involved in for the mere challenge. The fact was, they were incorrigible, reckless young men who were stretching their luck just enough not to get caught at their antics, which were usually just on the borderline of breaking the law...which was the challenge. If the local authorities ever found out about their deeds...they didn't want to think about it. They'd never given a thought of the future when they'd have to be responsible adults. They'd lived for the moment; the future would take care of itself when it came...now it was here.
Jake awoke just before daybreak from a troubled sleep. Lying in bed, he looked out his bedroom window and waited for the sun to show itself through the trees across the golf course to the east, before getting up. The sun's creeping arrival slowly drenched the leaves of the trees with a coat of burnished gold; this was followed by the cawing of the flocks of rooks that nested in the trees during the night. They slowly rose, circling and squawking at the first sign of the sun's rays, before collectively labouring over his house towards the castle where they took up daily residence on the towers and the many roofs, chattering and fluttering all day at the slightest sound or disturbance. It had been like that forever, or at least since the castle was built.
The three were out of bed, washed, shaved and dressed and were having a hasty breakfast by 6:30 a.m., before anyone else in the house awoke. They had to leave before their families came down for breakfast; they didn't want to answer any awkward questions as to why they were up so early on a Sunday. They'd agreed to leave notes stating that they were off for a long, early morning jog, and training for the County Athletics Competition that was scheduled for the following month. They also didn't want their early departure to cause any suspicious looks after the result of their deed, which was certain to have repercussions, and be spread throughout the county.
Ian, dressed in black hiking shorts and a green short-sleeved shirt, quietly left his house by the back door. He picked up a thirty foot coil of heavy duty, three quarter inch rope which he'd hidden the night before, slung it across his shoulders, hoping it would be strong enough...also hoping he would be strong enough to carry it's considerable weight to the castle. He headed for the East Gate on Home Farm Road. They weren't sure if they'd need the rope, but thought it might come in handy just in case. He trotted west along the seldom-used railway track until he came to a bend, which took him out of sight of his house where he slowed to a fast walk and checked his watch. It was 7:10 am....lots of time. He checked back in his memory. Did he bring all that he was supposed to bring...was it just the rope? He hoped that thirty feet would be sufficient...a life could possibly depend on it.
Mike left his house about the same time, making his way west along the main road for half a mile and turned right onto Balwhidder Road that led to the West Gate. He was dressed in tan shorts, a brown short-sleeved shirt and running shoes. On his belt, he carried a sheath knife that he thought might be useful, and protruding from his pocket was a powerful flashlight that he knew they'd need since most of the corridors in the castle were quite dark, even in the light of day.
Jake, similarly dressed, left his house at the same time as the others. He carried a small bag of climbers' chalk, a mountaineer's pick and a pair of old climbing boots which barely fit him, all of which he secretively 'borrowed' from his brother, whom he hoped wouldn't find out about their temporary disappearance. He made his way through the silent village to the main South Gate.
Fortunately, the village was totally deserted. It would be about 8:45 a.m. before the first of the inhabitants would emerge from their homes. Some, on their way to their churches and some heading for the river, or loch, to enjoy more interesting pastimes of a summer Sunday with their fishing rods and reels, and not without great expectations.
The trio sneaked un-noticed, past their assigned gates and converged on their target, walking carefully along the tree lined sides of the gravel driveways, cautiously looking around every so often to make sure that no grounds-keeper, or anyone else, was about. They met on schedule in the castle courtyard, beneath an ancient elm tree that grew close to the wall and would be their means of entry, as it had always been.
Ian was the first to climb the tree and slide along the familiar thick branch, worn smooth from frequent slidings and that had been cut short at a second floor window. They always left this particular, easy to move window, open no more than half an inch, enough for them to slip their fingers under and raise it, but not enough for any one to notice the small opening from the ground. Ian slowly and quietly raised the window, still carefully looking around for any signs of activity that could jeopardize everything.
Once through the window, he waited for the others to pass him the heavy rope and follow. When inside, they gently closed the window and were met with the overpowering musty and damp atmosphere that filled the entire abandoned castle; a sharp contrast to the warmth of the morning sun's rays and the clear, fresh summer air outside.
Mike switched on his flashlight, shining it on the floor and keeping it low, just in case someone might see the glow. He led the way along the rubble-strewn corridor, evidence of other intruders over time, to the stairway leading downstairs to the castle's vast and main kitchen, the only way they could reach their target. Inside the kitchen, were multiple, old, coal burning cooking stoves and huge ovens, once necessary for cooking the many meals for the previous Earls and their families, their numerous guests and a vast staff of servants. There were also several gas-operated stoves of later origin scattered around the room. Probably used for the last full time resident, the present Earl of Argolyn who'd been living in his London residence for the past forty years, allowing his castle to deteriorate to its present state of dilapidation. Those who knew him, said that the Earl wouldn't spend a penny for the upkeep of his ancestral home that had been, and still was, a magnificent structure. He only paid for the grounds-keepers who kept the woods and the grounds in their original meticulous condition.
No one knew why the Earl abandoned his castle and allowed it to deteriorate. Some said he left when he was a young man, spurned by the daughter of an English Duke when he proposed marriage to her. Naturally, some of the locals said it was the curse of the 'Green Lady'. No one really knew, but it always left some pleasurable speculation on the part of the villagers, each of who had a different tale to tell the curious tourist who was only too willing to supply copious quantities of the pub's best to the orator who grew thirstier as he expounded lengthily on the subject of the 'Green Lady' and the Earl of Argolyn. In truth, it was locally considered that the extremely wealthy Earl was merely eccentric, but no one in the village really cared.
They passed through the dank, musty kitchen, through a door at the north end and began to climb some dust-covered stairs. These stairs led all the way to the top of the castle. Off this stairway, at each level, branched out the many corridors leading to the numerous rooms, halls and the two towers. They continued their climb to the second floor, walking quietly, avoiding the trash in the corridor, to the stairs that lead to their target...the southwest tower. An occasional rat scurried across their path, giving them the shivers. They'd taken this route so many times in the past and had explored every inch of the place, but they never got used to the rats which always un-nerved them.
They'd almost reached the stairs that would take them to their tower, when suddenly they froze...someone was creeping silently toward them in the dark of the corridor. Mike immediately switched off his flashlight and they slid quickly and quietly into a side room, the door of which was lying in the dust and rubble on the floor. They remained silent so they could identify the shadowy person and avoid being discovered.
Soon, they recognized the figure of a man. A man bent over from the weight of a sack slung over his shoulder. As the figure came closer, they realized it was the father of the Anderson lads.
The Andersons were generally considered the poorest family in the village, living in a tar-paper shack to the north of the castle, at the foot of the Granite Hills, and were extremely introverted; they never mixed with the others, even when invited to join in conversations. They kept to themselves, and everyone felt obliged to respect their feelings. Their father did odd jobs, wherever and whenever, there were any. Somehow, they always managed to get by. Although the lads were always clean, they were usually unkempt, their clothes covered in patches. Most people felt pity for them, but knew better than offer them charity. They too, were proud, and would take care of themselves.
When Anderson was about thirty feet from them, Ian kicked an empty bottle into the corridor and gave out a deep resounding cough. The man gasped audibly in surprise, dropped his sack and fled in the opposite direction, tripped and tumbled cursing down a flight of stairs to the ground floor, where he disappeared through an open window.
The trio, somewhat shaken, ran across the room to the window opposite the doorway, peered through the dirty window pane and watched the man, occasionally looking back over his shoulder, run like a deer from the rear of the castle, in the direction of the Granite Hills.
Once they'd recovered from this unexpected disruption, they crept out into the corridor to see what was in the abandoned sack. Ian lifted it a few inches from the floor but had to let it drop due to its weight. It hit the floor with a dull clanking sound and a cloud of dust. Carefully, they opened it to see what treasures it held, but to their surprise, all it contained were chopped up pieces of lead. Suddenly, it dawned on them. Anderson was stripping off the lead that lined and weatherproofed the castle roof and its tower--- obviously selling it to city scrap merchants who, unscrupulously, paid good money for such scarce material. There had to be tons of it in the castle. They now realized how the Andersons were getting by.
Mike whispered, "Let's leave it where it is. He'll probably come back to see if it's still here, but not today...that's for sure. We scared the hell out of him and if the Earl doesn't give a damn about this place, why should we?" The others agreed and headed back towards the stairs leading to the tower that fate was calling them to.
Each was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of apprehension and uncertainty that what they were about to do, was possibly something that was beyond their capabilities, and a great deal more dangerous than they originally thought.
If you'd like to read more of Jim Laing's wonderful work,
then you can contact him at:
Copyright 2000, J.W.B. Laing. All Rights Reserved.
The Indian Tracker By J.W.B. Laing
Argolyn's Bell, by J.W.B. Laing
The Nick Hardy Story (Don't miss it!)
Bobby R Woodall Author of "Mercer's Manor"
Read more of Bobby R Woodall's work
More excellent work by Bobby R Woodall
My novels can be seen at
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http://www.btinternet.com/~mikeco158/cuppa1.htm
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My Family in Memoriam
In Memory of my Stepmother Lillian
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In Memory of my Grandmother (on my mum's side)
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Contributors Stories and Pictures
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Mike's military days (Pictures not to be missed!)
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My Own Tales (Short stories by Mike Coatesworth)
The Cave (Short story By Mike Coatesworth)
My Lady (Short story By Mike Coatesworth)
The Early Riser (Short story By Mike Coatesworth)
Paradise (Short Story by Mike Coatesworth)
The Power (Short story by Mike Coatesworth)
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An amusing tale from Mollie Matthews
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A trip down memory lane (Readers Memories)
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