May Day

A Young Explorer Finds a Secret

Timothy goes exploring for mini-beasts, but meets a ghost

Timothy swatted some nettles aside with his stick, plastic binoculars bumping against his barrel chest as he strode purposefully through long grass and bindweed which tangled around the abandoned garden. His Aunty Ruth had given him the binoculars when he and Mum arrived at her house that morning. They came as part of a smart set of explorer’s equipment, and he’d eagerly fastened the plastic walkie-talkie and other items to his belt.

Now Mum and her sister Ruth were talking and drinking coffee.

He was dying to try out all the gadgets so he’d pleaded to be allowed into the garden to play

“Be careful,” Mum warned, a stern look on her face meant don’t break anything.

“There’s a wild spot behind the greenhouse Timmy,” Aunty Ruth said. “The fence panel has fallen down, but don’t go in there, it’s next door’s and doesn’t belong to us.

Timothy was out and running over her neatly mown grass before the grown ups could issue any more instructions.

“Mr and Mrs Wood were a nice couple, but old, ” Ruth sighed, shutting the door behind him. “He flew planes in the war, but when Mrs Wood died, his health deteriorated and he couldn’t cope on his own. Now he’s in hospice care.”

“Is the house up for sale?” Timmy’s mum asked.

“Not yet. I think their daughter intends to sell it, but right now the garden, which was his pride and joy, is overgrown. Anyway tell me about your new job Josie.”

They continued chatting while Timothy let off steam outside. He knelt down beside a stone sundial and used the magnifying glass from the kit to examine feathery heads of grass. He watched a striped caterpillar crawl on a yellow flower, consuming large bites of it. He wondered briefly what kind of butterfly it would turn into before he was distracted by something bright blue with wings, hovering nearby. He identified it as a dragonfly, but was keen to get a closer look.

When it flitted away, Timothy was disappointed

After a short while, he’d exhausted examining things with his magnifying glass and he pulled out the compass. It was just as good as the one he’d used at cub camp, although he hadn’t been allowed much of a turn that day. Nathan, an older boy, had been unwilling to share in his role of path-finder. Now Timothy could experiment to his heart’s content, and he marched off in the direction of North.

He carefully circumvented his uncle’s neat vegetable patch, only pausing to peer into the greenhouse, which smelt earthy and sharp, crowded with tomato plants and courgettes. Just for a laugh he tried on his uncle’s wellington boots, which were so big he could keep his shoes on, and they went over his knees!

Just then his aunt’s long haired cat stalked past.

“A tiger,” Timothy pretended, deciding he would follow it.

The cat, whose name was Cooper, moved quickly, so Timothy had to scamper to keep up. It held its tail regally in the air, reminding him of bumper cars at the fair. They had a cable which went straight up like that, Dad said it gave them the power to drive. His Dad had let him steer and they’d bumped into lots of other cars, but nobody minded, it was all part of the fun.

“Oh no!” Timothy wailed, realising Cooper was slinking into the wild part.

He turned to look back at the house but couldn’t see either his aunt or his mum watching from the window. They’d still be gossipping and wouldn’t notice, he decided, so grabbing a bamboo cane for whacking weeds, he followed the cat.

Now it really felt as if he was in a jungle, which was a much better adventure

Timothy had an active imagination, as boys his age often do, so it was easy to imagine the ramshackle statues and birdbath, overrun with ivy, were part of an abandoned Aztec temple. There were lots of butterflies and bees in this garden, delighting in the pollen they could gather from the flower borders which were now choked with Russian vine and speedwell.

There was an old fashioned greenhouse, through its missing panes of glass he saw grapes growing. One tree hung with round, purple fruit and another with green, rough-skinned pears. Timothy knew he couldn’t pick any of these, because it would be stealing. Besides, it would raise the question of where he’d found them, when Aunty Ruth had told him not to play here.

A flash of white caught his eye, and he hurried to follow Cooper, not looking where he was putting his feet. With a lurch and a stumble Timothy felt something block his legs, while his momentum sent him falling forward. With his feet unable to move because of what they’d come up against, the top of his body tipped and pivoted over the obstacle, landing Timothy on his face amongst thick foliage. He was startled and a little winded, head down, with his legs sticking out of the top of what had tripped him. He also had quite a nasty cut on the heel of his hand, which was both muddy and bleeding.

Timmy felt frightened by the blood, and things didn’t look too good when he got to his feet either. He was inside a waist high wooden box, next to him there was another box the same with long grass growing inside. Cooper the cat was long gone, but wouldn’t have been much help anyway, on TV it was usually a dog that went for assistance.

Timothy needed help to escape

Grabbing the toy walkie talkie from his belt, he held it to his mouth as he’d seen soldiers do in action films.

“Mayday, Mayday,” he said into its speaker grill while holding down a little button on top. “This is Timothy Wilson. I’m trapped in the wild part. Over.”

Then he held it to his ear, hoping that a crackling voice would reply to his distress message. But there was nothing, only silence. As he waited, his heart thudded and the blood trickled down his arm. The jagged cut must’ve been made by glass, there were shards of it in the bottom of his wooden prison.

“Mayday, Mayday. Can anybody hear me? I need help.”

Timothy knew that mayday was the international call for distress, because they’d been taught about it at cub scouts. He also knew the morse code for SOS was dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot. But if nobody could hear him call for help he wasn’t sure what good knowing morse code would do.

“Man down, give your location. Over.”

The reply came from nearby, not his walkie talkie, but Timothy’s body flooded with relief.

“I’m over here,” he called, “in this wooden box thingy. Over.”

Timothy peered over the top of the long grass and saw an old man approaching. He was dressed in dungarees and a faded plaid shirt, he wore a flat cap like his grandad. Timmy was so pleased help was on its way, that he forgot to worry he was somewhere he shouldn’t be.

“I’m stuck in here,” he waved at the old man, who had a kind face and a little mustache.

“Dear me, you are in a pickle,” the old man observed, “but I’ll have you out in no time,” he smiled.

He moved away and quickly returned with a rickety pair of stepladders. With their aid, Timothy managed to climb out, although his legs were shaky.

“Are you alright, lad?” the old man looked him over with concern.

When Timothy showed him his gash, sticky with blood and dirt, he tutted with sympathy and guided him to the outside tap, where he encouraged the boy to run it under cold water until it was clean. Timmy had to squeeze his eyes tight against the pain that the water awoke, but he didn’t cry.

The man tied his clean white handkerchief tightly around the boy’s hand

Only when the wound was treated did he ask, “what were you doing in my cold frame?”

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be in your garden,” Timothy was solemn. “But what’s a coldframe?”

The old man laughed, then he explained to Timothy that it was for getting young, tender plants ready for growing in the garden.

“Propping the lid open during the day lets the plants inside benefit from the warmth of the sun, but at night closing the lid protects them from the frost.”

Timothy found this interesting.

“I must’ve tripped and fallen in, but it all happened so quickly,” Timothy explained. “But I didn’t break the glass, that had happened already.”

“You’re right,” the old man looked around sadly, “my garden has become very neglected. I’ve been away and couldn’t care for it as I used to.”

“I’m very glad you were here to answer my mayday signal,” Timmy said.

“So am I lad. You used it just right.”

Just then Timothy heard his mother calling

“I’d better go, my mum’s looking for me. Thank you again,” the boy said before hurrying back the way he’d come.

“Where were you Timmy?” Mum asked.

“Exploring,” he kept it vague, “I followed Cooper.”

“It’s time for us to go. Thank your aunt for your present.”

“Thank you Aunty Ruth, I love my explorer’s kit.”

“You’re welcome Timothy.”

As they walked down the front path, Timothy saw a young man in next door’s front garden, hammering a placard which read ‘For Sale’ into the grass.

“What’s he doing there Mum?”

“Your aunt told me the man who lived next door went in a care home because he was very ill. I suppose he must have died, and now his relatives are selling the house. He loved his garden so Ruth said, used to give her baskets of plums and pears — or grapes from his greenhouse.”

“What’s happened to your hand?” she suddenly noticed as Timothy climbed into the car.

“I cut it playing,” he told her, reasoning that not mentioning he’d injured himself in the wild part meant it was only a white lie.

On the journey home Timothy was occupied with his thoughts. His head was swirling - what had happened today was adventure enough, but had he been rescued by a ghost?

More from Jacinta on Redemption …

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