Books by Ian Rogers
Books by Ian Rogers
Young Arthur loved his home in the Yorkshire village of Densley. It nestled in a small valley surrounded by high fells, the houses clustered around a derelict water mill. Arthur would sit on the bank of the mill pond, skipping stones across its shining surface towards the far bank. He’d never got one right across - it was almost as wide as a football field and, reputedly, as deep as the goal posts were high.
One evening in early spring he played his favourite game in the gathering dusk. Sunset colours reflected off the water. Black specks of flies danced over the surface. Occasionally a fish would rise, snatch a fly and leave circular ripples spreading on the surface. The splish-splash of water running over the rusted water wheel mixed with bats squeaking at the edge of hearing and the dull, base roar from the weir where the mill pond overflowed into the usually placid River Noore..
“Strange to think,” mused Arthur, “that I’d have been under water if I’d sat here a week ago!”
Back then a combination of heavy rain and suddenly thawing snow on the tops had turned the river into a roaring brown spate. Both the mill leat and the river had overflowed their banks, leaving the mill, like mediaeval castle, surrounded by water. Cottages had been flooded and a bridge had been swept away, further down the valley. Cut off from the world, the villagers had to help each other and fend for themselves. Even Mrs Pike and Mrs Winterbottom had called a truce and battled the elements instead of each other.
” ’Twas a grand time,” thought Arthur, casting another stone across the darkening water.
WHOOSH. As the stone skittered to a halt there was a huge surge and splash. “Wow,” gasped Arthur. Some big fish lurked in the depths but he’d never seen anything like this He jumped up and backed away in alarm as his mum’s dire warnings about the dangers of the mill pond echoed through his mind. Groping on the ground he found another flat stone and skipped it across the water - with no result. The THING was not going to rise a second time.
“You’re daft,” Arthur’s mum said next evening when Arthur asked for ‘summat as bait for t’ monster’. “Don’t go falling in!” She handed him a stale crust and some cheese rind and Arthur went back, with his friend Sam for company.
“It was over there.” Arthur pointed. The boys crouched down by some bushes and Arthur skipped a stone across the water. No response.
“Per’aps it don’t like stones,” Sam said.
“Aye, an’ it could be anywhere in’t pool by now.” He span the crust, frisbee-style, over the water in the dusk. Plop. It landed and floated, gently moving in the sluggish current.
Whoosh! A huge, dark, curved shape erupted out of the depths, arched over, plunged and smashed down a flat tail causing a smother of spray. The water churned and frothed as it vanished.
“Wow,” said Sam.
“Crickey!” said Arthur.
They looked at each other with round eyes.
“At least tha’ can tell me mam ahm not daft, any’ow,” said Arthur.
They threw bits of cheese as far as they could but the small scraps didn’t carry far. The boys watched the cheese drift, barely aware of the water sounds and the shrill bats overhead.
WHOOMP! Surge. Splash. The great beast surfaced, arched and dived again, scooping the cheese into a cavernous mouth. The descending tail drove water in all directions and soaked the watching boys. In shock and alarm, they leapt backwards, each with a cry of alarm and clutching each other for support.
Arthur shook wet out of his hair. “You’ll ave to speak to me mam now, Sam, else she’ll think I am daft and I’ve follen in.”
The villagers held a meeting in the church hall.
“What’s to do?”they asked. “Yon monster’s getting quite tame. Mebbe it could be a tourist attraction.”
“Nay, it’ll ’af ter go. It’s etten all the fish,” complained the anglers.
“It’s as much right to live in t’ river as ought else,” said Arthur’s dad.
After a few weeks the novelty of the monster had waned. Children, instructed to stay well back from the edge, still threw food to see it rise and dive.
They threw all sorts into the pond. and at first almost anything was taken but later the monster became more choosy. Bread gave a 10% chance of a sighting, a bit of battered fish maybe 20%, but cheese… it always came up for cheese.
Just as the children started tests to find out its favourite variety, the heavens opened. A huge thunderstorm rolled up the valley and rumbled round the fells. Torrential rain fell for hours and the river rose and roared and churned and the massive flow completely submerged the weir. As fast as the spate came, it ebbed away. As soon as it was safe to venture onto the mill pond’s slippery banks, the children returned and threw in their offerings.
Day after day they tried but there was no response. The monster had gone.
“I reckon it liked cheddar best,” said Sam.
“Don’t be daft,” said Arthur. It was a Densley Whale!”
© Ian Rogers 2018
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