Search for the Sunlight
Chapter 11

The light shuffle of their rooty feet on the damp leaf mould carpet aside, all was still. Nobody spoke and nobody was really sure if it was day or night. The light was so poor that it was difficult to tell.

They had only travelled a short distance when Harry stopped. He tugged on Basil’s sleeve.

“Can you hear something?” he whispered.

Basil held his breath and listened carefully, but there was nothing. “It’s your imagination,” he replied.

A few paces further on and Harry stopped again. “I’m sure I can hear something,” he said.

Now he was making everyone nervous. It was then, from somewhere amongst the trees, a loud resounding CRACK! struck out.

Startled heads turned in every direction and with eyes as big as saucers, the travellers scanned their dim surroundings in a frantic bid to locate the source of the noise.

Something or someone had stood on a large stick and it had snapped with ear-shattering volume in the stillness of the forest.

“There… did you hear that?” Harry squeaked, clinging onto Basil’s arm for reassurance.

“I certainly did,” Basil replied. “You’d have to be deaf not to!”

All at once, to their right and in front of them, a tall substantially built wood policeman appeared from the thicket. His sudden and unexpected presence made the travellers stop dead in their tracks.

“Allo, allo, allo. What’s all this then?” the Constable enquired, whilst staring down suspiciously from under the brim of his helmet at the party of insecure strangers who stood trembling before him. He quickly informed them, that as officer in charge of forestry safety and security, it was his responsibility to patrol the perimeter fence and arrest foolhardy and wayward Treewoods, not just for the sake of it, he pointed out, but to protect them from the many dangers that lurked in the forbidden zone beyond the perimeter fence.

“Unless I’m mistaken, which is seldom the case, you lot are well and truly NICKED!” the wood policeman roared, before anyone had a chance to answer his, “allo, allo, allo. What’s all this then?” question.

Eyes wide open, the frightened travellers stared upwards at the towering uniformed figure that stood before them. Grinning menacingly at his captives, the officer exposed a full set of tarnished wooden teeth and at a guess, Basil reckoned him to be in excess of twelve feet tall. Even in the poor light they could see plainly that he meant business.

A faint fluorescent green glow radiated from the top of his head which, in healthier sunnier times would have been dazzling, signifying that this enormous ‘Copper’ was of the Horse Chestnut family. He was a Conker! All spikes, leaves and legs and Basil knew instinctively that you don’t rub a Conker up the wrong way, or you’re in serious trouble.

“And where do we think we are going then?” the officer enquired further, addressing all three in the first person plural.

“Cor… Even sounds like a Copper,” Harry muttered.

The wood policeman overheard the young Hawthorn’s sarcastic remark and scowled.

“Look here matey, if you’ve got something to say, might I suggest that you say it to me?” he rasped, swinging his truncheon round provocatively on the second finger of his right hand and catching it again skilfully in the upright position as it completed one full three hundred and sixty degree turn. The officer’s slick actions impressed Harry such, that for a moment he forgot to be frightened.

“Wow, did you see that?” he said, nudging his brother with his elbow and winking in approval. “He’s nearly as quick on the draw as Clint Treewood!”

The wood policeman looked down at Harry from beneath the rim of his helmet and growled like an angry dog. Suddenly the young Hawthorn remembered to be frightened again.

“S-sorry your officership,” he stammered, “b-but who are you, and what do you want with us?”

Fearing the worst and waiting for the gruff lawman’s angry reply, Harry covered his eyes with both hands and peeked out from between his fingers. To his surprise, and not at all what he expected, the officer apologised for his ill mannered attitude and politely offered his hand in friendship, to anyone who’d shake it.

“Constable Sherlock B. Treewood of the Special Branch, at your service,” he announced proudly. “Officer in charge of forestry safety, security and any other criminal matters that might arise within,” he replied in fluent police-speak.

“Emm, arise within what?” Harry asked timidly, not wishing to upset the wood policeman for a second time. His question threw the officer off kilter for a moment. He wasn’t accustomed to confrontation and Harry’s enquiry had taken him completely by surprise.

“Within, ehh… let me see … ohhh bother, I forget!” he said, shaking his head in frustration when he failed to come up with an answer.

“I dunno. Perhaps it’s the lack of sunlight, or something to do with this confounded fog, but lately I just don’t seem able to remember things like I used to. Sorry!”

Harry smiled. He had caught the officer off guard and now the ball was in his court.

“Let me introduce myself and my friends,” he said calmly, taking advantage of Sherlock’s unexpected change in temperament.

“I’m Harry F. Treewood, this is my brother Herbert and my best pal Basil,” he announced in a pleasant, upbeat and friendly manner.

“Yes, and we’re on a quest to replace the sunlight,” Herbert added.

“Quest? Sunlight? Not another bunch of nutters,” the Constable sighed, turning his back on the suspect travellers, whilst banging the heel of his right hand on his forehead in a display of contempt at the very suggestion that somebody should even contemplate such an undertaking as this.

“I beg your pardon. What do you mean, ‘another bunch of nutters?’ Basil interrupted politely but firmly.

“Well,” the officer grumped, “It must have been at least a hundred years ago, when an elderly Scots pine by the name of Charles S. Treewood tried to sneak past me unnoticed and, just like you lot, he reckoned he was on a quest to replace the sunlight too.” Basil nearly choked.

“I’m sorry?” he spluttered. “First of all, let me assure you that we are not ‘another bunch of nutters!’ and at no time did we try to sneak past you, or anyone else for that matter. The truth is, we didn’t expect to come across the law this far away from civilization and more is the point,” - he paused for a moment to catch his breath - “Did you just say Charles S. Treewood?”

“Eh, I believe I did,” the officer replied hesitantly. “Why? Are you familiar with him then?”

“Familiar? Basil exclaimed, he’s my grandfather!”

Concerned, that in his heightened state of euphoria Basil might spontaneously combust, Harry stepped in to calm the situation. “How about a nice cup of tea?” he suggested rummaging clumsily through his lapsack, for the brewing equipment and a sachet of something serious to drink.

The wood policeman’s ears pricked up immediately. Since the fog came his day to day nourishment had consisted of low quality, industrial strength, home office regulation tea so, quite naturally, the prospect of something a little more up-market lifted his spirits.

“Oh, yes please! I haven’t had a decent brew in ages,” the officer replied, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the forthcoming refreshment.

Harry was delighted. His offer of tea had, for the moment at least, distracted Sherlock and diverted his attention away from their imminent arrest.

“I’ll put the kettle on while Basil tells you a story which I think might just change your mind about both the importance of our quest and your misplaced judgement regarding our sanity,” he said, nodding his head in a ‘You’ll See’ sort of a way.

With that, he turned his back on the officer and prepared to light the twig burner.

Soon, and to everyone’s approval, four steaming hot mugs of the finest Trusconian Silver Leaf were served…

The Constable loosened his braces and made himself comfortable on a tussock of damp rye grass. He sipped his tea, and as the warm infusion began to work its magic, he listened attentively to Basil’s story, interrupting only periodically with the odd, “Well I never!” Or sometimes, “I really had no idea,” and twice with, “Wonderful tea lad, wonderful,” the latter directed at Harry, elevating the young Hawthorn’s ego to monumental heights.