Chapter 13 #2
‘I’d love to say I found them mudlarking but I didn’t.
I’m a bit of a collector and several years ago, I purchased them at an auction.
My wife passed away four years ago, but I’ve got my daughter and the grandchildren to keep me busy.
I live not far from Gemma and we struck up a friendship based on the timings of the trains.
I’m here to support the endeavour but with dodgy knees and a bad back, I’m not sure how active I’m going to be. ’
‘We don’t mind. It’s the knowledge and enthusiasm you bring, and the stories you can share that’s more important,’ Phyllida said.
Timothy nodded and smiled. Pleased, Gemma imagined, at Phyllida’s praise.
‘Lastly, Gemma.’
‘Hi everyone.’ She stupidly did a little wave.
‘Speak up, honey. It’s getting loud in here.’
Gemma coughed and began again. ‘I’m an oncology nurse and I’ve been mudlarking on and off for about five years.
I started as a way to de-stress and then I got the bug.
I love how it forces you to slow down, and you never know what’s going to come out of the mud.
It’s exciting knowing there are worlds within worlds waiting to be found.
’ She paused because nerves were making her speak quickly.
‘There are so many things I’d love to find. One is a pilgrim badge which travellers bought in the Middle Ages in the hope they’d be rid of a sin they’d committed or cured of a disease or ailment. They were like the first souvenirs.’
‘Have you seen the collection at the British Museum on the third floor?’ Timothy asked.
Gemma shook her head.
‘Maybe we could go on an excursion there sometime?’ Phyllida had definitely missed her calling as a primary school teacher.
‘I’d like that,’ Gemma admitted.
‘I recommend the café on the ground floor. The baking is excellent and the treacle tart my favourite.’
‘I had a slice of carrot cake there once and it was pretty good,’ Nick said.
‘I think we’re getting off topic.’ Phyllida waggled her pen.
‘Sorry, boss.’
‘Oh, Nick, I don’t want you to think I’m the boss,’ she said, in a way that suggested she didn’t mind too much at all.
He smiled. ‘Okay. But seriously, do you think we should give the group a name?’
‘Yes, we must have a name,’ Phyllida exclaimed. ‘Is there a collective noun for mudlarkers, I wonder …?’
‘A murder of mudlarkers?’ Nick emphasised ‘murder’ as if he were acting in an Agatha Christie play.
‘Too macabre,’ Timothy said.
‘How about a mischief then?’
‘Isn’t it a mischief of magpies?’ Gemma said.
‘You’re right.’ Nick nodded.
‘Don’t magpies like to steal shiny things and we’re not meant to be stealing anything?’ Gemma didn’t like to dampen Nick’s enthusiasm.
‘Something less offensive might be nicer,’ Phyllida suggested. ‘Like a drift. A drift of mudlarks.’ She gestured with an elegant swish of an arm as if mimicking the image.
‘Adrift in the river …’ Nick pondered the idea.
‘You definitely don’t want to be adrift in the river,’ Timothy said with a tone of warning in his voice. ‘You could drown. I know someone who once discovered a body.’
‘Nasty.’ Phyllida pulled a face.
Gemma was similarly shocked and was reminded of the jaw bone she found which was, thankfully, nothing to do with a human. But Nick’s eyes lit up in crime-loving delight.
‘Wow,’ he said in awe.
‘You see, if you’re not careful, tides and currents can whisk you away and you could die a theatrical if wholly unnecessary death,’ Timothy explained. ‘You always need to know what the tide is doing and where your nearest escape route is.’
‘Excellent advice, Timothy,’ Phyllida said. ‘So, back to our name …’
‘We could just be The Mudlarkers’ Club?’ Gemma suggested. She didn’t see the point of puns or euphemisms. Her line of work was full of the latter and she wasn’t convinced they benefited anyone.
‘Yeah, let’s keep it simple,’ Nick said.
‘The Mudlarkers’ Club it is then,’ Timothy agreed.
Phyllida wrote it down before anyone could change their mind. ‘Now, if everyone’s still keen, I thought I’d suggest some ideas on how the club could work.’
The three of them looked at each other and nodded.
‘I was thinking – and please offer other suggestions if you disagree – that we meet monthly. Perhaps in this pub? It’s central and easily accessible by public transport. Where are you based, Nick?’
‘Hammersmith, near the Ravenscourt Park Tube stop.’
‘Excellent.’ Phyllida noted it down. ‘If someone can’t make a meeting, they should text out of courtesy.
It’s obviously not imperative to come to every meeting, but attendance should be fairly often.
Otherwise, I suppose, what’s the point? Does everyone agree?
And if you know of any other mudlarkers, or potential mudlarkers, feel free to invite them. ’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Nick said.
‘Me too,’ Gemma added, particularly liking Phyllida’s informal commitment to being club secretary.
Phyllida continued. ‘I thought our meetings could focus on show and tells, where we bring along a find for the month and tell everyone about it – our best or our worst, or the most interesting or unusual find. Perhaps do some research before you come. The more stories the better. You wouldn’t be a mudlarker if you weren’t always asking questions and liked discovering the answer.
Indulge yourself and indulge us in every snippet of history you uncover. What do you think?’
‘We’re all made of stories, after all,’ Nick added.
‘And you’d know that better than the rest of us,’ Phyllida said.
‘Now, Nick, you do you know that you need a permit, don’t you?
It’s the same for metal detecting. If you find anything made of gold or silver that’s more than three hundred years old, is a group of coins or prehistoric metalwork, you must report it to the Portable Antiquities Scheme. ’
‘What if you don’t know whether it is or not?’ Nick asked.
‘Bring it to the club! And if we don’t know, we can try and find out. We can be detectives together.’
‘What about going on field trips?’ Timothy suggested.
‘We could be separate but together,’ Phyllida said, as if considering the idea out loud. ‘Like when my husband and I go shopping. He watches football on his phone while I try on clothes.’
Nick raised a hand. ‘Guilty as charged. Although I like to think my girlfriend values my advice.’
‘That’s it!’ Timothy said. ‘We can give each other advice or help along the way.’
Gemma may have met Phyllida once for a mudlark but she’d never entertained going on regular field trips in a group.
Mudlarking was typically a solitary venture and that’s why she liked it.
To be at one with nature and yourself. Then, again, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad doing it as a collective, where you were there for each other.
Separate but together, like Phyllida said.
A bunch of history nerds happy to talk for hours about what Londoners once did along the Thames.
Gemma nodded, as much to herself as to them all.
‘I’d love to do it as a group,’ Nick said. ‘I could do with a lesson.’
‘We could have breakfast if we’ve done an early morning mudlark or a nightcap if it’s at night,’ Phyllida suggested.
‘And try different locations,’ Timothy said. ‘We’ll have to coordinate with the tides, of course.’
‘All in agreement?’ Phyllida asked.
‘Say ay!’ Nick shouted enthusiastically.
‘Well, you don’t have to say “ay” …’
Nick swung Gemma a glance as if to apologise for being eager in a way that Phyllida hadn’t sanctioned. She smiled.
‘I’m in agreement,’ Timothy said.
‘Yes,’ Gemma added. ‘I guess I am too.’
‘Excellent.’ Phyllida made another note in her book as if they might forget.
As if out of nowhere, a bowl of chips arrived.
‘I was hungry,’ Nick said apologetically. ‘I shouldn’t have skipped lunch.’ He took two chips and pushed the bowl to the middle of the table. ‘Help yourself.’
‘Thanks, Nick. Did anyone bring in something for show and tell?’ Phyllida asked.
‘Yep, I did.’ Nick wiped his fingers on his jeans, then placed an object covered in tissue paper on the table and unwrapped it. ‘This item is one hundred and twenty years old.’
Timothy leant forward for a better look. ‘Isn’t that—?’
‘It is,’ Nick said solemnly. ‘I found it at Battersea. A corner was poking out from behind a rock. It’s the only interesting thing I found metal detecting.’
‘But—’ Gemma said. ‘It looks—’
‘Yes?’
‘—like a potato peeler.’
‘Oh, my goodness, it is!’ Timothy slapped his leg.
‘As I said, the only thing of interest.’ Nick was trying to stay serious.
‘It’s stainless steel so there’s no need to report it, and it’s as blunt as my ninety-year-old grandfather was sharp.
Apart from that it’s quite a specimen. My research revealed that it was an invention of the twentieth century by a Swiss kitchen utensil seller, who hated potato peeling after his time in the army. ’
Gemma got the giggles.
‘Nick, you cheeky so-and-so,’ Phyllida said with a smile. If she hadn’t been married, you’d have thought she was flirting with him.
‘Okay, seriously, I did bring something else in.’ Nick produced another item from his leather satchel. ‘This is what my dad found in a field about two years ago. It’s seventeenth century.’
He held up a large rusty horseshoe with nail holes around its rim.
‘What do you know about it?’ Timothy asked.
‘How happy Dad was to have found it. You’d think he’d won the lottery.
He put it above the door to our kitchen, insisting that it had to be hung upside down so his luck wouldn’t fall out, not that it made sense to me to do that.
Except after that, Dad’s luck very quickly ran out.
’ Nick paused for a moment and looked wanly at the horseshoe.
‘I know I speak for everyone here. We’re sorry about your father,’ Phyllida said.
‘Yeah, sorry,’ Gemma said softly.
Nick shook his head as if there was nothing to be sorry about and he was getting unnecessarily sentimental. He passed the horseshoe to Gemma. Knowing its backstory made Gemma feel the weight of its significance in her hands. How it was so much more than a rough, gnarled hunk of metal.
‘Anyone else?’ Phyllida asked.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t bring anything,’ Gemma said.
‘Me neither,’ Timothy said.
‘Not to worry. I’ve got something.’ Phyllida took what looked like a pen box from her bag and lifted the lid.
‘A nineteenth-century glass medicine vial. I like to imagine it held some sort of narcotic medicine – perhaps an opium tincture – and that it had fallen from a doctor’s bag or the hand of a dandy. ’
‘You could be right,’ Timothy said. ‘In those days, opium, otherwise known as laudanum, was prescribed for all sorts of things. Sleep. Pain. Much like germs, back then they didn’t understand addiction either.’
‘Aren’t you a wealth of information? I could stay here and talk about poxy old curios all night.’ Phyllida winked at Nick. ‘But I suppose we should wrap it up. Shall we end on another tip, Timothy?’
‘If you like,’ Timothy said, which Gemma assumed was his answer to both questions, proving he was either a very amenable man or adept at diplomacy.
‘Goodness, what to say.’ He thought for a minute.
‘I suppose, the most important thing about mudlarking is to be relaxed but focused. That’s when you find things.
Pay attention and be curious, like Phyllida said. ’
Phyllida burst into applause, as if he’d won a prize. Gemma and Nick joined in so as not to appear churlish. Gemma was thankful that Timothy seemed to be enjoying himself and the club hadn’t been a flop.
‘Thank you so much for indulging me tonight,’ Phyllida said. ‘I hope this can become a regular thing. How about I set up a WhatsApp group and I’ll message about the next meeting?’
‘What’s up?’ Timothy looked confused.
‘WhatsApp,’ Nick said.
‘I’ve got The Facebook, does that help?’ Timothy said, giving the social media platform capitals as if it were to be revered.
‘No, but I can set it up for you, if you like?’ Nick suggested.
Phyllida continued. ‘Let’s see … Are Wednesdays good for everyone?’
Gemma thought about her future Wednesday evenings.
They were achingly vacant. Sometimes she and Adam went to the movies on a Wednesday night to break up the week.
But she hadn’t been to the cinema for at least four months.
She couldn’t even remember the last film she’d seen.
Maybe she could suggest going to the cinema with Anushka.
‘I’m free,’ Gemma said.
‘Me too.’ Nick nodded.
Timothy gave a thumbs up. Phyllida made another note. Gemma wondered if by tomorrow evening the minutes would be in their inboxes.
‘If it’s all right with everyone, let’s kick off our first official meeting at the end of the month. Because this has been more of an admin catch-up, hasn’t it? Wednesday, twenty-ninth of June.’
No one disagreed.
‘Okay, Timothy is now good to go on WhatsApp,’ Nick said, returning Timothy’s phone.
Immediately, Phyllida set up a chat group, typed a message, then beamed. Her chest heaved from delight at a successful night connecting people. ‘And so that concludes the first meeting.’ She snapped her notebook shut.
As Gemma followed Nick and Phyllida out of the pub, she realised that not only hadn’t she been ready for The Mudlarkers’ Club meeting to end, she didn’t want the evening to wrap up either.