FOOLS GOLD

FOOLS  GOLD

Only a handful of people are seen on Glenfield Rd in the early hours of the morning and, when I say early hours, I am making reference to the hours of dawn: that unique time of day when the Sun rears her head, kissing a momentary farewell to the Moon and releasing him from night duty.

At this time of day, the people we are most likely to see are Mr. Bramley, the postman, feeding hungry letterboxes; Mr Rayburn, the milkman, whistling to the clinking sound of bottles as he continually stops and starts his milk float; and a range of other delivery trucks taking fresh groceries to the shops on the street. We are also likely to see the city commuters: men and women who wear suits and are always in a rush to avoid the rush-hour traffic (we only ever see these people twice – once in the morning when they leave and again in the evening when they return).

On this particular day, one person we never see this early, walking in a very confident manner and quite oblivious to his surroundings, is the young boy Billy from house number 10. He is known as one the streets more adventurous children (although some adults say that he is wild and out of control).  Billy likes trying new things, for example, climbing trees he hasn’t climbed before, singing songs he has only just heard, and lots of other things that are ‘new’ to him. He is friends with everyone and yet is fiercely independent – if he wants to play with you he will, and if he doesn’t want to play with you, he won’t.

Mr. Bramley, the postman, notices Billy as he strides along the pavement.

“Hey Billy”, he calls out, “where are you going to at this time of the day carrying that spade?”

“I am off to find some buried treasure,” replies Billy without stopping for conversation.

Mr. Bramley smiles and shakes his head, amused at Billy’s response.

A few minutes later, Billy passes Mr. Rayburn, the milkman.

“Morning Mr.Rayburn,” shouts Billy. “Can I buy a pint of milk off you?”

“You sure can, but, if you don’t mind me asking, where are you going at this time of day carrying that spade?”

“I’m off to get my treasure!”

Mr. Rayburn laughs “And where will this treasure be?”

“It’s under a big tree on the wreck!”

“Are you sure?” replies Mr.Rayburn. “The wreck is quite a large area and is not the sort of place you should be wandering around at this time of the day.”

“Yes, I am sure.”

Mr. Rayburn becomes concerned.

“Look Billy, there are a group of traveller gypsies camping on that wreck and they won’t be happy if they find a boy hunting around for lost treasure. What makes you so sure it’s there?”

“I dreamt it, last night. It was as real as day, Mr Rayburn. I will know the tree as soon as I see it. Never before has a dream felt so real.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am. I am sure!”

The wreck is a huge piece of waste ground: unused land that has become a dumping ground for unwanted household goods. It is the perfect place for building dens and shelters, but is also a magnet for people who have nothing better to do and nowhere better to go.

The gypsies have been camping on the wreck for nearly six weeks, and lots of local people do not like it. As Billy approaches the wreck he sees their vehicles and estimates there are fifty, made up of caravans, coaches, vans and cars. To his surprise, the tree he saw in his dream is right in the middle of the gypsy camp. It is a large, lifeless, black tree, and the gypsies are using its long spindly branches for hanging clothes.

Walking as quietly as he can, Billy moves towards the tree. Even though he does not believe everything that the adults say about the gypsies, he still feels that he should be careful so as not to wake them.

When he reaches the foot of the tree, he looks for the large stump he has seen so vividly in the dream and, when he sees it, excitement gets the better of him and he starts to dig, fast, without a care in the world. Because his mind is consumed with thoughts of what he will do with the treasure, he does not hear the footsteps approaching him from behind.

“And what do you think you are doing?” shouts an angry voice in his ear.

A large, stocky, unshaven man has grabbed Billy by his jacket and is now yanking him to his feet. Only Billy’s tip toes are still on the floor. The man looks angry and Billy is scared.

“I am d-d-digging for some treasure,” stutters Billy. “I had a dream last night that a b-b-box was buried underneath here.”

The man lets go of him and starts to laugh, almost hysterically. “Ha, you fool. You fool!”

“What is so funny?” asks a nervous Billy.

“I had a dream only a few nights ago that treasure was buried in a garden on that long street over there!” replies the man, pointing in the direction of Glenfield Rd. “I saw the street, the house, why I even saw the number of the house!” he continues,  all the time laughing. “But, do you think I’d be foolish enough to go creeping out in the early hours of the morning, digging for buried treasure?”

Billy doesn’t say anything.

“Ha, you fool! Now go away from here, and stop wasting my time!” yells the man.

“Hey mister,” says Billy. “What was the number of the house in your dream?”

Still laughing, the man says it is number 10 and that the treasure is buried underneath a stone in the corner of the garden.

Billy races home as fast as his legs will carry him. Guess who lives at number 10? Yes, it is Billy, and he knows the stone that the man is talking about. It is beneath the bush in the front garden.

And the dream that the gypsy had was true because there, deep in the soil, is a small hard box, roughly the same size as a brick, and inside the box are five gold coins: real gold coins that look about a hundred years old.

Billy has found his treasure, and today is a day he will remember for the rest of his life

(see About Glenfield Rd)