13th April 1949
When I became known that Professor Laugham was planning a ‘dig’ on the South Downs, a ripple of excitement spread throughout the archaeological world. For several summers prior to 1939 he had conducted excavations on some of the prehistoric hill forts, and the results of his researches had had far-reaching effects in erudite circles. The workers were mostly drawn from among his own students, and he had gathered a small band of trained assistants who helped with the organisation and instruction. Naturally the ‘digs’ had had to be abandoned during the war years, and the little nucleus of trained assistants had been scattered to the winds. Now, at last, he had been able once more to get a party of students together, and some half dozen of the old gang as ballast.
After high tea on the first evening of camp the Professor beat upon the trestle table with a spoon for silence, and rose to make an announcement. As his six feet odd of endless bony frame unwound itself and towered into the root or the marquee almost above the range of the hurricane lamps set at intervals down the tables, a sonorous and most beautiful voice from the level of the Professor's elbow intoned,“My Lords, Ladles and Gentlemen, budding Archaeologists, and all other variegated scum, pray silence for the most Worshipful and Venerable - ”The chant was cut short by an imploring whisper from the Professor.“Armitage, for heaven's sake, don’t be more or a fool than you can help. Haven't you grown up at all during the last seven years?”
Silence being at last secured, the Professor looked round the marquee, where at long tables were gathered some forty or fifty students, all clad in the most amazing selection of camp attire. He himself looked very unlike the long dignified figure in gown and mortarboard so familiar to the majority or the students. Huge hobnailed boots with rough socks turned down over them were continued upwards by incredibly long bony legs, these in turn sketchily clad in chalk-stained corduroy shorts. Above this came disgracefully shabby suede wind-cheater, the whole surmounted by a magnificent head and face that might have served as model for Durer’s portrait of Erasmus.
In his best lecture hall voice the Professor outlined the scheme of work for the next few weeks, and gave a brief and dignified welcome to the half dozen or so foreign students who had, at the request of their various Universities, come to study English methods of excavation.“I will now ask the old gang to come along to my tent while we work out the teams. All others are free for the rest of the evening. Cocoa and buns will be served at the cook-house at half past nine, and all lights out in tents at ten-thirty.” “And no scuffling over cocoa and buns either”, appended the same beautiful voice that had interrupted before, “you'll all form up and parade in threes or I’ll know the reason why.” “Must you really play the goat, Armitage?”, pleaded the Professor. “How are we ever going to get any discipline in this camp if you insist on fooling all the time?” "Sorry, Big Chief”, grinned the offender, “It is simply youthful joie-de-vivre at being in camp again after all these years.”
Armitage, dark and saturnine, possessed of a voice of the most amazing charm, and an astonishing pair of Mephistophelean eyebrows, was an erstwhile student of the Professor’s, and one of his most competent and highly trained assistants; and incidentally his most devoted henchman and admirer. An ex-Captain of Commandos he had now returned to his pre-war job of junior Science Lecturer at the Professor’s college.The old gang adjourned to the bell tent which was the Professor’s bedroom and study, as well as the centre for all the archaeological stores. Innumerable paper bags for specimens and ‘finds’, boxes of labels, bundles of pegs of all sizes, tins, steel tapes, tools of all sorts and kinds, in fact such a heterogeneous collection that the human beings could hardly find any unoccupied spot on which to dispose themselves.Besides the Professor and Armitage, the old gang comprised Colonel and Mrs. Enderby, Baxter, Hardcastle, and Wilkinson.The Colonel, a lawyer in civilian life, had spent seven years in the Army, ending up by taking a responsible part on the War Crimes Commission. He was a large and powerfully built man, an indefatigable worker, and the Professor’s close friend and right hand man. His capacity for tireless work had led to Armitage’s famous remark – “If you see a hole in the Downs and a non-stop jet of rubble flying out of it, you can be certain Enderby is at the bottom”.
Baxter was a small, anxious person, too frail and short-sighted to have taken any active part in war service. He had, however, developed into one of the moat outstanding experts in Radar research. Despite this, he was almost too nervous to raise his voice above a whisper, and his admiration for Enderby and Armitage was touching in its humility. Wilkinson was a tough and virile individual, games coach in civilian life, P.T. Instructor in the R.A.F. during the war, and now back at his old job once more. Hardcastle was a gentle, apparently dreamy soul, junior librarian at the same college as the Professor. To everyone’s astonishment he had blossomed out into a fighter pilot of outstanding brilliance, and had now returned happily to his beloved library with the rank of Squadron Leader and several decorations to his credit.
Alison Enderby was the only woman in the old gang and had been accepted as one of themselves from the first. Small and fragile in appearance, she usually wore an expression of wide-eyed innocence, which masked a brain equal to that of any of the men for keenness, linked with a devastating quickness of intuition and insight which often left the men gasping. During the pre-war camps each one of the old gang, excepting perhaps the Professor, had laid his broken heart at her feet, only to have it restored to the owner with a grace and air of surprised gratitude which went far towards re-establishing balance and mutual respect. She was far happier and more at ease in the company of men than of women, and had that rare gift of listening which made her a beloved and welcome member of the gang. In her slim fingers lay all the wizardry of the pencil; hers was the responsibility for preparing all the multitudinous drawings, plans, sections and sketches which form so vitally important part, of an archaeological dig.
The old gang had not forgathered in its entirety since the dramatic dig in the summer of 1939, when the camp had been summarily broken up by the Army commandeering all their equipment on the spot; so for an hour or so the talk shuttled back and forth across the lamp-lit tent, news, reminiscences to be exchanged, and threads to be picked up. Presently Wilkinson asked,“Did you see any active service, Professor?”.The Professor looked coyly down his nose.“I was in the Home Guard”, he replied with an air of modest worth, “and I was a corporal for a short time”.A roar of delight made the tent pole rock.“Our Professor was a corporal in the Home Guard”, chanted Armitage, “Our Professor with more brains in his little finger than all the rest of us put together - he was a corporal in the Home Guard.” “Why only for a short time Professor?”, asked someone.
The Professor looked positively sheepish.“We were out on manoeuvres on the Downs”, he replied. “I knew every inch of the area, so was deputed to act as guide to our side. I was crawling up a steep elope on my - ahem – waistcoat, when I found my nose in a rabbit scratch, and I saw that that rabbit scratch was full of fragments of Bronze Age pottery.” The Professor’s eyes shone behind his thick glasses. “Think of it!” he exclaimed, “Bronze Age Pottery in that area where never a trace of it had been found before. Naturally I became so enthralled that I forgot all about the manoeuvres and the next thing I became aware of was whistles blowing and my name being shouted in rather rude and uncivil tones. To cut a long, and rather painful, story short – I found my platoon had gone far ahead of me, and become embroiled with the opposing troops. They had then fraternized in the most reprehensible manner at the nearest pub, and finally had all broken off and returned home without having been given any authorization whatever to do so.”
By this time his hearers were in helpless convulsions of laughter.“Go on Professor”, gasped Armitage, “tell us what happened when your C.O. heard of it.”“I would really prefer not to recall that interview too vividly”, replied the Professor primly, “it was painful in the extreme, and I was demoted on the spot.”“Who was your C.O.?”, asked Colonel Enderby. He was a silent soul in general, but the Professor’s recital had reduced even him to suppressed chuckles.“Sad to say”, replied the Professor, “he was not the type of person who would in any way appreciate the importance of my discovery. He was concerned solely with the manoeuvres, which by comparison with the discovery of Bronze Age pottery in that area, were matters of no moment whatever. I attempted to explain this to him, but his language became so abusive that I desisted. I believe that in private life he was a chief bartender at the Hotel Magnifique, so perhaps I could hardly expect him to view my position with anything approaching sympathetic comprehension”.“And what about Mrs. Enderby?”, he went on, in the fatherly tones which always roused her ire. “Have you been keeping the home fires burning while the Colonel has been away this last few years?” “Home fires burning my foot”, was the brisk retort, “I haven’t had any time to waste on domesticity.
I had two years in the A.T.S. till I was discharged on medical grounds, and since then I have been back at my old job again.” “What’s that?” “Pharmacy - medicine dispensing in hospital”, she replied. “I was qualified before I married and did several years in hospital, but things have advanced so rapidly this last few years that I found it a bit of a strain to pick it all up again. I haven’t touched a pencil for ages”, she went on, spreading her hands out in the lamp-light and examining them dismally, “I wonder if I have forgotten how to draw?”
“You’d better hadn’t”, observed Armitage severely, “what is going to happen to the dig if we haven't got our Mrs. Enderby to do the drawings for us?” “Now about fixing the teams”, said the Professor, producing a list of names, “I shall want a good hefty team on that south rampart. It will be a hundred and twenty foot cutting at least.” “Enderby’s job, obviously”, said Armitage, “and I suggest he has all those Scandinavian students. They look a husky lot and good for a bit of solid work.”
The foreign students comprised an assortment of huge, fair young Nordics, one or two of whom were Dutch, a couple of Danes, and the rest either Norwegians or Swedes. Enderby groaned.“I shall never know one from the other”, he complained”, “and as for sorting out their names - . Besides”, he went on, “I have been speaking German for months past, and, if I come out with a bit of German to a Dutchman or Norwegian, my name is going to be mud.” “Why worry?” said Armitage cheerfully. “just call them Hi-you, and stick to English. They’ll understand soon enough.”
Next morning work started in full swing. Enderby and his team of huskies got down to the main cutting, Armitage and a team of senior schoolboys started a nice little cutting on the west rampart, Baxter and the girl students started a nice little hut site, and the rest of the old gang, each with his own team were appointed to their several jobs.
Alison Enderby annexed two budding surveyors aged about 18 and 19, and, armed with drawing board, steel tapes, chains and theodolite, spent her time moving backwards and forwards over the whole area, making out the preliminary ground plan. The downland sun blazed in a sky of dull steel blue, pierced and fretted with the filigree of the larks’ song.
At eleven came the welcome sound of the whistle, announcing the arrival of Bert Betts with tine of sandwiches. Betts senior was porter at the Professor’s college, an ex-Navy cook. His joy in life was to spend his holidays running any camp of which the Professor was in charge. He saw to all the catering and cooking and, together with Mrs. Betts and a variegated assortment of junior Bettses, undertook all responsibility on the domestic side. Being of a large and solid build Betts himself never scaled the giddy heights of the Downs to the excavations, preferring to busy himself in the sheltered field in the valley where the camp was set up; but, there was always some junior Betts available for carrying up the elevenses and the midday lunch.
The workers flung themselves down on the slopes of the northern rampart in any available spot of shade, the old gang as usual congregating a little apart.“Well”, and how are the teams working out?”, asked the Professor, who had spent most of his time flitting from one to the other, superintending everything. “How are you and your huskies getting on with the main cutting?”, he turned to Enderby. The huge man stretched prodigiously. “Amazing lot of workers”, he replied, “they’d cut their way through anything, but one or two are shockingly ham-handed. I shall have to watch them when we get down to anything in the way of post-holes or finds, or they’ll wreck everything before I can stop them. Why, one of them nearly put the end of his pick through my skull this morning.”
Alison was up in arms at once.“For heaven’s sake, Jock, be careful”, she exclaimed, “I have only just got you back home again and I won’t have any blond beast putting his pick through your skull. Which of them was it?”
