Sherlock Holmes and the Chinese Junk Affair and Other Stories by Roy Templeman Page B

had warmed the day, we and our luggage were making our way by pony and trap to Tideswell.
    The driver was a cheerful young man who seemed to be acknowledged by everyone, waving and passing the time of day to various shopkeepers who were just opening their doors for the day’s business.
    The town was soon left behind and we were to enjoy the unspoilt countryside as, at each turn of the road, views of woods, dells and crags appeared. The driver drew to the side of the road as a flock of sheep flowed past. The shepherd said something to his dog, which immediately jumped over the wall, ran along behind it and back over again, now standing in front of the sheep, preventing them going any further. The sheep soon took advantage of the situation to crop the lush roadside herbage.
    Our driver discussed something with the shepherd for a minute or so about a country matter, and then with a word to the dog from the shepherd, the sheep moved on and we were once again on our way.
    Holmes remarked to the driver how the fields around Bakewell were enclosed by wooden fences, yet here the fields were divided by walls of stone. ‘Ah! Well, sirs,’ the driver replied, ‘round Bakewell it’s different land; there ain’t no stones to talk of. Now up ’ere there’s plenty, and stone costs nowt. The farmers clears them from the fields an’ wallers just builds walls with ’em.’
    ‘Without mortar?’ queried Holmes.
    ‘Aye, without mortar... in a minute just round this next turn of road, you’ll find ol’ Tom Jackson building one.’ A few minutes later the waller could be seen in the distance, sorting out a suitable piece of stone to place in the wall.
    Drawing to a halt, it was fascinating to learn how, when building a wall, first a shallow trench was dug. Large stones were then laid in it, and the wall built up gradually, with each stone carefully selected and placed so as to sit nicely on another. Small pieces of stone were used to fill in any gaps. It was a slow craftsmanlike job, but would stand for a hundred years or more.
    The old waller laughed, his brown wrinkled face a picture of a contented man. ‘Aye, I’ll ’ave been planted many a long year afore this falls down’ and he pointed to our young driver, ‘an’ thee an’ all, young Jim.’
    Arriving at Tideswell, we found it to be a large village with a wide main street and lots of cottages and houses built in random fashion off it. A small stream trickled around some of the cottages, a water vole swimming and nearby a blackbird bathing and splashing, added to the peaceful scene.
    The George Hotel was large and was an ideal base for providing good clean beds, first-class meals and good ale. The landlord was most particular about his cellar, and volunteered a village worthy.
    The rest of the day was spent walking around the village and surroundings.
    ‘We mustn’t overdo the walking, you know, Watson; we don’t want that leg of yours playing you up.’ This was true, but I couldn’t help feeling Holmes, although fit and a boxer to boot, was aware that walking up hills and down again placed unusual strain on the leg muscles, not only mine, but his own.
    In the evening, after dinner, we walked out of the hotel and into the churchyard next door. Above us screamed black swifts eager to collect the insects of the air for their hungry nestlings. The church was large and had many old gravestones dating back many years. Coming towards us along the path was a lady, with whom we passed the time of the day. She was dressed in good clothes and was obviously a person of means; the gold rings on her fingers and the pearls around her neck gave every indication of this. During our conversation she said, ‘I try to put flowers every week over the children’s graves.’ Our questioning looks elicited from her an explanation.
    ‘You see the mills around here, at Cromford, Carver and the rest, used to employ the orphan children from London and, I suppose, other large cities. They