gotta be crazy to look for it

The Pitch

The Coen Brother's hit movie Oh Brother Where Art Thou set eighteen American songs to a quest in Mississippi; Trelawny’s Gold sets eighteen British songs to a quest in Cornwall with young local singer-songwriters like Kate Plumtree, Louella Jade Eke and Rosie Crow as well as big-name folk-stars already recorded

​Braving the swirling tide to cross the causeway to the castle on St Michael's Mount is a Trio of ​hapless ​adventurers: Jago (goferit-m'dear) Haddock is a Cornish fisherman;  hot tempered know-all Reeva Brain is writing a Cornish history; and Stan (oh-shit) Spanner is the gloomy tech nerd on the team. With Cornishmen belting out their national anthem Shall Trelawny Die - here's twenty thousand Cornishmen shall know the reason why – they break into the castle ​and borrow Bishop Trelawny's ring to guide them to gold that he hid when he was sent to the Tower in 1688.

But ​the gold is guarded by 'Helmet', a fearsome Roundhead soldier with no face at all, and his vile dog Fiend who'll pursue them across Cornwall​ – and also across time -​ as the ring jerks them from one historic encounter to another. 

So​,​​ no sooner do they get back to the shore from the castle than the ring, at a kiss from Reeva, brings a Mediterranean pirate ship into the bay. Its men round up locals and lead them in chains to boats. The Trio are in their modern clothes but everyone else is in the 18 th century. Heh Reeva, asks Jago, what y’reckon to this? Where be we to? This is about 1700 she expounds and those men are slavers from North Africa, from the Barbary coast. They raided Cornwall frequently. Voices on the soundtrack sing HIGH BARBAREE - Oh fare thee well my darling,my ship will put to sea when the warm winds are blowing on the High Barbaree. Locals fight the slavers but they’re overcome and chained.

Jago mutters could be my ancestors - fished here since God knows when. He wants to go to their aid. But Stan warns don’t be doolally mate, and Reeva says this is history in the making, can't change it. The slavers see them and start along the beach brandishing scimitars and chains. Jago gallantly stands between Reeva and them. Stan’s terrified. He urges her to kiss the ring and - Wham.

It’s 1805, they're press-ganged onto Nelson's ship and the song is THE VICTORY – there were 13 on the press-gang, they did my love surround. And then in 1790 they're with the Methodist preacher and smuggler John Carter the 'King of Prussia'  when his beloved old boatman Tom is shot by excise men and the song is  TOM BOWLING - No more he'll hear the tempest howling for Death has broached him to.  In 1990 they’re hounded across rough ground by Helmet and Fiend on a hunt for the famous Beast of Bodmin Moor. And eg in 1890 they're in the china-clay pits of St Austell where everyone’s coated with white clay, and the miners hack and drill at the shining white stuff in a sort of all-white ballet while Jago woos Reeva with the Cornish love song THE WHITE ROSE. In1984 it’s golf near Padstow’s St Enodoc church with the Poet Laureate John Betjeman as be composes his golf poem and plans to be buried at the church. Then the song is THE PADSTOW FAREWELL and they must head for London.

Despite Reeva’s lecturing and temper Jago wants her. At Hampton Court she enrages Henry VIII about GREEN-SLEEVES, shoves him into a tureen of custard, and they hide in the maze. There Jago finally wins her. Afterwards he sings the first folk-song collected by Cecil Sharp: I sowed the seeds of love.

They go on up the Thames and the Tower comes into sight and, just across from it, the WWII battleship HMS Belfast now moored as a war museum.  Beefeaters defending the Tower face Cornishmen with their black Cornish flag and Cornish tartan singing And when we come to London's wall, a pleasant sight to view, Come out come out  you cowards you, here's men as good as you.

In a gun turret over on the Belfast Stan’s in hi-tech heaven as the gun's crew usher him onto the gunlayer's seat. In the soundtrack, the gruff old boat-builder Uffa Fox sings RULE BRITANNIA and, by the Tower, everyone hears the woomph of Belfast's guns and a big hole is blown in the wall. 

On Tower Bridge the Belfast's Royal Marine band approaches leading a platoon of sailors. Stan marches proudly beside them singing along to the Navy's march - Heart of oak are our ships, jolly tars are our men. They arrive by the Tower and the Cornishmen cheer and sing the chorus: We always are ready, Steady boys, steady!

Our three treasure-seekers climb through the hole in the wall into the Bloody Tower. But eeek! Helmet's suddenly right behind them in all his horror, hissing Annihilate! Annihilate! They're face-to-face - if you can be face-to-face with a man with no face at all.

But Stan tumbles a statue onto him and they get to the cell where Bishop Trelawny was held in 1688. His ring now throbs violently. It's hot gasps Reeva. The purple stone in the ring shatters and Trelawny’s secret is revealed. But does it make them rich? Or does it set up the next story in the Gold franchise?

The Treatment

NOTE: The Ed Sheeran phenomenon shows that singer-songwriters never went away. We can engage the new generation, from headliners to stars-to-be like eg the brilliant buskers who set up their amps and guitars on pitches awarded to them in London's tube stations, and young Cornish singer-songwriters like Rosie Crow, Kate Plumtree and Louella Jade Eke.  The songs below are written into this treatment provisionally. Oh Brother Where Art Thou set eighteen American songs in Mississippi; Trelawny sets British songs in Cornwall. As in Oh Brother some will be specially composed and most will be heard in the score rather than performed in vision. Some will be sung by new talent while, for others, there are recordings by past stars mentioned below. While reading this treatment you can get to hear a bit of one version of each song as you come to it - by clicking on it Reading without listening as you go might be a waste of time really.

In a university library a post-grad student, Reeva, peers at the titles on a shelf of ancient volumes. She takes one down, blows dust off it and carries it to a desk already heaped with other volumes and papers. She sits down and begins to turn its thick old pages. To her surprise she finds two pages still joined together – uncut, virgin. She looks around and secretively takes up a ruler. She inserts it between the two joined pages. No one is looking. Stealthily she cuts the two pages apart with the ruler. She prises them open. She gasps. Between them is a small sheet of vellum covered in spidery black writing. She starts to read. Her eyes widen in astonishment.

Cornwall. A castle on top of a steep conical island stands at the far end of a cobbled causeway.


On the causeway the tide is beginning to lap over the cobbles. A sign says DANGER. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CROSS WHEN THE TIDE IS RISING. But three people set foot in the water and start to splash away from us towards the distant castle.

Sometimes they slip. So they walk one behind the other, each holding on to the back-pack of the one in front. They wade on.

By the time they are half way across the water is up to their knees.

At the front walks Reeva leading the other two, fisherman Jago and geek Stan. Reeva, Jago and Stan aka the Trio, are in their thirties – Stan maybe a bit more. They’re wide -eyed and so tense it’s almost comical.

A gull swoops low and Stan nearly jumps out of his skin. He stifles a scream. The other two turn on him with an exaggerated shush. Horrified at their loudness he silently shushes them back.

They splash on oh so cautiously.

Jago twice starts to stumble and tugs hard on Reeva’s back-pack to steady himself. She tells him be careful and warns that ‘when I’m angry I have no manners at all.’

The tide’s rising grumbles Stan, why’re we doing this now?

Cos ‘tis Neap tide so not so strong m’dear says fisherman Jago.

And they won’t be expecting us, lectures Reeva, in the history of human conflict the element of surprise - she stumbles, Jago steadies her respectfully. Stan mutters OK I suppose. Professor.

They reach the base of the Mount and climb up onto a path by an ancient statue of a grimacing goblin. Reeva takes the old sheet of vellum from her pack and studies the spidery writing.

As she reads she mutters the words in old Cornish: Dheworth an bucka no omwytheugh ysel ha keugh abarth dyhow the pas. She translates: From the goblin keep low and go right eight paces.

Crouching they pace that out. Reeva reads more and they get down and crawl through bushes to the steep side of the Mount. It’s got to be about here she says. And yes, she finds a little door half concealed by ivy.

From their back-packs they take out miners’ helmets with lamps on the front. They put them on.

A shove on the little door and they’re in. Into the bottom of a shaft.

Their helmet-lamps show iron rungs leading up its wall into the darkness above.

(note: we probably won’t film there but I have and the Mount does have a shaft.)

Reeva leads and they climb with the swinging beams from their lamps catching their faces and piercing the darkness. This shaft was dug by Cornish miners she lectures, essential contributors to Cornwall’s socio-economic history.

Cornish miners echoes Stan, the world’s best.

At the top Reeva reaches a trap door. She unbolts it and they clamber up into a bright vaulted chamber.

Several mannequins in ancient armour are on display. On the wall are old swords and pikes and banners. Reeva points at one tattered banner and says it bears the crest of the St Aubyn family. Have had this place for centuries. It was when I was researching them for my thesis that I found the vellum.

On the wall is a painting of a 17th century bishop. Bishop Trelawny says Reeva. In the painting his hand, with a big ring on one finger, is skilfully painted as if it’s coming out of the canvas towards us. Looks like a Carravaggio says learned Reeva. Stan corrects her, no that’s a ring.

Below the painting is a display case. She goes to it and checks the vellum. She scrutinizes the exhibits. Yes there it is.

She motions to Stan who produces a jemmy and skeleton keys. He triumphantly prises the case open. Reeva pats him approvingly. Jago looks envious of that.

From the display case Reeva carefully takes out a fat gold ring. It’s the one in the painting. It has a purple stone. Bishop Trelawny’s she murmurs. All gaze expectantly.

Jago sniffs. What’s that smell? Nasty.

Stan examines the back of the armour on one of the mannequins, a Roundhead soldier from the Civil War. He fingers the rivets. Beautiful craftsmanship!

The soldier, ‘Helmet,’ spins round. He has no face at all. He hisses annihilate annihilate!

A fearsome dog appears beside him - Fiend – snarling and foul smelling.

Helmet takes a step towards them.

Panic. They dive into the shaft, slam the trapdoor shut, and bolt it behind them.

They scramble down the rungs. Reeva pants that the vellum does say that the gold has a guardian. Stan gasps oh shit!

Outside, Helmet and Fiend race down flight after flight of steps.

Inside, the Trio clamber down the shaft as fast as they dare.

They emerge from the bottom, jump down onto the flooded causeway, waste deep now, and start to run as best they can towards the shore.

Behind them Helmet and the dog Fiend reach the bottom of the steps. Fiend leaps into the water and swims after them snarling horribly.

Helmet, hissing annihilate annihilate, winds a crossbow open , loads a bolt and fires it after them. It whines through the air and splashes down beside them.

Stan moans despairingly.

They wade frantically onward.

Reeva stumbles and goes down. Jago hauls her up spluttering and they rush on.

On the soundtrack men sing the Cornish 'national' anthem.


And shall Trelawny live                                           Trelawny he's in keep and hold
and shall Trelawny die                                            Trelawny he may die
Here's twenty thousand Cornishmen                     Here's twenty thousand Cornish bold
Shall know the reason why                                     Shall know the reason why       

The song continues. A girl in a little boat rows towards them from their right. She puts down her oars, stands up precariously and gesticulates that they need to get ashore or the tide will take them.

A bolt from the crossbow clunks onto her boat. Horrified she leaps overboard and swims away as fast as she can.

The dog Fiend gives up swimming after the Trio and turns back snarling. 

Helmet fires another crossbow bolt.  It almost reaches them. Stan moans faintly.

Hissing annihilate annihilate Helmet reloads and aims higher . . . this time the bolt falls just short. They're out of range.

But not out of danger - the water is up to their chests. Their feet have trouble finding the causeway below. Stan's foot slips off and he goes under.

He surfaces whimpering and struggles back onto the causeway.

They reach its end and stagger onto the beach of Mount’s Bay to their left. 

They look back and see Helmet walk into the water chest-deep and reload. He fires again but the bolt falls short.
He turns back. 

They flop down exhausted. The song fades out . . . shall know the reason why.

Sitting on the sand Reeva takes out the vellum and studies it. She reads Y’n viedhen a’gan Arluth myl whegh cans eth ha peswar ugans. She translates from the Cornish: In the year of Our Lord 1688, and says that’s when Cornwall’s Bishop Trelawny was taken to London and locked in The Tower.

Then she reads Nep a vyn cafos ow owr res yw dhys - Ye who would find my gold must valiant be. Take courage to kiss my ring when the stone doth glow and go wheresoe’re its power shall l lead ye.

Stan , concerned, asks but haven’t we stolen the ring? Heavens no says Reeve, the gold it finds for us will be essential corroboration when I submit my thesis for peer review. Essential.
Jago’s not so sure. It ain’t stealing then?

Piqued, Reeva says she always planned to return it to the Mount.

She holds up the ring gingerly. Suddenly the stone does glow as though a light has come on inside it.  She looks questioningly at Jago and Stan. Shall I?

Their eyes say guess we’ve got to. Hell yes.

She kisses the stone. Wham . . .

Suddenly they’re still in Mount’s Bay but at the Penzance end, and a Mediterranean pirate ship is anchored off the beach. 

Its men are on shore rounding up locals and leading them in chains to boats.

The Trio are still in their modern clothes but everyone else is in the 18th century.

Heh, Jago asks Reeva,what y’reckon to this? Where be we to? We must be in about 1700 she says and those pirates are slavers from North Africa, from the Barbary coast. They raided Cornwall frequently. Voices on the soundtrack sing:


Look ahead look astern             Oh fare thee well my darling
Look a’weather look a’lea          my ship will put to sea
Looking down the coast             when the warm winds are blowing
On the High Barbaree               on the High Barbaree 
As the song continues some locals try to fight off the slavers. But they are savagely overcome
and chained.

One couple is dragged past the Trio and look pleadingly at them. Help us, help us!

Oh dear says Stan, that means they can see us. Don’t fancy gettin’ took as a slave.

A local fishing boat sails in fast to run aground in the surf.

It tilts over on its side as four fishermen leap from it and charge up the sand to help
beleaguered women and children.  The fishermen attack the pirates with courage and
boathooks but they're outnumbered. 

Two cunning pirates grab the folded fishing net from the boat and throw it over them. They
struggle hopelessly.  Their captors sneer and laugh and prod the defenceless fishermen.

Jago mutters those men they could be my ancestors - fished here as far back as God knows
when. He wants to go to their aid

Stan warns that’d be doolally, mate. Doolally tap! Reeva says this is history in the making, we
probably can't change it. And those pirates are armed. You're not.

A little way off one of the slavers sees them. He calls to two more pirates. They start along the
beach towards the Trio, brandishing scimitars and chains.

Jago gallantly puts himself between Reeva and them.

Stan’s terrified. He urges her to try kissing the stone again.

The slavers are almost on them. The stone glows. She kisses it. Wham . . .

They’re in a Cornish country town. A Cornish silver band is playing and people are dancing,
holding hands and threading their way through the houses, into the front doors and out of the

Reeva studies their clothes and says this must be about 1900, we’ve landed in Helston and
this is the Furry Dance. The band continues on the soundtrack.


(Optional: Terry Wogan got to number 2 in the Christmas charts in 1975, fronting a band and singing: ‘We danced to
the band with the curious tone, of the cornet, clarinet and big trombone. Fiddle, cello, big bass drum, Bassoon, flute
and euphonium. Each one making the most of his chance, all in the Cornish Floral Dance.)     

The tune continues. As with the pirates no one notices that the Trio are from another century.

Odd says Reeva, we are a living anachronism. What a boon to an historian! One can actually
be present in the past.

Happy people call on them to join the chain of dancers.

A pretty wench takes Stan’s hand and he glows.

Till she’s replaced by a vast woman giving him meaningful looks.

Jago reaches for Reeva’s hand but she lets a local man take it and lead her in the dance.
Jago looks crestfallen.

Stan escapes from the vast woman and pauses by the window of a wine merchant’s. Peering
in he mutters ‘palo cortado?’

Dancing in the throng again the Trio are doing fine when Jago scents the stench of faceless
Helmet’s dog, Fiend.

They break from the chain and dive into a house but Helmet has seen them. Annihilate
annihilate, he loads a flaming bolt into his crossbow and fires it into the house. 
The house bursts into flames.

Townsfolk break off from dancing in a chain and now form one to carry buckets of water and
throw it on the flames.

Inside the house, the Trio must smash their way out.

Passing through the kitchen Jago seizes a leg of mutton from a smouldering table.

They emerge from the back of the house and Fiend comes snarling after them. He's almost
on Reeva.

Jago manages to slam the leg of mutton into the hound’s slavering jaws and distract it.

They run up Helston's high street with Helmet in pursuit.  

In his breastplate and helmet he's slow. Wheezing annihilate annihilate he stops for breath.
The Trio turn into a lane and pause to catch their own for breath. Reeva briefly acknowledges
Jago's quick thinking and he laps it up.

Stan grumbles I never signed up for this! That THING with the crossbow! That horrible hound!
Oops, they're coming!

Annihilate annihilate comes the dread voice of the faceless man, and they rush on down the

Stan suddenly stops and doubles over. Got a stitch! Quick Reeva, the ring! Get us outta here!

She takes it from her pocket. The stone is glowing. She kisses it. Wham . . .

Instantly they are by a Cornish inn in Torpoint, overlooking Plymouth Sound.

Riding at anchor out there is Nelson's flagship, the Victory.

Now we're in about 1800 says Reeva. Oh great, moans Stan, what was wrong with 2018
where we belong?

Shssh, Jago tells him.  You'll be alright m'dear when we get the gold.

Yeah agrees Stan, but the bishop's ring's taking us on one helluva journey.

Reeva reassures him that she's read the vellum and the bishop definitely wrote that he'd lead
them to the gold. 

They go into the inn.  Locals don't notice the time-travellers. A folk band is playing at the far
end of the room.

At the bar Stan asks if there's any palo cortado but the landlord's never heard of it. They order
cider but then realise they don't have any 1800 money.

Surprisingly the rascally looking landlord says 'tis on the house m'dears.

Pinned up on the wall by the bar is a proclamation. Stan reads it out:  In this our glorious
nation's hour of need, able-bodied men must stand ready to serve in His Majesty's Royal

At a corner table they discuss what each will do when they have the gold. Reeva will set up a
research institute to further her work writing The Definitive History of Cornwall.

Jago will buy a bigger fishing boat and run her out of Newlyn. With maybe a cottage in
Mousehole, he muses, to settle down in. He looks hopefully at Reeva.

And Stan? I'm gonna set up a workshop to restore old machines from Cornish tin mines -
beam engines, beautiful pieces of machinery like that. Oh and a wine cellar.

The pub band sings the Steeleye Span song telling the story of the press gang seizing the
singer's husband:


There was 13 on the press gang                My love was overpowered
they did my love surround                     though he fought most manfully
And four of that accursed gang                They dragged him through the dark wet streets
went bleeding to the ground                   towards the Victory.       
As the song continues a lad comes rushing in gasping they're coming!

Men jump up and start to leave but too late.  Thirteen burly sailors burst in, armed with
cudgels. The press gang!  They drive everyone into a corner.

Their bos'n turns to the landlord and slips him some coins, full house er?  Thankee. So now
the Trio know why they were given free drinks to stay.

The press gang quickly herd everyone out. 

My good man says Reeva to the bos'n and tries to explain they're not part of this but, whack,
they're all clubbed unconscious.

They wake up lying with the other 'recruits' on Victory's deck.

Reeva tries kissing the ring but it's not glowing and nothing happens.

They're given buckets and holystones and set to scrub the deck.

A bos'n stands over them with a rope's end. Misled by Reeva's jeans he calls her 'my pretty
boy' and swipes her butt with the stinging rope's end. Reeva's eyes begin to burn with fury.
Deck-scrubbing is exhausting. Stan sees a chance and escapes through a door below the
poop into the officers’ quarters.

In the gloom there he sees a liquor store and sneaks inside. He peers at bottles murmuring
palo cortado? Palo cortado?

Later when he totters out onto the deck he’s quickly seized by the bos’n and forced to lie
down at the outer edge of the deck – in the skuppers.

Jago manages to whisper did he find any palo cortado? No, jusht Madeira. Lotsh of Maderia.

Poor Stan lies there as the bos’n orders the crew to turn a hose on him. They sing:


Put him in the skuppers with a hosepipe on him            What shall we do with
Put him in the skuppers with a hosepipe on him            The drunken sailor
Put him in the skuppers with a hosepipe on him            What shall we do with
Early in the morning                                      the drunken sailor
Hooray and up she rises                                   What shall we do with
Hooray and up she rises                                   the drunken sailor
Hooray and up she rises                                   Early in the morning
Early in the morning                                                  
The singing continues as Stan writhes and squirms under the freezing blast.

The smiling bos’n starts kicking him.

Reeva boils. Finally she explodes. She grabs the bos’n by the shoulder, turns him to face her
and lets fly a stream of insults barely drawing breath:


There is a shocked silence. Jaws drop.

The bos’n, staggered at realising this is not a man but a woman and a virago at that, wilts. He
orders the hosing to stop and turns away muttering about a flogging.

Jago is delighted. What a woman he whispers, where’d you larn to swear like that?

I did a Language degree and took a somewhat esoteric module on colloquial invective she
says, one likes to know these things. Useful eh?

The crew are gathered before the poop now. The First Lieutenant appears and orders ‘Ship’s
company Atten . . shn!

Above them on the poop deck, little Admiral Nelson appears.  Their mission is to keep the
French fleet away from the channel, he says, so that Napoleon's Grand Army which is
massing in Boulogne can't cross and invade England. 

The crew give three hearty cheers 

On the soundtrack there’s a folk version of:


Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly       Is it not sweet to hear breezes blowing
Blow the wind southerly                             as lightly they come
O’re the bonny blue sea                             o’re the deep rolling sea
Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly       But sweeter by far when ‘tis bearing
Blow bonny breeze, blow my lover to me              the ship of my true love safely to me  
True love? Jago looks hopefully at Reeva but she just says we're heading for battle and, good
though that would be for me to write up as no later historian could, you only have to note
Nelson's missing eye and arm to think twice about going into battle with him. 

She checks the ring. But it's not glowing. No escape.
Sailors put their chests to the capstan’s spokes pushing it round to hoist Victory’s anchor.
They sing a capstan shanty:


As l was a’walking down Paradise Street
A black-looking packet I chanced for to meet
To me, way hey, blow the man down
Come all ye young fellows that follows the sea
Now please pay attention and listen to me
Give me some time to blow the man down
Now when our great ship is all clear of the land
Our bos’n he roars out the word of command
To me, way hey, blow the man down
Come quickly, lay aft to the break of the poop
Or I'll help you along with the toe of me boot
Give me some time to blow the man down
Pay attention to orders, now, you one and all
When you’re high in the rigging be sure not to fall
To me, way hey, blow the man down
'Tis larboard and starboard, on deck you will sprawl
For our cruel bos’n is driving us all.
Give me some time to blow the man down       
At sea now the ship pitches and rolls.

The Trio are seasick. So seasick. Jago tries to comfort Reeva – no, get off me!  

Oooh I think I’m dying moans Stan. I’d rather be dead than this.

On the soundtrack someone (Burl Ives?) sings the dying sailor's lament:


Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket            Then let them send for two holystones
and say a poor duffer's laid low.            place them at my head and my toe
Send for six salty seamen to carry me        and lower me into the deep sea
With steps mournful, solemn and slow         Here lies a poor duffer below 
Wretched Stan throws up again, yukk. I guess Trelawny's putting us through it. Gotta prove
ourselves to get to his gold.  

Feeling like death they check the ring and at last, it glows.  Reeva kisses it. Wham . . .

In a country town on its Fore Street a crowd surrounds something. They wear bonnets and
stove-pipe hats.

The Trio work their way into the crowd to find out what they're all looking at.

A tall bearded man, unfazed by their 2018 clothes, welcomes them in: Good morning, Richard
Trevithick at your service, and this is my Puffing Billy. 

It is a black boiler on wheels which are linked by vertical pistons to a steam-powered cross-
beam above the contraption. It hisses gently and emits puffs of steam.

Stan is lost in admiration: Mister Trevithick! What an honour to meet you Sir!  May I? 

He lovingly examines the machine - the glowing fire-box, the levers and dials, the passenger
space behind. This is the very first working steam engine he tells Reeva.

She nods that of course she knows that, and takes over: This must be Camborne where
Trevithick is about conduct the first trial of his invention. She enthuses it's wonderful to be
here. She looks fondly at the ring: the time-travelling capability this confers upon us is a
phenomenon of inestimable value to an historian, especially to one who will soon be the pre-
eminent historian of Cornwall. 

And Puffing Billy! Just think, we are in an age here when the fastest that men can travel is at
the speed of the horse. Soon steam trains will be carrying them at 30 and 40 miles an hour.

Today, today, one could say, is the very first day, the actual inception, of railways
everywhere! Of course Mr Trevithick’s engine here isn’t going to go much faster than we can
walk, but it will spawn faster ones. And, you know, there is an urgent need to replace horses
because they are needed at the Front in in the Napoleonic Wars.
(note: Camborne has a full size working replica of Puffing Billy).

Trevithick helps six dignitaries of the town to board his train and, to loud cheers from the
people of Camborne, they're off. On the soundtrack Brenda Wootton, the ‘Queen of Cornwall,’


Going up Camborne Hill coming down           He heaved in the coal in the steam
Going up Camborne Hill coming down           He heaved in the coal in the steam
The horses stood still                       He heaved in the coal
The wheels went around                       The steam hit the beam
Going up Camborne Hill coming down           Going up Camborne Hill coming down

      I had her, I had her, I did
      I had her, I had her, I did
      I had her, I did
      It cost me a quid
      Going up Camborne Hill coming down      
As the song continues, the train climbs Camborne Hill and the Trio trot along beside it with
crowds of cheering children.

Looking back, Jago sees Fiend and no-face Helmet coming after them.  Annihilate annihilate!
Reeva checks the ring: it's not glowing, no good.

Quick, Jago shouts to the driver, heave in more coals.

Helmet's crossbow bolts start falling around them, clanking loudly on the steel boiler.  Fiend
snarls and slavvers in hot pursuit.

The train picks up speed and the Trio perilously scramble up onto the back.

Jago manfully hugs Reeva's back to shield her and maybe to get close too but she tells him
get off, I'll take my chances.

Trevithick and his dignitaries congratulate themselves on Puffing Billy’s ever faster progress.
Finally the train outpaces Helmet and Fiend and they turn back.

Near the top of the hill Puffing Billy hits a deep pot-hole and jolts to a halt.

Everyone gets down and watches as Trevithick tries to power his creation out of the hole. The
boiler hisses and throbs ominously.

Stan peeps into the cab at the dials and turns pale: 110 pound per square inch! She's going
to blow!
Reeva checks the ring. Yes it's glowing, time to take the next step on the road to Trevelyan's
As the boiler explodes behind them she kisses the ring. Wham . . . 
They're on a village green. Children are skipping around a maypole, a folk band is playing:


Morris dancers are leaping - virile men with the power of ballet dancers.  Reeva reckons this
is the village of Blisland and the year must be about 1850. 

One of the flying Morris men, a hulking great fellow, leans out from the swirling dance, gets
his arm round her waist and tries to sweep her off her feet into the dance. She's not having
any and pushes him off.

Jago looks relieved.

She takes a willow frond from one of the children, winds it round her head and begins a dance
of her own.

Jago tries dancing and facing her but she doesn't seem to notice him.

She skips and twists and turns across to the band and then sings, leading them in miming to
Steeleye Span's hit:


All around my hat                                           The other night he brought me
I shall wear the green willow                               A fine fine diamond ring
All around my hat                                           He thought he could deprive me
for a twelve-month and a day                                of a far more precious thing
And if anyone should ask me                                 But I being careful as lovers ought to be
the reason why I'm wearing it                               Saw he was a false deluding young man
It's all for my true love who's far far away                Let him go, farewell he     
Villagers dance to the song and the Morris men adapt their steps to it. 

The song continues and Stan goes to a table laden with food and drink. He takes a Cornish
pasty and is offered a jug of cider.

He mutters to Jago about wishing they had palo cortado in these parts.

Reeva comes away from the band and takes a bite of the pasty. Jago dares to ask if she does
have a true love somewhere far away but she smiles mysteriously and just holds up the
pasty. Excellent example of gastro-industrial adaptation she expounds.

Jago mutters it’s just a tiddy-oggy that’s all, but she drones on correcting his ignorance, the Cornish PASTY is a compact meal that women could drop down a mine shaft to their men

And it has a multiplicity of indigenous culinary variations, she lectures, here's the standard meat-and-potato pasty, and here's the star-gazey pasty with a fish's head sticking out of one end and the tail out of the other, rich in vital Omega 3 of course.
  And, try this one - the thunder-and-lightning pasty filled with Cornish cream and treacle.

It's information overload but Stan and Jago loyally munch away. 

Stan, with a fish-head sticking out of his mouth, suddenly gulps and points look out!
Faceless Helmet and Fiend are coming across the green. Snarl snarl, annihilate annihilate!
Reeva quickly kisses the ring. Wham . . . 

They're in a small clifftop graveyard beside a chapel.

Travel-weary Stan wonders what's it going to be this time - spooks rising from the tombs
maybe? Seems there's no knowing what Bishop bloody Trelawny'll send us to next. 
Reeva reassures him the bishop's ring and the vellum have already demonstrated to us their quintessential capacity for anachronistic existential transition, so we should persevere.
 The gold will surely be at the end of the journey.

Stan looks sceptical but Jago agrees, we gotta trust. 

He looks at gravestones and reads out inscriptions: William Carbis  1743-1781, drowned at
sea   . . . . James Sennen  1730 - 1744 our beloved son perished in the Weal Janner mine . . .

Rachel Fowey 1726 - 1730, gone to the Lord . . . Sir Hardress Waller the Victor of Penzance, laid to rest 1666.

Reeva launches into Cornish history, Hardress Waller held Penzance for the Parliamentarians in1648 with the New Model Army.

Jago knows about them, the Roundheads right? Like that faceless thing that keeps coming after us. Yukkk!

From inside the chapel there's the robust singing of a hymn:


Lo He comes with clouds descending
Once for our salvation slain
Thousand thousand saints attending
Swell the triumph of his train
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
God appears on earth to reign     
The Trio leave the graveyard and go inside. The church is rocking.

They’re welcomed by a woman whose face shines with faith who draws them into a pew
beside her. She pushes hymn books into their hands.

Under the singing  Reeva informs the others this is one of Charles Wesley's hymns and these people are Methodists,  
followers of Charles and John Wesley: to one's modern intellectual analysis their beliefs would hardly pass academic peer review but back where we are now – this must be about 1795 - John Wesley was the best loved man in England.

Stan riffs yeah, a preacher man, yes he was, yes he was.   

The hymn ends and a tall upright man climbs to the pulpit and begins a sermon about
obedience to the law. The beaming woman explains that he is John Carter, a fine man with a
reputation for fair dealing and known in these parts as The King of Prussia, I'll introduce you

Jago mutters that The King of Prussia is a pub in Fowey but that's in the future.
Yes says Reeva and I think we're about to find out why the name.

The sermon ends and they're introduced. Welcome says John Carter and invites them to
come and see 'my enterprise.' 
He leads them out of the chapel and down a scary cliff path, careful m'dears, welcome to
Prussia Cove. There's a low wall facing the sea with a row of cannon manned by hawk-eyed

It's dusk and lanterns are lit.
Out at sea a lantern signals back, then out of the gloom a lugger appears and drops anchor.
Directed by John Carter the hawk-eyed men drag boats into the water and traffic back and
forth between the lugger and the beach bringing wooden casks.

Carter halts a man carrying one up to a cave, an old chap: here Tom, let our guests sample our wares.  
Old Tom loosens a bung in the cask he's carrying and tips a splash of liquid into the palms of the Trio's hands. 
They dutifully gulp it down. Stan pronounces it excellent cognac.

Old Tom leaves the cask with them and goes down to the boats and rejoins the oarsmen. An
excellent fellow that, says Carter, a good old navy man.

Old Tom's crew are rowing towards the lugger for more cargo when an Excise Cutter appears and opens fire with muskets.

Immediately Carter's smugglers reply with canon and old Tom's boat is caught in the crossfire. 

He takes a musket-ball in the chest and falls. 

His fellow smugglers cry our Tom's hit and cradle him in their arms. 

Here the Clancy brothers begin, then it's the cello version from the last night of the Proms.


Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
the darling of our crew; 
No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
for death has broached him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty,
his heart was kind and soft. 
Faithful below, Tom did his duty,
and now he's gone aloft,
and now he's gone aloft . . .        

As the music continues, on the beach the Trio duck and try to hide from incoming fire.

Stan gasps I want out of this, try the ring! 

Reeva does and Wham . . .

They are by a manor house in the woods.

A haughty little man on horseback reins in beside them. New here are we? What brings you
to Lamorna?

Stan mutters wish I knew, but Reeva is diplomatic: we're on a journey, Sir Alfred, good
morning to you.

Gratified, the man invites them in to the manor house.

It’s busy with artists. Some are drawing around a naked model, others work alone at their
easels. Sir Alfred airily waves the Trio to look around.

They go from easel to easel with Reeva informing them that they've landed in 1915 and these
are the painters of the once famous Lamorna School. And our host is Sir Alfred Munnings a
famous equestrian painter. 

Reeva greets one artist, hello Dame Laura. Laura Knight isn't it? I so love your delineation of
the geological strata of the Cornish landscape, so emblematic. Dame Laura looks mystified.

Sir Alfred demands their attention, my latest canvas is over here. They dutifully go the see.
It's a painting of a fine horse and Sir Alfred is well satisfied with it. None of those modernists
for me! Cezanne? Picasso? They're corrupting art!  Winston - that's Winston Churchill y’know
- said to me 'Alfred, if you met Picasso coming down the street would you join with me in
kicking his arse?' 

He turns from his picture: Ride do we? Come see the lay of the land.

He leads them outside to the stables and gets them mounted up. Stan looks grimly insecure.

Munnings eyes up Reeva on her horse and approves. You’ve a fine seat young lady, wait a
moment. He whips out a sketch book and draws the horse. Then he scratches his head. Ah,
of course, and he remembers to add her on its back.

He mounts his stallion and commands them, for-ward!

He leads them down through woods to little Lamorna Cove. On the small quay local men sing:


So now I’ll sing to ‘ee                  Twas down in Albert Square
It’s about a maiden fair                 I never shall forget
I met the other evening                  Her eyes they shone like diamonds
At the corner of the square              and the evening it was wet wet wet
She had wild and roving eyes             and her hair hung down in curls
she was a charming rover                 she was a charming rover

      We roved all night
      In the pale moonlight,
      Away down to Lamorna . . .     
The four riders halt to listen to the song.

They see a small boat rowed up to the quay by -  oops - isn't it that faceless Helmet at the
oars?  And Fiend with him?  

The two vile guardians of Trelawny's gold leap ashore and come running towards the horses
snarling and hissing annihilate annihilate! 

The Trio’s horses bolt up the hill with Fiend snapping at their heels and crossbow bolts
whanging past.

Jago gasps I’m a fisherman not a fck’n cowboy.

Stan hangs on grimly: Reeva, Reeva, I can't hold on!  Get us out of here! Pleeese!
Lying flat along her galloping horse's neck, Reeva manages to get the ring out and Wham . . .
They are on a bleak moor now beneath a glowering sky.

They wonder where they are. And when.

Dunno says Jago, buggah me if I know.

Stan grumbles that the Bishop's got a mean sense of humour. Just hope it turns out to be
worth being jerked around like this.

Even Reeva is at a loss, if we assess the flaura and forna here they might yield some
indication . . .

Jago admits that it is beautiful here though, properjob country eh!

Where the ground slopes away a young boy comes up over a bluff. Jago sees that he's got
modern clothes on, he shouts hey Son, hey, can we talk with you? 
They trot over to him and ask where are we.

This be Bodmin Moor, don't 'e knaw that?

And what year is it? The boy can't be sure, but I was borned in 1982.  So they reckon this
must be about 1995. And what you doing, son?

Lookin’ for trout. Joel at the pub pays me for 'em. 

They go with him over the bluff and down to a stream. Walking beside him peering into the
ripples they come to a fallen tree damming part of the stream. The boy spots something
caught against it.

He wades in and picks it up. A skull!

He brings it to them. Some sort of big cat, they reckon. The Boy's gobsmacked, s'the Beast!   
They've all heard of the Beast of Bodmin Moor, the panther-like creature that people catch
glimpses of and blame for savaged cattle that are found around the moor.

The boy says he's taking the skull to the pub cos there's a search party going to start from

They go with him up over the bluff and across open moor.

When they get to the pub it turns out to be Jamaica Inn.

Outside the search party are having fortifying drinks. The Trio help themselves. They show
the skull. 

Excitement all round. The searchers are armed with pitchforks, machetes, shotguns, and
hunting rifles with telescopic sights.

The East Cornwall Hunt rides up and joins in, all yapping hounds and scarlet jackets.
I like them red coats says Stan, and Reeva corrects him it is hunting pink.

Jago winces at yet another piece of Reeva's all-knowing wisdom but he still watches her
hopefully. That bust! That butt!   

A horse and buggy trot up and people crowd round the driver. It's Jane the saddler someone
says, she saw the Beast. The skull is passed to her. 

Could be, she says, studying it, I was riding down a lane not thinking about any beast when I
saw this black animal in the bushes. It was too big to be just a cat.

Everyone agrees that the search should go ahead. The skull may be the Beast but who can
say there's only one. Got to rid our county of the menace. All sing:


And no one will ever move me from this land
Until the Lord calls me to sit at his hand
For this is my Eden, and I’m not alone
for this is my Cornwall and this is my home  
                                             (by Harry Glasson)
As the song continues they all set off, loud and fearless.

Reeva carries the skull and studies it as she walks. Anatomically speaking, she observes, its
dimensions are appropriate to a tiger rather than to a panther, which of course is the same
species as a leopard but of darker colouration. 

Ah!  She makes a discovery: There's a scrap of green felt attached to the base of the skull.

Hah ! I can say with certitude that this specimen was attached to a rug, a tiger-skin rug! This
is NOT the Beast of Bodmin Moor.
(Note: that happened. And I filmed the saddler woman)

The Hunt's hounds start to bay and, from a clump of bushes, come awesome growls.

Everyone halts and stares at the bushes.

With a chilling roar Helmet's dog Fiend leaps out and rushes towards Reeva.

But the foxhounds leap after it and it veers past her and bolts across the moor.

The Hunt and the searchers give chase.

Before the Trio can follow there's a hissing from the bushes, annihilate annihilate, and
faceless Helmet is there, loading his crossbow.

The Trio's eyes meet, a bolt whangs past. Reeva ducks and yanks the ring from her pocket. It
glows, she kisses it. Wham. . . 

They are in a strange all-white landscape. The ground is shining white and so are some
conical peaks beyond.

Looks like the moon grumbles Stan. That sodding bishop!

They see miners covered in white from head to toe hacking at the white stuff with picks and
shovels coated in it.

Stan stoops and scrapes up a little of it. He sniffs. Kaolin, he pronounces it, china clay.

Reeva promptly takes over, yes the main ingredient of fine china, porcelain, it breaks down
into particles as fine as face powder. We must be near St Austell and this is probably about
1910. Some of the world’s biggest deposits are here. Seven thousand men were mining it.

The miners shovel the stuff into small trucks on a narrow-gage railway.

Stan inspects the bogey wheels and the tilting mechanism and is well pleased, beautiful
engineering this!

Beyond the rails is a pool of water, turquoise from the clay. Jago notices something over

A miners’ silver band marches in playing:

(15A)TRELAWNY a silver band version.

The miners hack and swing in time to the music, all-white figures in the all-white landscape in
a sort of all-white ballet.

Jago goes to the turquoise pool and finds that the something he saw earlier is a solitary white
rose managing to grow in the clay at its edge.

Tenderly he picks it.

He takes it over to the band and has a word with the band-master. They start to play a
Cornish love song:


I love the white rose in its splendour
I love the white rose in its bloom
I love the white rose, so fair as it grows
it’s the rose that reminds me of you . . .     
Jago leads the band, marching, to wheel towards Reeva and then halt in front of her.

He sings the words to her and holds out the rose.

Will she take it? She hesitates but does take it and starts immediately to explain it is from the
genus Latin-name Rosa of the family Roseaceae.

But for once she stops herself in mid-flow and allows a smile to cross her face as she holds
the rose.

Jago is well pleased.

Annihilate annihilate comes that dread hiss and Helmet with Fiend come squelching down a
white slag heap and plod towards them across the sticky clay and through the all-white ballet.
Helmet stumbles and falls.

When he gets up he’s as gleaming white as the miners. Stickily he starts to load the all-white

Oops, we’re outta here says Jago, and Reeva and kisses the ring. Wham . . .

They're in a tiny fishing village.

A few fishermen are mending nets. Fisherman Jago knows this place, Cadgwith Cove he
says, and asks them what year is this. 1988 they tell him.

The fishermen and the Trio get up and join men and women of the village lifting a long
slender boat out of the boathouse and - ready. .up! - onto their shoulders.

'Buller' is the name on the boat’s bow and it's a Cornish pilot gig, built from Narrowleaf Elm 
for speed, Reeva inevitably explains, in the days when pilots raced each other out to ships
waiting to hire a pilot to navigate them between rocks and sandbars.

Stan strokes the beautiful boat declaring it a clinker-built masterpiece. He's so enraptured he
trips as they carry it into the sea and falls backwards into the water, splosh gurgle.

The carriers tenderly lower the gig from their shoulders onto the water.

Cadgwith women clamber aboard and take up the six oars. 

Under orders from their cox'n, they start to row and soon they have Buller gliding over the
sea. The cox'n tells them bend forward like a butterfly then sting it like a bee!

Now, as they bend and pull, they sing.-


Come fill up your glasses and let us be merry             Then away . . . then away
For to rob and to plunder it is our intent                then aw-a-a-a-a-y
As we roam through the valley                             to those caves
where the lily and the roses                              in yonder mountains
And the Beauty of Kashmir lay drooping his head           where the robbers retreat  etc 
What's that mean?  Reeva seizes the opportunity to explain as the singing continues:
well the Beauty of Kashmir probably refers to a flower, but it might also mean the Kashmir
Mallow Tree - that's from the Lavatera  family of course; or possibly Kasmirian Sage; and as
for the rest of the words, well my research so far has only found that as long ago as the 1950s
local people here just said 'the anthem was given to us by old friends gone by.'
The scene moves to the Cadgwith Cove Inn where the whole village seems to be singing their
mysterious anthem and raising the roof.

The song continues and now Buller is lined up with thirty other gigs on open water by
Cornwall's Scillie Islands. She's crewed this time by three of the Cadgwith women plus our

A banner says this is the international gig-racing championships. 

A starter's gun goes off and everyone bends to the oars and heaves the boats into motion.
(Note: these championships are held twice a year.)

The gigs race over the waves. Jago admires Reeva's strength at her oar, and she does atleast acknowledge him with a slight smile.

Pull . . .  pull . . . calls the cox'n  . .  pull . . . in . . . out . . in . . . out . . . and give her TEN!  . . .
one . . . two . . .three . . . four . . .

Motor boats purr along on either side, full of supporters cheering their crew on.

Among the many-coloured gigs behind Buller is a black one. Whang - a crossbow bolt thuds into Buller's stern, narrowly missing the cox'n.

In the black gig Helmet stands reloading while the rowers gulp and gasp at Fiend's vile breath.  Helmet braces his legs against a thwart and takes aim.

Whang - this bolt falls on Buller's bow. He's bracketed us, says Reeva, the essence of naval gunnery! 

It'll be a direct hit next, says Jago, better ship out!  He stands up and javelins his oar towards the black boat.

Reeva grabs the ring and Wham . . .  
They land on the bright green turf on a golf course beside the sea.

It'll be the salt air, expounds Reeva, that makes the grass here so verdant, the sodium chloride and oxygen. 

Stan mildly tries to suggest that nitrogen might play a part but she silences him with look.

Jago shrugs to himself, same old same old. But he still looks at her longingly.

She feels his eyes on her and concedes just a half-smile that vanishes so fast he's not sure
he actually saw it.

Whee! A golf ball whizzes past them. Could this be some new missile from Helmet? 

Startled, they gaze around. An apologetic voice calls Fore! Oh I say, I do apologise! Didn't
see you. Could've sworn there was no one there a minute ago. 

Jago nods knowingly to Reeva because of course before the ring dropped them onto the turf a minute ago they actually 
hadn't been there. 
The golfer comes to them, a plump genial fellow with a bald head. So sorry, really didn't see you.  Betjeman's the name, John Betjeman. 
Care to walk with me while I finish my round? Actually I'm trying to write a poem as I go.

Stan obligingly carries the bag of clubs and they walk with the Poet Lauriate to where the ball

Stan examines various clubs from the bag, tenderly fingering the beautifully made things, and
suggests a Fairway Wood for this shot.

Betjeman agrees. Just right, thank you.

I'm trying to write a poem as I go y'know. He tries it out on them as it comes to him line by

He addresses the ball, swings, Whack. As it flies away he recites: 

How straight it flew, how long it flew,  
It cleared the rutty track, 
And soaring, disappeared from view, 
Beyond the bunker’s back – 
A glorious, sailing, bounding drive,
That made me glad I was alive.  

They walk to the bunker and climb over it to where the ball lies. It's on the Green.

I knew I'd find it on the green,  
And so I did.
It lay content 
two paces from the pin.

The poet stares at his ball in disbelief.  Oh my, if only I can get it in from here I'll have done
this hole in three. Three!

Stan suggests the CounterFlex putter and hands it to Betjeman who bends studiously over
the little ball.

He breathes slowly. He composes himself. He gives the ball just a tap:

A steady putt and then it went  
Oh, most securely in . . .
The very turf rejoiced to see  
That quite unprecedented THREE!

What a glorious day! What a glorious course! enthuses Betjeman.

He points to a little church beyond the fairway: That's St Enodoc's, I hope to be buried there
one day y'know.

Reeva whispers to Jago that Sir John Betjeman actually will be buried there and it'll be in 1984. Should we tell him? 

Jago thinks, then shakes his head.

Let's celebrate, the golfer says, you've brought me luck. Let me drive you into Padstow for a

In his battered old car they arrive by Padstow harbour and go into a wine bar. 

Stan wonders if there might be palo cortado here. Betjeman says there surely is - a sherry
blissfully dry yet somehow full at the same time! He calls a waiter to bring a bottle. Glasses all

He sips from his and muses that he must write a poem about this heavenly stuff. Hmm. . .

Palo cortado means broken stick,
To dip in the sherry and try just a lick
Is it fully matured?
Or does it need time?
To be full, dry, yet rich -

Stan offers: - a sherry sublime!

Betjeman beams oh jolly good, let’s have another bottle. Waiter! I say, Waiter!

Stan basks in the poet’s praise.

Reeva looks a little miffed that she didn’t come up with that line.

Everyone has a second glass, everyone is happy, even Stan.

But the ring starts to vibrate in Reeva's pocket, Oops we're gonna have to go, Sir John, so

He says he'll sing them off, they have this song here y'know. 

As they leave he downs one more quick shot of palo cortado and launches into one of the two
Padstow Farewell songs – this one’s also called the Soldier’s Farewell - and it's soon taken
up by more voices.


How can I bear to leave thee
One parting kiss I give thee.
And then what e’re befalls me
I go where honour calls me. 
Farewell, farewell, my own tue love,
Farewell, farewell, my own true love . . . 
During the song Reeva wonders if the ring's vibrating means they're getting close to
Trelawny's gold now.  She kisses the ring. Wham . . .

It turns out that the song was farewelling them out of Cornwall because they've landed close
to London at Hampton Court. 

In an oak-beamed Tudor room they’re seated at a table laden with 16th century banqueting
dishes - a goose, a swan, a boar's head, capacious pies, great flasks of wine. 

Opposite them sits a vast imperious man quaffing wine and devouring flesh. Jago whispers to
Reeva isn't that Henry VIII ?

She nods nervously. 

Through his full mouth His Majesty manages to complain to Reeva about a man seated
beside him: slurp, gulp, my Lord High Chancellor here is a most, slurp, gulp, cantankerous

He stuffs a quail or two into his mouth and turns on the man, are you not, Sir Thomas?

The man replies calmly I shall die your servant, your Majesty, but God's first.

Henry shoves a pie into his mouth and barks die you very well may! 

Reeva whispers to Jago that's Thomas More and he's going be beheaded in 1535. And four
hundred years later the Pope is going to canonise him - declare him a saint. And as well as
that beatification, communist Russia is going to honour him for his writings about property
rights being for all men.

Trying to calm the atmosphere Stan humbly asks the king if there is any palo cortado in the
royal wine cellar.

What's that asks the king. Oh a Spanish wine? From Jerez, you say, a 'sherry?'  We call that
Pope-ish stuff 'sack.' We do not keep it.

A girl troubadour with a lute begins to serenade them with:


Alas my love you do me wrong             Greensleeves was all my joy
to cast me off discourteously            Greenesleeves was my delight
When I have loved you                    Greenlseeves was my heart of gold
Well and long                            And who
Delighting in your company.              but my ladye Greensleeves

      If you intend thus to disdain
      It does the more enrapture me
      And even so I still remain
      A lover in captivity 
The words go to Jago's heart and he looks at Reeva for any sign, but no.

After a verse or two she dares to address the king, your Majesty I expect you know there is
much debate about the authorship of this song. With its Andalusian progression of verses, it is
often attributed to your royal self.

The King almost chokes, spluttering and spitting a fusillade of food, this wretched ditty, he
rages, this paltry little tune is Anon! It is not of Our making! 

He motions to guards standing by the door, take the lute-player down!  They seize the wretch
and drag her away. 

The Trio are shocked.

Reeva, holding down anger at the injustice, dares ask what will happen to her?

The king glares, she'll not be needing her fingers again.

Reeva's temper takes over now, how can you!  I can inform you that history will not speak
well of you: your gross appetites; your malign rule; your six poor wives. They will be your
legacy, they will be what people remember of Henry the Eighth!

The king struggles to his feet with his belly overshadowing the table and points a fat finger in
her face. Six wives? Fool, we have but five!

But Reeva won’t be stopped, you’ll see she tells the gross man.

Hold your tongue, woman, if you would keep your head!  He jabs his finger at her again.

But Reeva’s temper is up and she slaps the royal finger away.

The king's eyes bulge and he lunges at her. The royal belly sploshes into a dish of sautéed
pork and he gets his hands on her throat. 

Reeva starts to choke.

Stan doesn't know what to do.

Jago seizes a haunch of venison and swings it hard at the king. 

His Brittanic Majesty, Defender of the Faith, King Henry VIII goes rolling away across a platter
of stewed mulberries, squish splosh, and a vast plate of custard, splosh gurgle, bawling for
his guards.

They appear in the doorway with pikes at the ready.
Jago grabs Reeva's hand and pulls her to a window behind them. Stan grabs a chair and
smashes the glass and, shouting to them to follow, he hurls himself backwards out onto a

Jago follows pulling Reeva after him.

They run with Stan across the lawn towards some hedges.

Behind them come the pikemen and also - oh hell - Helmet and Fiend.

As she runs Reeva manages a look at the ring but it's not glowing. No use. You just saved my
life she gasps to Jago.

Reaching the hedge they realise this is the famous maze and they rush in. Stan stumbles to
the left and runs that way into one of the maze's green passageways as Reeva and Jago go
right. They're separated.

From their left they hear Stan calling where are you?  

Fiend and Helmet, now armed with a pike, reach the maze, plunge in and are swallowed up in
its twists and turns. Helmet methodically keeps thrusting the pike sideways through the hedge
to spear anyone in a parallel passageway.

The pike comes through in front of Reeva and Jago's legs. They leap over its blade. It comes
through again just missing their heads. Aaah! And again by their chests!

Jago pulls Reeva down onto the ground and they wriggle and squirm along the earth, beneath
the pike-thrusts till their passage turns away for Helmet’s.

Deep in the maze now they’re in what becomes a cul de sac. They halt, breathless, clinging to
each other. Oh Jago, you saved my life! Oh Jago. Reeva oh Reeva!

The pikemen arrive outside the maze and surround it, listening for sounds of the Trio.

From inside the maze a whole symphony of sounds fills the air. Stan's calling where are you,
where are you; Helmet's hissing annihilate annihilate; Fiend's snarling and growling; and
Reeva's  gasping Oh Jago, Oh Jago, Oh . . . and Jago's urgent Oh Reeva, Oh Reeva . . .
Annihilate annihilate . . . Where are you Jago . . . where are you Reeva . . . snarl growl snarl
growl . . . Oh Jago oh Jago, Oh Reeva . . .  snarl growl . . . annihilate annihilate . . . Oh Jago,
Oh Reeva!

Inside the maze again, in their cul de sac, Reeva and Jago kiss one more time, still panting,
and smoothing their clothes now.

Reeva tries the ring again. It glows, she kisses it. Wham . . .  

They're on a modern ferry boat heading up the Thames from Hampton Court.

The three sit side by side. Jago holds Reeva's hand.

In the sound-track is the first folk-song collected by Cecil Sharp, now sung for our post-coital
couple first by the Clancy Brothers and then in the ethereal counter-tenor tones of Alfred Deller.


I sowed the seeds of love                 In June there was the red rose bud
I sowed them in the spring time           That is the flower for me
I gathered them up                        I often times have plucked
in the morning so clear                   that red rose bud
when the small birds so sweetly sing      Till I gained the willow tree
when the small birds so sweetly sing      till I gained the willow tree 
As the song continues the boat glides past a stately pair of swans - they mate for life says
Reeva dreamily.

Soon modern London's office blocks and gleaming towers are lining the embankment. 

The Tower of London comes into sight and, just before it, the World-War-Two battleship HMS
Belfast moored as a war museum. 

Stan gets excited about Babcock and Wilocks Superheated Three-drum Boilers. He
persuades the ferry-captain to go alongside.

He climbs aboard the great warship and is welcomed by two officers - an RN Commander
and a Royal Marine Major.

On the ferry Jago and Reeva carry on upriver to the Tower.

There Beefeater's line the top of the wall glaring down at a crowd of Cornishmen waving their
Cornish black flags with the white cross and singing:-


And when we come to London's wall,       And shall Trelawny die
a pleasant sight to view,                and shall Trelawny die
Come out come out  you cowards you,      Here's twenty thousand Cornish bold
here's men as good as you.               Shall know the reason why 
Reeva mutters that, despite the song's words, they never really did march on London, but the
Bishop's ring is made of Cornish gold and maybe it likes to think they did.

Among the Cornishmen there's much shouting and posturing but no sign of anyone getting
into the Tower where the ring, vibrating now, is pulling them to go. 

Jago calls Stan with his mobile.

Over on HMS Belfast Stan takes the call and turns urgently to the RN commander who nods
agreement and issues orders on the ship's public address system:  D'ya hear there! D'ya hear
there! Marine band and colour guard muster in the waist, C-turret gun-crew stand to! 
He leads Stan to one of Belfast's six-inch gun turrets.
(note: I was in the navy in the Belfast so the detail here is OK.)

Stan is in hi-tech heaven as the gun's crew musters, loads red-tipped shells into the three
guns’ breaches and ushers him onto the gunlayer's little seat.

In the sound track, the gruff old boat-builder Uffa Fox sings:


Rule Britannia 
Britannia rules the waves 
Brittons never never never
Will be slaves . . .     
Stan grasps the brass cranking-handles to elevate the guns and puts his eye to the sight. Oh
bliss!  He cranks the handles and announces target in sight.

A voice says range 350 yards. Fire!

By the Tower everyone hears the sound of Belfast's guns and the whine of incoming shells.

Woomph! Boom! A big hole is blown in the wall. 

On Tower Bridge the Belfast's Royal Marine band approaches leading a smart platoon of
sailors in white gaiters and belts with rifles held at the slope. Stan marches proudly beside
them. The band plays the Navy's march and he sings the words:


Come cheer up me lads,                To honour we call you
'tis to glory we steer,               as free men not slaves
to add something more                 For who are as free
to the this wonderful year            as the sons of the waves? 

They arrive by the Tower. The Cornishmen cheer and sing the chorus:

    Hearts of oak are our ships,
    jolly tars are our men,
    We always are ready,
    Steady boys, steady!
    We'll fight and we’ll conquer
    again and again 
Above them on top of the wall the Beefeaters retreat.

Stan joins Reeva and Jago and they go through the newly blown hole in the wall onto the
Tower's lawns.  Which way now?

Reeva holds out the ring and sees that it throbs most strongly when she points at an entrance
to the White Tower.

Passing a well in the lawn they run through the door into the hall in the Tower which has a
column of life-size knights-in-armour, mounted of model steeds.

Stan fingers the armour on the nearest horse’s leg. Beautiful metalwork, beautiful.

The Trio go quiet. Just the sort of place where Helmet in his armour would be hiding whispers

They slowly scan the line of armoured figures. Is one of them Helmet?

They look up at a knight in full armour with one arm raised with a heavy spiked mace in his
steel-clad hand.

Annihilate! Annihilate! Eeek! Helmet's suddenly right behind them in all his horror.

They're face-to-face. If you can be face-to-face with a man who has no face at all. Annihilate,

Stan is so shocked he falls backwards heavily against the leg of the knight’s model horse.

And shatters it. The horse and the knight lurch and begin to topple towards them.

Look out shouts Jago and just manages to pull Reeva and Stan out of the way as horse and
knight crash down. Right on top of Helmet.

There’s a screech of metal as the knight’s breastplate grinds against his. The spiked mace
goes deep into the void where Helmet’s face would be if he had one.

They leave him pinned down and faintly whispering annihilate annihlilate.

Dear dear, mutters Jago, delighted.

Reeva holds out the throbbing ring. She points with it and it steers her arm leading them
through the hall past the line of knights and out onto the lawns towards the entrance of the
Bloody Tower.

Whoops, Fiend comes round a corner and rushes at them, all teeth and claws. 

They run for their lives across the lawn. The well is in their path but they just manage to leap
over it.

But not so Fiend who's so busy snarling that he misses his footing and plunges into the well's
blackness with an ever-fading snarl. Oh dear says Jago in fake regret, oh dear.

The ring leads them into the Bloody Tower and up spiral steps.

At the top they enter a high ceilinged cell.

Its walls are lined with thick old timbers. (note: they are) They’re covered in messages scratched
by long-ago prisoners. With the ring throbbing gently they study them. 

Reeva reads some out. Thomas More 6th July 1535 . . .  Anne Boleyn 19th May 1536 - poor
woman says Reeva, she was Henry's queen for just 3 years . . . Thomas Babington 10th
September 1586, may God  save me. He plotted against Anne's daughter Elizabeth 1st, says
Reeva, by the time he got here he must have known he was going to be put to death horribly.
Then she whoops yeeay! Look, at last! Look Jago, look Stan! ‘Jonathan Trelawny 12th June
1688.’ It's the Bishop! 

They trace his scratched name, and the bishop's ring now throbs violently.

It's hot gasps Reeva. The stone in the ring shatters. Aaagh!

A few inches of the wooden wall beside the bishop's inscription hinge open slightly. What’s

Stan gets his fingernails into the edge and strains. No good.

From his pocket he takes a Swiss knife, chooses a tool, and slowly levers the edge till it
hinges open and reveals - gasp - a tiny hiding place.

In it is a wrapped something.

Reeva reaches in and gingerly takes it out. The wrapping is faded purple velvet.

Carefully she takes it off. They all crane their necks to see.

Inside is  . . . a bishop's golden cross. It's about eight inches long. It has a purple stone even
bigger than the shattered one in the ring.

They stare at it open mouthed.
Is this the gold, gasps Stan.
Is that it, murmurs Jago.
The big stone in the ring starts to glow and flash.
The whole cross starts to throb gently. 
Boys, says Reeva, looks like the search goes on.


(1)Shall Trelawney Die? Cornwall’s anthem to be produced with boisterous men

(2)High Barbaree To be produced. Originally recorded by Burl Ives.

(3)The Floral Dance To be produced with a silver band. (once recorded by Terry Wogan on TOTP)

(4) The Victory Recorded by electro-folk stars Steeleye Span, C1990

(5) The Drunken Sailor Recorded by the Clancy Brothers OR to be sung by our ship’s crew.

(6) Blow the wind Southerly Recorded by folk-singer Laura Wright or, for us, by new talent.

(7) Blow the man down Capstan shanty to be sung by ship’s crew.

(8) Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket a sailor’s lament originally recorded by Burl Ives.

(9) Camborne Hill Cornish song recorded by Brenda Wootton ‘The queen of Cornwall.’

(10) Morris Dance music To be chosen and produced.

(11) All around my hat was a 1990s hit for Steeleye Span, to be mimed by our stars.

(12) Lo he comes Wesleyan hymn to be produced in a church.

(13) Tom Bowling Recorded by old sailor Uffa Fox + cello version recorded at The Proms.

(14) Lamorna To be produced.

(15) My Cornwall To be produced.

(15A) Trelawny again, by a silver band

(16) The White Rose Cornish love song to be performed by our Jago wooing Reeva.

(17) The Cadgwith Anthem To be produced, sung by a spirited crowd

(18) Padstow farewell song To be produced.

(19) Greensleeves recorded by folk-singer Elyse Davis or, for us, by new talent.

(20) The seeds of love recorded by alto-tenor Alfred Deller – after Jago has won Reeva.

(21) more of Trelawny see (1) but this part’s about attacking London’s wall.

(22) Rule Britannia recorded by gruff old boat-builder Uffa Fox.

(23) Hearts of Oak marching Band of the Royal Marines – to be produced.