“WELCOME THE TRAVELLER”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 20 September 1939, Page 10

“WELCOME THE TRAVELLER”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

COPYRIGHT.

By

ARTHUR HARDY.

CHAPTER IV. The tithe barn at Wood Farm was as fine an example of its kind to be found within the county, a long, lofty and spacious building. Making their way among the machines which crowded the interior, Robert Berry, Nora. Jessie Capstow, and Dan Shelton climbed up the wooden ladder which led to the floor of the loft at the western end of the barn. Here was space enough to hold half a dozen good sized rooms. Timber of all kinds was stacked at the end of the floor. Benches and forms, tables and a lumber of discarded and damaged furniture had to be moved by the men before, hot and tired and moist from their exertions, they came upon a large and dirty dust covered bundle swathed in tarpaulin. It reached upwards ten feet or more from the floor and . measured about eight feet wide. Stout rope was bound and tied about it, and so securely knotted that nothing but a keen edged Jcnife could undo it. Robert Berry had carried up into the loft a big tool chest which contained everything he needed. “It looks as if we've found the iron frame that used to hold the inn sign,” he said. "Off with the wrappings, Bob,” said Dan Shelton. The men had donned overalls. By this time their hands were black with dirt and smuts and dust. Taking a sharp bladed knife out of the tool chest, Robert Berry cut the stout rope through here and there until it fell apart in pieces. They dragged the bundle away from the cases against which it rested. The wrappings were stiff with age and clung together so tightly that they had to be ripped away in pieces. The girls had set upon a table a lamp with a big and powerful flame intensified by a reflector to illuminate the gloom of the loft and they now turned up the wick so that the dazzling light fell upon the find. The tarpaulin had been removed in rotted strips. The canvas beneath it was torn away, and at last the iron frame about which Adam Lawley had spoken was revealed in all its beauty. Tammas Martin, 7 of Little Tansworth, dead long, long ago, has indeed done his work well. The wrought iron frame splashed with a powder of rust and cunningly fashioned in curvbs and scrolls and leaves and roses was something of a masterpiece. It needed no expert to acclaim its merit. The four stood beside the flood of brilliant light staring at in wonder. Dan Shelton and Robert Berry tested its weight. It was as much as they could do to lift it from the floor. The two girls were excited. At the top of the iron frame two stout rings had been fashioned from which the old inn sign had hung. It must indeed be a worthy sign to fit such a splendid frame. "Find the sign, Bob," said Nora, her eyes dancing. "Look! It must be in that big wooden case over there,” Robert Berry eyed the heavy wooden case, taking a quite mental measurement of its proportions. “Yes,” he agreed, "I think the sign should be in there.” It needed all his strength and Dan’s to move the case and to drag it forward, spinning it on one corner and to lay it down front upwards where big nail heads showed at regular intervals all round the thick edges of the wood. The nails were driven in deep in the wood and had rusted there. Robert selected some tools from the chest, gave a hammer and a chisel to Dan and began to drive the tapered end of an iron wedge between the lid and the case. He drove the wedge home and wrenched it up, striking until the wood and the nails began to move. The nails were five inches long and strong. They showed like bared shark’s teeth as the work progressed, and piece by piece the lengths of wood were prised up and cast aside. It took them a long hour to removs the lid of the case. They pulled away the sheets of paper and the cloths with which the case was packed, and that done they came upon the old inn sign. It lay in reverse, its face downward. Nora tore down the ladder and ran into the farmhouse to fetch dusters and a feather brush. Back she came bringing the things. John Robert Berry came strolling after her. At his heels came Mrs Berry. She was Lucy Grayson, the daughter of a needy farmer when John Robert Berry had married her, a remarkably pretty and talented girl. She was pretty still, immensely capable and very active. She was forty-five but looked years younger. "I don’t mean to be loft out of this even if I do spoil my best dress,” she said with a laugh as she began to climb the ladder. “Nora says you've found the sign, Bob,” said the farmer as he reached the floor of the loft and gave Lucy his wife, his hand. He was sixty years of age, but strong and young looking despite the worries and troubles he had won through. "Here it is. Look.” Robert and Dan set to work with the feather brush and the dusters raising a cloud of dust that set all coughing and sneezing until tears were running from their eyes. That done they uptilted the ease and began to work the inn sign out of it. Once the pieces of wood and cork which held the sign in position had been removed the rest was easy. The big sign was drawn out. and with John Robert Berry’s help they set the case aside. They propped up the sign against the stack ,of wood piled at the end of the loft so that the light of the lamp shone on it like a theatre spot-light. On it was painted the figure of a man. tall and powerfully built. The face was so alive as to leave no doubt as to its being a portra.it. . The man 1 was clothed in a suit of brown with

sweeping skirts to the coat and big flaps to the side pockets, knee breeches, silk stockings, buckled shoes and a small cravat. The face was capped by a wealth of dark curly hair. The likeness to John Robert Berry and even to his son Robert was striking. Beneath the picture was painted in neat lettering Robert Waterloo Berry, Master of this house. "Oh!” exclaimed Nora staring and gaping. “We have found him.” The painting was exceedingly well done and bore a heavy coat of varnish. It had marvellously withstood the test of time and the batterings of all weathers. For minutes on end they stood admiring it and extolling its beauty. It was Jessie Capstow, clinging on to Dan Shelton’s arm, who broke the spell. "I wonder what is on the other side.” “Let us see.” The three men, handling the great frame tenderly, turned the fame about. Again the feather brush and the dusters were brought into use, and a film of dust and grime was removed from the painted and varnished panel. Once more the powerful light did its duty. The obverse of the sign revealed the front of the old inn now known as Traveller’s Buildings with the fine old doorway instantly attracting the attention. A coach had arrived. Its four horses stood steaming in the moonlight. The guard, was standing by the coach door out of which a woman was emerging. Near by stood Robert Waterloo Berry, the master of the house, his hat in his hand with which he indicated the hospitable doorway. The windows of" the inn were shining brightly and a warm glow from within was streaming invitingly through the open inn door. Above the realistic and graphic picture in the same distinguished lettering as before the artist had painted the name of the house "Welcome the Traveller.” Here was no smudge of paint, but a work or art, the work of an artist of talent. Exclamations of delight and appreciation were general now. "And do you mean to say you have never seen the sign before, dad?” asked Robert though he knew that was so. “Yes, my boy. I’m no judge, but this I will say, had I known it was anything like this I’d not have left it mouldering in that old case.’ “With your permission, father,” said Robert grimly, “it will go up in the house. I’ll have it cleaned up and varnished. It’s marvellous. I don’t think we need question Waterloo Berry’s quality now. The sign speaks for him. He must have oeen a great man. Now I’m going to search for and find those old books.” CHAPTER V. It was tea time. After their hard work Robert and Dan needed a rest. So-.they returned to the ’ farmhouse, washed and went in to tea. The tea over they descended to the cellars. Robert's father came down to direct the operations. First of all he thought the oak chest they wanted was to be found in this place. Then he thought it was in that place. But they searched as they were directed and drew a blank. Soon they were dirtier than ever. They were hot and sweat ran down their cheeks. Dan Shelton laughed at Robert’s grumbling. "We are - getting rid of a bit of weight, aren’t we?” he said. “I like to fight at thirteen stones •four. I weight fourteen stones three pounds now. I have still a long way to go, Bob.” x Robert Berry did not worry about his weight at all. He did not run to fat and he was always hard and fit. Thirteen stones six pounds as low limit weight would do foi’ him any time. He seldom weighed any more. At last when Robert was thinking about abandoning the search for the day they came upon an old oak chest stored behind some old empty barrels in a disused wine cellar. "Here she is,” Robert called out. Jessie Capstow came close to him, holding up the lighted stable lamp. The oak chest was furnished with an iron handle at each end. Dan Shelton helped Berry to lift it by these handles and they carried it out into the passage, where Robert’s father stood dangling a bunch of old keys in his hand. "One of these keys should fit,” said John Robert Berry, "but I don't know which one it is. Try ’em, Bob." Choosing a suitable looking key, Robert Berry guessed right the very first time. He unlocked the chest and threw back the lid. Within the box he found many packages, some of which were shaped like books. After a lapse of many years the paper in which the packages were wrapped was sound. Robert took out one of the packages, cut the string and, kneeling on the stone floor, unwound its stout paper wrappings, bringing to view two large books bound in strong, whole, leather covers. The books were heavy, and stamped deep in the leather and gilt, Robert read these words, “Welcome the Traveller —Visitors’ Book.” With almost a reverential touch he wiped away the dust from the cover of the book and opened it. The others bent double to look, Jessie Capstow holding the lamp at arm’s length. The first entry in the book was under date October Bth, 1815, and showed a discoloured sprawling signature, “Edmund Edwards, Worcester," —no doubt the first guest to register at the, inn. A succession of other signatures filleded the page of the book. Four" guests had arrived the' first day, two on the second day, and three on the third. At first arrivals were but few, sometimes with a gap between. But soon there came a change, travellers

arriving and staying in numbers at Welcome the Traveller with regularity every day. Within a month after the opening of the inn the words “house full” were written neatly in the margin of a page, very likely by Waterloo Berry himself. Time to prove that when they found the invaluable diary which should be written in Waterloo Berry’s own hand. The first of the two visitors’ books covered the first five years of Waterloo Berry’s reign as mine host of the Welcome the Traveller Inn, and. as no turned over the pages of the register, Robert found that there were many marginal notes and comments. The 1 story of the old coaching inn in the days of its prosperity was set down here. Tht second visitors’ book was a replica of the first. Whilst Jessie Capstow held the light closer Robert read out some of the marginal comments of the old innkeeper. For instance, he found this under date December 14, 1823: "Snowing. No coach arrived today. Drift piled four feet high beside the road. Freezing, with fog. No fresh guest arrived, and none departed.” Under date two days later Robert found this: "Run right out of sea coal. Lucky that tne wood piles stand high in the back yard. All fires going in the house. A nice place to be in and no stint of provisions and fresh vegetables. Rum punch never was so popular.”

(To be Continued'!.