The Drustone

Chapter Nine. The Roman Road

Chapter Nine 

The Roman Road 

The Wakes, two weeks in summer when construction workers took their holidays, had started. Uncle Steve, a master builder, and the only worker in his firm with a driving license, usually picked up his co-workers early in the morning and drove them to their current job site. During holidays he was given personal use of the company lorry. On this, the first Monday of the holiday, he had an unusual load; three bicycles and three knapsacks, carefully stacked amongst the tools and sand on the flat bed. Three boys, curious to know where they were going, sat jammed in the cab next to him.  

The early part of the drive, down the main road to Ulverston and along the coast road to Bardsea, was familiar, but a left turn off the main road in to a hedge fringed country lane took them into unknown territory. Even P.C., who was rumoured to have acquired his considerable knowledge of local geography on illegal poaching trips with his father, was at a loss. The short lane ended abruptly on a rock-strewn beach, opposite the familiar, but still mysterious, Chapel Island.  

"This is it lads. Here's where you get out. This is supposed to be the start, or the end, depending which way you look at it, of a Roman road. I want you to follow it. I'll pick you up at the other end around teatime. Let's say four o'clock." 

"I don't think we'll make it, Mr.Dover." 

"Why on earth not, Rev?" 

"I've heard that all Roman roads lead to Rome. That's quite a long way." 

Uncle Steve laughed. "That's quite true, Rev, but you are only following part of the road. I'm sure you'll make it easily by four o'clock if you don't waste time fooling around. Remember too that Roman roads are famous for being straight. This is no exception. If you ever have to make a choice, keep going in the same direction. Did you bring your compass, Rev?" 

Rev nodded. 

"One other thing. Be careful. Any accidents and your parents might put a stop to our adventures. Once or twice you will have to cross main roads. Stop, look right, look left and right again before crossing. It might even be a good idea to walk your bikes across." 

Instructions given, Uncle Steve helped the boys unload their bikes and knapsacks, wished them well, boarded his lorry, and drove off up the lane. 

The boys loved bike riding. Very few families owned cars and the country roads were quiet. It was quite common for groups of them to take day- long bicycle trips along known routes. This was different. Their destination was a mystery.  

The lane leading back from the beach to the coast road was straight and flat, but P.C. immediately ran in to difficulty. The hedgerows were in full bloom and the scent of wild rose and honeysuckle hung heavy in the air, making conditions difficult for an asthmatic. 

"Are you going to be alright, P.C?" asked Henry, who had noticed P.C's laboured breathing. 

"I'll manage," wheezed P.C. "On the tops the hedges will be replaced by dry-stone walls." 

"Are we going up the tops?" 

"We're heading in that direction."  

On reaching the coast road, the boys dismounted, looked both ways and then trotted across the empty asphalt.  

The road ahead continued in a westerly direction, but they were now faced with an incline that would have tested the best climbers in the Tour de France. The boy's bikes were not really designed for the assault. They were still riding gearless two wheelers. It was accepted that they would not obtain a three speed until they were in their teens, two to three years in the future. Undaunted the trio decided to attack the hill in their usual competitive manner. It would be impossible to make the summit so they would see who could reach the highest point.