Referencing the Stone
THAT REALM, WHEREIN WE HUME DO DWELL: Chapter Fourteen
They arrived at the library just as clouds had rolled across the sky and the first few big raindrops were darkly dotting the pavement. At the back of the library, between two ‘sleeping’ computer workstations, there was an oversized, heavy door of age-darkened wood. Above it was a semi-circular, stained-glass fanlight with the words ‘Public Library’ worked into the leaded design. A brass plaque fixed to the door itself had the word ‘Reference’ engraved across it in the best Victorian cursive lettering. Rietta had noticed in passing on previous visits, but always dismissed it as a disused back door.
“You see,” explained the librarian, “When the library was modernised, they built the new part as an extension to the old building…” This time her neon-blue earrings and spectacle frames added a dramatic splash of colour to her black blouse and beige corduroy skirt. “This used to be the front door…” She pushed open the door and showed them through to a section of the library that Rietta had not known to exist.
The reference section was darker than the main library and smelt of old leather and wood polish. The floor was a gleaming wood-block pattern and bookshelves stood, floor-to-ceiling between fluted wooden pillars. The ceiling was high, patterned with an embossed lattice of plaster work, and half-way up a gallery with iron railings ran along all four walls allowing access to the higher shelves.
At the far end, the gallery broadened into a mezzanine reached via a spiral staircase. Above that was a row of four, stone-framed casement windows, each with different stained-glass coats of arms. It was like stepping from the present-day of the new library and into the past.
Most of the books were big and leather-bound. Some were in multi-volume sets that filled several feet of shelving. Others were in special bookcases, locked behind metal grilles.
The librarian led them up the spiral of iron stairs and along the gallery. “Local history,” she announced grandly. She produced a bunch of keys from her skirt pocket and selected an old one of black metal to open one of the shutters that protected the older books. “Now, let’s see…” she pondered, “Why don’t we start with this one?” She hefted a huge book from the shelf and carried to the reading area that occupied the mezzanine.
“Is that a book, or a suitcase?” said Carla, in awe of the size of the antique volume.
A long reading table ran along the mezzanine, the green glass shades of its desk lamps gleaming in the light from the casement windows above it.
“You’ll find plenty in here,” said the librarian, tapping the gold inlaid cover of scuffed brown leather. She then unfastened a hasp and unclasped the big book.
“Books,” she said, looking down at the two girls who were obviously eager to get into the pages, “Books can be many things… Sometimes books are people – their thoughts, ideas, memories, captured and preserved between two covers. There can be whole worlds within a book… and some books are time machines, like opening a door to the past and, sometimes, even the future.” She nodded thoughtfully and said, “I’ll leave you girls to explore the contents of this one.”
From halfway down the spiral staircase she called, “Let me know if you need any more help.” Then her footsteps tapped across the woodblocks below and the big door squealed closed behind her.
The book creaked as the girls carefully opened it together, releasing a smell of must and dust. The clasp had been there to stop several un-bound sections from falling out and being lost. There were ledgers, long lists of names and dates, detailed maps, and plans that unfolded to cover the large tabletop. Some of the pages were of a rougher, yellowed paper, crammed with columns of small print. Others were easier to read with larger print on a paper of better quality.
The girls noticed some pages that looked like tracing paper and when they opened the book at these, they found them to be entirely blank. The purpose of those leafs was solely to protect the pages immediately following, which were full-page illustrations, including some fine engravings on thick shiny paper and a few hand-tinted photographs.
There was a pattering of rain against the windows, and perhaps a distant rumble of summer lightning. Otherwise, it was quiet in the library. Handling the antique book had instilled a sense of reverence. Rietta and Carla had the entire reference section to themselves, yet they still conversed in whispers as they diligently set about their research. They were too engrossed to notice exactly when the rain had ceased. They noticed that the windows had brightened, making the small print easier to read and that sunshine was projecting patterns of heraldic colours across the table from the stained-glass coats of arms.
The book was a detailed history of their village and the surrounding locale, charting its growth over centuries: Neolithic hut circles, bronze-age mines in the mountainsides, iron-age artefacts in the marshlands, a bangor-fenced enclosure surrounding a simple wooden hut next to a great standing stone…
Sally did not explain why she wanted Henry to follow her up to Rietta’s room, she simply asked him to accompany her and when they entered she gestured to the room in general. Henry looked the room over. There were some books on the floor along with a scattering of cuddly toys. A drawing pad and a handful of pencils had been tossed onto the rumpled duvet of the bed. Beneath the window, on the far side of the room by the wardrobe, there was what appeared to be a pile of clothes with a blanket tossed over it.
“Needs a bit of a tidy?” he guessed.
Sally nodded to the tartan blanket that covered the something in the far corner, “Have a look under there – I kicked my toe on it when I came in to open the window.”
The expression on Henry’s face changed from bafflement to concern as he made his way around the foot of the bed, bent down and pulled back the blanket to reveal…
“It’s a rock!” he said, surprised and with a hint of relief that it had not been anything worse. He bent down to look more closely at it, running a hand across the dry moss-covered top. He glanced back at the bed and reached for Rietta’s drawing pad which was laying open on a double page.
There were rough sketches of the rock from different angles. She had even added some brief annotations of details: the ‘veins of quartz’, the ‘patterns of lichen’ that resemble ‘maps of unknown lands?’ In the biggest, most careful of the drawings, Rietta had added faces and hands, turning the rock into some sort of goblin creature.
Henry held the pages open towards Sally, “Not bad, eh? She’s been using it for artist’s reference…”
Sally nodded, still looking uneasy, “OK,” she said, “But it should not really be in the house, should it… do you think you could put it back outside?”
“Alright…” Henry put the pad back on the bed and bent to lift the boulder. On his first attempt, it would not budge. He adjusted his posture, back straight, using his leg muscles to do the lifting. He grunted with the effort and the rock moved an inch or so, grinding into the floorboards. He looked back over his shoulder at Sally, still standing in the doorway.
“Rietta couldn’t’ve…” he began.
Shaking her head, Sally finished his sentence, “…not even with Carla’s help.”
“So how the heck did it get up here?” Henry frowned, and in a voice tinged with worry said, “You think someone else helped them?”
“Well it didn’t walk all the way up here by itself.”
She finally came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Henry stood up and joined her, staring at the sunny day outside the window, he said quietly, “Have you asked Rietta about it?”
“They went to the library,” explained Sally, “and they’re calling in to my mum’s… to hear some of her Nanna’s tales of the valley in the olden days. Still hoping to find the dog, on the way.” She sighed, “They’ll both be back for tea.”
“You think it may be Carla’s influence…”
Sally shrugged, “She seems such a nice girl, and they’re the best of friends already, but we don’t know much about her background, do we?”
“I’ll slice some more?” said Rietta’s Nan, picking up the flower pattern plate dusted with cake crumbs and frosting.
“Thank you,” Rietta said, quickly adding, “but we’ll be having tea as soon as we get back.”
“How about you, Carla?”
“I’m going round for tea, too. It was lovely cake,” she patted her own belly, “but I have to leave some room.”
Nanna Ivy had already bustled out to the back kitchen when she called back, “You’ll finish off the lemonade, though.” It was more a command than an offer.
“Yes, please.” chorused the girls. Rietta’s Nanna made fresh pressed, still lemonade with just enough sugar to mask the sharpness without affecting the zing. Perfect for washing down creamy, crumbly carrot cake.
There was some clattering and clinking from beyond the door as Nanna continued talking, “So, the history of the valley? What was it you were wanting to find out?”
“Someone told us that there was once a big standing stone next to the Great Oak…” said Rietta, “We were just trying to find out about it in the library…”
“And what did you find out?” Nanna returned from the kitchen, carefully carrying a wooden tray laden with a large glass jug of cloudy lemonade, prettily decorated with golden silhouettes of flowers around the base and birds in flight at the rim to match the two tall tumblers. She placed the tray on the crocheted circle that centred the top of a gleamingly polished dark wood table.
“The Librarian found us a big book,” Rietta continued, “about the history of the county and there was an old drawing –”
“A ‘highly accomplished woodcut of exceptional quality’ by an unknown artist from the Medieval period,” Carla quoted.
“It was very nice,” smiled Rietta, “And it showed the valley when the first church was built. A wooden one…”
“Oh, yes…” said her Nanna to let them know that she was listening whilst concentrating on filling both glasses brim-full.
“…And in the background, you could see our oak tree and right there, next to it, was this huge stone.”
“Almost as tall as the tree!” Carla commented.
“The tree must have been smaller back then, though,” reasoned Nanna with a raised eyebrow, passing each girl a lemonade.
“Thank you,” they said, each taking their glasses in both hands to steadily raise them to their lips without spillage. They could not help but drink down several gulps at once, it was so refreshing.
“Yes,” agreed Rietta, “But what happened to it? Where did it go?”
“Well,” her Nanna sat back in her comfy armchair, “Wood doesn’t last long in our damp environment. Grows well when it is still a living tree, of course. But exposed timber rots and gets woodworm, so they rebuilt the church with stone, in the early sixteen-hundreds, I think, perhaps before… A few bits were added over the centuries, until it became the village church we know today.”
“The standing stone, though,” clarified Carla, “What happened to the big standing stone – it’s not next to the tree anymore.”
“I was coming to that…” Nanna smiled, “That standing stone was a marker for the pre-historic people who first settled in the valley. It was a crossing point, where they could safely cross the boggy marshlands back then. Some say, it was a spiritual marker too, a place where the world of men and the world of the gods met…”
Carla and Rietta exchanged knowing glances as Nanna Ivy continued, “They had worshipped there for hundreds and thousands of years, until they eventually heard about Christianity, gave up their pagan magic and converted – that would have been just after the Romans gave up squabbling with the Celts and took themselves back off to Rome…”
She paused briefly and glanced at the bright window, its light glinting on her spectacles, “The wooden church was a sort of stop-gap until the monks drummed-up plenty of followers who could help build a bigger, better one.” She looked back to the girls who listened intently, both peering over their glasses of lemonade, “So when they built the stone church, they wanted a grand, significant and symbolic stone altar…”
She paused to enjoy the looks of realisation sweep across the bright young faces before her.
“The standing stone!” Rietta blurted out, and Carla re-iterated, “They used the standing stone for the altar… is it still there?”
“It was a huge stone, god knows how they moved it at all – no cranes, no tractors, just horses and logs, and pulleys – some say that it was god who showed the monks how to do it, in a vision, others say that it walked there all by itself, propelled by the power of prayer… but it was so big that they placed it there first and then built the church around it. So yes, it is still there and will have to stay there, as long as the church still stands.”
The girls exchanged excited looks, Carla asked Rietta, “Have you never gone in the church?”
“Yes, quite a few times… mainly for the Christmas Carol services… but I can’t remember the altar looking like the standing stone in the picture.”
“It’ll be laying on its side, of course,” her Nan pointed out, “And they probably squared it off a bit. And it is covered by the altar cloth during services anyway.”
“We would like to see it!” suggested Rietta with Carla nodding for emphasis.
“Well, now we’ve been talking about it,” agreed Nanna Ivy, “So would I.” She stood up adding, “The vicar is one of those that believes churches should always be left open – a gesture of trust in god and humanity – so he rarely locks the doors. Only had the silver candlesticks nicked a couple of times.” She smiled, “So, as they say, no time like the present.”
As they left the house, Rietta’s Nan paused to lock and test the front door.
“Don’t you trust in god and humanity, then?” asked Carla.
“Well, I always believe the best in people, but it is prudent to remove temptation, I think. Besides, even the Vicar has taken out insurance.”
NEXT: Chapter Fifteen: Going to Church
publishing 28th May 2026
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