Camp Scoundrel: Doing what it takes to survive paradise by David Luddington

Author:David Luddington [Luddington, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mirador Publishing
Published: 2018-04-08T22:00:00+00:00

~ Chapter Thirteen ~

By the time Nikki and I reached the field in the morning there was no sign of Bob or Ryan.

“They went off with a bunch of Yanks,” said Donny. “Think Bob’s lost the plot; he’s started talking all posh, like he’s doing the news on Radio Four or something.”

“And Ryan?” I asked.

“Yeah, him too. Though we wasn’t talking funny or nothing. Well, no more’n usual.”

“I’m guessing Bob’s taken them up to that tumbledown house,” said Nikki.

“And Ryan? Why would he go?”

“I expect he wants to keep an eye on his smallholding.”

The walk up to the ridge took about twenty minutes. Even in the distance as we approached I could see the four Americans and Bob kneeling on the ground. They appeared captivated by something in the grass. Ryan was hovering between the group and the cannabis plants.

Bob spotted us and motioned us to join them.

“Oh, hi,” greeted Faith. “This place is so cool. You guys are so lucky to have all this history right here on your doorstep. We have to go all the way down to Washington if we want to see real ancient stuff.”

“Professor Rupert’s just been showing us the viewing circle,” said Kyle. “To think, Queen Isadora herself stood here.”

I nudged Bob to one side. “Isadora?” I whispered.

“That was her, wasn’t it? She was June Whitfield in Carry on Columbus?”

“I think you mean Isabella?”

“Oh yes. She’s the one.” He turned back to his group. “And on this very spot.” He swept his arms around the stone circle. “Queen Isabella stood as she watched Christopher Columbus set out for the New World.”

“I thought you said Queen Isadora?” queried Nate.

“Yes, I did. To the public she was known by her Royal name of Isabella but her closest friends called her Isadora. But you should never really use that name in Spain of course. They see it as a sign of disrespect.”

The four Americans pottered around the circle, stopping every so often to examine a rock or to look out to sea, possibly in the hope of spotting Columbus on his travels.

I said quietly to Bob, “You’re getting your Spanish history from Carry on Columbus?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure they did their research. Anyway they’re made up with this. It’s the highlight of their holiday; they’ll be talking about it for years.”

Kyle wandered across the old paved circle, holding his arms outstretched. “You can feel the history here.”

“Is that England over there?” Madison shielded her eyes from the sun as she tried to focus on the shimmering shoreline across the brilliant blue of the sea.

Bob looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I came to his rescue. “That’s North Africa,” I said. “Morocco actually.”

“I ain’t never seen Africa,” said Nate. “Except in the movies of course but that’s not the real thing.”

“My great, great, great… um… great, great aunt on my mother’s side came from Spain.” Kyle crouched on the ground and stroked his hands across the levelled stones. “She might have stood on this very spot.”

“So what was Columbus doing round here?” asked Faith.

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