“Real antiques those. As old as the house, they say. Ropes been changed of course, but ’part from a bit of oiling, they’re just the same as they were when some old monk put them together,” said Mrs. Appledore from the doorway.
“Clever old monk,” said Sam. “This is real neat work. Did they have bigger pigs in those days? With this gearing you could hoist a whole porker, if the rope held.”
“Bigger appetites maybe. Talking of which, you left your sandwich on the bar. I’ve wrapped it in a napkin so you can eat it as you walk to the church. And here’s a front-door key in case I’m out when you get back. And I thought this old guidebook might help you if you’re looking round the village. Better than that useless leaflet.”
She proffered a leather-bound volume, almost square in shape.
“That’s kind,” said Sam, taking the book and opening it at the title page.
A GUIDE to ILLTHWAITE and its ENVIRONS being a brief introduction to the history, architecture, and economy
of the parish of Illthwaite in Skaddale in the
County of Cumberland,
with maps and illustrations,
prepared by the Reverend Peter K. Swinebank DD
Vicar of St. Ylf’s Church, Illthwaite,
assisted by Anthony Woollass Esquire of Illthwaite Hall.
Printed at the Lunar Press, Whitehaven mdcccxciv
“Eighteen ninety-four,” she worked out. “Isn’t this valuable? I’d love to borrow it, but I’m worried about damaging it.”
“Don’t be daft,” said the woman comfortably. “I’ve loaned it to worse than you and it’s come to no harm.”
Worse than you. Had to be a compliment in there somewhere, thought Sam.
“Then thank you so much.”
“Think nowt of it,” said the woman. “Enjoy the church. See you later. Don’t forget your sandwich.”
“Won’t do that in a hurry. See you later!”