The Dig

As Paul Arthurs steered the car down the winding Cheshire roads, Ian stared out the passenger-side window. Ian nodded in approval of the countryside views.

‘Lovely part of the world, Paul.’

‘I love it. So nice to get away from the concrete and out into the sticks. That’s why I love doing what we’re doing.’

Paul had been interested in nature and wildlife since he was a kid. Childhood trips to nature reserves and summers spent in darkest North Wales, had given Paul a love of the wilderness and the great outdoors. In his teens he had discovered the efforts being made to preserve wildlife. He had been hooked instantly. And now, in his late-twenties, he spent a lot of his free time joining in with bat-surveys or counting newts out in the depths of a country park. His involvement with preservation groups sent him anywhere in the North West, from Little Lever to Barton Moss.

Today he had enlisted the helot his Ian, his closest friend. Ian wasn’t particularly fond of the outdoors but when Paul had asked him to help, he had been only too happy to go along, after all, a mate was a mate. If your friend needed a favour, then you did what was asked.

The car bumped and rocked across uneven, broken roads as they headed further out into the countryside.

‘Could none of your group not help out today?’ Ian asked.

Paul belonged to several nature and wildlife groups. There groups organised all kinds of activities to help preserve and protect the region’s wildlife. He spent a lot of time, and kept odd hours, working to help what he saw as a very good cause.

His wife Jane understood his dedication, or at least that’s what she told him. If she did not fully understand then, she at least tolerated his interest. Whenever he mentioned he would be spending the evening out in the country, surveying this or observing that, she would smile and say, that’s fine love.

Paul pulled to stop and turned the engine off. He pointed out the window to a path leading away into the forest.

‘This is the place.’

With spades slung over their shoulders, like the Seven Dwarves off to the mine, Paul and Ian set out along the path. Ian glanced at the pale sky above the tree tops.

‘Hope it doesn’t rain.’

‘You can tell you’re new to this.’ laughed Paul.

‘I’ve got my brand new trainers on.’ Ian moaned.

Paul stopping traipsing along the path and looked at his friend’s footwear. His shoes had the bright white glare that only astronauts on the moon, and brand new trainers had. Paul laughed and his mate’s choice of shoes.

‘Why on earth have you got your new trainers on? You knew what we were doing today.’

‘I like to look smart, don’t I?’

‘We’ll see how smart they look when we’re done.’

‘The things you do for a mate.’ sighed Ian.

Come on, Paul smiled, and headed on up the dirt track.

A while later they reached a small clearing. A wooden stake had been planted in the centre, bearing the wildlife trust logo. Ian looked around. To him it looked like every other part of the forest. Unsure exactly what was significant about this particular spot, he simply nodded and asked exactly what it was they were here to do.

Paul jabbed his spade into the ground, and waving his hands animatedly, explained about the animal and insect life that lived here in the forest. Ian lost interest as Paul went on about rainfall. It was all over his head, literally.

‘Yeah, that’s all well and good, but what are we doing?’

‘We’re going to dig a hole.’

‘Not a problem, squire.’

Ian swung his spade eagerly as though it was a baseball bat. Paul traced a rectangular outline in the dirt with the edge of his spade. When he was done, he declared that that was about the size of the hole they needed. Other bits of the project would be undertaken next week, Paul said, by other members of the team.

‘Let’s do this.’ Paul growled.

He drove his spade into the soil with determination. Ian joined in, shovelling away.

The work was hard, much more gruelling than Ian was expecting. He was soon red in the face and wiping his sweating forehead with the front of his t-shirt. Paul handled the toil much better than his friend. You get used to it, he told Ian.

‘I have no intention of getting used to it.’ Ian laughed.

‘It will be worth it when we’re done.’

‘It’s all a bit tree-huggy for me.’

Paul shook his head and retaliated by pointed at the muck on his friend’s now-ruined trainers. Ian swore and declared that he was never leaving the city again. Paul laughed at his mate’s outrage.

‘Seriously, mate, all this nature and countryside malarkey, it’s not good for you.’

‘Is that right?’

‘You know Chris, bald feller, glasses?’

‘Rubbish little beard?’

‘Yeah, that’s him. Lives near Trafford Park, all those factories pumping all sorts into the air, twenty four-seven. He’s fine. He went to Scotland, highlands, rolling hills, and all that.’

‘Lovely.’ replied Paul.

‘You’d think so. But his asthma was really bad. He could handle the Salford pollution but the fresh air nearly killed him.’

‘That’s one example, Ian. Fresh air does most people the power of good.’

‘Tell that to Chris. It ruined his holiday.’

They continued with digging the hole.

A while later Ian put his spade down and sighed.

‘Could do with a bit of rain now, to cool us down a bit.’

Paul produced a silver hip-flask from his back pocket. He waved it enticingly at Ian.

‘You little ripper. A drop of the pure would sort us right out.’

The two friends sipped the whiskey and admired their handiwork so far. They were making good progress and the hole, the trench, whatever it was, was starting to take shape.

‘Let’s crack on.’ said Paul.

‘You can buy the ale when we get back.’ replied Ian.

Paul smiled.

And on they went, grafting away, digging the hole deeper and deeper.

The sky overhead was starting to darken when Paul finally nodded, yep, we’re done. Ian tossed his spade up out of the deep hole and climbed out after it. Paul followed. Still sweating and breathing hard, they stared down at the hole in front of them with satisfaction.

‘Thanks for inviting me along today, Paul. I’ve really enjoyed myself in a strange kind of way.’

Paul said nothing for a long moment. Then he spoke.

‘I know about you and my wife.’ he said finally.

Suddenly the deep rectangular pit took on a darker, more sinister meaning. Before Ian could speak, Paul swung the spade.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom