My Tutor

Dr Frank Malone had been asked to keep a close eye on me, particularly during my first year at the College. Yesterday, I was suddenly startled as I was walking across the Quad. Somebody shouted my name. The voice reverberated like a summons from the thunder god.

“How are you, young man?” smiled Dr Malone, as I walked through the door of his rooms. “Congratulations! A tremendous achievement to secure a place at Oxford! Welcome aboard,” he rumbled in that amazingly deep voice of his.

“It’s great to be here sir,” I replied enthusiastically, “but I'm still learning the ropes.” Swivelling in his leather office chair, he pointed to the couch. “Take a seat,” he said, studying me closely. “The first couple of weeks are the trickiest; after that, things should start falling into place.”

“Excuse me for saying this, Dr Malone,” I said, “but for a Dubliner you don’t sound that Irish.”
“Well there are all sorts of accents in Ireland,” he laughed. “My father was a geologist working in the oil industry, and we travelled a lot when I was young. I guess that must have blunted the Celtic lilt... That and all the years in England. But make no mistake, by temperament I'm every inch a hot blooded Irishman. So you had best behave yourself young man.”

I chatted with Dr Malone, who would be my main tutor, for around half an hour about background reading and timetables for tutorials. As my tutor was about to show me to the door, I could not help but notice an object on his desk - the black castle.

“Ah yes,” sighed Dr Malone. “I promised to tell you about that rook the last time that you were here.” Rising from his chair he made for his entertainments cabinet, an ornate rosewood piece of furniture. He opened the drop down front, revealing an impressive array of whisky and brandy bottles. There were also bottles of sherry and port designated for guests. He poured himself a large whisky and returned to his desk. He gestured to me to sit down again.

“Sorry, you’re too young for one of these, and anyway it is purely for medicinal purposes... The story I am about to tell you still disturbs me,” he said, taking a large swig from the Waterford crystal whisky glass that he had lifted to his lips. I said nothing; I was looking with piercing intensity at the black castle on the desk.

He took another slurp of whisky and settled back in his chair. His gaze fell on me again. Clearing his mighty throat, he commenced the tale of his bizarre adventure; the strange discovery of an old abandoned house after seeing it in a dream, and the chance discovery of the chess piece. I was shocked by what he told me. “It sounds like the house, the house I remember from when I was a baby,” I murmured in a far away voice.

Eyebrows rising, Dr Malone said, “I thought you came from High Wycombe? The house I found was on Turville Heath.”

Responding to the searching stare, I said, “Very few people know this Dr Malone, and I hope that you will keep it to yourself, but I was adopted at the age of two. Rosie and Jim found me by a roadside on Turville Heath. I could remember nothing except my mothers face, but more recently I've been getting back memories of the house where I was born. This is very odd, because I've a photographic memory and usually never forget anything. The house you describe matches the one I remember exactly. I've been looking for it for over a year now. I would be in your debt if you could kindly show me the location of this abandoned house.”