The Quest Begins

Finally, last Saturday, Dr Malone delivered on his promise. The green Land Rover Discovery pushed its way slowly through the tangles of brambles, its big tyres scrunching the gravel. It drew to a halt in front of a Georgian manor house clad in limestone, with large leaded sash windows - now cracked or smashed. “Here we are young man, this is the house... What do you make of it?” said Dr Malone, looking over at me. Staring wide-eyed at the deserted house, a tear began to trickle down one of my cheeks.

Dr Malone had borrowed the Land Rover off a friend of his who worked as a grounds man at the University Parks. Negotiating the gardens of this derelict house in a rugged, go anywhere, four-wheel drive vehicle was a much better option than trying to hack through the undergrowth on foot. “Let’s get out son and have a look around,” said Dr Malone, oblivious to my deep emotion.

The forgotten garden lay dull and misty in the thin morning light, and the raucous cries of rooks echoed through the woods. Jumping from the jeep, I looked around me. I knew instantly that the house was once my home, but the garden was unrecognisable, sad and desolate. What had happened to this place, I wondered? Dr Malone grabbed a big hand-scythe from the back of the vehicle.
“This will take care of the nasty stuff,” he said, grinning at me. “Let’s make our way to the back of the house.”

A couple of minutes later, we had hacked our way to the rear of the building and walked across the terrace. It was littered with shattered blocks of masonry and rubble. I gasped when I saw the large hole in the drawing room wall.
“What do you think could have caused this Dr Malone?” I asked.
“Could have been a gas explosion,” answered Dr Malone.

Peering through the hole, I surveyed the damage. “I don’t think so,” I muttered, “the upper floor above this room is still intact. A gas explosion radiates in all directions from its point of origin. If it was powerful enough to blow a huge hole in the wall it would have blown out the ceiling and probably part of the roof. I've always had a strong fascination with lightening. This could have been caused by a massive thunderbolt, or multiple lightening bolt strikes.”

Dr Malone was sceptical. But I was insistent. “Such strikes on houses are rare, especially in this country, but they do happen. I've seen photographs of buildings that have been extensively damaged by lightening. Anyway, now I know the location of the house I can check the local authority and newspaper records. There must be an accident report somewhere.”

“So,” asked Dr Malone, looking at the shattered floorboards that marked the spot where he had fallen into the cellar on his previous visit, “does the place seem familiar to you?”

I inspected every inch of the burnt out room very carefully. “Thanks again for bring me here Dr Malone,” I responded. “I’m in no doubt that this derelict house was once my home.”
“Jeeze! That’s amazing,” exclaimed Dr Malone, his voice echoing loudly through the blackened shell that was once a room. “Do you remember anything else now?”
“No,” said I. “There's nothing in this room but unrecognisable burnt debris.”