Gold Rush
Chrissie Robinson-Petrie
Word trickled through the village just like its resident river. Of course, they didn’t believe it at first – why would they? Little boys told untruths, embellished, hacked at realities … but this boy had evidence, balanced on the palm of a held-out hand. You couldn’t argue with solid fact.
“It’s a trick,” snapped Alice.
“It ain’t real,” barked Bill.
And they ushered their grubby grandson to his room. “Go change, our Arlo; wash up for tea. It’ll be ready by the time you’re done.”
Deflated, defeated, Arlo stomped up the stairs, doing as he was told but with fierce resentment, throwing his finds like dice, not watching where they rolled.
***
It looked the same, but felt different. Funny what a few months can do to a person. He remembered the last time he was here, fresh out of college and full of ideas. Unlike his mates, he had his life planned out – or, at least, the next chapter of it, any road.
He’d half expected to find them here, dossing by the Skerne, chucking sticks and chugging cans, no plans for this day or the next or the next.
He couldn’t bring himself to sit on the sofa, the same one he had sat on many times before, had his own hand in bringing here after they’d found it in the alley off Salters Lane. He’d sat on it then. Sat on it with her. They hadn’t thought about germs and vermin then, only love and White Lightning.
A shoe on dry kindling turned his head to the embankment. There she was, fresh from his mind and in the flesh.
“Loll, you came.”
“What’re you after, Si?”
***
Alice switched the TV to standby, sighed and stood up, sick to the back teeth of depressing adverts reminding her of her mortality, telling her how close to death she was, urging her to get her affairs in order before she went.
Bill was at his weekly luncheon club and Arlo, well, Arlo had better be at school at least attempting to get a decent education, and not skiving down at that wretched river. She sighed a second time. She supposed she’d better get a wash in the machine, make good use of the afternoon’s fair forecast.
Bill was better trained. He’d had more years at it. He still left crumbs on the kitchen counter and rarely washed the pots – but his laundry always reached the basket. Arlo, on the other hand, hadn’t had that constant reprimand, never knew the word no until just a few weeks ago; but he’d learn, in time. Alice and Bill would make sure of that.
Meanwhile, his clothes piled in small mounds around his room like brightly coloured cowpats. Alice began scooping them up, almost as cautiously as if they had actually come from an animal’s behind. Well, you could never always tell what you might find in, or on, a boy’s clothing. Or under, apparently: Alice’s attention was drawn to the floor by a clatter. Something small, a pebble … smaller. It was the size and shape of a chocolate raisin, but not brown. She picked it up, felt its weight, held it up for closer inspection, remembered what Arlo had said. Then she shook her head and placed it in the pocket of her floral pink pinny. She carried the clothes downstairs to the kitchen, filled the machine, set it away and took another look at the nugget in her pocket.
She held it up to the window, to the light, and caught sight of Jenny next door, who’d had the same idea about the weather and the washing, by the looks of it, but perhaps an hour or so sooner – she was already on pegging hers out on the line. Alice dashed out to catch her.
“Here, Jenny, take a look at this, love, and tell me what you think.”
Jenny gave inspection. “Bit small, not worth much, I daresay.”
“But it is …?”
“Gold, aye, from what I can tell … but if you want to know for sure, I’d say you want to go see Frederick up the shop. He’s been dealing in that stuff for years. Well, in rings and things, but still.”
“Thanks, Jenny.” Alice turned to leave.
“Here, where’d you get it?”
“You’d never believe.”
“Try me.” Jenny goaded.
“The Skerne.”
“Get away!”
Alice made to leave. She was away to see Frederick, just as Jenny had suggested.
“Wait up, Alice … wait up!” Jenny was the perfect shadow, in the fact that she could keep up with Alice’s quick pace. She wasn’t as silent as a shadow, though, calling to everyone they passed: “Here, did you know, our Alice has found gold!”
Some dismissed her just as Arlo had been dismissed, but by the time Alice and Jenny had arrived at Freddy’s Treasure Trove, they had accumulated a small entourage, who all cooed at the news that gold had been found in the Skerne.
***
Si started with some easy openers, as if passing time of day with an almost stranger. How’s you? How’s your Mam? What you been doing since you got home?
Loll’s answers were short on great detail.
Si moved on – or back, rather, to reminiscence. He talked about how they’d met that first day at school when the young villagers merged into one senior institution. How it took him ages to pluck up the courage to ask her out. The numerous evenings and weekends thereafter, spent together, quite often down here by the river. Then college, then their big adventure together when both applied to – and got – their first jobs on board the same ship on the entertainments team. Their first far-flung port of call: Cartagena, Colombia … and now, back here.
He was done rambling. Loll hadn’t gotten a word in, only the odd nod and brief noise. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “I missed home, my Mam, too much.”
“And I missed you.”
Loll had flown home after three months in. Si had stayed for the full nine-month contract and was now back for three months – or for good, depending on what happened next.
“The ship went back to Cartagena,” he said. “I got us something from there.” Si reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a clear tube. “They sold them like this. I thought it would be a good idea, as you weren’t there to pick your own.” He took Loll’s hand and gently peeled it open, palm side up, so she could cup the contents he spilled from the container. “We can get them melted. Any style we want. Matching bands. What do you think?”
Loll didn’t move, didn’t speak.
Si knelt down, his knee on dry dirt, finally getting to the question he had carried with him halfway across the world. “What do you say, Loll, Lolly, Lollypop … will you marry me?”
***
They came with colanders, skillets and sieves – men, women and kids, all dressed for brambling or tatty picking or fishing. The latter was the closest guess, but you’d be hard-pressed to find fish in this part of the Skerne. Tiddlers, maybe, but more likely just a quiver on the skin of water, made by a boatman or swimmer or skipper.
Alice was there, front of line, then Bill, full of dinner, being dragged behind. Surely the claim was theirs to stake; it was, after all, their Arlo’s discovery. But more claims came. There was the farmer, for one, who owned the land that the river wrapped around. Surely what’s found was his! Then, of course, came the local councillor, with the “best interest of the community” at his heart. Gold found should be shared with the community, for the community … that was his first and only thought.
News crews got wind and turned up in their vans, cameras on shoulders and microphones in hands. The Yukon, they compared it to, this little unassuming Durham vale, and once word got out, the outsiders arrived, non-locals trying to stick their fingers into pies that weren’t theirs.
A few more nuggets, just as small as the first, were found over the coming days. Just enough to keep hope flickering.
***
Loll curls her fingers around the nuggets, places her fist over Si’s open hand, releases them and him in one swift drop … and with no explanation, just a whisper of a sorry, she scurries off.
Si stands alone, riding a raft of emotions; then, anger, the rock in the rapids he finally hits. He hurls the gold pebbles at the river, releasing a thunderclap of hurt from within.
The river is left alone – but not for long. The boy known as Arlo, still in school armour, appears and, at this point, is quite ignorant of what the river is about to offer.
***
© 2025 Chrissie Robinson-Petrie