(In which your correspondent identifies the present location of the Ottoman Papers, following their adventurous passage to England. Why the 7th Earl of Elgin failed to secure the safety of the Edirne Pavement, being too involved with a Lady of the finest lineage.)
Dear ______,
As promised in my last letter, I returned to The Turkoman Arms in Acton, searching for Mr Hamilton, who claimed to be descended from the 7th Earl of Elgin. I had a few searching questions to put to Hamilton, inspired mainly by Chris Hart, who is by way of becoming an expert on brick and tile transportation in the early nineteenth century.
Hamilton never seemed to return to the pub. Recently, I met a trainee barman named Jeremy, who was very helpful. "I know all about the Edirne Pavement shipment," he said. (At Hamilton's request, he'd visited the Public Records Office and studied the log of HMS Swallow.)
"Whatever made you think anyone would try to load a frigate with tiles?" he giggled to my polite enquiry. "HMS Swallow was there to protect a large three-masted brig, Henshaw, which normally shipped coals to London. Ideal for shipping tiles, I'd say, but you'll have to consult Hart."
Jeremy then told me of the journey back to England with the tiles. Apparently, all the details of the voyage were contained in HMS Swallow's log and in the Earl's written instructions to his steward.
The Earl himself, as he said, "could not have borne the taedium of a protracted voyage carrying building materials". With typical impetuosity,he abandoned his present mission and hurried off to the Lebanon to conspire with Lady Hester Stanhope. It is rumoured they were planning the acquisition of the Great Sphinx.
HMS Swallow's log shows an uneventful journey, apart from thwarting an attack of corsairs from Morocco. Once they entered the Channel, Lieutenant Swift and the entire crew of the Swallow redoubled their efforts to chivvy and cajole the laden brig home to England. Swallow was put in to Harwich for a refit and her crew would be paid off.
The brig Henshaw would continue alone up to Colliers Reach on the Thames, there to unload and transship her cargo into barges. The barges moved slowly up the Thames to Brentford, and thence into the Grand Union Canal. Then they moved up to the canal spur at Fenny Stratford, some 55 miles away. Once again, the cargo was transshipped, this time to heavy wagons for the final journey to the Englesham Estate.
The tiles were unpacked and were found to be cracked and broken from so much handling. The estate steward, one John Barton, seemed not to notice. Instead, he applied himself to the overall design of a new Pavement while he partook of the opium cakes that had come with tiles. In a confused state, he prescribed a complete mess of broken tiling. This plan was followed diligently by the estate labourers. The wrapping papers escaped Barton's attention, and were stacked neatly in one of the stables.
I asked Jeremy about the tiles now. "Still there," he replied. "Every so often someone asks about them, but nothing happens. They're too old to be of use nowadays."
"And what about the Papers?"
"Oh, they're in the garage at the back of the pub. Shirley, the Australian girl who works in the bar, brought them back from Englesham in her campervan. There was a complete mixture apparently. Lots of translations from the Greek like Euclid. There were lots of tax tally rolls, legal documents and some poetry. Shirley knows all about them. Better ask her."
I spoke to Shirley, but she was dismissive. "Not the bleedin' Ottoman Papers again!" she moaned. "I'm fed up with all that crap. I've given the paper away to Hussein to use on his market stall. Don't talk to me about yer bloody Evlad-i-Fatihar! I'm into ten-pin bowling."
The pub staff may have turned away from the Ottomans, but I cannot. In the night I awake to the patter of soft silk slippers, as a muffled figure insinuates its way into the Abode of Felicity. And here is the Avenue of Lights, decorated with coloured water balls, caged canaries and potted tulips. Here hastens an executioner with the silken cord of strangulation to his resigned victim. Here is the lounging sultan in the seraglio, playing with young women while he plans the destruction of a province.
To achieve peace of mind, I must escape to the West!
