117. The Cellar Project (2)

 Outside, the wind is howling, shaking the last few leaves off the trees and threatening once again to topple our rose bush. Or the honeysuckle hedge. Depending on the direction of the wind it’s one of the other. East: rose bush topples onto the lawn. West: honeysuckle topples onto the terrace. To add to the excitement the rain is pounding so heavily it bounces off the tiles. Just when I decided we would spend the afternoon in the garden. The family trimming of the bushes and planting of bulbs would have to wait. But I cannot face an other lockdown stuck-in afternoon. I need a mini-project. Even if I have to throw a tantrum. 

'We can't go out but what about going down and checking that cellar?'

Thoughts of opening a speakeasy down there have crossed my mind. That would be so cool indeed. Me behind the bar shaking cocktails under a brick vaulted ceiling, jazz music playing softly, people chatting and laughing ...

'Yes, good idea!' My husband answers right away.

I am surprised. I won't even have to throw a tantrum. In fact, I am still by the fire, enjoying a glass of red wine along with a Clementine (from Corsica - a delicious combination of flavours) when the whole house starts vibrating and a dreadful noise fills the room.

'What's going on in here? Why can't I get 20 minutes of peace?'

Miss Now-Disorganised is sitting in the corner of the sofa and she says as if this was just the most normal thing to do on a Sunday afternoon in our family.

'Dad's in the cellar with a jack hammer.' 

That gets me to forget about the delicious combination of red wine and citrus fruit. I have to see this! I get up and make my way to the kitchen. Only Baby of the family seems interested and follows me. My husband has already moved the table and lifted the heavy trapdoor that covers the entrance. We go down fighting the cobwebs. The noise is filling the vaulted room and yes, jazz music would sound so good down here. Or maybe blues, Muddy Waters echoing down here ... That's on the spot added to my list of crazy projects. 

My husband is doing the jack hammering,  neatly cutting all around a big stone and I am impressed. Meanwhile I take a good look down here. There is no water, the ground is perfectly dry (which makes me think of the days gone by when the neighbours would burst in, totally panicked, about the water table levels rising and could we please do something about it). I reckon there is enough room to fit a descent-sized bar ...

'Where's the secret passage way?' My youngest child is asking.

'Here, to the right, look!'

I show her the cavity a few inches off ground level, the size of a small deep window with a pile of rough cobblestones blocking what could be the entrance to a mysterious tunnel leading to some secret destination beyond the city walls.

'Let's take the stones away and see what's there.'

I agree it is an excellent decision and so, while my husband is trying to knock a hole in the back wall, sending clouds of dust to disturb the local spiders, we take down the stones to reveal a few planks of wood. There are not securely tied to the walls as with a slight push one comes off leaving a narrow gap in the corner. 

'We really need to push it further if we want to see what's in there.' 

My child is a child of the XXI' century and gets her phone out, shines the torch in there, notices that the gap is big enough for her hand and her phone.

'I'll make a video.' She says and pushes me to the side.

I go back to my husband who has now removed a big stone from the wall only to reveal a disappointing wall of dark sooty soil. He is now using the jackhammer to drill a few holes here and there. But only more dirt comes out.

'Nothing there.' He says and puts the stone back in the cavity. It looks good, I think, and people coming to the speakeasy will be intrigued. 'Cool!' They'll say or whatever word was the trend at that time. (I need to look that up some time)

My daughter comes up to me and shows me her film. I look at the screen showing stones, rotten wooden planks and what looks like an other cellar.

'It's the neighbour's cellar. See the garden furniture, the green chairs?'

Not a very exciting find at all. It confirms what we'd heard when buying the house, that the houses around here were all connected. Local people had dug passages in the cellars to go from one house to the next during WW2.

I push the plank back but of course it won't fit as well, the gap is impossible to close. Then I push the stones back but again the neat wall that was is now a primitive mound of irregular stones that looks as if it is going to collapse soon. My husband tidies up and we go back upstairs. I go back to my wine and fruit and think no more of it until I lay in bed at night and suddenly all I can see is the gap in the wall and its dark extremely insecure opening. My house is open to all! What about if the neighbours go down in their cellar to get the garden chairs? It's actually not that cold out there, just a bit of rain. They could decide to get the garden furniture out, discover the passage and come into my house! Or they could decide to invade my cellar, set up a speakeasy, have parties down there, safe in the knowledge that if the police came down I would be the one sent to prison.

My crazy projects are just that: crazy ideas that lead nowhere. When will I learn? It's two o'clock in the morning and I cannot sleep. All I want to do is to go down there and close my passage in a more secure manner.