Danny Leach's Diamond

By Jim HIbbert

Danny Leach's diamond is worth millions. His father has left it for him. The trouble is that his father has hidden it somewhere in the Monster Tunnels. The good thing is that Danny has Silas Potts and some of the Potty People to help him find it. There's a key and there's a puzzle that will lead to the diamond, but the key and the puzzle themselves have to be found first. Danny's also got his friends at the Potty People's school, both boys and girls, to help him. The Potty People believe that life should be fun, and at their school, with its potty teachers, the kids have fun while they learn.
Danny's Uncle Archie would like to get his hands on the diamond for himself, and his evil stepmother, Caramella, is determined to have it. Everyone must be wary of the mechanical creatures in the Monster Tunnels. People say there are ghosts in there, too. The clues to finding the diamond are there for anyone to see and solve. Danny wants a proper home more than he wants the diamond. Will he find that, as well?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pottiness Books
• Release date: Dec 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781912924523

Book preview

Illusion

1 Buttercup Road

Little Danny Leach ran over to the window where the woman called Louise was standing with her nose pressed against the glass. He climbed onto a chair and knelt on it. He too pressed his nose against the glass. A car had pulled up right outside the window. The car was painted bright yellow. A big man with a white beard and wearing a bright blue suit got out from the front passenger seat and headed for the entrance door of the building.

On the side of the car, Louise could now see, in red lettering it said, The Potty Lot are here. Join the Potty People today. She moved to another window to see more. In the rear window of the car was a round sticker that said, Potty People on board, and along the bottom of the window was a strip that said, Caution: Potty driver. Danny couldn’t read any of these things; he was only five years old. One day, though, he would know the man from the car well, and the Potty People.

The man from the car was at Louise’s desk now. She went to greet him. ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Welcome to Sunshine Bowers Children’s Home. How can I help you?’

‘Good morning,’ the man said. ‘My name is Silas Potts. I don’t have an appointment but I’ve come to check up on a young fellow called Danny Leach.’

‘Check up?’

‘Yes,’ said Silas. ‘I’m a close friend and business associate of his father, Robert Leach. His father is very ill, as you may know, and he fears he is going to die. Danny’s mother died a few months ago. I’ve promised—’

‘Stop!’ Louise ordered. She made a movement of her head to indicate Danny, who was still at the window.’

‘Is that Danny?’ Silas Potts asked quietly.

‘Yes,’ said Louise. To Danny she said, ‘Go back to the playroom, Danny. It’ll be time for lunch soon.’

Danny stared at the yellow car for a moment more, then he climbed down from the chair and ran off to the playroom.

Silas Potts continued. ‘I’ve promised his father that I’ll see that Danny is well cared for and well provided for.’

‘Then you’ll want to speak to Mrs Gleeming. She’s the manager. I’ll see if she’s available.’

‘Thank you. It will be two or three weeks before I can call again; I’m travelling to New York this evening, on business.’

Louise picked up a phone, and two minutes later Silas Potts was sitting in Mrs Gleeming’s office talking about Danny with her.

Shortly afterwards, in another room of the building, the woman that Danny Leach liked best at the home came to talk to him. The woman was called Doreen.

‘You’ve been here for two weeks now, Danny,’ Doreen said. ‘Are you getting used to us? You’re making friends, aren’t you?’

Danny nodded.

‘Well, we’re hoping to have a proper family for you to live with soon. It might be your auntie and uncle.’

Danny felt a sinking sensation inside him. He didn’t want to move again. He wouldn’t know anyone.

‘Your Uncle Archie and Aunt Janice,’ Doreen said. ‘You remember them, don’t you? And your cousin, little Sheila?’

Danny had no memory of such people. He shook his head. As he did so, he became aware that there were two people standing just outside the doorway of the room. One was the woman with black-framed glasses and long hair, the woman he knew as Mrs Gleeming. The other person was the man with a white beard and bushy white hair that Danny had seen getting out of that yellow car a few minutes earlier. Danny saw now that he was a big man. He was someone he’d seen at home with his father, he realised. He didn’t know Silas Potts’s name. Mrs Gleeming and Silas were looking at Danny and talking to each other.

‘He’ll probably be going to live with his mother’s sister and her husband,’ Mrs Gleeming was saying. ‘They’re called Moany, Janice and Archibald Moany.’

‘Where do they live?’ Silas asked.

‘Only three or four miles from Danny’s home.’

‘That’s good. My organisation, the Potty People, also known as the Potty Lot, is taking over a school quite close to Danny’s home. We’ve got new ideas about education. It will be a senior school, so Danny’s too young for it yet, but I hope he’ll be a pupil there one day.’

‘Regarding Danny’s move,’ Mrs Gleeming said, ‘even though the couple are Danny’s aunt and uncle, there has to be some background checking done. Nothing will happen for a week or two.’

Silas felt satisfied that Danny would be well cared for, even if his father died, which was likely to happen. Despite having taken a new wife very soon after the death of Danny’s mother, a new wife who claimed to be a qualified nurse, Robert Leach’s illness seemed to be getting worse. The illness could not be identified; it was a mystery to his doctors. Danny too had been feeling unwell, so it had been thought wise to move him away. That’s why he was in the children’s home.

***

Less than a month later, a few miles away on a nice sunny Tuesday morning, Archibald Moany, Danny’s uncle, stepped out of the front door of number ninety-three Buttercup Road, Upper Hillside. Mr Moany felt at peace with the world. He was on his way, with his nice leather briefcase, to his nice secure job in Upper Hillside Town Hall.

Inside number ninety-three, which was a semi-detached house with four bedrooms and two bathrooms, he had left his wife, Janice Moany, and his daughter, Sheila. Sheila, who was seven years old, would be leaving for school in another ten minutes or so, and Mrs Moany would stay at home to look after the house, prepare the evening meal for the three of them, and receive any clients she might have that day.

Mr Moany took the Number 2 bus to the town centre. His doctor had told him that the exercise of walking to the bus stop would be good for him, help him to lose a little weight, so Mr Moany didn’t drive to work.

He started off walking quite briskly to the bus stop, but after he’d take a couple of hundred steps he slowed down. He soon tired, and the walk was slightly uphill. He glanced at his reflection in the window of the baker’s shop on the corner of Buttercup Road and saw that his hair was sticking up a bit on the top of his head. As he walked round the corner to the bus stop, he checked to see that no one was watching him and spat on the fingers of his free hand, then he smoothed his hair down, trying to look as if he was doing it without thinking about it.

Mr Moany was a clerk in the Education Department. His job was to order things like mops and buckets, oil for the boilers, chalk for the teachers, and sometimes books for the children. When he was younger, he had hoped to have a much more important job, and before that he had even dreamt of being a champion at something, of being rich and famous. He never told anyone about these daydreams, which was just as well because his greatest achievement was that of becoming a Clerical Officer (grade II) in Upper Hillside Town Hall.

There was some news awaiting Mr Moany when he got to the Town Hall. Mrs Locket, his boss, came into his office. He was hoping, and half-expecting, that she was going to compliment him on his recent saving of two-point-seven per cent on the cost of some history textbooks, but it wasn’t that at all.

‘We’re losing Coalpit Street,’ Mrs Locket announced.

Losing it? Mr Moany wondered what she could mean. Coalpit Street School was a junior school in a nearby village, a village that had been created around a coalmine, a village called Hillside Minor. It was an out-of-the-way little place. The mine had not been very productive and work there had stopped long ago. There was only one road that led into the village; if you visited Hillside Minor in a motor vehicle, you had to enter and leave by that road.

Losing Coalpit Street? What did she mean? Was it falling down? Were the teachers losing control of it? Was it being taken over by a neighbouring town?

‘Losing it?’ said Mr Moany.

‘Yes. The E.C. have just decided to close it down, transfer most of the pupils, and sell the school to a private education body that has the ridiculous idea that children should have fun at school.’

The E.C, was the Education Committee of Upper Hillside Town Council.

‘Oh,’ said Mr Moany.

‘Yes. That means you’ll have to do an inventory. You must make a list of everything in the school, its grounds and its outbuildings.’

That sounded like a lot of work. ‘Oh,’ said Mr Moany again.

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Locket. ‘A lot of items are being removed right now and the whole place is being tidied up, so the job should be fairly straightforward.’

Mr Moany didn’t know what else to say; then he had a thought. ‘Why aren’t we transferring all of the pupils?’ he asked.

Mrs Locket pursed her lips and took on a look of officiousness. ‘We should be transferring all of them in my opinion, but some want to stay on and take part in this silly idea of having fun at school. It’s going to change from a junior school to a senior school, so the eleven-year-olds can remain there if they want to.’ After a pause she said, ‘There are some odd people in that village, aren’t there?’

Mr Moany felt uncomfortable; he had a good idea what was coming next.

‘For example,’ Mrs Locket went on, ‘there’s that strange inventor fellow that lives there. Isn’t he related to you somehow? Robert Leach, I think his name is. Didn’t he kill his wife?’

Mr Moany didn’t like to talk about this relative; he considered him to be of a lower social class, even though the man had made a lot of money from his inventions. After all, hadn’t Robert Leach’s father once worked in the coalmine? Or was it his grandfather? ‘Well, he’s sort of related to my wife, not to me,’ he said. ‘At least, he was.’

Mrs Locket seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. ‘Your brother-in-law, I believe.’

‘His wife and my wife are distant…are…um…sisters. Yes, sisters. I think. Were sisters, I should say. There was an accident.’

‘Quite. Your brother-in-law; that’s what I thought. He was very lucky that the authorities believed his story, wasn’t he?’

‘I don’t really know a lot about it,’ Mr Moany said, feeling flustered. ‘We were not close to my wife’s sister. We rarely saw them. They didn’t get on together very well.’ Then he had another thought about Coalpit Street School and was glad of a chance to bring the conversation back to that. ‘Which private body is to take it over?’ he said.

Mrs Locket gave a little snort. ‘The Potty People,’ she said, in a tone of disapproval.

‘Potty People?’

‘Surely you’ve heard of them? It’s run by Silas Potts.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Mr Moany, although he’d never heard of Silas Potts or the Potty People.

‘He’s got very strange ideas about education. He seems to think one’s purpose in life should be to have fun. Ridiculous. He wants to start his own school. He’s made a fortune promoting magicians and their tricks, and now he says he wants to make the world a happier place.’ She walked to the door. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to get on with the job at Coalpit Street. The summer holidays start this weekend. You should be able to get the job done by then. Since the school is closing, many of the pupils have been allowed to start their holiday early.’

After the initial surprise about Coalpit Street and the thought of having a lot of work to do, work he wasn’t sure how to set about, Mr Moany relaxed somewhat and began to feel quite proud. This was a responsible job he was being trusted to carry out; at last his abilities were being appreciated by his superiors. The only negative thoughts he had were about his brother-in-law, Robert Leach. He didn’t like being reminded that he had relatives in Hillside Minor. And Robert and Florence, Janice’s sister, had a son, Danny. Danny was not very bright, and always up to some sort of mischief, according to the stories Mr Moany had heard about him. Mr Moany made a decision to put any unpleasant thoughts out of his mind and concentrate on his new importance.

At lunchtime Mr Moany opened his briefcase to find that some jam had leaked from his little parcel of sandwiches onto his newspaper. It was quite irritating. He had to wipe his briefcase clean and then go out and buy another newspaper. He particularly enjoyed reading the newspaper during his break. He did the crossword puzzle, and some days he finished it, except for one or two words. He was relieved to find that his sandwiches were still edible.

Mr Moany went to the newsagent’s in the street at the side of the Town Hall. As he rounded the corner, he saw a huge red van parked in the street, and on the side of the van, in big curly yellow letters, it said: The Potty Lot are here! In smaller lettering underneath, it said: Mr Silas Potts and his friends invite you to join the Potty People. Throw away your cares, your dirty smelly socks and your boomerang, and join the Potty People. Find your inner pottiness! You can join today, last month, or any time since a week on Thursday. Fees are reasonable or slightly less. There was a telephone number and other contact details.

‘What nonsense,’ Mr Moany said to himself when he’d got over his momentary shock. He crossed the street to reach the newsagent’s shop, which was hidden by the van. On the other side of the van was a picture of a big man with half-a-dozen grinning individuals standing behind him. In the picture, which took up almost the whole side-panel of the van, the man was wearing a glittering red suit such as the ringmaster of a circus might wear. He had a mass of white hair, a neat white beard and moustache, and big lips spread to show his big white teeth in a grin that matched those of the people with him. The background to the picture was a scene of green hills, blue skies and a smiling sun. Across the bottom of the picture, words painted in big blue letters said, Silas Potts is coming to town. Join the Potty People! Be potty! Be happy!

A woman in a blue dress with big pink spots on it was standing on the footpath beside the van, handing out leaflets.

‘Good morning, sir,’ the woman said as Mr Moany approached her.

‘It’s afternoon,’ Mr Moany said in an unfriendly tone; ‘Tuesday.’

‘It’s Thursday in a lot of places,’ the woman told him. ‘It all depends what day you start with.’ She put one of her leaflets in his hand as she spoke.

Mr Moany walked past her, crumpling the leaflet into his jacket pocket, and entered the shop to buy his paper.

Copies of the new edition of the local paper were piled on the counter. As he picked up the last copy of his usual national daily, Mr Moany’s eye was caught by a headline on the local paper. SECOND TRAGIC LOSS FOR LOCAL BOY. It’s a sad world, Mr Moany thought to himself, whatever the boy in question had suffered. Still, it was nothing to do with him, thank goodness.

Mr Moany was taking his change from the girl behind the counter when again his eye was attracted to the local paper. In the article beneath that headline a word, a name, stood out for Mr Moany. The name was Leach. Mr Moany reached out to pick up a copy of the paper, but the girl was already serving other people and Mr Moany wanted to get back to his office and eat his sandwiches, so he left with just his usual daily.

***

Inside another department in Upper Hillside Town Hall, a man and two women were discussing the future of a five-year-old boy, Danny Leach. Danny was still living at Sunshine Bowers. Both his parents were dead.

‘He has an aunt and uncle on Buttercup Road here,’ one of the women said. She was a middle-aged woman with red hair. ‘The aunt is his mother’s sister. They have a seven-year-old girl. They should be able to take the boy in if they’re willing. The house is big enough. They’re called Moany. The uncle works here, in Education. He’s not very popular from what I hear, but other than that there’s nothing against him.’

‘What about the aunt?’ the other woman asked. She was the senior person there.

‘She does something at home,’ the first woman said. ‘Spiritualism or something of that nature. It’s barmy stuff, but harmless.’

‘Not a devil-worshipping cult or anything like that?’ the man asked. He was middle-aged, too. He was a tall, thin man with a red nose.

‘Oh, no, nothing sinister about it,’ the woman said.

‘What about grandparents?’ the woman in charge said.

‘Only Danny’s paternal grandfather could still be alive,’ the other woman told her. ‘He disappeared somewhere in Central America years ago.’

‘Go and talk to the Moanys,’ the woman in charge said.

***

Only when he got home on that Tuesday evening did Mr Moany find time to look at the leaflet the Potty People woman had handed him. On the front of the leaflet it said that Silas Potts and some of his potty friends would be appearing at a local meeting-hall on the coming Friday evening. Silas himself would be telling everyone who attended the meeting all about the organisation called the Potty People and its philosophy of fun. On the other side of the leaflet it told of the Potty People’s taking over of Coalpit Street School in Hillside Minor. The school would be for children aged from eleven years to sixteen years, and in particularly potty cases to a-hundred-and-twenty-seven-and-a-half years. All the usual subjects would be taught, and although it was hoped that pupils would learn things, there was no guarantee. The main aim was that teachers and pupils alike should have a good time. Serious study would not be discouraged, except the serious bit. Learning should be fun, it said. Parents who wanted their children to enjoy their schooldays were asked to enrol their offspring without delay. Mr Moany threw the leaflet in the kitchen waste bin.

On each of the next three days, Mr Moany visited Coalpit Street School. He spoke to the headmistress, Mrs Miller. Mrs Miller and the rest of the staff would be leaving at the end of the term, which would come at the end of that week. Mrs Miller gave Mr Moany freedom to go wherever he wanted, as long as he did not interrupt any teaching or enter rooms where exams were still taking place.

The school was just a short distance from the old coalmine. The mine had been a drift mine. The miners that dug out the coal had entered the hillside by way of natural caves and tunnels. They had created new tunnels by hacking and blasting away the rock, but not much coal had ever been found there. There was a pit inside the caves where coal had been sought lower down, but none had been found. There was no cage to take miners deep into the earth. When all the worthwhile mining was done, the place had been made into a tourist attraction called the Monster Tunnels, where people could go to be frightened by dragons, dinosaurs and other creatures, real and imaginary – all mechanical models of course. But that business had not been very successful and had closed some years ago.

As he progressed with his work at Coalpit Street School, Mr Moany became more confident. He had brought a clerical assistant with him from the Town Hall, and together they went from room to room and from building to building, listing every movable thing – desks, tables and chairs, crockery and cutlery, chemicals and Bunsen burners, pens and pencils, chalk, computers, telephones and microphones, and myriad other things. The clerk was a pretty, blonde-haired woman whose name was Penelope, or Penny as she liked to be called. Penny had been at the Town Hall for three years. It was her first job after finishing university. Mr Moany let her think that he was someone important, and that made the job at Coalpit Street quite enjoyable for him.

Early on the Friday afternoon, as the children were leaving the school, most of them for the last time, men and women from the Potty People arrived in a bus. They certainly seemed to be a happy lot of people, smiling at everyone and making jokes among themselves. They were a bit too happy for Mr Moany’s liking; life was a serious matter to him.

Two of the Potty Lot, a man