For a moment, none of the boys moved.
The elderly man standing among the snow-covered trees smiled kindly.
His silver hair shone in the winter sunlight, and his long green coat was dusted with snowflakes.
Fastened to his coat was the familiar silver raven brooch.
Peter smiled.
“So it really is you.”
The old man nodded.
“Yes.”
“I think it’s finally time we met properly.”
The boys walked towards him.
Miss Ashcombe appeared beside Peter, her face lighting up with surprise.
“Thomas.”
The old man bowed respectfully.
“Good afternoon, Miss Ashcombe.”
“It has been a very long time.”
She smiled warmly.
“Far too long.”
David looked from one to the other.
“You know each other?”
Miss Ashcombe laughed softly.
“Very well.”
“When Thomas first came to Highdon, he was younger than all of you.”
Thomas smiled at the memory.
“I arrived here in 1948.”
“I was a shy little boy who preferred watching birds to playing football.”
Simon grinned.
“I know the feeling.”
Thomas nodded.
“Highdon was a very different place then.”
“The headmaster believed firmly in discipline, and every classroom had a thin rattan cane hanging nearby. The black-and-red carpet slipper was never far away either, usually resting on a shelf in the staff room, ready for those who ignored the rules.”
He smiled gently.
“But despite that, there was kindness here too.”
“It was Miss Ashcombe who first showed me the Forgotten Garden.”
“She taught me the names of the trees.”
“And she reminded me that every living creature deserves kindness, no matter how small.”
Peter looked at the silver raven brooch.
“Were you always the Fifth Watcher?”
Thomas shook his head.
“No.”
“I became the Fifth Watcher many years later.”
“The one before me was Mr Samuel Rowan.”
“The gardener?” David asked.
Thomas smiled.
“The very same.”
“He taught me everything I know.”
“When he grew too old to continue, he placed this brooch into my hand.”
Thomas gently touched the silver raven pinned to his coat.
“He simply said…”
“‘Guard the Keepers, never seek glory, and always leave the place better than you found it.'”
“I’ve tried to live by those words ever since.”
Miss Blyton stepped forward.
“So every note…”
Thomas nodded.
“Yes.”
“The bridge I repaired.”
“The lantern in the boathouse.”
“The silver brooch.”
“The raven whistle.”
“I could see that you four had been chosen.”
“My task was never to lead you.”
“Only to make sure you remained safe.”
Andrew smiled.
“So you were never hiding from us.”
Thomas chuckled.
“I wasn’t hiding.”
“I was simply giving you the chance to discover things for yourselves.”
As they walked together, they passed an old stone wall.
Thomas pointed towards one of the school windows in the distance.
“I can still remember lining up outside the headmaster’s study.”
“If you had broken one of the important school rules, everyone knew what waited inside.”
“The thin rattan cane stood in the umbrella stand beside the desk, while the black-and-red carpet slipper rested neatly on a cabinet.”
“It certainly encouraged most boys to think twice before getting into trouble.”
The boys exchanged knowing smiles.
Highdon had changed over the years, but discipline was still very much part of school life.
Thomas led them towards the ruined gate lodge.
He gently lifted the brass raven knocker.
The old oak door creaked open.
Inside was a surprisingly comfortable little room.
Books filled every shelf.
A small fire burned quietly in the grate.
Maps of the Highdon estate covered one wall.
Bird feeders hung outside every window.
Peter looked around in amazement.
“So this is where you’ve been living?”
Thomas nodded.
“For many years.”
“The lodge may look abandoned from outside…”
“…but it still serves its purpose.”
Above the fireplace hung a large painting of Highdon.
It showed the school exactly as it had looked nearly one hundred years earlier.
Children played beneath the cedar tree.
The chapel stood proudly beside them.
The Forgotten Garden was filled with flowers.
Thomas smiled.
“I painted that with Miss Ashcombe.”
Miss Ashcombe laughed.
“I did the flowers.”
“Thomas insisted on painting every single raven.”
“I thought they deserved to be there,” Thomas replied with a grin.
Everyone laughed.
Peter noticed another framed object hanging beside the painting.
It wasn’t another picture.
It was a neatly written list.
Thomas noticed him reading.
“They’re the only rules the Fifth Watcher follows.”
Peter read them aloud.
Protect without seeking praise.
Listen more than you speak.
Help quietly whenever possible.
Respect every living thing.
Keep the school’s stories alive.
Teach only those willing to learn.
Leave hope wherever you go.
David smiled.
“They’re good rules.”
Thomas nodded.
“They’ve served Highdon well.”
Miss Blyton looked thoughtfully at the list.
“They’re rather better than some of the rules in the old school handbook.”
Thomas laughed.
“I remember that handbook.”
“It contained pages about polished shoes, tidy dormitories, and proper manners.”
“And, of course, several reminders about the consequences of serious misbehaviour.”
“The cane and the slipper appeared in those pages almost as often as the timetable.”
Even so, he smiled kindly.
“Good teachers always knew that guidance and fairness mattered far more than punishment.”
As evening approached, Thomas handed Peter a small wooden box.
“I’ve been keeping this for many years.”
Peter carefully opened it.
Inside lay four beautifully polished badges carved from English oak.
Each one carried the four familiar symbols.
The Raven.
The Oak Leaf.
The Lantern.
The Key.
“They’re beautiful,” Simon whispered.
Thomas smiled.
“I made them myself.”
“I hoped that one day…”
“…I’d find four Keepers worthy of wearing them.”
Miss Ashcombe looked proudly at the boys.
“I believe you have.”
Outside, snow began to fall once again.
The boys stepped out of the old gate lodge wearing their new wooden badges.
Peter looked back towards Thomas.
“Will we see you again?”
The old guardian smiled.
“Oh yes.”
“I’ve spent my whole life watching over Highdon.”
“I’ve no intention of stopping now.”
As Peter, David, Simon, Andrew and Miss Blyton walked back towards the warmly lit school, the evening bell echoed across the snowy grounds.
The dormitories were beginning to fill as boys returned before lights out, each hoping to avoid the attention of the duty staff and any lecture that might follow.
Thomas watched them disappear into the distance.
A raven landed gently upon his shoulder.
He stroked its feathers with a smile.
“Another generation begins,” he whispered.
Far across the snow-covered grounds, the lights of Highdon glowed warmly against the winter sky.
The ancient school seemed to welcome home not only its pupils, but every story still waiting to be told.l seemed to welcome home not only its pupils, but every story yet to be told.
