Part 26 (1/2)

'That little oblong metal thing with the handle,' I said, 'that's a powerful magnet. Useful but not essential. Good for retrieving fishhooks if you lose them in the water. You tie the magnet on a string and dangle it. Fishhooks are precious.'

He held up a small, cylindrical transparent plastic container, one of about six in the pouch. 'More fishhooks in here,' he said. 'Isn't this what films come in? I thought they were black.'

'Fuji films come in these clear cases. As you can see what's inside, I use them all the time. They weigh nothing. They shut tight. They're everything-proof. Perfect. These other cases contain more fishhooks, needles and thread, safety-pins, aspirins, water purifying tablets, things like that.'

'What's this k.n.o.bbly-looking object? Oh, it's a telescope!' He laughed and weighed it in his hand.

'Two ounces,' I said, 'but eight by twenty magnification.'

He pa.s.sed over as mundane a torch that was also a ball-point pen, the light in the tip for writing, and wasn't enthralled by a whistle, a Post-it pad, or a thick folded wad of aluminium foil. ('For wrapping food to cook in the embers,' I said.) What really fascinated him was a tiny blow-torch which shot out a fierce blue flame hot enough to melt solder.

'Cool,' he said again. 'That's really ace.'

'Infallible for lighting fires,' I said,, 'as long as the butane lasts.'

'You said in the books that fire comes first.'

I nodded. 'A fire makes you feel better. Less alone. And you need fire for boiling river water to make it OK to drink, and for cooking, of course. And signalling where you are, if people are looking for you.'

'And to keep warm.'

'That too.'

Gareth had come to the last thing, a pair of leather gloves, which he thought were sissy.

'They give your hands almost double grip,' I said. 'They save you from cuts and scratches. And apart from that they're invaluable for collecting stinging nettles.'

'I'd hate to collect stinging nettles.'

'No, you wouldn't. If you boil the leaves they're not bad to eat, but the best things are the stalks. Incredibly stringy. You can thrash them until they're supple enough for las.h.i.+ng branches together, for making shelters and also racks to keep things off the ground away from damp and animals.'

'You know so much,' he said.

'I went camping in my cradle. Literally.'

He methodically packed everything back as he'd found it and asked what it weighed altogether.

'About two pounds. Less than a kilo.'

A thought struck him. 'You haven't got a compa.s.s!'

'It's not in there,' I agreed. I opened a drawer in the chest of drawers and found it for him: a slim liquid-filled compa.s.s set in a clear oblong of plastic which had inch and centimetre measures along the sides. I showed him how it aligned with maps and made setting a course relatively easy, and told him I always carried it in my s.h.i.+rt pocket to have it handy.

'But it was in the drawer,' he objected.

'I'm not likely to get lost in Sh.e.l.lerton.'

'You could up on the Downs,' he said seriously.

I doubted it, but said I would carry it to please him, which earned the sideways look it deserved.