Onlookers may well have laughed, but Ian Darkins' salvage operation in an unconsidered dive-site near his home was to set him off on a satisfying piece of detective work
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A river, a RIB and a bottomless bucket
AS A BEAD OF CONDENSATION ROLLED SLOWLY DOWN THE VIEWING PORTAL, a small but interesting shape passed below. The location system was deployed and the buoy appeared at the surface.
Conditions were as perfect as they were ever going to be, and the divers readied themselves to lift what was probably another collection of scrap.
The skipper held position as the team ventured down through the murky water, avoiding the debris that could have been specifically designed to snag or entangle.
The claw-like grab gripped the filth-covered metallic object, far bigger and heavier than had been estimated.
Eventually the brown ooze that had shrouded it for years released its suction grip, and its journey to the surface began.
Onshore, a crowd had spotted the activity, and watched as the delicate artefact was safely landed. The crowd gasped and cheered...
Or, at least, that's how we imagined it. As I leaned out of the boat and peered into our bottomless bucket, a small candlestick came into sight. I dropped the lead weight, and the float appeared at the surface. "You'd best go and get it then," said Jon. "We've no time for kit, just shorts, fins and mask."
Jon positioned his RIB, The Pipster, and I rolled off the tube into the cold, dirty water, following the line to the riverbed.
My hand gripped the filth-covered candlestick, which was much bigger and heavier than I had expected. Eventually, the brown ooze that had been shrouding it for years released its suction grip. I kicked, struggling for the surface.
Near the bank, two fishermen had spotted our activity, and watched as our heap of scrap was dumped into the boat. They couldn't stop laughing.
However you look at it, in a shallow, freshwater site half an hour from our homes, Jon and I had found "treasure" - or at least, a promising new site.
The following Saturday saw us fully kitted and entering the water. We had dived the river before, so were aware of some of its hazards - fishing-line, glass, shopping trolleys under water and, if we arrived too late, fishermen and fast-moving rowers above.
The water was relatively clear, so we would be able to see each other. We moved out, sorting through green-covered bottles and bits of junk, when, on the edge of my visibility a metre away, I saw Jon waving a candlestick.
Then I saw, sticking out of the mud, a metallic dome. Apparently there are land mines in the river, so for safety I opted for the universal method of testing dangerous objects - I poked it with a short stick.
There was no bang, so I cleared away the silt. I couldn't believe my eyes - there was the missing top of the first candlestick. Smugly, I put it in my bag.
We exchanged signals and headed back towards the bank. I wasn't even looking when, in front of me, appeared what looked like the hilt of a sword.
It's surprising what divers can find in rivers.
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I gripped it and pulled - to reveal, not a sword, but a brass cross.
Back home, we clean the candlestick to see the engraved words: "AD GLORIAM DEI ET IN MEM F.G.H. SHr 1891-1892".
It seemed obvious that what we had found had been taken from a church, probably not legally. But which church?
The police advised me that, as the items had been in the water for a long time, there would be no records relating to their theft. It was down to me, and there wasn't much to go on. The Latin was translated, but who or what was "F.G.H.", and what did "SHr 1891-1892" represent. Trips to the Family Records Centre revealed that around 70 FGHs had been born in 1891 and died in 1892 - but none local to our dive site.
I searched local churches for similarly engraved items, or someone with the initials FGH. I was getting nowhere fast, so I turned to the Internet to see if anyone could help.
The trail started with the Receiver of Wreck and ended with Bucks County Museum, which contacted the diocese.
Just over a week later, a local churchwarden got in touch to tell me that one FG Healey had been a prominent member of her church in the 1890s. Unfortunately, that was all that connected the church to the items, which were not on a 1973 inventory.
It was tenuous but it was a possibility. The archives revealed that FG Healey was a single 16-year-old clerk in 1891/2, so there was no obvious reason for such a lavish memorial. The churchwarden and I agreed that we needed to keep looking.
But the next day, she sent me another email. It read: "Having said only yesterday that it was proving difficult to establish where these items were stolen from, I have today come across an older inventory to our church. It is dated 1968, and under a section on candlesticks it states 'Two Brass', which has been crossed out, with 'Stolen' written next to it, and the vicar's initials."
We had probably found the original owners of the items, and after many years under water, the candlesticks are returning to the church. Whether "F.G.H" stands for FG Healey or not, he played his part in the return of the candlesticks.
Who dumped them in the river and why will never be known, but we hope the relevance of "SHr" and "1891-1892" will become apparent after a bit more digging in the archives.
So next time you're thinking of a dive trip, don't ignore what is right under your nose. It may not be deep or glamorous, but who knows what lies below the surface of that local pond or river? Probably just the bottom, but it might just be treasure!
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