Chapter Four
Riddles of the Past

We now know, from the research of Dumbledalf, that it was not lost completely, but was thrown into the River Thames, near Runnymede. Years later it was hooked by a fisherman, who was tricked out of it by his own rather sordid little brother. The new torus-bearer was a bit of a hermit, with no trade or career; a chancer who, after a bit of bad luck on the horses, had lost pretty well everything of real value in his life. He had previously secreted away the torus in a junk-filled garage that one day became the subject of a wager between the torus-bearer, old Drake ‘Malfeasance’ Murphy, who was by then a skinny and virtually toothless (he had only six) character sporting a Bobby Charlton haircut and who rather smelt of fish, and one Jams Potts. The two had met through the dubious efforts of an apparently less than honest dating agency. They had arranged to meet in a pub and, on seeing each other, had begun an argument over why each was not in fact, a pulchritudinous heiress with GSOH and a penchant for unusual men. The argument continued for some minutes, while it ranged over a number of minor topics such as eggs, teeth, fish, daisies and dark. The underlying cause of their row was that Jams had blamed Murphy for the mix-up because he had failed to give Jams a ring that morning as had been the arrangement. Eventually they agreed to drown their sorrows in the pub, and had a wager, the loser of which would pay for the drinks. After Drake Murphy had lost, they embarked on a series of ‘double or quits’ until things started to get uncomfortable for Drake Murphy. The latest bet had concerned string, or nothing of consequence, but the result was that Jams had won a pile of old junk in a lock-up.

“What’s in it?”, he asked.
“Just stuff. Junk, mostly”, came the reply. “It’s things from my house that wouldn’t fit into my flat: tools, furniture, pictures...”.
“That’s your history; your life!. You can’t give away your life!”, said Jams.
“I’m not giving it away. I’m swapping it for beer!”, said Drake, philosophically.
“Fair point. I’ll throw in some peanuts”, replied Jams. He went off to the bar, and returned after a few minutes to see Drake Murphy looking very depressed indeed.
“Here!”, said Jams, throwing down some peanuts, along with some pork scratchings and spicy crisps, and a pint each of course. “Are you sure you want to do this? We can call it quits. I don’t mind”.
Drake considered. “My life versus beer, peanuts AND savoury snacks!”, he said, “Bargain!”, and smiled. They tried to find their way back to the lock-up through the labyrinthine back-streets between the Mile End Road and the edge of Victoria Park, and were then lost. It was raining and windy.

Eventually, they found the correct road, and Drake, with a resigned shrug, gave the key to Jams. As the latter took possession though, Murphy had a pang of regret when he remembered the ‘shiny round doughnutty thing’ that was kept hidden in there and had, in its own, special way, been precious to him for a long time. At the very last moment, as Jams was leaving in the van, he tried to renege on the deal, but Jams did not understand the problem and drove off to Wales wondering what the fuss was about. Drake chased after him, screaming, “Thief, thief! We hates it. I mean, I hate you, for ever and ever, Colin!”, but Jams didn’t even hear. Drake slumped down to the ground miserably. “You robbing git, Colin!” he added, “The doughnutty thing wasn’t included. I will find you, and get it back, you thief!”, but Jams had already turned left into Milton Grove. Drake sat there thinking, ‘What am I worried about? It’s a metal doughnut; I can find something else to do the same job!’. He dismissed all thoughts of it, and slunk off. He couldn’t forget for long, though. Nothing else quite worked the same, and over time it came to be an obsession of his. Eventually, he decided to find Jams Potts, so he set off for mid-Wales.

Later, when he unloaded the van and found the torus in a box, Jams thought it was merely some random and obscure component from a machine long lost, but he nevertheless took a fancy to it, and found he was somehow more confident, and even luckier, when it was around. He kept it on the mantelpiece in the drawing room, and there it stayed, a receptacle over many a long year for fire-baked bogeys.