Don't Mind | Cruxmont | Ep. 5

Hello everyone and welcome back.

I'm Kay A.

Stats, the writer and creator of Don't Mind Cruxmont.

And I'm Travis Vengroff, the producer and director.

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Previously on Don't Mind Cruxmont, Gwen and Neil stopped by the local Cruxmont church, where Neil handed out flyers and Gwen learned more about the eccentricities eccentricities of the small village.

After the church was blocked for the festival, Neil and Gwen returned to the Fox in Bloom, where they heard the legend of the local great fox, the origin of the Plum Festival generations ago.

While in the pub having lunch, Gwen recounted her most recent findings and ideas, but when Neil brought up going to look for signs of Colin in the orchard, Gwen had no recollection of who he was talking about.

Don't mind, Cruxmont.

They may not want me out there, but that's where Jeff saw Colin running over the hill before he disappeared.

And where he found the jacket.

So, it's my next best shot.

Wait.

Who's Colin?

What?

Colin?

Um.

I'm sorry.

I must have missed something.

Who?

What do you mean, who?

My brother, Colin?

The whole reason I'm here?

Looks like me?

More bearded?

Don't joke around.

I know I blew up before and I'm sorry about it, but finding Colin means too much to me for these kinds of annoying jokes.

He's not.

He shouldn't be left alone like this.

It's not good for him.

For anyone.

How would you feel if it was your family?

Yes, yes.

Colin, Colin.

Uh.

I'm sorry, Neil.

I wasn't making a joke out of it.

I know you're here to find him.

I know it's important.

Did.

Did you actually forget?

You don't look like you're joking.

How could you forget?

He's my brother.

We'll sit here talking about your inability to put forth a simple question and learning about weird plumfield foxes, but you can't remember that my brother is missing?

Did you forget you nearly hit me with your car too?

Neil, shh,

wait.

I am.

So I didn't forget.

I just had a lapse.

I know you're looking for Colin.

I sometimes suffer from short episodes of memory loss.

But it comes back,

usually, in a bit.

The recall's not there at times, but I've been listening.

And I think going to look for clues to Colin's whereabouts in possible campsite locations is a good idea.

Lapses?

Like what you study?

Yes.

Just like that.

It's the result of a hereditary early-onset neurodegenerative disease.

So you have Alzheimer's or something?

Something like that.

Early stages.

It's been part of my life for a long time since I was old enough to understand what was happening to members of my family.

Again, Neil,

I was listening.

I know how important finding Colin is to you.

Sorry, I acted like an ass again.

This whole situation with Colin is bringing out the worst in me.

But can I ask a question?

A few, actually.

Unless it makes you uncomfortable.

It makes everyone uncomfortable.

But it's my life and my profession, so

I've become more accustomed to its discomforts than most.

Go ahead, please.

Early onset.

How early?

I thought Alzheimer's was only for people in their 60s or 70s.

Later, even.

Early symptoms can occur as young as someone's 30s.

I didn't exhibit my first noticeable symptoms until I was 38.

But you knew it was coming.

It's passed down through my family for several generations before me.

I had no reason to believe my circumstances would be any different.

So

you study these things and help people with disorders like yours?

I do.

I don't have a sense of obligation, but

some kind of feeling, perhaps solidarity.

I can help them and possibly myself.

And I like to believe I treat my patients well.

Partly because I share their fate.

I get it now.

It's more than just looking for knowledge.

This isn't just a scholarly interest or some professional search.

It's more personal than that for you.

Yeah.

Thank you.

It explains, at least a little bit, why you're so determined, but also so anxious.

And again,

sorry for being an ass.

Not at all.

Any more questions?

What's the most annoying part?

Not the existential dread things, but an annoying part.

Oh, um, losing important little things, uh, keys being the most common.

Uh, my friend at work, Taylor, she keeps multiple copies of all my keys now.

It could be more aggravating, but I eventually find them here or there, and then I return a whole jar of keys to her.

Then they just wait to be reused as the cycle continues.

Like you offered earlier, if you ever need help here trying to find your mystery answers or whatever,

feel free to ask.

But my priority will always be to find Colin.

Thank you.

But who's Colin?

Very funny.

So, what's your plan?

Perhaps I can find some documentation that supports or disproves my observations on local longevity and mental acuity.

Or any clues at all.

At least I have a few names I can start with.

I imagine it may take some time.

Good luck on the hills.

I hope you find something helpful.

Thanks.

Same to you.

What can I do for you, Constable?

How did you like like the church?

Uh, fine.

It's very nice.

A very good representation of the picturesque English countryside.

Is that a beer?

Are you off duty?

No.

It's just a pint.

Everything packed up and ready?

Check out this tomorrow.

I know.

I fully understand that the rooms are booked out for the festival.

I have been duly reminded.

Where are you off to next, then?

Longmarton?

Krakenthal?

Or up to Penrith?

I'm not sure yet.

I have some friends coming in for the festival.

I might stay with them for a few days.

There's a limit to how many people we can fit in this village to protect our community and our archetypes.

If you haven't booked, don't stay.

It's really that simple.

Why do you want me to leave so bad?

I'm not breaking anything, graffitiing anything, or doing much at all aside from asking people if they've seen my brother.

You bother people.

You and that woman you came here with.

You confronted Jeff, who was more than willing to recount that you threatened him with violence.

And you're upsetting the villagers.

Upsetting?

No one seems upset to me.

Other than you, that is.

I plan to stay here until I find the next hint to where Colin is.

So far, nothing nothing says he left this village, but everything seems to be trying to force me out before I've gotten a good look at the place.

Croxmont is quiet.

We'd like to keep it that way.

The festival is as rowdy as we get, and we've gone about happily like this for years.

Maybe I just don't like you.

And maybe I think it's best you leave Croxmont.

You and that doctor.

I can take care of myself.

And if I were you, I certainly wouldn't hold my breath for Gwen to back down.

You know, I have only ever met a few Americans in person.

You all seem the same.

Poor manners and terrible life choices.

Just wait till you meet someone from Boston.

Have I given you a flyer yet?

I forget.

I've given out a lot so far.

But please, take one.

I have plenty more.

If he was here, I would have seen him.

The shopkeeper remembers him getting groceries.

And Jeff saw him up on that hill one night about a week ago.

I think he's still here somewhere.

So why try to get rid of me?

Why act so suspicious?

It's commendable, really, that you care enough about your junkie brother to come out here looking for him.

I used to know a lot of terrible people in the past.

Many who wouldn't go looking, and many who wouldn't have had anyone go looking for them.

You're not going to find anything in Crooksfont.

He's long gone.

Probably up in Scotland by now, for all I know.

You're wasting your time by sticking around.

Safe travels tomorrow.

Don't forget to buy some plum wine on your way out.

I never said a goddamn thing about Colin's drop problem.

Bastard.

You have to do something about it.

Please, be quiet.

He's home.

Quiet?

Damn, we can't keep changing up our lives for him.

Of course he's home.

He doesn't have a job.

He doesn't do anything worth doing.

Piper, please.

I'll talk to him.

It's your stuff, Neil.

Yours.

You keep coddling him and he's not going to get any better.

He's just going to take and take and take.

We don't have time for this.

I know.

I know.

I said I'll talk to him.

With who?

Me?

Hi, Colin.

Good to see you up and awake.

We just got back from grocery shopping.

I'll pop out to get some more bags from the car.

Fix this.

So, yeah, I uh noticed this morning that some of my stuff has gone missing.

Just a few games and my second controller for the PS5.

They're usually in the cabinet, but

they're gone.

And there's this watch.

I keep it in a box on my dresser.

Piper got it for me for Christmas, and I was gonna wear it to dinner on Friday, but um

it's missing.

So uh

so

have you seen any of that stuff recently,

Colin?

This is my stuff.

This is my life.

I work hard so I can relax and play games.

And I and I can't do that if

you take that stuff away from me.

and Piper

she was furious when I told her I couldn't find the watch

and it puts a lot of pressure on me on us

she wants you gone man

she keeps saying I'd be better off if I kicked you out

this isn't right

I know I know I just

thought I could get them back before you noticed they were gone.

You sold them?

What did you do with the money?

Nothing.

Not yet.

I pawned them down at Corner King Pond by the mattress store.

Everything's still there.

I swear.

And I didn't do anything with the money.

I really thought about it, you know.

I did.

But I just kept it.

Wait.

That's all of it.

And a ticket.

You can get it all back.

Got about a week left.

You didn't spend any of it.

Look, Neil, I'm sorry.

Please.

Give me another chance.

I

have found a job.

I know.

I know.

I'll keep looking, but I didn't spend the money.

Please don't kick me out.

I can't go back out there.

I really don't know if I'll make it if I go back out there.

You didn't spend any of it.

That's great, Colin.

Seriously.

What?

You didn't spend it.

You had it, but you didn't.

That's great.

That's a big change.

And I can get the stuff back, so there's no real harm done this time.

But this has to stop, Colin.

If you're still having, I don't know, a draw, maybe you need professional help.

I'm not trained for this kind of thing.

But I wouldn't kick you out.

Shit.

Thank you.

You know I bought that second controller for you, right?

Piper doesn't even play.

We can try it, but my hand-eye coordination is not what it used to be.

Oh, and that watch wasn't worth shit.

Whole thing's fake.

Don't know if Piper knows that or not, so tread lightly.

Hey, if you could put the food away,

I'll drive down to the pawn shop with Piper and get the stuff back.

Sound good?

Sure.

Can I help you?

Oh, yes.

Hello.

Uh, is this the Village Public Records Office or only the library?

Both.

Do you need something?

Yes, I'd like to look at some records.

Oh, is that right?

And what for can I ask?

Are you a robot or something?

You know, we had a podcaster in our village a few months ago, in the spring.

She was an energetic soul, but she didn't find much of interest here.

No, no, no, nothing like that.

Is it through here?

Perhaps I can help you.

What exactly are you looking for?

I have a friend from Crooksmont that I'm here visiting.

She was telling me about the old local newspaper and stories about past festivals.

I won't be able to stay for the festival.

I have to leave after this evening, but I wanted to see how it was celebrated in the past.

I just think those hunts for figurines of the fox are so charming.

And I promise to be very careful with the documents.

I understand some are rather old.

Well, we got our own small printing press in 1930, donated by the Allhills after they purchased another on behalf of the orchard.

Now, before 1930, local news was just reported on the village board outside this very building.

Some of these notices are in the archive, but not all, and I'm afraid they're relatively brief, being a small, close-knit village.

Much of Crooksman's history and news was oral until as late as the Second World War.

Well, thank you.

That will certainly help.

May I?

Well, I can't think of any reason why not.

Now we have a few private collections as well, so please don't disturb those.

And it may be a little loud in about an hour or so.

A group of kids are coming in for a book reading.

But we'll be over in the library section.

I'll come check on you from time to time.

Oh, and please, no flash photography.

Certainly not of the ceiling.

The ceiling?

Painted by a local artist, Madeline Allhill, in 1826.

The ceiling of our records hall is a wonderful specimen of traditional British folk art, featuring agricultural scenes from the local orchard and pastoral vistas of the nearby villages.

Wow, well how interesting.

Uh really, don't mind me.

I've done a fair amount of archive work in my day.

And what book are you reading to the kids?

Marjorie Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit.

Oh, a classic.

I'm sure the children will love it.

Have fun.

Thank you.

God, it really is a beautiful ceiling.

Now,

where to start?

Uh-huh.

Most of these are calls for additional hours at the Allhill Orchard during the weeks before and after the festival, concurrent with peak harvesting season.

Several of the reoccurring notes posted between 1875 and 1920 appear to have been by a G.I.

Acker, who worked the local grocer's shop.

G.

I.

Acker could have been Gwendolyn Acker, whose gravestone, no date, was at the local churchyard.

Interestingly, there are notes from the Allhill family going back to 1850 regarding some kind of acquisition, but I found no records kept of anyone other than the Allhills in possession of the orchard land.

Here, one saved leaflet from the time of the Plum Festival in 1921 tells a very different version of the local fox legend.

Apparently, when families other than the Allhills, including those of royal land ownership rights, attempted to control the orchard lands, they were plagued by foxes and rodents, and all the plums grew infested with malt.

Hmm.

While certainly not the point of the story, this could be possible proof that at some point in time the Allhills didn't control the land.

Literacy rates appear to have been high for such a small village even back then.

The meeting hall was separate from the church, and several flyers exist citing a reading room, primarily for religious and vocational study for both girls and boys.

It appears to have been very like a nursery or a Sunday school, very ahead of its time.

There are no notes about men lost during the First World War.

None at all.

Come to think of it, Crooksmont doesn't even have a war memorial.

Plenty of death notifications, though.

Illness, work accident, drowning, even a murder in 1913.

Are you all right?

Do you need anything?

I heard some talking.

Oh, uh, no, thank you.

I'm just uh just taking verbal notes.

I just saw some interesting pieces on the Great Fox legend.

More than I heard from Mary.

Is that your friend, Ben?

Mary Birch?

But I but I just came upon this: the bulletin note in nineteen thirteen about the murder of local Zelda Moss.

Oh, yes.

Poor girl.

The only murder in Cooksmon's history.

Perhaps I just haven't seen the following notes yet, but uh was the perpetrator ever found?

Sadly not.

It's a dark mark on our little village.

Okay, so so what happened?

Zelda Moss was fourteen.

She worked at the All Hill Orchard, as Moss did back then, and still do now.

She was a bore weaver, the artisans that make specialty reefs from the trimmed plum boughs, which were popular decorations in the area.

Well, the festival in 1913 arrived.

Zelda participated in the opening ceremony and then worked at the stall the first day.

And by Sunday evening, her body was found.

She'd been strangled beneath a plum tree in one of the distant orchards, and the murderer was never found.

An estimated 300 people attended the festival that year, and with no way to trace them, it was never solved.

To this day, we have a plaque on the tree where Zelda was found, commemorating the life she could have lived.

But I just wanted to check in before I started reading to the children.

I'm fine.

Thank you.

As far as noted ages at time of death, there are none.

Not in later paper obituaries and not in the board notes from before.

But there are a few clues.

Zelda Moss was 14.

Of the deaths by illnesses, many of them were never listed as workers at the orchard, so were possibly never much older than 16 or 17.

Others were listed as elders, or that they would be missed by their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

I've kept a tally.

What?

Oh.

Neil?

Why on earth are you climbing through the window?

The front door works perfectly well.

I used it myself.

Because I saw the librarian, and I'll be honest, this whole village is starting to feel like my own personal no-fly list.

I think the constable knows where Colin is.

He said some stuff in the past about where he thinks Colin might be headed, but today he said something, and I know I never told him anything about it.

He won't even admit to having met Colin, but he must have.

Then I tried to sneak up the hill where Jeff saw Colin, but

it took too long.

The fields are filled with workers right now.

When I got there, there there was obviously no sign of Colin.

Lots of fresh tracks from wheelbarrows and equipment.

And I'm not exactly the wilderness tracking strider sort.

You find anything?

Nothing to help my own line of inquiry.

Well, um,

perhaps.

I won't pretend to know much about death statistics during the World Wars or early 1900s literacy rates and higher education statistics.

But I do think it's strange that no one from Crooksmont ever attended university or even took part in a trade apprenticeship outside of the nearby vicinity.

No one until the 1910s.

Also,

look at all of this.

Around about the time of the First World War draft, a sickness swept through Crooksmont.

Something apparently caught at the orchard, and all fit men of drafting age were suddenly pronounced medically unfit.

Women took over all the orchard work, and not one Crooksmont man went to war.

I still don't think it's a whole village full of pacifists, objectors, or cowards.

So,

there must have been some other reason they couldn't leave.

Or didn't want to leave.

Your phone is on.

Yes, thank you.

I take audio notes.

Sometimes it helps to go back and re-listen if I forget.

So, um, what about the age issue you wanted to look into?

Yeah, well, apparently, it's not just an issue with the gravestones.

The village doesn't write birth or death years on anything, not even obituary posts.

Okay.

So a bit weird.

What about the age thing?

Yes, here.

I've made a rough tally.

Okay.

It appears that there are two windows of age at which death is common here.

The young, around Jeff's age, and the very old, like my patient, or older.

So, instead of the standard curve of death over time, usually peaking somewhere around the late 70s, early 80s, we have a bimodal distribution, with deaths occurring most prominently in the mid to late teens and the late 80s to early 90s.

A quaint English village with consistently abnormal deaths.

Exactly.

Sounds great.

Just like the kind of hike I'd want to send my little brother on.

Now, I know I haven't known you for very long, but you have a universally recognizable, but wait, there's more, Face.

Small villages like this don't have a lot of turnover.

But during modernization, the Industrial Revolution, a lot of villages like Crooksmont lost their younger population to jobs in larger cities with factory jobs.

Not Crooksmont.

People didn't leave.

Not for long, and seemingly never forever.

Not until the early 1900s, 1910s, when people did start leaving.

Then they only left for a few months at a time, and they always came back.

See here, the first Crooksmont man to attend university was an Allhill.

Of course.

John Allhill went to the University of Edinburgh to study agriculture in 1919.

His return was always announced on the bulletin board as people would gather to hear his stories about the city and receive small gifts he would bring back.

He was never gone longer than three months at a time.

And you're not of the mind that he was just a very homesick kind of guy?

Didn't think so.

What about the gene pool?

You can't have a bunch of people living in a closed-off village for so long before,

you know, another hills have eyes type situation.

And that constable, Gordon, he's not from here.

People do seem to stay occasionally.

There are some marriages into the village.

The Moss family welcomes Frida to Crooksmont and to their family.

Andrew and Frida are to wed at the church on Sunday.

The Ackers are proud and happy to welcome Wilhelm, who has asked for the hand of their eldest daughter Ophelia and will join Crooksmont as our first printer.

Elder John Allhill.

Everyone moves to the village when they marry.

Men, too.

But that almost supports your idea, yeah?

About genetic adaptation?

If the populations stay so,

so close, so insular,

it could be true.

Hmm.

It would explain why adaptation like this hasn't spread and become more well-known.

Sometimes it's not even adaptation, per se, but a genetic mutation that is circumstantially beneficial.

Even so, if it were a genetic adaptation, its benefits or trait exhibited by the mutation could be linked to a geographic location.

So, it's environmental.

Perhaps both.

You know, I never saw any notices for property sales.

Not even when I was researching the village online.

Not a single estate agent listing for Crooksmont ever came up.

There's no evidence that anyone has ever sold their home or land.

It looks like if property ever did change hands, it was bought up by the orchard and only due to the death of the owner.

Here, 1943.

The old Warren Cottage and half acre, after the death of Miss Albina Warren, spinster and last of the Warren line, is to be transferred to the Allhill estate, whereupon the house will be preserved and become home to Catherine Allhill and her future husband.

Nothing seems to be owned by a bank.

Did you even see an estate agent's office?

Like a realtor?

Mm-hmm.

No.

Not that I remember.

So we don't know why, but it's all or nothing.

Stay for a single weekend or never leave.

Don't Mind Cruxmont.

Written and created by K.A.

Stats.

Produced and directed with Sound Design by Travis Fengroaff.

Edited with Sound Design Mixing and Mastering by Dane Leonardson.

Dialogue editing by Austin Beach.

And with script and casting consulting by Gemma Amore.

Starring Ajua Ando, Daniel Demerin, Preston Young, Sinclair Bell, Liz DeLesio, and Susie Martin.

With executive producers Dennis Greenhill, Michael Viegas, Carol Vengroff, and AJ Punkin.

Additional dialogue editing by Serbacynsky of Polarity Audio Works, and music by Stephen Malin.

This episode would not be possible without the support of our listeners on Patreon.

So please consider supporting us there at patreon.com slash foolandscholar or by sharing this show with a friend.

This episode is copyrighted 2022 by Fool and Scholar Productions.

Thank you for listening.

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