The allotments will never be the same.

Fred was digging a new bed when he

Found it,

Uprooting silver collars, bracelets, armlets

Finger rings too along with

Amber beads not unlike flax seeds.

Mutterings of treasure trove sprout darkly

In the other sheds where his

Neighbours want their share but

Greenhouses grow security guards now while

Worst of all

Parsnips and peas wither waiting for the

Archaelogists.

One bright note is Fred's new cough.

They say its the curse of the Vikings.