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01 January 2000
39.22 and the Peruvian grave robber
By Kim Richartdson

I have recently returned from one of my occasional trips to Peru and wanted to share with you, an instance of how the Society played a vital role in safeguarding a part of that country.s priceless archaeological heritage

One evening, in the southern desert town of Ica, (home of Peru's fine pisco brandy) I was taken by an acquaintance, a Commander in the secret police, to meet a friend of his. The friend, Segnor Q (you will see the need for this discretion in a moment) is a skilled winemaker. From his 8ha vineyard, irrigated by flooding from the River Ica each March, he produces a golden muscatel wine which, in the manner of the country, is drunk as a chaser to the clear, fragrant pisco. But Segnor Q, I was informed by my policeman acquaintance, has another skill. He is said to be one of Peru's most successful and feared tomb robbers. The desert in that area is rich with unmarked graves from the great pre-Columbian civilisation that once inhabited the region and, during the daytime, when he is not working in his vineyard, Segnor Q is said to pace out into the desert carrying a long, heavy metal pole. This he thrusts into the ground at regular intervals. When, on drawing it up, he sees the telltale ochre of ceramic dust on the end that indicates he has found a grave site, he marks the spot with a secret sign. Then, at night, he returns to that spot with a shovel and digs. In this way, over the years he has (or so I was assured, for I saw no evidence myself) found beautiful objects of beaten gold, ponchos and rugs woven from the finest stitching in the world and painted ceramics the equal of any in the world.s great museums. All these he sells to whomever will buy from him.

He usually works alone but that night, as a special favour to a visitor from abroad, he said, he was inviting me to accompany him to see for myself how he went about his grisly and highly illegal work. You can imagine how I felt. I had no desire to offend my hosts by refusing (aside from simple friendship anyone would, I think, hesitate before offending a Commander in the secret police and one of the country's most feared tomb robbers, separately or together). On the other hand, Peru's jails are uncomfortable and sentences long. In any case, I believe strongly that graves should be left undisturbed and that tomb robbing is plain wrong. What to do? I thought for a few moments, then inspiration came to me. Pulling out a flask of the Society's No. 39.22 which I had in my pocket, I suggested that as the nights are chilly in the desert we should take a dram to warm ourselves before we set out. We did. Then (I suggested, again) we should drink to the success of the venture. We did. Furthermore, the spirits of the dead we were apparently about to rob had surely, I ventured, to be appeased. They had. We drank to them; we drank to each other; we drank to Anglo-Peruvian friendship, to the skill of the whisky distillers, to the spirits of the dead, to ourselves again... Gradually, in the companionable glow that The Society.s malts seem to engender wherever in the world they are drunk, it became clear that none of us were going anywhere that night. The graves were safe from our shovels and, for a time at least and thanks to the SMWS, my hosts. ancestors . and the pieces of Peru's priceless heritage that they kept with them in their graves, could slumber on under the desert sand.

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