News
from St Petrified’s Greetings
once more from St Petrifieds. Well,
winter arrived with a vengeance in the village last week.
Following a day and night of howling winds and blizzards
we awoke last Sunday to a good foot of snow on the ground.
The whole village was cut off from the world, nothing
able to move on the snow-choked roads. Just
as I was contemplating a day of glorious inactivity, the
telephone rang. It was Rev Keen who informed me that
since the church heating had expired he had decided to
hold the morning service in the 'Happy Daze' Rest Home
for the Terminally Bewildered. Also, since the major was
marooned, with a party of several others in the Snare
& Ferret, would I care to help out? Bidding
a fond farewell to the fireside and television I donned
my arctic survival gear and ventured forth into the
silent, empty world. Struggling manfully through waist
high snowdrifts I reached the crossroads where I met Mr
Fenoughty, our council workman, with the village
snowplough. Even he was finding it hard going, although I
suppose that a horse-drawn snowplough does have its
disadvantages. Poor Mr Fenoughty had to keep stopping
every yard or so to dig his horse, Shergar, out of the
snow. At this point I was tempted to try and reach the
Snare & Ferret so that I could be marooned there too
but I heeded the call of duty and plodded on to Happy
Daze. I
discovered that only the curate and I had been successful
in reaching the rest home. At least the residents seemed
pleased to see us as the lounge was filled to capacity.
The service started with a hymn in which only Rev Keen
and myself partook. The residents sat in malevolent
silence interjecting cries of 'Rubbish' and 'Get off'. There
seems to be something about getting old that gives people
the right to say anything they like in an extremely loud
voice. The curate's intercessions were punctuated with
comments like, 'What's he dribbling on about' and 'Who's
that other bloke? He looks a bit shifty to me'. Then
during the sermon everyone rushed to the window to watch
Mr Fenoughty and Shergar struggle past. The Peace was a
disaster, half of the residents left, thinking that the
service was over. When
Rev Keen went round with the Communion Cup, old Mr
Tattershall drained it in a single draught, belched very
loudly and pronounced that it was very nice! With no more
wine left, the curate ended the service and fled. I
battled my way to the Snare & Ferret to join the
people marooned in there. We didn't get 'rescued' until
Wednesday, but we didn’t mind. |