Coming down the hill to say Morning Prayer yesterday I spied
a figure on the other side of the road which resembled the curate. And so it
turned out to be. I wondered what she might be doing standing on the driveway
of no.16.
What Marion was doing was looking upwards to a first-floor
window, conversing with an older lady who was holding a baby. Further
investigation revealed that this was because said lady and baby had managed to
lock themselves in an upstairs bedroom and the child’s parents were out. What
to do? Call the parents? She didn’t have their numbers. Call the fire brigade?
Eventually it was decided that I should go home and retrieve
a screwdriver so the handle of the bedroom door could be removed. How to get it
to the incarcerated lady? A Colditz-like arrangement of a knotted bedsheet lowered
from the window didn’t achieve the desired result. I thought I could aim the
implement through the window, although Marion voiced some scepticism.
Now, you probably expect this story to conclude in some
calamity, a smashed window or worse still small child. But no: at the third
attempt the screwdriver found its way safely onto the bedroom floor and
although removing the door handle didn’t effect escape, while I was away
fetching my ladder to try and get over the side gate and into the house at the
back, the lady managed to use it to trip the catch and get out. We all had a
friendly conversation at the door. ‘God bless,’ I said to her on parting: ‘I
think he already has,’ she responded.
Marion said she would inform her husband, who runs several
sports teams at his school, about my throwing skills which she thought might
warrant inclusion on the cricket team. I was less sure, not only because my
success was flukey but because lobbing a screwdriver in at a window is more
akin to darts than cricket, and I don’t think darts is a suitable pastime for a
clergyman.
I don't see why darts should be seen as the work of the devil. Mind you, I think that throwing a screwdriver up and through a window is more akin to basketball?
ReplyDeleteI think what you needed was a ball of string. You could have thrown that through the window, and then the lady concerned could have held on to one end, while throwing it back to you. Then you could have tied the screwdriver to it, and she could have reeled it in.
Of course, the chance of having a ball of string, as opposed to lots of odd bits of string, is slight.
If you had lent the ladder against the house, would the sheet have reached then?
I am still not sure why the lady and baby couldn't have just waited in the room?
Anyhow, you saved the day! Well done!
The screwdriver was definitely held darts-fashion, and I think it's the association with public houses and stale lager that puts me off. My granddad could blow darts into the board, or so he always claimed, I never saw him do it.
ReplyDeleteWhile the ladder is quite short and insufficient for the purpose, you're right about the string! I didn't have any handy, but I do have a reel of garden jute. I didn't think of it.
Who knows how long they faced waiting ...?
My vicar once climbed a tree to rescue my frisbee. Talented lot, vicars...
ReplyDelete