MARJORIE IN THE COAL SHED

 

Most Mothers become hardened to shocks and scares of all descriptions and I must tell you, I've had my share. One or other of the boys has on occasion, for some totally unfathomable reason, tried to wrap his bicycle round a lamppost or other immovable object, suffering cuts, bruises, and burst noses in consequence. They have come home sometimes with kindly helpers but often under their own steam, looking bloody and bedraggled, but after careful cleaning up no real damage has come to light.

Is it any wonder that I go about with my fingers crossed? As I write this my eldest son is already three hours late for his lunch. If he was an only child, I should be wringing my hands, pacing the floor and phoning the hospitals. As it is, I'm sure he has forgotten the time and is busy tuning or fixing a pal's motor-bike somewhere.

Not being a timid person the odd times I have been frightened stand out vividly. Once when all the family were at table having a meal, rather than disturb any of them I decided to refill the coal scuttle myself. There was a high wind and as I set down the bucket and reached for the shovel, the door slammed shut behind me. The job done, I turned to open it and saw to my horror NO LATCH! It had been loose for weeks, but now it was missing altogether and I was shut fast inside, with only a little light filtering through a poor patch in the roof, just enough to show up the many dust-laden cobwebs, whose occupants always give me the creeps; mice don't scare me at all, but spiders give me goose pimples all over.

I began to knock on the door as loudly as I could, but that only brought down clouds of coal dust from all the crevices. Then I tried shouting for help feeling rather foolish "Help - let me out." The wind howled back in competition and it seemed as if no-one would ever be able to hear me.

Minutes went by that seemed like hours - I shouted until my throat was raw. What wouldn't I have given for the company of one of those dear old ladies who were locked in a certain place from Monday to Saturday! That thought made me laugh and I realised I was verging on the hysterical. Just like my family - they didn't even notice I was missing, surely one of them would notice my empty chair and come to my rescue.

Later, much later, I heard the back door open and almost burst my lungs with what remained of my voice. Footsteps and liberation. I almost fell into Malcolm's arms. black and dishevelled, nearly in tears, and so very glad to see daylight again.

No-one had even started to look for me - it was sheer chance that brought the eldest boy out to collect a tool from the cycle shed, but I prefer to give the credit to Providence again. That scare, bad as it was, is easily eclipsed by the one I'm about to tell you.

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