Tales From The Parish by Stefania Hartley
Who would have guessed a dung heap could come to the rescue?
FATHER OKOLI was getting ready to go to St Mary’s primary school to celebrate Mass for the beginning of the new academic year.
He was looking forward to it; being involved in the school was a big component of becoming part of the local community.
He was about to leave the presbytery when the phone rang. It was Farmer Price’s wife.
“Father, there’s been an accident.”
“What? Where?” he asked anxiously.
“I have no idea where; that’s the problem. I’ve lost my wedding ring.”
Father heaved a sigh of relief, while Mrs Price continued.
“It could be anywhere! I’ve searched the house top to bottom.
“I’m really upset, Father, so I’m buying a new one. Will you bless it for me?” “Of course I will.” Father set off for the school.
He’d almost reached the gate when he saw George, the village’s cycling champion, whizzing down the lane on his electric bike.
He was about to wave when a pheasant jumped off the drystone wall and ran in front of the bicycle.
George shouted and swerved.
Before Father’s eyes, George’s bicycle rode up the bank and catapulted him over the wall into the field, slap bang in the middle of a steaming pile of manure.
On the other side of the field, the children in the school playground gasped.
Father vaulted the wall and ran to George’s side. “Are you OK, George?” George opened one eye. “The priest! Oh, no, I must be dying!” He closed his eyes again.
“Is there a first aider?” Father called out to the pupils and teachers in the playground.
George opened his eyes again and sniffed.
“What’s this stench? Am I in hell?”
A group of older children, led by their teacher, arrived with a first aid kit.
They must have been rehearsing a school play because they were dressed as angels.
“Goodness, I’m not in hell, I’m in heaven!” George cried.
“He’s in shock,” one of the angel first aiders said.
The pheasant, perched on the drystone wall, watched the scene, cocking its head.
The sound of an engine on the lane announced the arrival of the ambulance.
The paramedics checked George and confirmed that all was well.
“This manure heap saved your life, and we suspect that your backpack protected your spine.”
George opened the bag and looked inside with a sigh. It was full of broken pastries from the bakery.
“Pheasant pies: my favourites!” He darted a reproachful look at the pheasant that was still watching from the wall.
George zipped up the backpack and made to stand up, then held his lower back in pain.
The paramedics immediately checked him.
“Aha!” They pulled something out of his back and held it up.
“How did your wedding ring end up jammed under your belt?”
“This isn’t mine. I’ve never had a wedding ring.” George frowned.
“Does this field belong to Farmer Price?” Father asked the teacher. “Yes.”
Father didn’t need to hear more. He took out his phone and rang Mrs Price. “We’ve found your ring!” “Where was it?”
“It’s a long story . . .” Farmer Price gave George a ride home on his tractor. No-one else wanted to offer a lift to a man covered in manure.
When Mrs Price heard how the ring had been found, she explained that she had lost weight and all her rings were now loose.
“It must have slipped off when I was helping my husband with the cows.”
“You should take it to the jeweller’s to have it tightened,” Father told her.
A few days later, Father met Mrs Price again. “How is your ring?” She beamed.
“Very well. My husband didn’t like the idea of having it altered, so he bought me an eternity ring to wear above it to hold it in place.”
Father smiled. Thank goodness for that dung heap!
More next week.