Writing

Just as the youth group evening was drawing to a close, they all heard the outside door crash open and a young male voice calling for help.  He came bounding along the hall and immediately saw them all through the glass panels of the door.  He was yelling for help again and something about an accident.  Jenni, one of the youth leaders, jumped up to meet the distressed youngster.

“Calm down, we’ll help.  Tell me what’s happened,” she told the wild-eyed young man.

“It’s Darren”, he said fighting for breath, “he’s fallen and yelling in pain.  We think he’s broken something ..”  He trailed off, unable to offer anything further in the confusion of his mind.  Instinct had told him Darren needed proper help and he knew the nearest adults would be in the church with the youth group.

“Ok” Jenni told him, “I’m a qualified in First Aider, lead me to him and I’ll take a look.”

Carl, Jenni’s assistant youth leader for the evening, reached the pair in time to hear of the problem.

 

Jenni turned the teenager towards the door and he complied with a look of relief. She nodded to Carl and he understood his part.

Then over her shoulder Jenni called out,

“Amber can you come with us, I may need your help, too.”

After a moment of surprised hesitation Amber quickly followed. She was an older member of the group and Jenni had suggested she might like to do a first aid course.  Amber was curious as to what had happened and wondered what help she could be to Jenni but she was pleased to be tag along and do whatever she could.

 

“Ok, everyone”, Carl called, “let’s finish the packing up while Jenni sees to the injured.”

Carl was one of Jenni’s assistant leaders, standing in for someone else that evening. Everyone turned to their tasks in a slightly stunned silence, their minds partly on their clearing up and partly on the skate park just across the supermarket car park next door.

“Parents will be here soon so I’d like you all to be ready.”  Carl continued, trying to bring things back to normal.  “Caleb can you help Megan with that box?”

 

Jenni, Amber and the teenage boy left the building at a jog and Jenni began to ask short questions about the injured boy.

“Whereabouts is he hurt?”

“I think it’s his shoulder the young man replied or maybe the top of his arm, I’m not sure.”

“Did he fall very far?”

“No.  He’d been on one of the low bars most of the evening trying to perfect a move – annoying lots of guys because he was hogging it – anyway he just fell.  I think he missed the board and came down on the ground on one shoulder.  He came down really hard.  I’d been watching from the half pipe.”

Jenni was making guesses at possible injuries and hoped it was something simple.

They could see a crowd around someone on the ground as they jogged into the skate park and they parted as they saw Jenni arrive.

“Hi, I’m Jenni”, she said in a clear and confident tone, kneeling down next to the young man, “I’m a first aider – it’s Darren, isn’t it?”

The young man was grimacing with the pain but managed to nod.

“What hurts most, Darren – your arm, your shoulder or somewhere else?”

Darren swallowed hard and indicated that the pain was all across his shoulder but worst at one particular point.

“Can I just check the top of your arm, gently and around your shoulder?”

Darren nodded and submitted to Jenni’s gently probing fingers along the top of his arm and around his shoulder.  Jenni could see he was struggling to fight the pain.

“Did you hit your head at all, when you fell?”  Jenni questioned as she examined the teenager.

Darren shook his head.  Jenni moved to the point he’d indicated as being the most painful and gently touched it … Darren almost leapt into the air and let out a yell of pain.

“Ok, I think you’ve broken your collar bone, Darren”, she told him, “there’s not much I can do for you here, but you will need to go to hospital, ok?”

Darren nodded.  He was obviously relieved to have someone around who knew what was wrong and what to do about it.

“I know this is painful, Darren”, Jenni went on, “but as it isn’t life-threatening, I don’t want to call 999 for an ambulance.  Can you nod if you understand me?”

Darren nodded, but looked slightly unsure.

“If you live close by, Darren, and there is someone at home I’d like to contact them so they understand your injury and can make a decision about how to get you to hospital quickly.  Do you live close by?”

Darren nodded.

“I know where he lives, miss”, someone in the crowd of youngsters piped up.

“Thank you”, Jenni said patiently half turning in the direction of the voice, “you may be able to help in a moment, but can I get some answers from Darren first, please?

Darren, will there be someone at home?”

Darren nodded and struggled through his pain to say the word, “parents”.

Jenni pulled out her mobile, but Darren groaned and moved carefully to extricate his own from his jeans pocket.  He began pressing keys.

“If you’ll allow me to explain to your parents first, then I’ll put you on to verify, it will be easier for you.”

Darren handed her the phone, someone was already saying hello.

Jenni said clearly who she was, then explained quickly and clearly what had happened to Darren’s mother, then gave the phone back to Darren.  He gave monosyllabic answers and then pressed a key to disconnect.

“Dad’s coming out”, he explained in a voice strained by pain.

“Good”, said Jenni, “well done.  Rest as well as you can until he gets here.”

Jennie turned to Amber and spoke with her briefly.  Amber knelt down next to Darren and Jenni said

“Amber is learning First Aid, too, Darren and I’ve asked her to help you put your arm in a more comfortable position.”

Jenni stood up and addressed the crowd of youngsters around Darren.

“Now, who was it called out they know where Darren lives?”

 

Amber directed Darren to move his right arm slowly into a position lying across his lap. She stayed with him, speaking encouragingly as he followed her directions, advising him to stop often, rather than give himself too much pain all at once.

As he stopped at one point to rest from the pain and exertion, she asked

“Are you right-handed?”

Darren caught her meaning immediately and shook his head.

“Oops!” Amber observed wryly.  Darren smiled weakly.

 

Jenni meanwhile organised some of the crowd of boys into a line to direct Darren’s father to a parking space close to the skate park, and asked them to call out when he arrived.

 

Carl had all the youth group outside the church, partly to wait for parents to collect them but also so they could see some of what was happening across at the skate park.  He asked the group to pray in twos and threes, asking them to think about what it might be like to have an accident, or witness one.  Carl saw Jenni organising the line of boys and guessed she had things in hand but called her mobile to check.

“Might need some help”, she told him, “if Darren’s father comes alone it would be good to have a confident male with him in the car for support.”

“Ok, I’ll stand by – let me know if I need to swop with you.  How’s Amber doing?”

“Really well, she knows enough to help Darren get comfortable and she’s relaxed about talking with him.  Anyway, I’d better go – give Darren the bad news that I want him to walk to the car!”

“See you soon”, said Carl and disconnected.

He told the youth group what was going on, partly to keep down the curiosity but also to inform those he knew would be most committed to praying.

 

As Jenni walked back to Darren, she could see Amber had already done what she was about to do.  Darren was slowly moving to stand up with Amber encouraging him as he did so.  Jenni was pleased that Amber had taken the initiative and had certainly proved she would be a good choice to do the first aid course.  She slowed her walk to arrive as Darren stood.

“Well done!”  Jenni congratulated, “I was coming back to ask you to walk over but you and Amber have been ahead of me.”

“I’ve got his jumper and skate board as well”, Amber said as they began to walk.

“Great”, said Jenni, “Darren, you’ll need to sit in the back of the car and on the left-hand side so that the seat belt goes across you without touching your injured side.”

Darren nodded to show he understood.

As they reached the line of boys, Jenni hung back, letting Amber walk beside him while she walked behind.

The line of boys were quiet to begin with – Jenni knew some of them would know what it was like to be injured while skate boarding – but then they began to call encouragements as Darren made his painful way along.

“Hope you’re ok, soon, mate”

“Yeah, hope they stop the pain soon”

“You did some great skating”

“See you back here soon!”

 

Then a call came from the end of the line that Darren’s father had arrived.  Jenni jogged round Darren and Amber and went to meet him.  After a few brief words between them Darren had made it to the car; he gave his father a sheepish look.

“Accidents happen, son”, his father observed and he opened the front passenger door.

Amber quickly began to explain why sitting in the back would be a better idea and they helped Darren into the back seat.

 

Jenni saw that Darren’s father was alone and discovered that his mother had to stay at home with a younger child.  Jenni offered Carl’s assistance and it was gratefully taken. She called Carl’s mobile to let him know.

Jenni said goodbye to Darren and his father, who thanked her for all she had done.

“You guys have been a big help”, she told the now disintegrating line of skate park youngsters and waved before jogging across to the church.  She crossed with Carl partway over and she called

“Be praying for you, bro!”

He grinned a thank you and arrived to introduce himself to Darren and his father.

Amber said goodbye to Darren and smiled as his father thanked her for her help, then she too, made her way back to the church.

 

Parents had begun to arrive to collect members of the youth group and there were excited exchanges as news spread.

“Can we do anything?” Some parents asked Jenni and she responded simply with one request, Pray.

Assent was nodded and as the youngsters left the area went quiet.

When the last one was out of earshot, Jenni breathed a sigh of relief.

“Phew! What an end to an evening.  Amber you were brilliant!”  She enthused to the one person left with her.

“Thanks” Amber replied.  “It wasn’t anywhere near as difficult as I thought it might be.  When you first asked, I was pleased but then on our way over I was thinking, Oh help what have I said yes to?”

“But you did a great job”, Jenni told her

“I shot up a quick prayer that I would do and say the right things”, Amber admitted

“Best thing to do in the circumstances, but not everyone thinks of it”, Jenni said,” so to have prayer come to mind in the situation makes me even more sure you are really well suited to doing the first aid course.”

“Now I feel much more confident”, Amber admitted, “I think I was pleased to be asked when you first mentioned it and I thought it would be good to be able to deal with stuff like that, but I know I wasn’t confident.”

“So, Darren’s misfortune has been good for you”, Jenni observed.  “Is anyone coming for you?”

“My brother is supposed to”, Amber told her, “I’ll give him a call.”

Amber took out her mobile and Jenni took the opportunity to check that the church door was secure.

Amber’s brother was obviously not too far away as he arrived almost immediately after her call, full of apologies because he’d had to stop for petrol on his way over.  They both waved to Jenni and she heard Amber begin to tell her story of the evening as she got in the car.

 

Jenni was about to get in her car to drive over to the hospital and pick up Carl when she heard someone behind her.  She turned quickly.

“Hi” said the teenager who’d originally run over to find help.

Jenni saw he wasn’t alone, there were a few others from the skate part hanging back and looking a little sheepish.

“Hi” Jenni responded, “you guys ok?”

At Jenni’s friendly question they were all reassured and stepped forward.

“I just wanted to thank you for your help”, the teenager said, “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

“You’re welcome”, Jenni responded with a warm smile, “you can always call on us if you need help again – First Aid or otherwise.  Are you a friend of Darren’s?”

“I just know him from skating … see him sometimes going to school, but he’s with his mates then.”

Jenni nodded, “What about the rest of you?” She asked the small group of boys.

“Couple of us know ‘im from school.  Not in ‘is year but we know ‘im”, one of them answered while his friend nodded agreement.

“He lives in my street”, said the youngster who’d been eager to let Jenni know he knew Darren’s address.

“You all did him a good turn, tonight”, Jenni encouraged them, “it’s rough having an accident so your help will have been appreciated by Darren and his family.”

“Can we have a look inside the church, miss?” one of them asked.

“Yes, of course you can!” Jenni responded, “but not right now I’m afraid.  My friend that went with Darren and his father to the hospital will need picking up, so I’m off to do that now.  Why don’t you come back here for about 11 o’clock on Saturday morning?  The church will be open, there’s a community café and there might be other bits and pieces going on – you can look round the whole place then.”

“Ok”, said one enthusiastic voice, while others mumbled in hesitantly.

“No pressure”, said Jenni, quite prepared for this reaction, “just come if you want to see what the place looks like and find out what we do.  There’s no real mystery – and most of us are quite friendly.”

“Only most of you?” queried one teenager, the others wide-eyed at her statement.

In a confidential tone, Jenni said, “Some of the older people aren’t too sure about teenagers – even the teenagers in our youth group!”

This revelation made them all grin, so Jenni called a cheery good night and left in her car to collect Carl. 

Based on a true story from a local youth organisation.

As the rest of the group left the lunch club room, Aiden hung behind. He moved from one foot to the other, alternating between looking at the floor and glancing up to see how the crowd was thinning out. He stayed well back in the room, trying to keep to one corner. He felt very conspicuous and wanted to bolt. He was beginning to sweat but he told himself he had to do this, he had nowhere else to go for help.

The lunch club leaders were friendly and they didn’t seem to judge. He’d watched them for weeks. Aiden had heard people talk about Christians and they weren’t usually good things. So when his best friend had first invited him to the lunch club and told him what it was about he’d only gone out of curiosity – he didn’t expect to enjoy it! Aiden had found that Matt and Amy, who usually led the lunch club, were friendly, open, chatted easily about God and Jesus and Christian stuff as though it was all normal. They didn’t even bat an eyelid when people said the most outrageous things. He and his friend Steve went every week, enjoying the games, the stories, the confident answers to questions. They both looked forward to the lunch clubs. But not even Steve knew the difficulties Aiden had. Today Steve was off school with a heavy cold, so Aiden didn’t have to think up an excuse for staying back after the meeting finished. Feeling a bit shaky and desperately close to tears, Aiden squeezed his eyes tight shut and rubbed his forehead.

“Hi Aiden,” said a voice quite close, “you look like you might want a chat. Shall we sit here?”
One of the lunch club leaders, Matt, had approached without Aiden noticing. Matt’s tone was quieter than usual, more confidential. Aiden liked Matt’s openness and honesty and sat down where he indicated.
“I’ve asked Amy if she’ll stay at the other side of the room and pray, she won’t be listening, we want to respect your privacy. Is that ok?”
Aiden nodded. He wasn’t sure what good praying would do but he knew that’s what these people believed in, so he was ok with it.
“Aiden, I want you to know that I will treat anything you say to me as confidential, but I can’t promise that I won’t speak to anyone else about it. That’s because it may not be in best interests of either of us. I need you to understand that before you tell me anything. How are you with that?”

Aiden could hardly speak he was so wound up and he couldn’t look at Matt. An odd noise came out of his throat and he coughed to clear it, then managed to say it was fine.

“That’s good. I’d really like to help if I can. I don’t want you to feel embarrassed at all, and I can see there’s some strong emotions going on inside you, so, take your time and just say whatever you need to.”
Aiden glanced up at Matt, grateful for all he was saying, but the struggle inside him was so intense it felt as though it would get out of control if he tried to speak. He tried to smile his thanks but a lump formed in his throat. He swallowed hard. He saw Matt glance across at Amy.
Aiden squeezed his eyes tight shut and rubbed his forehead again. Then he let out a long sigh, took a deep breath and said

“My dad’s lost his job …” but the lump in his throat stopped him saying anything more.
Matt allowed a pause before commiserating.
“That’s tough. How long ago?”

A question. Aiden felt he could answer a question, focus on one thing at a time. There were so many confused thoughts spinning round his brain.

“Since a little while after me mum walked out with me little sister.”
Matt nodded and waited for Aiden to continue.
“He … they’d been rowing … mostly about money, I think. Then she left. Said sorry to me because she couldn’t take us both, Trina and me. Dad seemed to go down hill .. he got so sad. Really sad. I’ve never seen him so bad. Then he lost his job. He tried to get something else. He did get a few things but they never lasted. Now it’s got really bad. We don’t have any money.”

Aiden had to swallow hard, the lump was rising in his throat again. He had to squeeze his eyes shut and rub his forehead again to keep the tears back. Matt seemed to sense his difficulty.

“That’s really tough, Aiden, I’m sorry it’s got like this. Do you get on alright with your dad?”

Aiden nodded. “Yeah, he’s a good dad, you know. Better than some of me mates, but he’s just really, really sad all the time. It’s like he’s giving up – can’t cope with stuff.”

Aiden glanced up at Matt, who nodded that he understood. Aiden had got this far, but now he wasn’t sure what to say next. He felt confused, a bit disorientated. There was a big struggle going on inside him. Matt seemed to sense his inability to continue and asked another question.

“Is there something specific I can help you with today?”
That question hit Aiden like a punch. His emotions reeled. But it was a question, and he could form an answer if he could get round the lump in his throat. With a great effort he said,

“We’ve got one frozen pizza left. When dad and me eat it tonight we don’t have any more food. Can’t get any more, no money left,” he added, desperately.

Aiden looked up at Matt and as his tears welled up he didn’t have the strength to hold them back any longer. He folded his arms across the table, laid his head on them and sobbed. Matt put a strong hand on his shoulder for a moment, allowing Aiden to release all the emotion he’d fought so hard to hold back.

After a few moments Matt got up quietly and spoke to Amy. She left the room with the keys to Matt’s car. She reappeared a short time later, clutching a handful of leaflets. Aiden was wiping his eyes on his sleeve as she came back into the room and Matt had sat down opposite him again. Amy walked quietly over and discreetly left the leaflets on the end of the table.

Aiden felt drained. The struggle to tell Matt had been immense, but although he felt worn out he also felt some relief. And Amy had left something on the end of the table – what was that all about?

“Aiden I’m really sorry you and your dad have had to go through all of that and get to this stage without getting any help. But I think what you’ve said about your dad is right – he’s having trouble coping with everything. Sometimes adults get that way and don’t know what to do about it themselves.”

Aiden nodded. He wanted to help his dad, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know who to go to for help either. Until today, the idea hadn’t occurred to him that he could speak to Matt and just see if there was something he could do. It was desperation. He had been hungry for ages. His dad had just stopped going shopping, he didn’t understand why at first, then he’d asked and been so shocked. The sorrow in his dad’s voice as he told him made him feel so bad. Aiden wanted to make it all right, but just didn’t know how.

“The good news is we can do something about your food situation today,” Matt said confidently.

Aiden couldn’t believe what Matt said and stared at him wide-eyed.

Matt recognised the shocked and questioning look and nodded as he continued,
“We will need to get a few people involved to set the ball rolling but we’re very fortunate in this area because there is a local organisation called Foodbank. By involving the right people, we can ask them to supply some food for a short while until your dad can get some help.”

“Thank you!” Aiden blurted out. It was all he could manage. Emotions were starting to rise again, a different sort, better, but the initial wave of them threatened to overwhelm him. There was help. And today! It was amazing!

“From what you’ve told me,” Matt continued, ”it sounds as though your dad might benefit from visiting a doctor so he can be advised what’s available to help with his sadness. Sometimes drugs are best, sometimes counselling does the trick.”

Aiden brightened even more at the thought of his dad getting help, too. To see his dad happy again, to have his dad back as he was – that would be great!

“Aiden,” Matt was asking, “will your dad be at home at the moment?”
He nodded and managed a simple, “Yes.”
“Well let’s get along to the office and see who’s available there. We’ll need to start by getting you off school for the afternoon to sort out everything.”

Matt stood up, so Aiden did too. Aiden felt as though he was in a dream. He’d been so desperate, so confused, so hungry – and now it was going to be sorted. Just like that! He was glad Steve had invited him to the lunch club; glad that these Christians had turned out to be fun, normal and approachable; glad that he’d summoned up the courage to talk to Matt and so glad that there was help – immediate help. Maybe, Aiden thought, just maybe the God that Matt and Amy talked about really did exist …

Bev ran her security card across the reader to clock back in after her lunch break. Even before she walked through the door, she sensed something was wrong. The glass safety panel showed that most people in the open plan office were standing, facing the same direction. Is there someone leaving? She wondered. But no, as she pushed through the door she could feel the tension, see the rigid body language and feel the fear.
A man’s voice was shouting “I’ll kill her! Tell me where the scientists are! I know you murder animals so I’ll murder her if you don’t tell me!”

A woman nearby let out a small involuntary squeal, her own fear cutting it short.
Bev sighed. An animal activist. In the wrong building and the wrong Research Council. She moved forward through the silent, stunned crowd with purpose, and some caution, towards where she thought the voice had been coming from. A plan was forming in her mind. A few steps and she could see the man, sweating and shakily holding a gun on Rachel, an office acquaintance. He had her pinned face down on the desk, her arms on either side of her head and the gun jammed into the back of her neck.

“You’ve got the wrong building!” Bev called calmly. The crowd seemed to take in a collective breath, those closest turning to stare at her incredulously, but this opened up her way through and she took it. Stepping forward she walked quickly to get as close to Rachel, and the man holding the gun, as she could before he recovered his wits.
The man looked stunned.
“What?” He shouted at her, nerves making him loud, his eyes wild.
Good, she thought, a novice.
“You’ve got the wrong building,” she said again with calm confidence. “Clearly you have the wrong information. There are no scientists here and no animal testing takes place in these buildings.”
“Liar!” He spat at her, but he was taken completely off-guard as she intended.
“Look around you,” Bev challenged him mildly, “these are offices not science labs. These are only administrative buildings.”
“Liar!” He spat at her again, but with less conviction, she was getting to him.

Behind her she heard the door into the office open, this she guessed in a split second was the result of someone’s call to security. She hoped the security people would stay where they were. She continued speaking to the man in reasonable tones.
“If there were labs here, we would have high fences. There would be warning notices about dog patrols, you would have to pass through a scanner and that would easily have detected that you were armed.” She had made up the last part, but it was clear he hadn’t got a clue. He was looking rattled and fortunately he didn’t seem to have noticed the door opening and closing, his mind was desperately trying to calculate what to do next.

As the door opened and closed again, Bev hoped that this was a security person leaving to call the police. Again, the man was in too much confusion to notice.
“So there is no reason for you to stay,” Bev reasoned with him. “Any protest here will fall flat. How about you let Rachel go and put down the gun?” She said it so mildly she could have been inviting him to lunch, but the calm authority behind it remained.
He was obviously considering what he should do.
“You haven’t harmed anyone,” Bev went on, not giving him too much time to think, “so you can just leave the building quietly.” The moment he slightly relaxed his hold on Rachel she took a step forward, her hand outstretched as she said.
“Shall I take the gun?”
Now he released Rachel and pointed the gun at Bev. She stood her ground, hand still outstretched, and glanced at Rachel who had covered her face with her hands as her body began to shake in silent sobs.
“Shall I take the gun?” Bev repeated. “No harm done,” she said reassuringly, the ghost of a smile on her face as she looked him straight in the eye.
His hand shook, he wavered in confusion, Bev tried a tentative step. She was close enough to take the gun from him.
For a frozen moment she was not sure which way he would choose. Bev kept her eyes on his face but he could not meet her gaze. Bev saw he was crumbling and moved to take the gun from him, his hand released his grip on the weapon and she took it swiftly. She passed it back and away to the nearest man behind her and he got the message that it was safer to have the gun hidden from the intruder.

A ripple of relief went through the office and the security man came quickly to the now embarrassed animal activist.
“I’m afraid our security will need to escort you from the premises,” Bev explained in her still calm and confident manner. And then straight into the hands of waiting police, Bev thought inwardly.
He allowed himself to be gently propelled towards the exit as people stood aside to let them pass. Bev looked round for the man to whom she had passed the gun, he caught her attention and indicated the weapon tucked behind a ring binder on a nearby desk. She nodded and picking up an envelope usually used for internal communications she lifted the gun from the desk with a pen and deposited the weapon inside it.
She turned to see the security guard guide the animal activist through the office door and away. The change in atmosphere in the open plan office was palpable.

“Well done, Bev!” She looked up to see the man who had taken the gun smiling at her. A couple of others close by congratulated her.
“Thank you,” she said graciously, “but I’m not sure it’s over until he’s safely in the hands of the police. Could someone phone down to reception and check that they know what has happened here and that the police are on their way – or better still, already here?”
A senior manager made his way over to her from the group consoling Rachel. He added his congratulations on her calmness and presence of mind, adding a mild rebuke at putting herself in so much danger and asked what she was planning to do with the gun?
She explained that she would take it down to the police once she knew the animal activist was safely in their custody. Just at the moment she would prefer to have the man and the gun at a good distance from each other. He nodded his agreement.

A colleague named Peter came over and told her he’d called reception.
They were unaware of the gun, he told her, but the police had been called and were expected imminently. He’d asked them to call him back when they arrived.
“We might hear sirens,” the senior manager commented.
“I hope not,” Bev replied.
“Hearing those could make an animal activist jumpy,” Peter agreed.

Gradually the usual level of office hub-bub returned as people drifted back to their desks and commented to each other in hushed tones on the events of the previous few minutes. Some regarding Bev with an expression approaching awe.
Peter’s phone rang and reception confirmed that the police had arrived and were taking custody of the animal activist. They had been made aware that he had used a gun and the security man had told them it was still upstairs in the office.
Bev took her cue and started her journey down two floors to reception. In truth she would have liked to have taken the lift but a first aider and a friend of Rachel’s were using it to transport her to the first aid room to recover.

Bev’s legs were feeling slightly wobbly. She didn’t hurry and by the time she’d reached the landing of the next floor down Peter had caught her up and obviously intended to accompany her. Had he realised her resolve was failing? She couldn’t tell, but she was glad of his company.
“That took real guts, Bev,” he told her, “you acted like a pro! None of us knew what to do. But for the gun we would have panicked completely, but it was just too dangerous with the way he was holding poor Rachel. I just couldn’t think straight. I guess it was the same for most of us. But you just walked in and dealt with it.” His tone approaching incredulity.
“Actually, he annoyed me,” Bev told Peter. They had reached the next floor down, one more to go she told herself, willing her legs to work properly.
“Annoyed you?” queried Peter, puzzled.
“Yes,” she confirmed “because he had no idea what he was doing. He hadn’t found out where scientists do experiment on animals, he didn’t know which research council was responsible for what research. He just dived in in the most dangerous way – armed and jumpy. Even though these three buildings are large with several floors it hadn’t occurred to him that this might be a problem!”

Bev realised her voice had taken on a higher register in her exasperation and the aftershock of the situation. Calm down she told herself. They had reached the ground floor and turned the corner into reception. A member of the security staff held up his arm to prevent them going any further. Bev was about to explain to him that she was the person who had disarmed the intruder when another security man told his colleague that she should be allowed through. His expression registered surprise at this news but he said nothing and let both her and Peter pass.

Several security staff were standing around the reception desk and the receptionists themselves were standing well back with apprehensive expressions. Bev looked out of the double doors and could see that the animal activist was now in the back of a police car, of which there were two. Bev hung back, she was aware that being bundled into the back of a police car was not what she had promised the intruder and she wanted him to forget about her, not see her confidently handing his gun to his captors, just in case revenge crossed his mind.

Peter saw her hesitancy and seemed to assume she’d lost her nerve and offered to take the gun out to the police. Bev did not wait to see the gun handed over but turned to the receptionist she knew best, Karen, and thanked her for calling the police. Karen was visibly shaken and stammered slightly that she was glad they had arrived so quickly. Bev agreed. She asked if Karen knew how the man had got into the building and she visibly blanched.

“A bit too easily,” she replied as she began her story. “He gave his name to Sharon and that of the person he’d come to visit, without hesitation. He’d signed in, and Sharon had noticed his hand shaking but she’d passed it off as due to exertion coming over the bridge and down the steps from the station.”
Bev commented that Sharon must be pretty shaken. Karen agreed that she was and told Bev that she’d been taken into the office to calm down. Amongst other things, Bev thought. Karen continued relaying events to Bev. “Although Sharon had called the person whose name had been given, there was no reply. As it was lunch time there were few people in his area of the office, so no one had questioned it. The man had feigned a recollection that they were to meet in the restaurant and he had been allowed through.
“You really are on the front line here,” Bev commented. Karen nodded.

Their conversation was cut short by two police officers entering the building and a whole host of planned measures began to swing into action. Peter had returned behind the policemen and suggested a trip to get a coffee. “I’d prefer tea,” she commented and just about managed to keep pace with him up the stairs despite her shakiness.

The lunch time busyness had not thinned out in the restaurant and it was beginning to buzz with the news of the incident. Peter offered to buy the drinks and suggested Bev found a seat. She settled gratefully into a tub chair by the window and waited for Peter to bring her tea. The possible consequences of what she had done were beginning to filter through to her. Bev had learnt to suppress her emotions as she was growing up to such an extent that at times of stress she found she could slip into a state which allowed her a detached focus on action. Only afterwards did the emotions filter through to do their damage.

When Peter brought her tea, she took it in both hands to steady the white mug that he presented to her. She sipped it and realised he had been thoughtful enough to provide the classic hot, sweet tea prescribed for shock. “Thank you,” she sighed gratefully.
“You’ve been through an ordeal,” he said simply.
“Not as bad as Rachel’s, she replied, and I have a feeling Sharon is going to feel as though she’s been inside a washing machine’s spin cycle!”
Her comment made them both smile and broke some of the tension.
“What you did…” Peter began, “how did you know what to do?”
“I didn’t exactly,” Bev replied, “when I came back from lunch, I realised there was something awful going on. The first words I heard that guy say was the loud, angry demand to be told where the scientists are that kill the animals. He made me angry and exasperated at the same time.”
She paused, aware that she didn’t want to repeat the higher pitched tone she had reached on the stairs when answering Peter.
“I formulated a plan as I was edging forward and guessed that the best approach would be to back-foot him.”
“Through a calm manner and common-sense information,” Peter supplied.
“And fortunately, it worked.”
“Although he did point a gun at you,” Peter reminded her.
“Well, yes, but by that stage he was already close to giving up because he had very few options. I don’t think he really wanted to harm office staff – that would have defeated his goal.”
“I don’t think he was very bright, either,” Peter commented.
“I think you’re right. His lack of preparation and confusion when presented with the facts certainly didn’t mark him out as intelligent.”
“Well, drink up, the police are going to want to question you, he told her, we can only hide in here so long.”

She smiled and began sipping at her tea. Peter gazed out of the window as he drunk his coffee and Bev was again grateful for his considerate company, allowing her to be quiet for a while without any demands. Going over the events for the police would not be pleasant but she decided that she would try and stay calm, as calm as she had sounded when speaking to the animal activist. She closed her eyes and promised herself a long, candlelit bath when she got home – perhaps with a glass of wine and a box of tissues! That could be a long way off, she told herself. But good to look forward to for a sense of perspective. In the meantime, the tea was calming.
In what seemed only a few moments later, she felt a hand on her arm and Peter said, “Bev, the police want to speak to you.”

“In the beginning God created heaven and earth by causing the big bang, and then He just left us to sort it all out!”

Half a smile and half a frown appeared slowly upon the face of the Reverend Adams.

“That’s not completely true, my friend”, he said.

“Well it seems like it to me!” said Professor Mason as he spoke again. Professor Mason is an environmental scientist and a professor of environmental medicine. He studies families of creatures and plants on the land and in the air and sea. He also studies the weather and tries to think up ways of helping when things get out of balance. His work in environmental medicine is now completely taken up by dealing with the Coronavirus outbreak.

Just then, their artist friend arrived. “Hi guys,” he said.

“Hello Brian”, said the Reverend. “How are you?”

“I’m fine thanks, Graham”.

“Thank God for that!” the Reverend replied. “I think Keith has had a bad day.”

“What’s the matter Keith?” asked Brian.

“I’m fed-up and completely puzzled.”

“Can I have three drinks please?” said the Reverend to Grant. Grant is the Landlord of the Sun Inn and he knows exactly what drinks the Reverend is ordering: a pint of lager for Brian, a pint of ale for Keith and a bottle of wine for Graham.

“Yes of course, Grant replied.

To be continued…

Quite a tipple

Dealing with the public could be as trying as it was fulfilling particularly as many of our customers were old people with diminishing faculties…… like Mrs. Cauldron, an old woman in her eighties who was buying her daily bottle of sherry one morning when her daughter came in.  

“At the sherry again, mother,” the daughter said and the old woman jumped.

“What’s it to do with you?” she asked venomously. “Anyway, it’s not alcoholic.”

When Mrs. Cauldron had gone, the daughter asked if we’d mind not selling her mother sherry. “It’s not that I begrudge it her,” she explained. “It’s just that when I come home I can’t get any sense out of her. She’s three sheets to the wind.”

When I suggested that it might be difficult to say no to Mrs. Cauldron who was a very strong-willed woman, she pointed to a grape drink called Shloer. “Give her a bottle of that. She won’t know the difference.”

So the next time Mrs. Cauldron asked for sherry, I did as her daughter suggested. A lorry driver standing behind her looked hard at me and I knew exactly what he was thinking. “Village shopkeeper taking advantage of an old lady. Giving her Shloer and charging her for sherry. Cut their grannies throats for a fiver these jokers.” But with Mrs. Cauldron happily deceived according to her daughter’s wishes, I could hardly disabuse him. So are lies circulated and myths established.

Anyway, off went Mrs. Cauldron with her bottle of Shloer and when I next saw her daughter I asked how our little subterfuge was going.

“Terrible,” she said. “She finishes the Shloer then goes to the pub.”

 

They can’t really help it

“Watch it,” Joyce whispered to me later the same morning. “Cordelia's just put three pairs of tights in her bag.”

Not that Cordelia was an inveterate shoplifter. It was just that her mind had started to go. Sadly it was the beginning of Alzheimer’s. Cordelia had come to live with her son about a mile outside Poulton and even when her illness was quite advanced, she remained a delightful woman and came to the shop every day with her carer. After a time her son became concerned about her account, both its size and the items on it. He was amazed, one day, to see that his ageing mother was buying Tampax. But it was the daily bottle of whisky that really worried him. “She drinks it like water” he explained. “Give her a bottle of wine instead. It’s cheaper and won’t do her as much harm. And,” (shades of Mrs. Cauldron’s daughter) “she’ll never know the difference.”

When it became apparent that she did know the difference, refusing to accept wine while we had whisky on the shelves, he hit on another ruse.

“When you see her coming, hide all the whisky. Tell her you’re out of stock.”

So that’s what we did. The next time the carer’s car drew up, we quickly whipped all the whisky to the back of the shop out of sight. Cordelia came in, her usual charming self, and asked for her regular bottle. When we said we were out of stock, her smile faded and a steely glint came into her eyes. “That’s funny’ she said, “you had such a lot yesterday. Are you sure you’re not hiding it.”

Like Mrs Cauldron she wasn’t to be fooled. Old people may lose many of their faculties but the faculty to track down booze isn’t one of them. When it comes to alcohol they change from absentminded old shufflers into human lie detectors spotting the merest hint of dissemblance like supercharged Miss Marples.

As Cordelia’s disease worsened, we had to keep a constant eye on her as she wandered round the shop slipping various items into her bag. On the day in question I wrote down the other things in her basket and then I asked if she had any tights.

“Of course I have tights,” she barked.

I asked if I could see them.

“What here?” she queried. ‘Oh very well” and smiling sweetly she lifted up her skirt. I hastily explained that those weren’t the tights I had in mind, left the others in her bag and marked down three pairs anyway. Why had no one mentioned such matters before we came into this business? Dealing with demented old ladies had never been discussed at the various seminars we attended.

 

“Two rashers of bacon.”

I looked into the sour face of Mrs. Beech peering over the counter and steeled myself for a lengthy transaction. Harold had warned me that Mrs. Beech’s two rashers of bacon were one of the trials of the week but I thought he must have been exaggerating. Two rashers of bacon were after all – two rashers of bacon.

To most people perhaps, but not to Mrs. Beech. She drew distinctions between rashers with the subtlety that Greenlanders reserve for different types of snow.  The line between too much fat and too little fat was a fine one and easily crossed by anyone not well-versed in the intricacies of the subject and planeloads of bacon could have been dispatched to the starving millions while I tried to find two suitable rashers.  The first two I weighed she declared unacceptable.

“Too much fat,” she said hardly giving them a glance. I put them back in the fridge and weighed two more.

“Too heavy,” she barked. “It’ll cost the earth.”

I weighed a further two, which she grudgingly accepted – until I told her the price.

“This bacon is much dearer than when the Prescott’s were here.”

I gritted my teeth and explained that the bacon prices hadn’t changed.

“Well I don’t know. It seems impossible to get two decent rashers of bacon in this shop anymore. I suppose I’d better have the first two you showed me.”

Smiling fixedly, I was trying to remember which the first two were when Lizzie emerged from the house. Mrs. Beech looked at her.

“You’re not going out, are you?”

Lizzie said she was, whereupon Mrs. Beech shook her head and jerked her thumb in my direction.

“I wouldn’t be happy leaving him in charge.”

On my knees, trying to find two acceptable rashers of bacon from a selection that all looked the same, I came within an ace of wrapping every single rasher round Mrs. Beech’s head.

I’d finally dispatched Mrs. Beech, still muttering about the price of her two rashers and how shop keeping standards had fallen, when to my horror I saw Miss Cocker shuffling towards the shop.

 

An unpleasant smell

Miss Cocker was the most charismatic of all our customers though perhaps charismatic isn’t quite the word I want. She certainly had her own aura but it was hardly the kind to inspire or enchant. 

Quite simply Miss Cocker stank to high heaven. And this wasn’t an intermittent she’s-been-eating-garlic or she-hasn’t-washed-his-armpits smell. This was a smell that all the rosewater baths in the world couldn’t get rid of, a straight-through-the-skin-down-to-the- bones smell, the result of living in a small cottage with an assortment of dogs that had been allowed to foul the place for as long as anyone could remember. The smell as in her clothes, in her flesh, in her person. There was a pathos about the fact that she always applied a little rouge, a little lipstick and seemed oblivious to the effect she had on people. When she’d left, the smell remained and we used to dread an environmental health officer following her into the shop. He would never have believed the smell wasn’t an intrinsic part of the establishment and who could blame him?  The local builder, Frank Pitt, was the only person who ever entered her house and his devotion went way beyond the call of duty. She’d phone to say she’d fallen out of bed; Frank would go and pick her up. She wanted her toilet seat changed; Frank would change it and take on sundry other mouth-watering assignments. Light bulbs, television repairs, plumbing problems, Frank waded-in where others (including ourselves) feared to tread and came back with stories of living conditions that would have disgraced a pigsty. 

But no one else would go near the place. A friend who Frank asked to repair Miss Cocker’s TV set almost passed out as he entered. He whipped the TV away and gave it to Frank to return. “Don’t you ever do anything like that to me again,” he said.

I went in only once, when Miss Cocker was in hospital and Frank and his boys had been cleaning up. They’d been working for several days yet the place still looked unfit for human habitation.

“I see what you mean about the smell,” I said, screwing up my nose.

 “What do you mean? Frank said. “The place has been fumigated. The smell’s gone!”

So even on the best of days, the sight of Miss Cocker entering the shop wasn’t particularly welcome and this was definitely not the best of days. I usually bolted into the house and left Lizzie or Joyce to cope, but Lizzie was out and Joyce had gone home. I took a deep breath and wondered how long I could hold it. I felt distinctly uncharitable particularly as in other ways Miss Cocker wasn’t at all a difficult customer. Friendly and amusing, she would chat intelligently about this and that even at times assuming a somewhat flirtatious air, though that line of thought really is too dreadful to contemplate.

Anyway, as she entered I beat a hasty retreat into the post office and stayed there until she’d left maintaining just enough contact to hand over her pension. Call me a coward if you like (in fact I don’t know what else you’d call me) but after Mrs. Cauldron, Cordelia and Mrs Beech, dealing with Miss Cocker was very nearly the last straw.

 

Mr Angry

Then to put the tin hat on a perfect day, that nice Mr. Minnow came in with his post. He always cut it fine but today he came in even later than usual with his disarming smile and two large parcels to post to his son who was with the army in Germany. The postman explained that as it was already half-past five he couldn’t wait for the parcels to be processed and made as if to leave.

So much for our pleasant, benign customer. The genie of rage exploded from the bottle with a vengeance. No more Mr. Nice Guy – Mr Minnow started ranting like a man possessed – cursing the "wasters" at the Post Office who were "always on strike", who wouldn't put themselves out for "our boys overseas"- and more and more of the same ilk.

 “Hang on,” I thought. “We’re talking Germany not the Congo, and Germany l986 was hardly Germany l940. And “our boys” weren’t conscripts but professional soldiers, in the army by choice.”

He raged round the shop, frightening off other customers and behaving in such an aggressive way towards the postman that I eventually asked him to stop. At this he turned on me with his fists raised and accused me of being a joke and not taking either the job or “our boys” seriously.

Just then, one of our deliverymen came in, six foot six and built like the proverbial outhouse.

“Need any help?” he asked with a hint of menace, and Mr Minnow, seeing the two of us towering over him, didn’t fancy the odds. He stormed out taking his parcels with him and we never saw him again.

Minutes later I closed the shop and sank wearily into a chair, sorely tempted to take a leaf out of Mrs. Cauldron’s book and pop up to the pub for a large sherry.  How difficult it was on a day like I’d just experienced to abide by the age-old dictum that the customer is always right.

I am writing these stories about witches solely because I think this is an effective and entertaining way of portraying the spiritual world with its contrasts of good and evil and other opposites such as happiness and sadness, peace and turmoil etc. I also believe it is an effective way of understanding the connections between words, thoughts, feelings and actions. These stories in no way condone any spiritual practices that are contrary to God’s will.

Introduction

These short stories have been written with the aim of helping children (and adults, if they read them) think about some key issues of life today.

Dad………………….Mark
Mum………………..Sue
Daughter………….Mary
Son………………….Nick
Dog…………………Daisy
Minister…………..The Revd Adams
Witch………………Helen Hubble
Witch………………Abbadora
Angel………………Angel
Angel………………Hannahbell

There are two witches: Helen Hubble and Abbadora. You don’t know which witch is which just by looking at them because they are twin sisters! They live next door to each other and their back gardens are separated by a short brown picket fence about a metre high. Over the road lives the Reverend Adams.

---

Now; when Helen Hubble and Abbadora each cast a magic spell, they use their own special incantations:

Helen Hubble! Toil and Trouble!
and
Abbadora! Peace and Order!

The Revd Adams knows a lot about “magic”. He knows a lot about many things. “Magic”, he says, “is really about action and reaction – when Helen and Abbadora cast their spells, a reaction will take place. All a magician needs to know is what action will produce the desired reaction. The Revd Adams always considered his mother to be a very good magician.

Now, Abbadora’s main aim in life is trying to make people happy. Helen also wants to do this but she’s not quite as relaxed as Abbadora is at doing it. Helen sometimes just tries too hard.

Thank God for the Revd Adams! Another thing he knows quite a lot about is people. “Making people happy is a splendid thing to do” he said once – in one of his sermons. “But you mustn’t forget to try to make yourself happy as well”, he added.

To be continued…