“Wait a minute,” one of the other nuns anxiously cried out. “I feel certain that we brought eight children with us on this trip.”
“I don’t think so,” replied another nun with just as much certainty.
“I am absolutely sure we are all here,” insisted the nun who had been responsible for the head count.
“No. Someone is definitely missing!” piped up another nun, making a quick sign of the cross as she stood shivering from the cold.
“Oh, dear, this is all so dreadfully confusing, admitted the head nun. “I had better mention this to the fire chief, for it would be simply awful if one of ours was to be discovered missing in such terrible circumstances. We will do one further head count just to make absolutely certain. Sister Anastasia, please count the children again, and Sister Gertrude, go and get the register from the caravan.”
Sister Gertrude instantly obeyed the order, risking life and limb to reenter the caravan in search of the register, the only real evidence of how many children they had brought with them on this trip. She was gone for several minutes but came back very distressed, for the elusive register was nowhere to be found. She could only stutter as she sought to inform her superiors of the problem. After much thought the head nun decided there was no other choice open to them other than to bring the possibility of a missing child to the fire chief’s attention. She did this immediately.
All the children were completely kept in the dark as to the identity of the potentially missing person! “It is all most disconcerting,” thought one of the nuns, for with the second headcount done, no one seemed any the wiser. So if anyone was actually missing, then Polly presumed it must be one of the nuns who had gone up into the woods for a quick tinkle!
In seconds, two burly firemen armed with huge axes and bearing thick ropes headed up into the wooded area. Polly watched, quite taken with their courage and bravery. They were not gone long. As they headed back down and onto the open field from the woods, the two had become three.
Everyone present watched with a mixture of horror and delight as the child held by his rescuers was finally whisked out of the woods and away from danger. The child was unrecognizable to any of the growing audience of anxious onlookers, for he looked like a chimney sweep. He was black from head to toe and his frizzled hair was smoking and standing on end. Everyone wondered whose party this child was from. Polly was fairly certain that this most poor, sad creature could not possibly be one of their little group. Both courageous firefighters had a firm grip on the child’s shoulders as they frogmarched him back to base camp for an extensive interview. Then the mystery child stood in the limelight and was hosed down by ice-cold water that cascaded over his blackened torso. The black grime and soot soon washed away until finally the true identity of the missing person was revealed, for the perpetrator of the crime turned out to be none other than Thomas.
One of the firefighters, while handing him back to the most grateful nuns, remarked, “I think we can say with great confidence that we have found our culprit! Once we have this fire under control, someone from our department will be in touch with Mr. Scumberry! The nuns thanked all the firefighters before quickly loading the children into the back of their station wagon. This done they then hastily abandoned the site before news could spread that the nuns were in possession of the culprit and that he was hidden under a blanket in their camper for reasons of personal safety! The poor and serenely gentle nuns had never in their lives seen a riot, let alone been involved in one! Therefore they were not prepared to take any further risks by staying!
Back at the castle the children were all ordered to go to the bathroom and get washed before bed. Thomas, on the other hand, was frogmarched down the corridor to Uncle Boritz’s study for further interrogation. It later emerged that Thomas had taken some matches as well as a wad of paper from the caravan and then ventured into the woods to experiment and make a small fire, just like they did on the all-day hikes. It turned out that the clipped-together wad of paper that was used to help get his little fire started had in fact been the property of the chief nun. It contained the names of all the children in their party! Polly knew the punishment Thomas received had been most severe, for she did not see him again for many days!
Polly could not help but smile as she thought back to that most serious affair. Poor Thomas. He was always such an inquisitive child! When he wasn’t drawing, he was always in the middle of some scientific project. Polly was amazed by his desire to create new inventions. He really was a nutty professor trapped in a child’s body. She knew he was a real genius, and this fact, for some unknown reason, seemed to threaten his guardians immensely. They made it their personal mission to destroy all his creativity. In doing so, they destroyed Thomas.
As Polly made her way to the church, the sun was beating down on her back and there was little more than a light breeze in the air. It was, in Polly’s eyes, a most perfect day to be going to church.
She made it to the cemetery just in time to watch the procession of pallbearers walk with the coffin balanced on their shoulders to where a large, oblong hole had been dug in the ground. The vicar, dressed most formally in a black robe covered by his white frilly smock, stood most solemnly beside the burial site. Aunt Mildred in her large ostentatious hat walked equally solemnly behind the coffin, looking, terribly delicate and fragile as Uncle Boritz held her arm most supportively to prevent her from fainting from grief. Polly hid behind a tombstone some distance away so as not to be seen, but near enough to hear all that was to be said.
There were to be no other mourners at the graveside that day. There had been no mourners to weep while he was alive and suffering, so why should there be any now that Thomas, her beloved brother, was dead? No one had cared for him and protected him in life. It was therefore up to God to take on the role of caring for him, and she hoped that He would do a much better job. For that’s what Polly had always been told that God promised to do. However, it seemed to Polly that few people she had ever met in her young life kept their promises, so why should God be any different?
Polly crouched behind the tombstone, peering out from time to time.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…” started the vicar as he read from his little book with the deepest tones of solemnity, causing Aunt Mildred to burst into most grievous sobbing. Uncle Boritz as usual was on hand with the famous hanky. The vicar graciously paused to allow her the time to express her deep sense of grief.
It all started innocently enough with just a few spots of rain on her cheek, which then turned to a drizzle. The sun used this as the perfect excuse to make a very hasty retreat behind the grey clouds. Pretty soon the gentle breeze changed its mood completely and quickly became quite blustery. Polly looked up at the sky, and she could clearly see that the most dark, thundery clouds were now rolling in and threatening what had been, up until this moment in time, a most perfect day. Seconds later, the heavens burst opened to empty great bowls of water onto the earth below. Pretty soon Polly found herself soaked through to the skin. She really didn’t seem to mind at all, for she felt that the sudden downpour was really quite poetic. She believed that there was every possibility that each and every rain droplet was a genuine tear from heaven. The very angels themselves were very considerately standing in as mourners at Thomas’s funeral. Polly smiled to herself at having had such a silly thought. She was, however, very grateful for this downpour, for it seemed the perfect, heaven-sent opportunity to fill her jar with water, something that she had given no thought to until this moment.
Polly rummaged through her schoolbag, and, after producing the little jam jar, she carefully balanced it on the top of the tombstone to catch the rainwater. She then crouched back down to watch. Unbeknownst to Polly, the graveyard had another visitor that day. He too was crouched behind a similar tombstone also watching.
The rain became heavier and heavier as dark clouds rolled and crashed angrily through the sky. Then came thunder and with it very loud bangs that caused Poll
y to shudder as great bolts of lightning shot through the clouds, many of which came very near to where the vicar and her guardians were standing. The wind blew up further and began to ferociously howl, forcing poor Aunt Mildred to hold on very tightly to her most expensive hat.
Polly, though thoroughly soaked to the skin, continued to crouch behind the tombstone, peering continuously to see how things were going. Ralph, equally soaked, did likewise. The vicar was now racing through the order of service, skipping many of the hymns that were originally on his service sheet because he wished to be back at home out of the wind and rain, which was now threatening to become a most serious storm. His task was made much worse, for his frock kept blowing up, smothering his face and making it quite impossible to perform this service with any sense of dignity.
He hastily beckoned the coffin bearers to come forward and lower the coffin into the freshly dug hole, which they proceeded to do at quite a fast pace. Everyone wished to go home and get dry in front of a roaring fire. Aunt Mildred inched closer to watch the coffin as it descended into the hole until it finally came to rest on the ground, allowing the coffin bearers to pull up the ropes before moving away to stand nearby. Aunt Mildred should have been satisfied that she had seen enough, but instead moved even closer to peer into the hole one final time and thereby satisfy her morbid curiosity.
Suddenly, and without warning, she slipped. There was simply nothing anyone could have done to prevent the mishap. One minute she was on the surface of the hole peering down; the next, she was falling headfirst into the freshly dug grave! On impact, her body struck the coffin with such force that its lid not only flew off, but shot like a bat out of hell out of the hole and up into the air before eventually coming to rest at the feet of the vicar. This poor man of the cloth stood like a statue in stupefied amazement.
Aunt Mildred was now lying on top of the open coffin at the bottom of this most deep hole. She let out an almighty scream as the coffin bearers, along with Uncle Boritz, moved with the greatest of speed to rescue her. Uncle Boritz was nearer than anyone else, so he flung himself down on the muddy ground before attempting to reach in and take hold of Aunt Mildred’s outstretched arms to pull her out. He heaved and heaved, going quite purple in the face, as he tried with all his might to pull his beloved wife out of the deep hole. It was useless, for the earth around the hole was soft and now very muddy, and the poor man had nothing solid to hold on to. Moments later, Uncle Boritz was battling against being slowly sucked headfirst into the hole to join his wife. He let out a loud yelp before doing his final disappearing act into the deep abyss, landing directly on top of his wife’s larger-than-life posterior. Now both of them were stuck in the hole and in most urgent need of assistance!
The coffin bearers all gathered round, anxious to give all the help they possibly could. They felt it best to use their ropes and form a human chain, thus preventing any of them from falling into the grave and joining the Scumberrys. It worked! Minutes later both victims arose from the grave and staggered like zombies as far away from the hole as possible. As they stood some distance away, Polly found herself releasing a small giggle. For both her guardians looked absolutely unrecognizable due to the brown sludge that now covered them from head to foot. Polly observed their frantic efforts to clean themselves off, but as they only had several of Aunt Mildred’s hankies at their disposal, their attempts were largely in vain. Polly could not help but let out a further giggle, for they looked such a ridiculous sight.
Uncle Boritz removed his thick glasses and gave them a wipe with one of the hankies before abandoning Aunt Mildred to walk over to the vicar with the intention of encouraging him to continue on with the service. As he walked towards the vicar, there was a sudden strong gust of wind. Uncle Boritz turned around just in time to see hundreds of feathers fly up from the hole and begin to swirl and flutter in the air above the grave. The coffin bearers were aghast and just stood looking up heaven’s way, mouths wide open in awe of what they were witnessing. The vicar, too, stood motionless and unable to decide whether or not he was witnessing his first miracle or the opening scenes of a horror movie. If the latter was true, he promised God he would never watch one again!
Polly was eventually forced to cover her mouth to stifle the giggles that were now threatening to expose her presence in the cemetery. Ralph did likewise, for like Polly, he certainly did not wish to be discovered. Polly remembered back to the strange happenings at the funeral home and how the feathers had been stuffed back in the coffin before the director returned. Now they were out of the box for a second time, she wondered what on earth would happen next! She did not have to wait too long to find out. The feathers that had been circling in the air began to fall like raindrops, many landing on all those participating in the funeral service.
“Atchoo! Atchoo,” sneezed Aunt Mildred as a stray feather landed on her nose and then appeared to make its way up her right nostril.
She let out a scream for assistance as she alerted her husband to her crisis. He in turn abandoned the vicar and immediately raced back to her side. He then struggled to remove the offending feather that was now protruding from her right nostril. It refused to budge.
“Get my tweezers from my bag,” yelled a very distraught Aunt Mildred as she pointed towards her handbag, which still lay abandoned on the ground near the grave.
Uncle Boritz obliged, moving most cautiously. He did not wish to fall into the hole again. He therefore very wisely got down on all fours as he scrambled in the mud attempting to retrieve her bag. Finally he had it firmly in his possession. He then began to rummage through it in search of his dear wife’s tweezers. Try as he may, he could not find them.
“The tweezers are definitely in there, you incompetent buffoon!” she hollered at the top of her lungs.
Uncle Boritz chose to ignore her histrionics as he continued his frustrating search of her large handbag, still looking for the elusive tweezers, but to no avail.
Meanwhile, the vicar still stood on the other side of the grave, silent and disturbed. Never in all his years in the ministry had he performed a funeral service that had been reduced to such a fiasco! The white feathers continued to circle above them until one-by-one they came to settle on Aunt Mildred and Uncle Boritz, forcing him to remove his glasses, for he could no longer see out of them. It was no use; the feathers still kept coming. Before long, both of them were engulfed by hundreds of them.
Aunt Mildred was by now very irate and began hurling insult after insult at poor, flustered Uncle Boritz. For now every inch of her disproportionate anatomy was covered in the wretched, itching feathers. Finally, out of sheer desperation he picked up her handbag and shook out all the contents. As everything but the kitchen sink fell onto the muddied ground, he blindly groped around in his seemingly futile effort to put his hands on her stupid tweezers!
Uncle Boritz was in such a panic that he did not notice that a neatly folded piece of paper from among her personal belongings had flown away, landing nearby on a vase of flowers that was perched on an adjacent grave.
“Get that piece of paper, for it is an important piece of evidence!” screamed Aunt Mildred.
Uncle Boritz rose from his knees and hurriedly raced after it. He was within inches of retrieving this important piece of paper when a gust of wind blew it higher up into the air. Uncle Boritz, still covered in feathers, raced after it with his arms outstretched in the hope of finally catching it. The paper seemed to be playing with him. For each time he almost had it in his grasp, another rush of wind blew it further away. Eventually he gave up the chase and lamely staggered back in Aunt Mildred’s direction. He struggled to see where he was going, for by now he was so covered in feathers that he could not see a jolly thing.
As he walked with arms outstretched back towards Aunt Mildred he suddenly slipped again, and in trying to prevent another fall he grabbed hold of her, pulling her down on top of him. On witnessing this, the coffin bearers rushed to give their assistance. They were, after all, trained
to be helpful in such extremely sensitive jobs as theirs was normally meant to be. As Aunt Mildred and Uncle Boritz finally got to their feet, they began to experience a new and very uncomfortable emotion called humiliation, and they did not like it at all. They felt so embarrassed by all that had happened to them, and they were extremely upset that the vicar as well as others had borne witness to their total demise. Therefore instead of showing gratitude, they turned on the coffin bearers and proceeded to curse and shout at them.
Unable to face any more, the poor and most baffled coffin bearers turned on their heels and made a run for the church and its sanctuary. Not only did they seek to get under cover from the dreadful weather conditions, but they also sought to get as far away as possible from the Scumberrys.
Meanwhile, the vicar still stood frozen to the spot. He was thoroughly soaked to the skin, and his sermon book was as wide open as his mouth. Polly could not help but feel sorry for this man of the cloth, but not quite so sorry for her guardians, who were not only hideously tarred and feathered, but still screaming obscenities in each other’s direction.
By this point in the whole affair, the vicar, having noticed that the coffin bearers had made a run for it, decided to do likewise! He therefore hastily left the scene, preferring to opt for the solitude and sanctity of his chapel to finish his prayers for Thomas. He thought about how much Thomas must have needed them when he was alive, and he felt a sense of overwhelming sadness as he prayed for Thomas’s safe passage into the arms of Jesus. Unbeknownst to him, his prayers on this most difficult day had in fact already been answered long before he dropped to his knees.
Within minutes of the vicar and coffin bearers’ hasty departure, the rain ceased and the sun came out from its hiding place to beat down on the soaked-to-the-skin young lady. Polly hardly noticed that she was drenched, for she had been so absorbed by the farcical events that she had witnessed from her hiding place. She smiled to herself as she observed that Uncle Boritz had come off much worse than Aunt Mildred. For Mildred was the owner of the large handbag, which she had seemed very happy to turn into an offensive weapon as she struck her husband blow after blow as they left the graveyard to go back home to the castle.
Polly Brown Page 23