Angels incarnate
KINDDEED,WELL DONE
When we picked the
subject A Kind Deed
for our annual Frater
Memorial writing
competition this year,
we thought it would bring
the usual high number of
entries. However, we
had fewer than usual
and most referred to kind
deeds done many years
ago. Hopefully, this is not
a sign of the times – if it
is, perhaps we should all
be resolving to be more
aware of others and
make a kind deed a
regular occurrence in
our lives during 2001
The winning entries are
all true stories.
Congratulations to
May Kidd, who wins
£300 for her story which
will strike a chord with
so many capable women
who find the fates are
against them just when
they are at their busiest.
Three entries tied for the
two runner-up places.
The judges felt all three
stories of unselfish giving
deserved publication so
we are awarding an extra
prize this year and
Christine Sparrow,
Muriel Moore and Freda
Phalp each win £50.
Congratulations to you all
Angels incarnate
swooped to stop disaster
MY husband, Neil, is in hospital in traction. I have just knocked a hole in the shed roof with the loader tractor. I have two excited children, a farmful of hungry animals, and raging flu. And its Christmas. Bloody Christmas.
To be precise, it is Christmas Eve. I want to collapse into bed. But there are cows to feed. And the dogs. And the horse. And the ferrets. And the children.
Presents to wrap, cake to ice, stockings to fill. The turkey? Still lurking in the freezer next to the puff pastry for the mince pies. No holly. No Christmas spirit.
Neil has been in hospital for weeks. Just a spot of surgery on his leg but the hospital is two hours away. I have been doing my brave-little-woman act, coping with the farm, the kids and the hospital visiting.
So there was that one tiny blip, when I touched the wrong lever on the tractor. Thats what did for the shed roof. But on the whole I have been coping. Until today, when the shivering started.
I am ILL. I need to lie down. But there are Santas duties to attend to. Get the kids upstairs. Wait till they fall asleep. Now where did I hide the stocking fillers?
Past midnight, I crawl upstairs and drop on to the bed. Aching all over, I fall into a spasmodic sleep…
The feverish night ends with exuberant noises next door: "Santas been. Ive got a digger."
"Mines a baler."
Christmas morning, and I am alone with two small boys, and a farm, depending totally on me, and an invalid husband expecting a Christmas visit. And I cannot get out of bed. It is not yet daylight. I need help. Now. I reach for the phone and try to focus.
At last I hear my husbands "hallo". My sobbed tale is cut short by his masterly response, "leave it to me". So he is flat on his back in his hospital bed, plastered leg raised aloft. That is his problem. I leave it to him.
The room is swaying. Do I hear distant voices? Am I dreaming? I open one aching eye. A beautiful angel is standing by the bed. She smiles and speaks soothingly: "Merry Christmas. You poor thing."
Cautiously I open the other eye. The angel hands me a hot water bottle, a glass of water and a couple of Paracetemols. She looks rather like Neils cousin Paddy. She explains: "Neil phoned from the hospital. We came straight away. You look awful. Theres a lot of this flu around. Dont worry, well see to everything. Weve brought our turkey – its cooking in your oven. Later well take the boys to visit their dad."
Paddys two daughters peep round the door, eyes bright.
"This is cool. Weve been to see the calves. Can we take the dogs for a walk? Its our best Christmas ever!"
Gratefully abdicating all responsibility, I let sleep take over. Yes, I believe in angels, especially at Christmas.
May Kidd,
Holemill of Kirkbuddo,
Forfar, Angus.