night to remember -
he sinking of the Toyota

March 1992, the phone rang.

"Is that the Secretary for the People And Dogs Society?" said my caller.

I admitted that it was.

"This is Mrs. Woman, Secretary of Jumbly Women's Institute." (The names have been changed to protect the guilty!) "I understand you provide speakers, am I too early to book you for September?" How organised, I thought, and said it could be arranged.

"September '93, I mean, we like to have everything sorted well in advance." Obviously! I assured her that someone would be available, probably me, and a letter duly arrived to confirm that she would ring the week before the meeting to give directions etc.

Well, a lot of water flowed under the bridge - and over it too, for that matter, - and September '93 finally arrived. I was due to go on Monday, but by the weekend had heard nothing, so I rang her.

"Oh, I'm not Secretary any more, I passed your details on, hasn't she been in touch?" I refrained from the obvious remark, and merely said no. I was given directions to the back of beyond, and that was that.

Monday dawned, gale force winds and driving rain - why not? While I was out on Monday afternoon the new Secretary rang....was it still O.K.? My husband, through somewhat gritted teeth, said that it was. So, after tea, we set off, my four month old puppy and I - his first talk, my umpteenth.

The directions were brilliant, for once all the pubs and landmarks were where they should have been, and we bombed along through rain, through wind, ever onward (sorry, that's the Pony Express - but we did a fair imitation). The last stretch was a very winding narrow country lane through totally uninhabited countryside, nor did we meet or see any traffic. It was just as well I am a cowardly driver on dark unknown territory, for as we rounded a corner, wham! The Atlantic Ocean spread before us. The road disappeared for its full width and more and for about thirty-five feet under at least six inches of water - and that's a lot in the dark. The car hit it, ploughed into the middle and began to splutter and cough, clouds of steam rising from under the bonnet. My driving instructor's words came back to me from years ago - when in water rev the engine and GO SLOWLY. We did, and by a small miracle did not stall, finally emerging on dry land at the other side. Five minutes later we arrived at the W.I. like a visitation, in a cloud of steam.

The talk went well, despite interruptions from the Alpha figure. There's always one, isn't there? The pup was as good as gold, let them pat him a bit, then plonked down and went to sleep. He woke up in time to be offered tea and 'bickies', then....."We have a little pet photo competition we'd like you to judge." Visions of James Herriot surged up, but I really couldn't refuse, could I? There was no contest - first had to be a photo of two tricolour Cavalier puppies (my second love after Bernese), with cats and rabbits to follow. Of course, Murphy's Law prevailed and the Cavaliers belonged to the Alpha, who preened and ignored such comments as 'we might have known', 'it had to be you, didn't it?' etc. Still, they did give us a donation.

My misgivings about the car ever starting again were thankfully unfounded, although two nice elderly ladies waited with me - to go for help, I suppose. I balked at going back through the flood waters, (always there in the rain, I was told, all the locals know about it!! Great!!) Yes, I could go another way - straight through the village to a T junction, turn right, another T, turn right, then straight through to home. The first T turned out to be a cross-roads, but I turned right anyway; the second was merely a sign-posted side road. Then I reached a T - no signs at all, so hopefully I turned right. Several miles of dark, winding lanes, wind and rain later I found houses, and at last a cross-roads I actually recognised, and so home.

Such is the life of a P.A.D.S. speaker - like the time I took the wrong exit off the A1 at 11.00 at night and ended up in....well, that's another story.

February 1994

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