Archive for December, 2010

By Sue Ricketts

      The boy and girl stood holding hands and wrapped in scraps and rags at the edge the mountain. They stared numbly down at the brown mud which was all that was left of the steep cliff-side walk they had used to go to the new school which was invisible below. The wind was blowing in their faces and made their eyes water.

     They couldn’t see the school because underneath the sliding mud and below the debris of their house and the houses of their neighbours, it had been crushed when the earth moved and the mountainside fell down in a terrifying roar. The children weren’t old enough to understand that though. They just knew that their whole world was changed for the worse. Things would never be the same. Would they ever go to school again?

     They had not gone to school that day because Abbu’s Ana had been very sick and the family said she would soon be leaving on her journey to heaven. After visiting at Ana’s home with their cousins, aunts and uncles they were walking the short distance up the slope to their home in the pounding rain when everything seemed to shake. Abbu just grabbed them off their feet and ran up the hill as fast as he could move. The family was in mourning before the earth moved. Now it was even worse.

    Abbu came and scolded them for going too near the edge. They understood that he was not angry with them but frightened and didn’t want to lose anyone else. They had slept out in the rain throughout that night and day without shelter. Everyone was too afraid to stay in their ruined houses in case more of the mountain would slide into the far below. The rain had stopped a little while ago and now everyone who could walk and carry was asked to go and bring back branches and twigs so they could light a fire to try to get warm and dry. There was little food to share and everyone was hungry. Grownups had gone into the remains of buildings to find whatever they could and brought back some clothes of all different sizes and shapes. They found some scarves and blankets but not nearly enough.

     The children, had been lucky in one sense. They had coats and boots on when the disaster happened so they and their family were better off than those who had been inside their homes and had run with nothing to keep the cold from chapping their skin and the wind from making them shiver in misery. Because there was not enough, they shared their coats part of the time with others. That’s why they had gathered up what they could find to keep themselves warm.

     There was no way down the mountain and nothing to do but hope and pray that someone would come and bring them what they needed to survive. There was a lot of praying now. Everyone was so worried that something else terrible would come to their little village before help would arrive.

     Some of the villagers had died while they waited and were left off to the side were no one would have to look again until it came time to put them in the ground.

     On the third day, all the remaining people of the village were awakened by the sound of loud whirring sounds above them and dust devils swirling around them a high as adults heads. But the big helicopters did not land. One of the men on board leaned out and pointed further up the mountainside to a rocky place that was flat enough for them to land. Immediately all of the people started to run in a panic to reach the rescuers landing site. There was screaming and fighting because they all wanted to be first. No one had had a full meal in four days and they were starving and freezing.

     The first helicopter landed and soldiers with guns came out. They told the people to stop where they were and not come nearer or the ones with the food would not land. It took a while for the poor villagers to finally get control of themselves and their neighbours. Enough control that the other two big birds landed and as the people lined up in turns they went to one side and saw tins of rations, sacks of flour and vegetables.

     They watched in eager anticipation as the crews began to set up a field kitchen on the rocky windswept plateau and make soup. Thin broth with only a little meat and vegetables which would taste like ambrosia from the gods when they finally got a small cupful each. But nobody had thought to bring a cup and most of them didn’t have one anymore. Most of them had been broken or swept away. So the people began to line up near the second helicopter.

     This second helicopter contained only big boxes, not made of wood, just plastic. They were very heavy and the crew explained that there was one box for each family. At first people began to ask what good a box was to them when they had no shelter, no tools, no way to cook food, no place to get dry and out of the wind. They were reluctant to go up and take a box until the crew opened the first one and showed them the miracles inside. They seemed like miracles from heaven above to those who stared in disbelief that a box, not even as high as a grownup’s waste, could contain so much.

     The first thing to come out was a tent which when setup would shelter as many as ten people. There were even two side rooms for privacy and a canopy to keep a space out front dry and to act as shade when the sun was hot. All were assured that each tent was designed to withstand extreme temperatures, high winds and heavy rainfall. Each one had a floor and did not leak.

     In another waterproof bag were thermal blankets and insulated ground sheets to keep everyone warm. Rain ponchos to keep them dry when they went outside. Another package had water purification tablets and a collapsible water jug.

     A basic package of tools contained a hammer, saw, trenching shovel, hoe head, pliers and wire cutters to help them secure the tent and be able to cut wood and dig latrines. Soon they could start to to repair their damaged homes and other buildings. There was even a strong rope coiled up so that they could move heavy things around.

     The next miracle to come from the box was a multi-fuel stove which could burn anything they could find from diesel to old paint. The crew told them that some of the stoves would burn wood instead. And there was something else. A package of pans, utensils, bowls, mugs and water storage containers. Mow they could share the soup being prepared for them.

     The next wonder was sets of gloves, hats and scarves to keep them warm. There were sizes for adults and children. But the last item in the box made the children smile their very brightest smiles because they had not been forgotten. There was paper and pencils, rulers, crayons and colouring books just for them.

     Every item which came out of the box was durable, practical and brand new. Even the box would be useful to store things or for any other use which they could think of.

     Now the people started helping each other to get a box for their families and began talking about where they should place the tents. Not too near the old village or the cliff. The elders searched around to find somewhere that might have a little shelter from the elements. Once again, a very small start of normalcy was coming back to them all. They would be safe again and they would survive as they rebuilt their lives and their village. There would be a school again and places for everyone to gather and pray and share what they had. Life, oh precious life, would not stop here on this desolate mountaintop.

The End of the Beginning

 PS:Although this is a fictional account of many actual deliveries, there really are miracle boxes being delivered around the world. Do you wonder who sent these Shelter Boxes to those who so desperately needed them? They came from Shelter Box Canada through the donations of Rotarians and their friends. If you would like to be part of this type of miracle for those who survive disasters and wars around the world, get in touch with the nearest Rotary Club. They would be happy to send your donation to the right place. Each box costs about $1200 Canadian, but any donation is greatly appreciated. Together we have so much power.

To check out the contents of the Shelter Boxes themselves go to www.shelterbox.org. This is another way to be sure that all of your donations go to the cause which you are helping.

By Sue Ricketts

     Most people just don’t understand the finer points of leprechauns. Sure ye all know that their job is to keep an eye on the gold which sits at the end of the rainbow. But, I’m here to tell you it’s a lot more than that.

     My name is not Shamus or Sean, it’s actually William Robert Thomas Queeg. Yes, I’m well aware that Captain Queeg was a little crazy in The Caine Mutiny, but it was my Great-uncle Roscoe Queeg who gave Herman Wouk the idea for his story in that 1951 novel. That miserable, wizened old man never even gave Roscoe a share of his gold when he made so much money and had it turned into a movie. And you should know that another relative of mine named Oscar Peterson Corkin was the one who coached that Bogart fella on how to act. We just never seem to get any credit at all.

     Well then, who’s Willie Queeg, you ask? Just the finest, most beguiling leprechaun-in-training there ever was! For certain! They insist on calling me Willie as I’m so young. I only had my two hundred and fiftieth birthday recently and I get very little respect around these parts.

     The second thing to know about leprechaun’s is that while we’re all small, we’re not all Irish. I, myself, was born and bred on the Rock otherwise known as Newfoundland. When I was very small, even smaller than I am today, my favourite pastime was singing with the Harp seals in the breeding grounds. Just who do you think taught the Newf’s about B’ys sailin’ their boats?

     Let me tell you just how hard it is these days. People just don’t appreciate how hard it is. First of all, it’s a rule that all leprechaun’s must be in training for a long time to learn just how to properly make and sew boots by hand. It’s not my fault that I couldn’t get it right for nearly a hundred years.

     There’s another rule that you have to have customers who buy those darned boots and shoes. It took me almost all of those years to find someone who didn’t find it easier to just pick ‘em up in the store from the mass produced ones. Well, for certain, most people here on the Rock are tight with their money and I practically have to give them away just to make a living. There’s one or two boyos, though, who can be talked into anything after a few pints at the local drinking establishment.

     Once we’ve captured that talent, we have to learn how to stay awake long hours to get around unseen to check out the rainbow’s end in case someone’s after the gold. Now, would you believe it? We’re supposed to do that at night when no one can see us. Finding the rainbow’s end in the day is just too easy, I’m sure. Maybe now you understand how being a leprechaun is a serious, hard to learn business.

     When we do find someone sneaking about after the gold, there’s a long list of rules about how we can and can’t make them go away. All the rules are stacked in favour of humans. It’s just not fair. We can’t just bump ‘em off. We’ve got to trick them somehow. Put them to sleep for a decade or two. Make them believe they’ve turned into a frog (no credit there either, it all goes to wicked witches). Or maybe they think that their Princes who need to go and claim their rightful kingdoms. Convincing them that there is no gold, just the sun shining in their eyes. There’s another seventy-three tricks we can play but we’re not supposed to tell anyone because then they won’t fall for it. Why do you think Great-uncle Roscoe got involved with that Wouk fella? And that Bogart fella almost found it too before we distracted him with Hollywood.

     I don’t think you believe me, but just listen up while I have this third pint of stout. There’s one thing that’s been kept secret for hundreds and hundreds of years. If you pay my bar tab I’ll let ye in on it. Every year on December twenty-first, the day of the start of winter in the north and the start of summer in the south, all leprechaun’s have to grant one wish to whichever human finds him and does him a kindness. It is very rare for someone to find one of us in the first place, never mind doing something kind for us.

     If you take the road out of Conception Bay, you know the one that goes south and west? You follow it for a ways and then turn north and west for the rest of the journey. You keep a sharp eye out for a little hamlet with a shoemakers sign and you just might find me. Be sure to call me by all my right names and you just might get some of that gold which is waiting at the end of the rainbow there. See ya again, my friend. Thanks for payin’ my bill.

By Sue Ricketts

     The people of May Anand had a treasure. They all talked about the wonderful value which came to their lives because of this. The treasure of May Anand was called Recla. Everyone said it enriched them beyond measure. They felt so much better to receive the gifts of Recla.

     Travellers who passed through the village heard the talk but they never saw anything which looked remotely like treasure or riches. They saw a typical rural village where people shared the produce of their hands and worked hard to feed and clothe themselves. The only thing different from a hundred other places was a small building which was called Recla’s Home. When they asked to be allowed inside, they were always told that there was nothing there for them. They would not understand Recla’s gift and could not know what it brought to the people of May Anand.

     When the travellers left the village they told others whom they met about the mysterious treasure which they had heard about. They discussed endlessly about what the treasure might be. Some said it must be valuable because the people of the village always were well fed and well clothed. They looked prosperous. It must be something which brought prosperity to them.
Other’s thought they might have a pact with the people who lived far up the river. It was rumoured that the up-river people had boats that ran by themselves and didn’t need strong men to row upstream. It was rumoured too that the up-river people had tools and weapons which did not rust or break and lasted forever. Did the people in May Anand have an arrangement to get such things which would give them an advantage over all the other people in the area?

     Why would they not share with the rest of the people? What right did they have to keep a secret from the rest of the world? They were being selfish. Trying to hide something.

     Anger built amongst the Others and one day they sent three messengers to May Anand who asked that they share their treasure. “We cannot” said the villagers, “It would not be any good to you.” When the messengers reported this the Others became more angry.

     And so time passed and travellers were sent to May Anand who tried to peek into the windows of the small building. They all had curtains and shutters on them so nothing much could be seen except that many people went into the building and passed time there. When they came out, they were always thoughtful and talking amongst themselves. Often they carried hand-written books.

     When asked they shared the books with travellers but the books were written in a language which they didn’t recognize and a strange style. When travellers tried to listen in on the conversations of those leaving the building, they seemed always to politely stop talking about whatever it was and begin to see to the travellers needs.

     The travellers carried the tales to the Others who became even more angry and resentful. “We can’t allow those May Ananders to get away with this! They have no right to keep their treasure to themselves. We must go in force and make them give it up.”

     The Others armed themselves and surrounded the village. The villagers were frightened and tried to hide from them. So the Others began calling for them to come out of their homes and show their faces. When no one came out fast enough, they started to light the houses on fire to force the villagers out. When they came out, the Others beat them and shouted at them for hiding the treasure and keeping it for themselves.

     One man finally agreed after seeing those dead and injured from the fires and the beatings to take them to the treasure. The Others eagerly pushed him towards the small building. The man asked if he might first go inside and let the people there prepare to meet the Others. He was refused.

     The armed men broke the door down and rushed inside. They found three men. Two had been sleeping and were rushed from their beds with no clothes.

     The third man was sitting at a table which had pen, ink and paper on it. But this man was twisted in body and drooled from his mouth. No matter how hard they tried, the Others couldn’t make him talk so they could understand him. So, they began to beat him and one of them kicked and hit him until he died there on the floor.

     The two other men began to sob and wail. “This is our brother, Recla. Born on the same day as us, he is the treasure of May Anand. Why have you killed him? Now we have nothing!”

     Again the Others were very angry. “Since you have lied to us about your treasure and still keep it a secret, we will flatten this village! There will be nothing left here of you in this world. You cannot expect us to believe that the village idiot is any kind of treasure.” And so they rampaged through the small building and found nothing but writing which they could not understand. They burned all the paper and broke the furniture and walls and roof in search of riches which they never found.

     On their way out of May Anand, they torched the rest of the houses and chased all the people away. As they came down the road, they found a small girl hiding behind a tree. She stared in horror at the smoke rising from the village.

     “Do you know about the Treasure of May Anand?” the Others demanded.

     “Yes. Of course. We all do.” stuttered the little girl. “The three brothers gathered all the stories of the people who lived in the village. Recla, the weakest one, learned to write them down and made books for every family in May Anand so that we knew who our parents and grandparents and their parents were and what they did. He wrote the stories of May Anand. This was the treasure which only people who lived here could understand.”

     The Others went down the road saying, “What fools they were. They deserved what they got for not giving us their treasure too.”