Our Lady of Fatima

 

For as long as I knew her Auntie Edna had a plaster statue of Our Lady in her bedroom which I coveted.  It was the traditional Blessed Virgin Mary with blue cloak, white dress, hands held out as if to pick up a toddler and standing on a snake.  Sadly it never found its way to me so I’ve had to make do with the small plastic BVM she gave me when I was a child; even though somewhere along the line she’s lost her hands.

At some point over the past decade or so I must have expressed my disappointment in DrE’s hearing because, as we were leaving after the barbeque at her home on the Isle of Wight last week she came dashing out with a large plaster statue of Our Lady of Fatima.

“It must be quite an old one because it was made before she was given a crown” she said.

Then “MrDrE can’t stand it and I know you’ll give her a good home.”

For the next couple of days she lay snuggled in the boot next to the jar of DrE’s pickled cucumbers which Fester really likes.

On the Friday evening we packed all our stuff ready to leave at 7.30 the next morning for the ferry.  At 07.00 Fester and Thunderthighs carried the bags down to the car so we could set off immediately after breakfast, whilst I finished checking the bedroom.   

The car was parked quite close to the hotel so I opened my window, leant out and pressed the key fob to open the boot.  There was a bleep, flash of lights and clunks as the car unlocked.

I didn’t want them to dump stuff on or damage the statue so leant further out of the window and heard myself call out 

“Thunderthighs!  Put Our Lady of Fatima in the bag of swimming things.”

Not something that is often shouted across a Premier Inn carpark.

She is now happily ensconced on our bedroom windowsill.

And, despite being an atheist Methodist, Fester has no problem with her at all.