Ordinarily he was not a person to be left speechless.
Certainly, no such thoughts crossed his mind as he dialled the number. He sent the letter at the beginning of the week, but he hadn’t had a reply. He had never been much of a complainer, but enough was enough.
The chair of the parish council picked up.
“Ah! Good morning to you. Yes. I have your letter here somewhere. One moment.”
A rustle of paper.
“Ah! Yes, I have it. You’ve been with us for a number of months I see. As you probably know, the chair of the village dancing club informed us at the parish council meeting of their disappointment that you would not be attending the weekly get together that our little community enjoys so much, every Saturday evening. It has been something of a cherished tradition in our modest community to hold a weekly dance on the night, with everybody joining in, maintaining a happy communion. Your reluctance to fall in with this humble yet important tradition of our regular gatherings probably goes some way to explain why anyone would even consider doing such a thing as described in your letter.”
He paused to blow his nose or sneeze. It was hard to tell. The caller thought he could hear other voices, or it may just have been a bad connection. After a few more seconds, the councillor went on.
“Although I agree with your considerations regarding the events that took place late last Saturday evening, and personally find the whole incident most regrettable, I also find myself duty bound, as chair of the parish council, to take into account the feelings of those members I serve. Owing to the fact that there are several small farms situated in the immediate area, it would be hard to determine where such a pile of dung, particularly in the vast quantities that you describe, could possibly come from. Not, I think, from any one property. Although your letter’s useful description of the sheer size of it does lend one to believe that it may well have come about as a result of several rural enterprises clubbing together, as it were.”
Another rustle of paper.
“With respect to any perceived obligation that the parish may have to assist in the removal of such a vast quantity of manure, there is the consideration of practicality to take into account. Such a project would no doubt require equipment that is simply not at the council’s disposal. Further, I can only think that the fact that your dog was asleep among these bushes at the time of the dumping, as it were, was nothing short of an unhappy coincidence. As for how your wife’s garden line of washing burst into flames, save for a number of her personal undergarments that ending up strewn along the street, it is a complete mystery, considering the damp weather we have all been experiencing of late.”
Another pause, followed by throat clearing.
“It has been suggested to me that it may very well be that the whole thing comes down to a matter of community spirit, you see, and if you don’t mind my saying, on the surface, this is something you don’t seem to have a lot of.
Anyway, thank you for your call. I can assure you that due diligence will be ongoing in this matter.
Oh! By-the-by, we hope you can join us on Saturday.”
A loud sniff.
“Bye for now.”