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An eerie creaking noise

Like the groan of a wooden ship in a storm

The high vaulted ceiling stated to move

Tiny flakes of plaster rained to the ground.

I grabbed the babies

“Get out!” I shouted into the echoing silence

“Get out! get out!” “Get out! get out!”

The congregation rose as if to pray

But then suddenly began to move

Like sand in an hourglass

Each jostling and squeezing against the others

Through the thin exit

Then suddenly stumbling out of the door

Pouring out onto the grass. 

I held the babes tight and ran

As well as I could, shoulders burning

Babies juggling, bouncing whimpering.

Finally, at the top of the hill I turned.

With an agonised sigh the roof gave way

A huge cloud of dust emerged where

The old grey moss covered slates used to be.

I shuddered, the babies started to cry.

There were others standing near me

Arms wrapped tight around themselves

Or clasping loved ones as if to let go

Would be to loose them.

“I hope everyone got out”

A deep shakey voice rumbled next to me.

I turned to see a brown speckled coat

Hanging open to reveal a dark blue jumper

Over a chest that was breathing hard.

It moved towards me

“Are you OK?” the sound so deep

Like a purring cat

“Yes” it was then I realised that I too

Was crying

Tears mingling with the rain.

How long had it been raining?

How long had I been crying?

The blue jumper felt soft against my cheek

The brown coat felt warm around me

The babies stopped crying

I cried even harder

The tears soaking into the comforting lambswool.

The smell of sweat and wet wool surrounded me

I took a deep breath

The tears subsided

“Come I’ll take you home.”