This was the way of it. As I walked down the steps from the City Library I noticed a boy of about 8 years old, in floods of tears, and the passers-by, if they saw him at all, studiously avoiding him. To some extent I could understand that, having been on the receiving end of malicious allegations from children just a couple of years older than he was; the feeling of jeopardy was most painful.
But this lad was in greater distress than that. He was near panic.
This was before mobile phones were universal! He had been in town with his grandmother and his sister, and had lost them. His parents were at work. We established that grandad was home, a bit too far for him to walk over there, the state he was in.
Do you know their phone number? He did.
Could he use the phone box? He soon got the idea. Grandad was a calming influence. Granny had already spoken to him and was going to ring from the library when she got back there, the last place she’d seen him.
‘We’d better stay here.’ Not for long though. Big sister was ready to tear a strip off him, but granny gave him a big hug. And that was that.
Except that a fortnight later, he was going into the library as I was leaving, and we met at the old swing doors. He introduced his grateful mother and I was able to praise him for his part in his own rescue, when he rang Grandad and explained what had happened. The lost sheep back with the flock.
Tomorrow is Good Shepherd Sunday. Who knows when you might have to become a temporary good shepherd?
agnellusmirror 