an overhanging willow and grabbed a branch, which cracked and gave way.
She grabbed another one, the long green leaves slipping away. Somehow she clung on and, edging upwards, caught hold of a larger branch. Digging her fingers into its mossy grooves, she gained a purchase. She couldn’t drown, she’d got to save Wilkie and Gwenny. Dragging herself upwards until the raging waters were below her, she emerged through the canopy of leaves to reach the top of the tree, to be greeted by torrential rain.
You couldn’t be wetter, Etta.
But looking upriver, she gave a wail of horror. Wilkie was still screaming shrilly as she paced up and down her piece of land, but Gwenny had vanished. She’d never survive in this torrent.
‘Cling on, Wilkie,’ sobbed Etta.
Then suddenly hope flared, as a police helicopter chugged over her head, searching for casualties.
‘Help, help, help,’ screamed Etta, but the thunder of the waters drowned her cries, and it chugged on.
After an eternity, by which time she had frozen solid and grown hoarse from shouting for help and reassurance to Wilkie, she heard the relentless purring rattle of another helicopter. Frantically tearing off her red shirt, she waved it round and round, nearly losing her grip and plunging into the river, clinging on and croaking, ‘Please God, help us.’
Could it be red and grey? Then, like a huge insect of mercy, the heavenly ’copter hovered overhead. Was it moving on? No it wasn’t.
Suddenly Etta and her old greying bra and grey pacing Wilkie were flooded with dazzlingly bright light. As the helicopter descended, the downdraught blasted into the willow, flattening and spreading its branches, so Etta nearly lost her balance, and only prevented a plunge into the river by clutching more leaves with numb fingers.
But as the canopy spread, a god descended harnessed to a steel cable.
‘I’ve come to tack you up,’ shouted the god in a strong Larkshire accent.
‘Oh Woody,’ sobbed Etta, ‘oh thank goodness.’
‘We’re here, you’re safe. Good old Salix babylonica saved you.’
Swinging towards her, he rested his foot on a horizontal branch, then, slipping a harness under her arms, pulled her towards him.
‘Don’t cry, this is the way we do it.’
Pressing her head against his chest, wrapping his legs tightly round her bent-up legs, ‘God, you’re cold,’ he said and made a thumbs-up sign to the pilot above.
‘We can’t leave Wilkie, and Gwenny’s in the water,’ wailed Etta as they were hauled upwards.
‘Valent’s ringing for an RAF helicopter which’ll bring slings so we can winch Wilkie to safety,’ yelled Woody.
‘Thank you, thank you for rescuing me,’ gasped Etta through desperately chattering teeth, as Valent, looking more threatening than the black clouds massed overhead, reached out and tugged her and Woody into the helicopter. Then, as with frozen fingers she frantically tried to tug on her sopping wet shirt to cover herself, he roared, ‘Don’t put that stupid thing back on, give her my coat, Woody,’ then, completely losing his temper, ‘You stupid woman, risking your life to rescue a bluddy horse.’
‘She’s not a bloody horse,’ shouted Etta over the roar of the blades. ‘She’s the Village Horse and we’ve got to rescue her.’
Then, peering down out of the still open door, she gave a scream of despair, for Mrs Wilkinson, unnerved by the helicopter and the water swirling round her hocks, deserted by Gwenny and her mistress, had plunged into the raging torrent. For a harrowing half-minute, she disappeared under the water, then the strong little frame, stout legs and even stouter heart, which had propelled her over huge fences and down the straight to snatch victory from her rivals, did not desert her.
Her white face could be seen above the frenziedly tossing white horses as she battled to safety. She was nearly defeated, disappearing beneath the water again, as she tried to find a foothold on the sodden collapsing bank. But after a heroic lurch, she found firm ground beneath a clump of bulrushes and managed to tug her feet out of the quicksand. Next moment, Tresa, who with Painswick had been manning the yard, and Priceless came racing down the hill to lead her to safety.
‘“And even the ranks of Tooscany,”’ Valent squeezed Etta’s hand for a second, ‘“could scarce forbear to cheer.” Sorry I chewed you out, luv, I was worried.’
As he turned the helicopter round, Woody put an arm round Etta.
‘Good thing you weren’t wearing a jacket, water in your pockets would have pulled you under.’
‘Thank you again for rescuing me,’ mumbled Etta. ‘If you could just