It was an unusually cold summer in Ooty and the venerable retired doctor was holidaying alone in the family home — a typical draughty, old English bungalow set in a nice little hollow. Accustomed to the continuous babble and shrieks of his grandchildren and being a great reader, he looked forward to the silence and calm. Accustomed also to others running the house, he wondered how he might stay warm at night; because though the cottage was a storehouse of winter clothing of all shapes and sizes for members of the huge extended family, he could not find a single blanket.
It was not a time when mobile phones or indeed any sort of phone was conveniently at hand; so he was more than a bit bothered.
Having served in the Second World War, he had what was known as a “great coat” — a thick woollen Army item that fell from neck to ankle and guaranteed to get anyone through a blizzard, much less the sudden drop in temperature in the hills, 50 years ago. It had to be somewhere in the house, he guessed, so he opened cupboard after cupboard and excavated ancient Burma chests till he found it.
