George and Mabel were on holiday in Italy. George was fed up, he would have much rather been at home fishing or having a jar with the lads, but Mabel had insisted, and when Mabel insisted George knew better than to argue. Now Mabel had really got the bit between her teeth, and, with the help of a local guide, had planned an itinerary of all the local beauty spots, which meant hours of bouncing about in crowded country `buses full of people jabbering away in Italian, and miles of tramping along dusty tracks. Now, in the blazing noon heat of an Italian summer they were part of a party of tourists visiting what Mabel said was a Wishing Well.
It wasn`t much to look at – just a circular stone wall surrounding a deep black hole, and a lot of notice in big red letters, which might just as well have been in Chinese as far as George was concerned. The guide was explaining carefully in heavily accented English that they must approach the well one at a time, look over the wall into the depths, and make a wish (without saying what it was), but they must be very careful not to lean over too far as the ground was slippery and the well was very deep. At last it was George`s turn. Mabel pushed him forward, and said “Go on, now you`re here. Go and make a wish.” So George stepped carefully forward, looked over the edge, made his wish, and stepped back again. Then Mabel stepped forward, but she either slipped, or leaned over too far, because over she went, her echoing scream growing fainter as she plummeted down into the depths.
There was consternation. Some of the tourists rushed to the edge of the well to look down and see what had happened to Mabel, while others led George to a nearby rock to sit down. The guide used his mobile `phone to call for help, and George simply sat there in a daze.
The Carabinieri arrived with the Fire Brigade and the local Priest. Ladders and ropes were lowered into the well, the tourists were ushered away and marched back to the bus, and finally Mabel`s dead body was brought out. George still sat in a daze, his head bowed and the Priest`s arm around his shoulders, while the Priest whispered words of comfort to him. Eventually the Priest said “Now, my son. You must let your grief out. For the good of your mind you must let out your grief. Speak to me.” George finally raised his head, the stunned look had gone from his face, and he muttered something”. “ What was that my son?” asked the priest. George`s eyes lit up with surprised realisation. He looked at the priest and said…..
“ It works!”
