At one time we lived in a shared house in Yorkshire. The two ladies decided to go to a dance camp in Dorset, and that they would take the kids.
The children were put to bed in the car, and the ladies drove to Dorset overnight.
In the morning they parked at a beach. The children were told that the mothers were tired from driving all through the night. The children could play on the beach.
It was too cold to swim.
The mothers slept on the beach and the children amused themselves.
After a few hours sleep the mothers woke refreshed. The mothers said that everyone could now go to the dance camp, so pack up and into the car.
Where were the shoes? All six pairs of shoes were missing. Where were they?
It seemed the eldest had entertained himself by burying everyone’s shoes in the shingle beach. It had seemed a good idea at the time, but now he could not find the shoes. His mother was a teacher, and she had a voice that bored into the soul. And carried across playgrounds, beaches, and open country. The poor lad tried and tried, but he only found one pair.
“Right” said his mother, in a voice that probably frightened sheep in the next county.
She took off her necklace. Using it as a dowsing pendulum she stalked the beach.
“Dig here!”
“Dig here”
Eventually the lad uncovered all the shoes.
As the party trooped up the beach towards the car park she noticed an elderly couple who had watched the recent activity on the otherwise empty beach. They had probably never seen dowsing before, and would have been astonished to see dowsing demonstrated this way.
Totally misreading their stunned looks she said
“Twelve years old and he thinks it funny to bury shoes!”
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