The elephant sat perched upon the church steeply, braying loudly and swaying slightly in the light summer breeze. It was young Johnny Carter who noticed it first, taking time out from an important game of conkers to stare up at the magnificent sight. Soon the whole village of Lower Throckmorton was looking up in dismay at the unfortunate pachyderm.
First the vicar was informed. He immediately send for the town constable, who took one look and called for Alderman Ridleyton-Smythe. While below it a crowd assembled the elephant continued to stand upon the small roof, looking for all the world like an oversized weathercock, save that it did not turn with the breeze. There wasn't really enough room.
No-one knew what to do. While the first question that anyone invariably asked was 'How did it get there?", this was not nearly as important as the second question: "How do we get it down?"
The Vicar implored the Constable to do something. The Constable stiffly informed him that while its ledge was certainly precarious, the perched pachyderm did not appear to be breaking any laws.
This was a poser. Constable Blenkinsop was perfectly correct of course, and there seemed no further way out of it until the Vicar, in desperation, turned to the Town Charter and triumphantly told the Alderman that it was the duty of the Town of Lower Throckmorton to keep the church free from vermin. The news certainly presented Alderman Ridleyton-Smythe with a solution. If the beast was classified as vermin, he decided, then he was quite within his rights to return home, find his grandfather's elephant gun, and shoot the animal off the roof.
Upon hearing this Marjorie Dawkins, outspoken aminal rights activist and chairperson of the local RSPCA, could not have been more aghast. While she dutifully acknowledged that she knew of no other way to remove the elephant she did not agree that its slaughter presented a justifiable solution. Quickly, as the Alderman hurried home, Marjorie began to organise resistance. By the time the Alderman returned with his blunderbuss, solid ball-shot and a keg of black powder Margorie and her compatriots were already in place at the front of the parish church, with signs reading "Stop The Senseless Slaughter!" and "Elephant Rights Now!"
Despite them Alderman Ridleyton-Smythe clumsily loaded the gun. While he was not a sportsman in the clinical sense of the word he had always dreamed of 'bagging' an elephant, and this was a chance not to be missed. Ignoring the Animal Rights Activist's pleas he raised the gun to his shoulder and pulled the trigger in one swift movement.
The parish church of Lower Throckmorton was not a large affair. The steeple stood only 30 feet above the ground level, above the small bell tower. Even from that distance the Alderman's aim was not true due to a shoulder-tackle from Marjorie, and the shot went high, merely grazing the elephant's ear. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) the shot startled the magnificent beast and it lost its precarious footing. It toppled over in the fashion that you'd expect and plummeted to the ground, only to have its fall cushioned somewhat by the surprised forms of twenty or so of the village housewives, rallied by Marjorie for the animal's protection. In an ironic twist of fate the elephant survived the fall with little more than a scratch while the housewives were completely flattened. In the end it began to rain, and Marjorie was left in the unenviable position of deciding whether or not to press charges against the pachyderm while everyone else went home to tea and scones. The elephant was nowhere to be seen.
