Easy like Sunday morning...

Fysk, the officer in charge on duty today, opened the door of the tower and was met by a slight breeze. Altough he had climbed these stairs daily for over twenty years now he had never quite reconciled himelf to the horrors of the drop. He had struggled his way up the external stairs of the church tower ( a pattern of church with external stairs leading to an observation point which was replicated in every town , village and hamlet in the Duchy) in much worse conditions than today. He thought of the great storm of '38 and the lightening strike five years ago.

Finally reaching the top, Fysk tucked his telescope under his arm and began to munch upon the hard cheese he had bought. His thoughts turned to his wife and sons working and living in the tower room below and to Fr Erlkksson -whose church this was. The bells suddenly broke into life jerking Fysk from his reverie. He watched the tiny figures as they made their way into the church below...