WHETHER it was the Wrath of God, it being Easter time and all that, or a strange stroke of good luck is open to question. But the flood that flashed down the River Beggar just after the holiday cured one major problem although causing others.

And now, with a bit of luck, the village can settle down to its spring and summer business with several bitter feuds tucked away behind us.

Easter had been wet, windy and miserable anyway, and the Beggar and its feeder becks were already to bank level when the freak storm hit the side of Tup Fell and turned swollen into overflowing.

The first victims were Teachers Tim and Tess, who were not at home: they had gone to spend the holiday in their converted barn in the Dordogne to rest up from all the stress their occupation causes these days.

Their cottage, once part of the Big House estate, lies at the lowest part of the Dale and there is a deep ditch at the bottom of their willow-bounded garden. At least it used to be a deep ditch when estate workers cleaned it out every winter. In the past twenty years, it has become more of a marsh - and as the flood waters came roaring out of the old quarry, they turned it into a boating lake.

Half the garden was washed away and the cottage would have been inundated too - had not Ben the Bucket spotted the danger, summoned help, and half the village had not turned out with sandbags to keep the waters (just) at bay.

Tim and Tess returned from their two-week break ("preparing for next term") with nothing worse than damp carpets inside to dry out (we would have done that too, had anyone been left a key) and to ponder on a certain irony.

Ben, you see, has been promised a job as the water bailiff if Maggots Money-Grubber gets planning permission to turn the quarry into a trout fishery - the first fulltime work Ben has had since the quarry closed some 20 years ago.

But an objection has been filed to the plan. By Tim and Tess, who say that anglers' cars would disturb their peace and quiet (they should have been there when 60 quarry wagons came and went every working day).

If Ben had not been walking the site the day the floods hit, their cottage would have suffered much more than damp carpets, smelly and nasty though they are. So in gratitude, were they going to rob him of rare work (not to mention his pride)?

In a state of deep embarrassment, they were thanking Ben for his help in the remains of their garden when Maggots' gleaming Jaguar pulled up outside the quarry gates and its owner - dressed in plus-twos, green Hunter wellies and a Barbour jacket - came tramping through the mud towards the trio.

For once, Tess seemed lost for words.

"A reet mess," said Maggots making no attempt to hide his triumph. "And it'll happen time and time again, if this global warming things gets worse. Of course, if I got my planning permission, I'd have to divert yon beck and culvert it away from your place. Stop it happening again, that would."

Two days later, the phone rang in the Beggars' Arms and our council spy informed us that the planning objection had been withdrawn. Later that night, Tim and Tess came in for the first time in two months. Nothing was said - absolutely nowt - but peace and quiet reigns once again on the banks of the Beggar.

* The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on a fictitious character in a mythical village.