I have been running a butcher’s shop in Totnes, Devon, for the past 30 years. One blustery day last December, I went to the walk-in freezer to fetch some lamb shanks. I hadn’t stepped in more than a couple of feet when I heard the steel door slam shut behind me. The wind was stronger than I thought, and I hadn’t propped the door open. I had just dashed in and – bang! – it blew shut. Then I realised the emergency release button had frozen. I was trapped.
Inside the freezer is a huge fan, the guts of the machine, blowing out cold air at -20C. I realised immediately that I had to escape or I’d be dead within the hour. The freezer box is 50 yards from the back of the butcher’s shop, so there was no point in banging on the door or shouting for help: no one would have heard me. I had to get myself out.
Being a bit of a luddite, I didn’t have a mobile phone on me, so had no way of contacting anyone. I tried to use my fists to bash through the four inches of solid ice on the release button, but that didn’t work, so I kicked it as hard as I could three times. That didn’t work, either, and I really bashed my ankle on the metal.
At this stage, I thought, “Now, this isn’t much fun, Chris. What on earth are you going to do?” I knew I had to find something to hit the button with, so I began frantically looking around. In deep freezers, you usually have things such as burgers, pasties, pigeons and guinea fowl – nothing that has any weight. I’d moved some metal racks to get to the wretched button, and that’s when I saw this black pudding.
A stick of black pudding is about a foot long [30cm] and weighs four pounds [1.5kg]. It looks like a really thick truncheon: a big, solid mass. I managed to get myself into position, all the while thinking, “No one knows I’m here.”
I bashed the button with the black pudding over and over again. Eventually, I heard it crack and thought, “Ah! At last, we’re out.” I had been bloody damned frightened and felt quite shaken.
I’m very fortunate in that I’m not claustrophobic and didn’t panic. I just knew I had to get out as quickly as possible.
The last thing I wanted to do after that was walk straight back into the butcher’s shop and say, “Hello, what would you like this afternoon?” I was feeling a bit odd, not to mention cross with myself, so I sat down outside for a couple of minutes to gather my thoughts. All I can think now is that the black pudding was absolutely marvellous. I don’t know what I’d have done without it.
The news of my ordeal spread around Totnes very quickly, and then went much farther afield, and I have had the most wonderful experience of people coming into the shop and saying how nice it is to see me alive and well. Some lovely children have come in to take selfies with me and, in a local pantomime, Darth Vader’s lightsaber was even replaced with a black pudding sausage in my honour.
Prince Charles, of all people, heard about my escapade when he was visiting Sheridan’s in Ballater, Scotland, the shop that sells me these black puddings. The butcher handed one of their puddings to the prince, who said, “My word, it’s like a truncheon, isn’t it? Will you please give Mr McCabe my best wishes?”
Business has improved, too. We’ve had some very good days for January, and we’ve sold a great deal of black pudding.
I’ve also had a fridge engineer come to look at that button. It now has a vapour seal fitted on it, to prevent the button from freezing over again, and I check it every morning. I am 70 and work a six-day week, and I’m not going to get caught out again. It was such an unpleasant and foolhardy experience that now, if I’m driving up on Dartmoor and it’s wet, I find that I just think, “I’m going to go that little bit slower.” I’ve realised how easy it is for something to go wrong in a split-second.
I ended up selling the stick of black pudding that saved my life, and I’ve replaced it many times since. I do very much like black pudding. I would recommend chucking it into a stew. It thickens it up quite nicely.
• As told to Ellie Harrison
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