The day that Lord Hurtlebottom, gentleman explorer, and his companion, the Hon. Ms. Gloria Goodbody, opened the barrow on the grounds of Hurtlebottom Manor was bright and sunny.  From the dig site on the crest of a hill, Lord Hurtlebottom could look down upon the bright, gleaming river and upon the jolly little proles who were having picnics and things along its bank.  He could spot, if he squinted, the ancestral pile, gray and massive in the distance.  Gloria was in a smashing sort of trouser thingy; she looked quite fetching, he thought, covered in sweat and dirt.  It was, in short, a perfectly jolly sort of day.  At a shout from Gloria, Lord Hurtlebottom stepped forward.  It was time to enter the bally thing, and Hurtlebottom would be the first to enter, as befitted his Rank.

Students of the Ways of Fate frequently point to the Hurtlebottom case as something that Just Goes To Show.  They will go on to explain how Lord Hurtlebottom, who had opened up all sorts of tombs and things all over the world without being cursed, was Struck Down by such a thing when digging up his own property.  But the explanation will not be a long one, because no one living knows more about the Hurtlebottom tragedy than the bare facts.

No one, that is, but me. [ref] My opening [/ref]

For you see, Lord Hurtlebottom’s pompadour had grown to such an extreme height it could hardly withstand five minutes’ digging, and Gloria’s frame so slight it could only add another ten, meaning someone else had to do most of the digging that day. Your truly had accreted a startling pile of dirt while breaching the entrance, affording a front and center view of the incident as it unfolded. [ref] This paragraph contributed by Michael McCloskey [/ref]