Christmas comes but once a year...

And I find it difficult. So I have written a Christmas story to try and cheer myself up.
For those of you unlucky enough not to live in Merry England, here is a tale which I think reflects the spirit of our traditional English Christmas.

Home for Christmas

I stepped down from the train. Snow was falling. Yes it was going to be a White Christmas – just like the ones we used to know. In fact I’d been dreaming of a white Christmas and now my dream was to come true.

Wilkins was waiting for me with the one-horse open sleigh, and it was such fun to ride across the fields, dashing through the snow, listening to the sleigh bells jingling. A veritable winter wonderland.

“I hope there are hot chestnuts roasting on an open fire.”  I said to Wilkins.

“Oh yes, master George, and the hall is decked with boughs of holly.”

“Tra la la la la.” I enthused. “For tis the season to be jolly.”

“Tra la la la la”, responded Wilkins, heartily.

“And I suppose mother will have a glass of hot toddy ready? For Jack Frost has been nipping at my toes.”

“Cook will serve the hot toddy master George; your mother is at the food bank in the village distributing provisions to the poor and needy.”

“But surely there are no poor people these days?” I queried.

“Immigrants!” Sniffed Wilkins, disapprovingly.

“Come, Wilkins,” I reproached, “Good will toward men, and all that.”

“Tra la la la la,” Replied Wilkins, rather unenthusiastically.

“Yes, we are going to have a very merry Christmas, Wilkins. We’ll make the Yuletide bright, soon our troubles will be out of sight.”

Wilkins perked up. “Yes, and old friends who are dear to us, will be near to us once more.”

“That reminds me,” I said, “I hope cousin Elsie will be coming for Christmas? For ‘twas in Springtime, when last we met. When birds did sing, hey ding a ding a ding.”

“Hey ding a ding indeed.” echoed Wilkins. “Cousin Elsie has already arrived – and has put on weight since her last visit.”

“She’ll have to go easy on the plum pud, eh Wilkins.” I joshed

“I fear she will have to go easy on everything, master George,” vouchsafed our old coachman, “considering her somewhat delicate condition”

“What – you don’t mean she’s…”

“About seven months, I should say.” replied Wilkins, nodding sagely.

“Good Lord!” I expostulated.

 I was about to ask him to slow down as I felt one of my giddy spells coming on, but just then we rounded a bend in the lane and there was the house. What a welcoming sight it was, with smoke curling up from the tall chimneys and all the windows ablaze with light. I made a mental note to ask Mother if she had changed her energy supplier to Eon as I had advised.

 

When we arrived I quickly downed two large glasses of Cook’s hot toddy. How she gets away with making that stuff without a licence I shall never know. Then, fortified somewhat, I went to talk with father, only to be informed by Mrs Browning that he would not be here for Christmas; the Foreign Office having sent him on a fact-finding tour of Thailand. I was crestfallen, but at the same time proud to have a father whose duties to his country came before his own pleasures.

I glanced through the window; although it was almost dark, the curtains had not been drawn and I could see that the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even. And I could just make out a figure, bent double with with a sack on his back, trudging through the snow.  

I called to our housekeeper. “Tell me Mrs B - Yonder fellow, who is he? And what is he doing on our land?”

“Sir, he is a goodly man, gathering winter fuel.” replied the housekeeper.

“An immigrant, more like’” I retorted. And then, remembering this was the season for goodwill toward one’s fellow man I added, “Then we shall not charge him for the sticks he collects. Get Wilkins to go out and wish him a Merry Christmas.”

Just then Mother came in, her face flushed from the cold weather, a merry twinkle in her eye. Behind her stood a tall stranger, with a beard and a brooding face. “George, this is Borris,” said Mother. “He comes from a far off land called Uzbekistan, to seek gainful employment in our country. Unfortunately he does not speak the language so I have offered to give him English lessons. He will be staying with us over Christmas. Won’t that be fun? He can be a chum for you – that is, when I am not giving him lessons.”

 

A tear came unbidden to my eye, as I realised how lucky I was to have a mother who was prepared to give unstintingly of her time and hospitality a complete stranger; a foreigner, too. And yes, it would be fun to have a chum. I could teach him to play Monopoly. Oh, this was going to a great Christmas. Then I remembered Elsie, and I wondered if I should speak to Mother, but she had gone upstairs to show Borris to his bedroom.

 

So I went into the kitchen in search of Cook and her hot toddy. Cook is such a jolly lady and, clasping me to her ample bosom, she gave me a big wet kiss – which quite took my breath away. In fact she was still kissing me when Elsie came into the kitchen. Cook let me go, wiping a trace of lipstick from my face with the hem of her pinnafore and whispering in my ear, "And there's plenty more where that came from".

 

“George, a word, if you please – in private” said Elsie, rather peremptorily, I thought.

“Certainly.” I replied, cheerfully. Though I must confess with some misgiving.

I followed her into the drawing room; I could not help noticing now she seemed to walk with a sort of waddle, not unlike one of our ducks, and for some reason I was filled with a strange foreboding.

“Close the door, George”. I did as she bade. “What is it, Elsie, dear?” I enquired, solicitously.

“George – I am with child”.

“Good Lord” I exclaimed. “Have you any idea who the father is?”

“It’s you, you bloody fool.” She shouted.

I was taken aback. It was most unlike cousin Elsie to use profanities, but I thought perhaps this was not the right time to admonish her for her bad language. I was trying to think of something reassuring to say when mother entered the room. Her hair was mussed up and there was a strong smell of gin about her person.

(to be continued…)