This story is a work of fiction. Its characters are fictitious too. Some institutions mentioned are actual institutions but again, their name only has been invoked. They do not represent the actual institutions or their office holders. The story is a sequel to Letter from America, Stranger on a Train, and one or two other stories. Enjoy.
Jacob's First Christmas Carol
by Jonah
Stave the first. Emily.
Snow!
Do you know, if I was told that somebody had begun a Christmas story with a paragraph containing just a single word, I would have put money on that being it. Of course, in twenty-first century England, the white Christmas is the exception, rather than the rule. but here we were with a fortnight to the big day, and the streets of Harrow were hiding under a blanket. That it would soon be churned up by the road traffic of the metropolis, mattered not a jot to Luke. The sketch block was out already - even before breakfast.
Now the boys are rightly less enthusiastic about breakfast when it is cooked by me. Simon has trained under Kori, which is the best qualification you can get, but they are going to have to put up with my cooking. Our little flat is Simonless.
Bob Turner had collected Simon yesterday evening to take him to Norfolk for the weekend. Today he is firing "Santa Specials". Simon's actually an engine cleaner, but he's learning the art of incinerating coal for when he's old enough. A glance out of the window tells me why Luke is more excited by the weather than he is by the prospect of breakfast. It's Saturday, so no school today, and no real reason to try to get Peter out of bed.
"So where were you two thinking of going?" I asked.
"I just want to do some drawings while the snow's fresh," Luke replied. "I don't know if Peter is thinking of trainspotting."
I shook my head.
"I'm sure he's thinking of it," I said, "probably dreaming of it, but he'd have been up by now if there was any prospect of doing it."
"So can I go out?"
"You need a good breakfast inside you if you're going out in this. I'll get the frying pan on if you can get some plates ready. See who that is will you mate."
I could have saved my breath. Luke had already responded to the sharp rap on the door. By the time I had issued my request, Joe and Miriam were already ushering their son into our flat, and Luke had already caught the small boy who ran delightedly to him.
"Not had breakfast yet Jonah?" said Joe. "Go and get Peter up. I'll sort breakfast."
Now that was more like it.
Peter has never been a natural early-riser. In that respect, he is as different from his older brother as it is possible to be. On school days Simon and I take it in turns to badger him into getting out of bed. The promise of train-spotting is the only thing that usually does it (unless his friend Liam is this side of the Atlantic, that is), but with Christmas only a couple of weeks away, I have too much to do to be going trainspotting.
Of course Joe and Miriam had brought with them somebody who would have more success getting Peter out of bed than I was likely to have.
"Can I borrow this young man," I asked Luke, Picking up the child without waiting for an answer.
Slinging the laughing child over my shoulder I ascended to the boys' bedroom.
"Somebody to see you, Peter," I announced, depositing Jacob on the bed.
"Meeeeeeee!" laughed Jacob, laying his head on the pillow, inches from Peter's face.
The look of horror and shock on Peter's face at being catapulted into wakefulness was quickly replaced by a smile as he kissed the little monkey on his forehead. In a flash the boy had young Jacob in an embrace and rolled over, lifting the child over the top of him to lie on his other side. Now, if you are trying to visualise this maneouvre, I recommend that you stop now. In case you hadn't got there yet, the inevitable outcome is that it leaves Jacob firmly rolled up in the duvet, and Peter outside of it. Naked ten-year-olds are not even for Saturday mornings. I about-turned and left them to it.
"Breakfast in ten Peter," I called over my shoulder. "Joe's cooking it."
If that didn't do it - nothing would.
It did it. Another one-and-a-bit children joined Luke, Joe, Miriam and I ere five minutes were up. The naked one had to persuade Luke to supervise Jacob, whilst showering took place, but Luke needed no persuading. In fact, now that Jacob was in the flat, Luke's eagerness to go out had evaporated.
It was indeed a novelty to see a fully-clad Peter, in the midst of us, ante - as it were - 9am. If it hasn't become obvious by now, I can do no more than tell you plainly - Peter is decidedly a post 9am. person.
The chief characteristic of a Joe-breakfast is that whilst it fills you up and provides all the energy you need, you'd happily carry on eating. Nothing ever remains to be scraped off the plate. Washing up is easy after Joe has cooked. Breakfast having been consumed I was able to turn my attention to whatever it was that had brought Joe, Miriam and Jacob unexpectedly to our door. Not that it wasn't a pleasure to see them, but Joe usually had a reason for doing anything, and it was usually a reason by which somebody else would benefit. While Miriam washed up, aided by Peter (and Luke - since looking after Jacob counts as helping as well), I took Joe upstairs for a quick conference.
"It's Christmas!" he told me.
"That accounts for the lights, and the trees and things, " I replied. "I knew there had to be a reason."
"But Christmas is more than lights, trees and Advent callendars," Joe persisted. "You, of all people should know that. It's Jacob's first Christmas and, if it weren't for you, he wouldn't be seeing his first Christmas, and neither would I, nor Miriam."
I couldn't find it in my heart to answer that with more sarcasm, so I waited in silence for what was to come.
"Christmas has to be more than that," he said at last, "and I can't, in all conscience, let it come and go without doing something to honour it and to make the world better."
"But you already are," I pointed out. "That child downstairs is the world's future. Every new thing you teach him is changing the world. If you teach him the right things, you'll change it for the better. You only have to teach him to think of Christmas as you do."
"It's not enough," he said simply.
"What do you want to do?" I asked.
"Put your coat on and come with me," he replied. "Miriam will stay with the boys."
I should have refused to do that. Joe obviously intended to get me involved in something, and I should have run very fast in the other direction. Who am I kidding? Joe was right. If I were a man who ran in the other direction, Joe would have perished in the cold of last Christmas morning, and so would his whole family. Jacob would never have been born. Refusing was not an option.
Muffled up against the cold, Joe and I sallied forth into the snow. We trudged for a half mile or so down Imperial Drive till Joe led me into the stairway to a flat above a small tobacconist's shop. I stood while Joe knocked on the door. Eventually a small girl of about three or four opened it.
"Is your mum in Emily?" Joe asked.
The girl stood aside to let us in.
The flat was cold. No lights burned and no attempt had been made to fight off the cold. The flat was tidy but smelt of dampness. There was little in the way of furnishings and the dowdy wallpaper was peeling from the wall in places. A young woman was bundled up in outdoor clothing and blankets in the corner. The girl closed the door and then ran to the woman who wrapped her into the blankets.
"Is the electric off again Mary?" Joe asked. A nod from the blanketted figure had to suffice.
"This is Jonah, Mary," Joe continued. "I'm just going to give him twenty quid to put on your meter, if Emily can find me the key."
The woman released the little girl again. Joe turned to me.
"Food market down the road will put it on for you," he said offering me a twenty pound note.
"I've got twenty quid," I replied. "I just need her key."
The girl handed me the key and returned to her mother.
Joe handed his twenty to me anyway.
"The food market also sells tea, milk, sugar and bread," he told me quietly. "If there's any change out of that just spend it on what you think. Anything will help."
I nodded and departed.
It was the work of ten minutes to locate the food market he'd referred to, to complete my shopping and to put twenty-five pounds on the meter key (since I reasoned that she would have used the usual five pounds credit on the key, but the power company would take that back before supplying electricity).
I returned to the flat to find Emily, complete with a new knitted red scarf and socks, helping Joe to dress a small artificial Christmas tree. Her mother had ventured forth from her corner to find a small electric radiator which she plugged in while I gave Joe the key to download to the meter. The room was small, so the radiator would probably suffice, if I closed the curtains and put on the light. While I did that, Joe boiled the kettle and made tea, which he served with the biscuits I had bought.
I'd also bought margarine, cheese, and several small pots of meat and fish pastes.
"Don't you have any money coming in, Mary?" I asked, as we sipped the tea.
"Universal credit" she answered, "and for that I'm supposed to work sixteen hours a week. I have to take her to the Job Centre with me, but they must have sussed that I can't work if I'm looking after her. It barely pays the rent anyway. It doesn't cover electricity and food for two of us. When the council tax bill comes in we'll be on the streets."
"You'd be on the streets, and Emily'd be in care," said Joe," but I've already told you. When that comes, pass it to me, I'll get it sorted for you."
The woman smiled the first smile I had seen from her. She was really quite a pretty young woman when she did that.
Her little, fair-haired daughter was a pretty child too.
"So, if you can't buy food," I asked, "how do you manage".
"I have an appointment at the food bank every other Wednesday," she replied. "It's nearly gone now, but we only have to last till Wednesday".
"Well you've a bit more in now," I said, " and you won't have to worry about today, because I'm getting the four of us fish and chips before we go."
"You shouldn't do that," she said. "We're not your responsibility."
I shrugged.
"Nobody said you were but, if a chap can't buy friends fish and chips now and again, it's a poor look-out."
She was still wary.
"Yes.... for friends, but just the same...."
Joe intervened.
"Jonah's gay, Mary," he said. "He's not about to make a move on you or Emily, and he's got kids of his own".
Now she was embarrassed.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."
"Do you not know where Emily's father is?" I asked bluntly. "Can he not help to support you?"
Since it had got personal, I might as well wade right in.
"I know exactly where he is," she replied, without rancour. "He's in the nick for breaking and entering. Stealing to support his family, but they won't acknowledge us as dependants, because I don't have a wedding ring".
"Well I'm going to get us fish and chips," I told her, "and tomorrow's Sunday, so you're invited for dinner. My boys will love Emily, and she'll love Joe's little boy."
"And I guess I'm cooking it," muttered Joe.
"Mate," I said. "You brought me here. It was your idea."
With that I headed for the chip shop.
Jacob's First Christmas Carol by Jonah
Stave the second. Old Father Christmas.
Saturday afternoon was spent helping Miriam make mince pies. It was, apparently, a job for all the family.
Since we were expecting company next day, the boys wanted to make the place look suitably Christmassy. I worried about rubbing Mary and Emily's noses in all this apparent oppulence but, as Joe pointed out, the idea was to give them a break from austerity - not to treat them to more of it.
Church on Sunday morning was June Bennett, and a typical third-week-of-advent service. We remembered John-the-Baptist, and Peter remembered that we knew a good few other Baptists as well.
After Church, Joe went with the boys and Monica, while Miriam and I took a detour down Imperial Drive.
The flat was warmer than I had seen it yesterday, and the pile of clothing in the corner was gone. Mary and Emily were dressed simply, but smartly, and Emily proudly sported her new scarf. I introduced Miriam and we were on our way.
It must have been a culture shock for Mary to walk into our flat - not because of the decorations, and the tree, nor because of the delicious aroma of roasting beef and gravy, nor even because of the warmth. No indeed. It must have been a shock because of the sheer quantity of humanity. Joe and Monica were doing necessary things in the preparation of dinner, and the boys were supervising, to the best of their ability, a human whirlwind. Jacob had to be everywhere at once and, indeed, he seemed to manage it. He was running from Luke as we entered and, the door having barely closed behind her, he was in Emily's arms in an instant. Luke, being on all fours, took a moment to adjust to this, but the good humour subsided not for a second.
Before Mary knew what had happened, Monica had separated her from her outdoor coat, and had settled her in my favourite armchair.
"There'll be a cup of tea in a moment," she assured our guest and, sure enough, Simon was waiting behind her with a cup of tea, ON A TRAY, with the sugar bowl and milk jug that hardly ever saw light of day in our flat.
The furniture of the flat had been rearranged because David, in the shop downstairs, had lent us a large table and some dining chairs. It wouldn't accomodate nine people, but we had moved the breakfast stools to the kitchen side of the counter and had put the table against the counter, meaning that we could get six people round the table, and two facing it across the counter. Jacob, of course, had his own high chair.
That was how we consumed our dinner and, if you can believe it, a merrier group of people never sat down to a meal.
The fare of Roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, carrots, roast parsnip, leeks, roast and mashed potato, followed by hot mince pie and whipped cream, was excellent, but only temporarily muted the lively chatter and banter around the board. Fresh coffee followed, with orange squash for the children.
As we cleared away Peter obstacled my passage.
"Jacob wants a story," he told me.
"I suspect Peter wants a story," I replied.
"And me," said Luke, not entirely grammatically.
I smiled.
"Does Emily like stories too?" I asked, and got an even bigger smile in return.
"Alright, " I told them, "come over here by the tree, where we won't be in the way."
Within seconds all four children were sitting on the floor beneath the evergreen boughs, while I perched on the end of the settee. Jacob, on Emily's lap, would soon be sleeping, but he would not be excluded.
"Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.
Old Father Christmas was very busy. It was nearly Christmas Eve, and there was so much to do. To be fair, there was always a lot to do. In June, or July, Father Christmas would have to watch the river, to see that it didn't stop. He would whistle round the rosebuds, so that they would know when it was time for them to pop. Then he had to keep the crickets cheerful. The world didn't need solemn crickets. Then, after August, came September, though nobody knew how September knew when it was time to do that, but October was hard behind, and it was time. It was time for Old Father Christmas to be really busy.
It was on the morning of the first of October that Tulip, the old mother elf, had come to him and told him that there was a problem.
"There have been such a lot of naughty children this year," she said, "and Woodbine and Sweetbriar, can't cope with the lists."
"Can Blackthorn and Dogrose not help out?" he had asked.
"They will have to," said Tulip, "but if we take them off of toys, we will be short-handed there."
"It's quite a problem," said Old Father Christmas. "Give it a try and, if we still can't manage, I'll pop up to head office and see if they have any ideas."
Well October had gone and November had come and even December popped along, and the lists were taking up all of the time. Packing presents had hardly started. It was time for drastic measures.
Old Father Christmas hitched eight reindeer to his sleigh, with Rudolph at the head (Cupid had a head-cold, so stayed at home) and set off for head office. St Peter was on the gate himself, and he recognised Old Father Christmas' sleigh right away, and waved him straight in.
"You'll haveto be quick," he called to Father Christmas, as he rode in. "It's nearly time for the child to be born again, so He's a bit busy at the moment."
"Ho ho ho!" laughed Father Christmas (he did that a lot).
Well Father Christmas rode right up to the Holy of Holies, entered without knocking (God never expects people to knock) and went right up.
"Can I have a word?" he said.
"Of course, Father Christmas," God replied. "I always like people to do that."
So Old Father Christmas explained about the sudden increase in naughty children and the problems that was causing.
"I see," said God. "Of course, I'm not the best person to ask about that, since I love them all - naughty or not - but it seems to me that you have only one option, if you're going to make it for Christmas."
"What's that?" Old Father Christmas asked. "I'm so desperate, I'll try anything."
"Then you need a child," said God. "Not an elf, but a human child, and one of the good ones. In fact you need the most goodest of them all. Only he can help you."
Now Old Father Christmas, although he didn't quite understand what God was getting at, recognised that it was important. Only when something was very important indeed did God use bad English grammar.
Father Christmas mounted to his sleigh and sped back to the North Pole.
"Sweetbriar," he called, as he rode in, "Forget about the lists, we're not going to need a naughty list this year. Just bring me the nice list, quickly."
He had hardly unhitched the reindeer and settled by the fire with his cup of eggnog, than Sweetbriar entered with the list.
"We need a child," said Father Christmas, "to help us with the packing. It can't be just any child. It has to be the most goodest of the good."
Well if English like that is good enough for God, it is certainly good enough for Father Christmas.
Together they knelt on the rug, in front of the fire, with the list spread out in front of them.
"Here we are," said Father Christmas. "Kori Peydon, in Massachusetts. He is so good that he is a good influence on other children. He must be the one."
"Kori is good," said Sweetbriar. "God loves him and we love him, but he isn't the most goodest of the good."
Father Christmas was surprised but looked back down the list.
"Kori's brother Liam," he said.
"Liam is good," said Sweetbriar, "God loves him,and we love him, but he isn't the most goodest of the good."
"Hmphhh!" said Father Christmas, somewhat vexed at being contradicted twice, but he looked back down to the list.
"Simon Khan?" said Father Christmas, not very hopefully.
"Simon is good," said Sweetbriar. " God loves him...."
"And we love him," said Father Christmas, in unison with his elf, "but he isn't the most goodest of the good. Alright."
They looked down at the List.
"Peter?" said Father Christmas.
"Now Peter is really good," said Sweetbriar enthusiastically. "God loves him and we love him but, sadly, he isn't quite the most goodest of the good."
""Hmmm!" said Father Christmas. " This is harder than I thought it would be. How about Luke?"
"Oh Luke is good, God loves him and..."
"Yes, I get the picture. Well what about Emily?"
Sweetbriar paused for a moment. Father Christmas wasn't supposed to interrupt him.
"Father Christmas," he said solemnly," Emily is a very good girl indeed. God loves her and we love her, but you'll recall, God said, 'only HE can help you.' We're looking for a boy. "
Father Christmas nearly asked how Sweetbriar knew that, but he remembered that elves just knew things.
"Ben?"
"No!"
"Sammy?"
"No!"
"Jason?"
"No!"
"Then that only leaves......."
"JACOB," they both said together.
"That's right Santa," said Sweetbriar, calling Father Christmas by his other name. "Jacob is the most goodest of the good, and only he can help us. You need to get him to the North Pole quickly so that we can get the wrapping done."
Well to get somebody to the North Pole quickly you need a magic sleigh, and at least eight reindeer but, fortunately, Old Father Christmas had all of that. He was only gone a half-an-hour and he was back with the merriest little child anybody ever saw.
The elves got busy wrapping up presents for all the girls and boys in the whole world. Whenever they came to one for a naughty child they sent for Jacob. As soon as Jacob saw a present that was being given to a naughty boy or girl he would smile, and he would laugh. The elves quickly wrapped the laugh up with the present. At last the wrapping was done, and not a moment too soon.
It was Christmas Eve, and time for Old Father Christmas to set forth. He took Jacob home first, because he knew that people would miss him, and he left him some presents too, then he set about visiting every child in the world. It's a good job his sleigh is magic. But he didn't need to worry about which children were naughty or nice.
On Christmas morning, children all over the world woke up to presents. The nice children had nice presents, and they laughed with delight. The naughty children found that they had nice presents too, but theirs also contained the smile and the laughter of a small child. It was a laughter so infectious that it made them forget all about being naughty.
Old Father Christmas put away his fur-trimmed coat and settled in front of the fire. His work for the Winter was over, but not quite. Tommorrow, he has to watch that river again."
Jacob snoozed quietly in Emily's lap.
"Would Old Father Christmas like a cup of tea?" said Miriam, making the question academic by placing the article in my hand.
Jacob's First Christmas Carol by Jonah
Stave the third. The Holly and the Ivy.
On Monday morning I woke early and detached myself from Luke. Peter and Simon were sleeping in their own room, since Monday was a school day. Luke had tried that, but he never slept unless he was curled up around somebody.
His time on the streets was to blame for that. Luke was a good person, and was more grateful than I deserved that we had given him a family but, if he slept alone, he had nightmares that caused him to wake trembling. I had no way of knowing what he went through during the time between his mother leaving him, and our finding him on an underground train, but he had been fending for himself for at least three weeks of an English Winter, and that couldn't have been pleasant.
Quickly I showered then tiptoed down the stairs. On went the kettle and, in no time at all I was settled on the settee with a cup of tea. I wanted to catch Simon before he started cooking breakfast. Bob had dropped him off late last night, but he had little time to do anything before bedtime. Certainly there had been no time for us to talk.
I heard the shower, so I boiled the kettle again. When he came down, fully dressed for school, he seemed surprised to see me there.
"How'd it go?" I asked him.
"It was brilliant," he replied. "Thanks for letting me go. I've never fired the Y14 before, but it was great. The snow is bad in Norfolk, but we didn't cancel any trainhs. It was a bit draughty coming back tender-first with that low tender though, and we daren't use the slacker-hose, for fear the water would freeze the coal onto the tender. It was lots of hot cocoa between each trip, I can tell you. "
"How's the Christmas shopping coming?"
"Nearly finished. Luke says we've got some extra people to buy for."
That surprised me.
"Well I have," I said. "Whether you do is up to you."
The smile told me that he considered I had just said something stupid. There were no words.
"OK, breakfast," I said. "I'll go and rouse the rabble."
Surprisingly they didn't take much rousing. Peter even beat Luke to the shower. That was a first.
With the boys packed off to school it was mighty quiet around the flat. I had to go to the office, so that would be a good chance to do some Christmas shopping. Monday was not usually a day for the office, but the Christmas lines were going through their final tweaks.
This is inevitable in the advertising business. Of course, the lines have to be out and with the customers early in the Autumn, so the last few weeks before Christmas, when they have gone public, should be a quiet time. That doesn't happen because the thing that all your customers discover as soon as everything goes public, is what their competitors have been doing. Suddenly you discover that your best line has been matched by a competitor, and you're looking for a new one with no time to develop it. If you're lucky, you can get away with tweaking the line to give it something the competitors don't have. I don't often have that kind of luck.
Fortunately, my largest customer, Phillips-Murchisson, had a line of Christmas advertising that was robust, and that they were pleased with. It didn't matter that most of that work had been done by Luke, rather than by me. It did give me a slightly more relaxed run-up to Christmas than everybody else in the office was having.
I was out on the streets of Watford by dinner time, and back at the flat by two o' clock. I poured myself a glass of my favourite single malt, and settled in my favourite armchair with my favourite book.
"Lots of people are busy at this time of year," remarked Old Father Christmas. "It's not just shopkeepers and advertising agents."
"I know, but it gets busier each year," I replied. "Christmas is more stressful than it used to be. You should know."
"Yes, I suppose I should," the old man said, "but it isn't really you know. If you're just thinking of the shops and the malls, yes they are pretty frantic, but other people are busier too. The police have a more stressful time because people find excuses to go and get drunk. Some of them drive motor cars. Others beat up their families. Christmas trees and electric decorations make the fire brigade busier. The hospitals are busier with different kinds of accidents and the Winter weather takes its toll on the elderly. Funeral directors get busier too. The poor can't afford the festivities, and are often driven beyond the limits of their endurance. None of that is new. "
"None of it is what Christmas is really about either," I observed.
"Oh, I know what it's all about," he replied. "I was there at the beginning you know."
"That makes you just over two-thousand years old," I said with a smile.
"Oh no," replied the old man. "I'm much older than that. Christmas is about Winter. It's about the rebirth of the year. It's about life. Everything in nature is born, matures, decays and dies so that it can all start over. Every tiny cell in your body is doing all of that as we speak. Winter is the death of the year, but it sows the seeds of the next. You see I'm wearing my green robe. I had that long before God showed His love for mankind by suffering alongside him. I used to be a kind of a god myself. The Green Man, I was called, among other things. The god of the hearth, the god of trees and shrubs, the god of rebirth. Mankind found their security in the regular and predictable cycles of nature that I represented. Then God showed His love for man and you were able to find your security in that. Your part in nature has to include the love that you are capable of, so I have to represent that as well. That's where my red cloak comes from. It isn't an advertisement for fizzy drinks, it's a sign for the love of God, shown by His sacrifice for humankind.
In medieval times Christmas lasted most of the winter. It started with Hallowe'en and finished at Candlemas, so it included all of November, December and January. I had to wear the green cloak, or the red cloak as each occasion demanded. That ended in the seventeenth century when Christmas was made illegal for twenty three years. When Charles II made it legal again, all the old traditions had been forgotten and people only celebrated from advent to epithany, if that. They'd mostly forgotten me - in this country at least. I hadn't really any part in their celebrations till the nineteenth century, and it was largely the Americans who were responsible for that.
In the New World different traditions arose, because, it was always a Christian festival there, though different peoples brought their own traditions with them. They celebrate Hallowe'en as if it has nothing to do with Christmas, though they don't know why they celebrate it, but then they make it all right again at Thanksgiving. The English don't know why they celebrate Hallowe'en either. Half of them think it was imported from America. One thing has always been constant. Christmas has always been a time when abundance rejoices, and poverty and want are keenly felt. You can sit there and talk of the pace of life in the city, of the traffic on the streets and the crowds in the malls, making life stressful; or you can go and ask Mary what stress really is.
I am still the Green Man and, believe me, to see the holly, in all its oppulence, with its stout boughs and rich berries, growing alongside the poor Ivy, who can only support herself by relying on the strength of others, is nothing new. It was thus when life first began."
"I'm not a poor man," I commented.
"No," said Old Father Christmas. "You're a good man, with the Spirit of Christmas in your heart. You're blest by being a blessing to others. Now some of those others are being a blessing themselves. That's how the Kingdom of God comes on the Earth. You are a rich man, but rich in the best possible way."
"So it really is about peace on Earth and goodwill to mankind?"
"Of course it is," said Luke. "What's for dinner?"
My book lay closed on the floor, my whisky was barely touched and of Father Christmas there was no sign, but it's a good job I'm used to getting funny looks from the boys.
Jacob's First Christmas Carol by Jonah
Stave the Fourth. The Child
Mary came to dinner with us the next Sunday too, not in our flat, but at the Porters. It was only a few days before Christmas Day. She brought Emily to Church, and the Fourth Sunday of Advent service moved them a lot. We sang Carols lustily, and even Emily tried to join in, though she didn't know many of the words yet. She and Jacob were performing a sort of duet, and it might have been interesting to get the congregation to shut up and find out what they were singing. Dinner was a repeat of last Sunday's performance, though Susan cooked mutton, rather than beef, and it was after dinner that we settled under the tree. I had to tell my story more slowly, because Ben was there. Susan had invited Rob and Ben, but had said nothing to me about it, so that had been a surprise.
I suspect Mary was uncomfortable with the lavish surroundings in Geoff and Susan's home - at least at first. Susan soon cured that. Susan was the perfect hostess, but perfection includes knowing when to be less than perfect if you discover that you are making people uncomfortable. Quickly the cushions came off the chairs and were deposited on the floor for Emily to sit on. That was all it took. Just little things to signal that the furniture is to be used and is not sacred.
Anyway, I'm rambling. To the story.
In a land far away, long ago, on Christmas Day, there stood a grand palace. It stood there on all the other days too, but they don't rhyme so well. It stood atop a high mountain and a fast flowing river ran by its foot. The palace was not just grand. It was huge, and it was the grandest of the grand. It had towers, and spires, and pinnacles. It had crenelated ramparts and, if you've never seen a crenelated rampart, don't bother. None of the others could touch these crenelated ramparts anyway. It's great front entrance had a Doric portico, and all the other Doric porticos you see in the High Street are nothing to that one. There were columns with fancy capitals, spandrels and lots of other things I don't know the names for. It had flying buttresses, whatever they are, and its style was Norman-Gothic-Oriental-Greco-Romano (Post-Modern). It really was the grandest of the grand palaces the world has ever known.
The king, who ruled the land, lived in the grand palace and, of course, a grand palace had to have a grand king. He was dressed in finest velvet, and cloth of gold, trimmed with ermine and, on his head he balanced the grandest crown that you, or anybody else for that matter, have ever seen. It was pure gold, with silver tracery and was set with diamonds, emeralds, saphires, rubies, pearls and topazes. It must have been a pleasure to go to bed at night, just to be able to take the thing off. In the daytime he sat on his golden throne and held audiences. His grand queen sat by his side, and would occasionally make a pronouncement (I made one of those once, but it didn't last long).
Of course, passing the time in this way meant that neither of them had time to venture outside the palace, and the people who came for an audience were so much in awe of the splendour of the palace, and of the king, and of his queen, that they never dared to contradict anything that either of their majesties said. Both the king and queen were convinced that everybody in their kingdom lived as they did.
When the royal baker (he was really the only baker in the kingdom, and very poor) came for an audience the king would say,
"I see you have not come in your finest robes."
"Er.... no your majesty," the baker would say, "they are in the wash today."
When the Queen asked the royal greengrocer (who was even poorer) why he had once more come without his crown, the poor man was obliged to say,
"I'm afraid it's away being mended your majesty. The big ruby fell out."
In truth everybody in the kingdom was really poor, because all the money was spent on the King and Queen and their grand palace, but nobody dared to tell them that.
Now the royal seamstress, who had made the royal couple's golden robes, was probably the poorest person of all the poor people in the Kingdom. She had spent all her little savings on the robes for which, of course, it never occurred to their majesties to pay her. Now she had a little baby - a little girl called Emily - and if ever she had any money come in, it would be spent on feeding little Emily. Not that a lot of money DID come in, because she knew that all her customers were poor and couldn't afford to pay much.
One day when the winter was cold, and it was particularly hard, the poor seamstress made a decision. She had nothing, so they could take nothing away from her. If she and little Emily were to last through the Winter, she would have to go to the palace and ask for the money they owed her for the robes.
Now everybody in the kingdom knew that the king and queen had no children so they dare not take their children near the palace. In consequence when the seamstress set out to climb the mountain to visit the palace, she did so alone.
She was ushered into the royal presence and she made her request.
"What?" thundered the king. "We rule over the kindgom so that you can have all the finest things. We selflessly allow you to live on our streets of gold, and to wear your fine robes and jewellery, and you have the affrontery to turn up here, not in your best gown, but in these tatters, and demand to be paid?"
"It's anarchy, that's what it is." said the queen. "She is the start of some republican uprising. It must be stopped immediately. GUARDS! Throw her into our deepest dungeon. AT ONCE!"
Queens often use big words like "anarchy" and "republican" but I don't suppose they know what they mean, any more than you do.
So the poor seamstress was thrown into the deepest dungeon in the palace, and poor Emily was all alone.
When the seamstress did not return Emily cried a lot. Then she crept out into the forest and cried some more. A rabbit saw her, and took pity on her. He went and told the badger. An owl saw her, and took pity on her. He flew around and told all the pigeons. A stoat saw her, and took pity on her. He very bravely told a wolf.
The kind-hearted animals of the forest took pity on the little girl and brought her food. They gave her milk, and they warmed her by snuggling up to her with their warm fur.
The poor seamstress grew thin and sickly, lying in the deep dungeon,where they only fed her on bread and water.
Emily, on the other hand, grew bigger and healthier on the food brought by her friends, the animals of the forest, but she was still sad, because she missed her mother, the seamstress.
One day a pigeon told the owl, who whispered to the wolf, who said to the stoat, who mentioned to the mole, that the pigeon had peeped in at the window of the dungeon in the palace, and had seen a poor lady lying there. At once the animals decided to tell Emily.
Emily was in no doubt who the lady was, and determined to go to the palace to demand the release of her mother, but the animals of the forest had seen more of the ways of the world. They determined to go with her, to protect her.
So it was that, the very next day, a very strange procession marched up the mountain to the palace. There were voles, there were moles, there were rats ,there were bats, rabbits and weasels, and all kind of vermin, and badgers and foxes, and stoats clad in ermine, birds of the air, and the squirell from the tree, all kinds of creatures so wondrous to see, and there was Emily. The guard on the palace gate was powerless to stop them. In they marched, right to the throne-room, where the king and queen sat in state.
They were in conference with their main, chief, head, supreme advisor, when the army of animals marched in. The main, chief, head, supreme advisor took fright and hid behind the king's throne.
"Ahem!" said the king, importantly.
"Well really!" said the queen - not to be outdone.
Then they both fell silent. There in the middle of the animal army was a creature they had never seen before.
"Hist!" said the king, to the main, chief, head, supreme advisor, hidden behind his throne.
The man's head poked out.
"Your majesty!" he whispered.
"I don't wish to appear ignorant," whispered the king, "but, what is that."
"That, your majesty," whispered the main,chief,head,supreme advisor, "is a child."
"But it's beautiful," said the king. "Not as beautiful as my dear wife of course," (for he was afraid the queen might be listening), "but quite beautiful, and attired even more splendidly than we are."
Now, you should know that, when Emily crawled into the forest, she was a baby. Now she was quite a little girl and the only clothes she had that fitted her were made from the leaves of the forest, and had been stitched together for her by a kindly wren. The clothes, when new, had been green, but now, in the winter, they had turned to deepest gold.
The queen however was spellbound by the beauty of the child.
"Come here my dear," said the queen, less imperiously than usual.
The main, chief, head supreme advisor coughed importantly.
"Er, no! your majesty," he whispered. "That is a deer over there. The creature you were addressing is a child."
"Stupid man," muttered the queen. "Come here child."
And so the grand palace witnessed the spectacle of the throne room full of animals, while a small child sat on the queen's knee.
"My child," said the queen, more gently than usual. "Where did you get this beautiful gown. We have all the best things but I never saw anything like this before."
"Its material cannot be found in any shop," said Emily, "but I can show you where to find it."
"Impossible!" said the king. " The queen and I never leave...."
That was when he noticed his wife's face. He was not a cowardly man normally, but there was a limit to his bravery.
"I mean, of course, my dear," he said. "We'll put on our galoshes at once."
Now I don't know whether the king knew what galoshes were but, under the circumstances, it was the only thing he could think of to say.
"But, your majesty," said Emily, "there is only one person who can work this material into clothing, and that is the seamstress who is lying in your dungeon."
"Dear me," said the king, unwilling to let his wife think of it first this time, "let her be sent for at once."
And so it was that the King and Queen, and Emily and her mother, and all sorts of birds and animals, went down the mountain, and through the town and into the forest.
As they went through the town, the royal pair were distressed to learn that, not everybody lived as they did, but that their people were poor. They gathered up the leaves of the forest and the seamstress, with the help of the kindly wren, made superb robes for their majesties.
The King and Queen wore them whenever they visited the town, which they did often from then on, and grew to love the children there. They always paid their bills after that, and gave money to the poor and, whenever they came to town, the first person they would visit would be Emily.
"Teatime Jonah" said Geoff. "It's snowing again outside, so you won't want to be late getting Mary and Emily home."
Jacob's First Christmas Carol by Jonah
Stave the Fifth. The end of it.
Ashfield, MA 12/24/2019
Dear Jonah and everybody. We have snow here in Ashfield. I know that you have snow there too, but I just thought I'd mention it. Now Liam is excited because Santa comes tonight, and he has Ning all excited too. Kori is pretending that, at his great age, such things are beneath him, but I am not fooled, and neither is Liam. We had carollers round last night, and we gave them sherry and mince pies (see we can still remember how to do it English style). It is sad when young people grow up and the magic is lost, but I look at Kori and Liam and hope that some magic will linger. Now, for me, the magic will never fade because of a blessing. It will never fade because of the blessing of delivering a small child in the early hours of Christmas morning. I can never thank you too much for that my friend. Now between us we have so many blessings, and to top it all, it is Christmas time again. To You, Jonah, and to Simon and Peter and Luke, and also to Rob and Ben, and to Monica and Joe and Miriam and to my Godson, Jacob, as well as to Jeff and Susan and Jason and Sammy, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and God bless you all.
Jake, Kori and Liam
We have some wonderful friends in the US so it is always a pleasure to hear from them. Is it really a year since they were first here with us? Tomorrow will be Jacob's first birthday, and his second Christmas Day. Well some wonderful things have happened since last Christmas Day.
"E mail from Jake, Peter. You can read it, since it's addressed to you as well."
"I got one from Liam, but I'm not showing you that one. He told me not to."
"Well, if it's private, you shouldn't," I told him. "Unless one of you's in trouble. Then you should."
"Doesn't Kori believe in Father Christmas?"
"Do you think Simon does?"
"I don't know. We never really talk about it."
"Well that's not what Jake said anyway," I replied. "Kori is getting towards the stage that all children eventually get to. He has to question everything. Now it's not a bad thing to ask questions. I've always encouraged you boys to do it, but you mustn't start thinking that, if a thing can be questioned, it isn't true."
"So do you believe in Father Christmas?"
"Yes I do Peter. There was a time when I didn't, and the things that I believe about him are different to what you believe, but if anybody tells you that Father Christmas is just a pack of lies, I'm here to tell you that they're wrong."
"Luke says it's just grown-ups dressed up."
"Yes well, perhaps I'm overdue for a little talk with Luke. He's had a hard time, and that changes his view of things. Other than the word "just" though, he's got a point. You've surely seen people dressed up as department store Santas."
"Yes, but they're not the real Santa."
"Oh, but they are. If they can't take on the responsibility of being the real Santa, they shouldn't put on the suit. When they do that they should become Santa."
"That still doesn't make them real," said Luke from the doorway. "It just makes them good actors."
"Oh, it does does it?" I replied. "Well I give you boys presents at Christmas, because I love you. Does that make me a good actor?"
"Well no but....."
"Luke, all children believe things because grown-ups tell them to. All children grow up trying to be more grown-up still, and one of the ways they do that is by not believing everything they've been told. They reckon they've seen through the stories and are ever so much cleverer. As they get older still they get cleverer still. That's when they realise that they're not so clever, and that most of the things they learned as children were true after all, but they just didn't understand them."
"So you're telling me there is a Father Christmas?", said Luke, with more than a trace of cynicism, " and not just because Peter still believes in him."
"Luke, if I were telling you that, just because Peter still knows what you never learned, it would be a good reason, and it would be a bit spiteful on your part, to try to rob him of what you never had, but you're my son and, when I tell you things, it is for better reasons than that."
"Then, I don't understand" said Luke.
"I'm not sure I do either," Peter said.
"Then you'd both better sit here on the bed and listen," I replied.
"Are you sitting comfortably? Good, then I'll begin.
A long, long time ago - it doesn't matter how long - there was a family of mice. They were a large family - several generations in fact - and they lived in the bottom of an old, upright piano.
Great- grandfather had moved in there when he was quite a young mouse, and he and Great-grandmother seldom went out now, because they were very old.
Great-grandfather and great-grandmother had many children, and their children had many children, and they in turn had many children, so it was crowded in the bottom of the old piano, but none of them wanted to leave. No mouse in that family had ever wanted to leave.
It was a struggle to feed such a large family, but still something kept them loyal to the home that they loved. Can you guess what it was?
Well yes they loved each other, but they could still have done that if some of them had moved next door, into the kitchen. No they loved their old home because they loved the music.
Yes every evening, as the sun went down, and after tea, the most beautiful music would sound high up in the old piano. Sometimes it would sound at other times too, but it was truly beautiful music. It was soothing music, and its melody warmed the soul. The mice felt warm, and safe, and loved. It was good to feel that somewhere in their universe was somebody who could make such beautiful music.
Now, in the daytime, all sorts of problems filled the lives of the mice, and great debates often raged for days. Why does a spider need so many legs? And why do crumbs crumble into crumbs? What do dust mites eat? and does the fearsome and terrible cat-creature really exist? but in the evening, all debate ceased while every mouse settled down to enjoy the beautiful music.
Now Mortimer Mouse - the fourth son of the sixth son of Great-grandfather's twelvth son - was of an inquiring turn of mind, and he had to know everything, and he wasn't going to take anything on trust either. He had heard all the stories of the great and wonderful person who made the beautiful music, but all his investigating, and all his inquiring, had never turned up anybody who had actually seen this wonderful being.
One fine morning in Octember, for mice can never get dates right, Mortimer Mouse arrived at a decision. That very day, he was going to climb up into the heavens to find out, and to see for himself, the great and wonderful being who made the music. Mortimer, you see, was what we would call, a scientist.
Now it wasn't an easy climb, and there were no books to read about how to do it, for no mouse had ever done it before. It involved a lot of scrabbling up and a lot of falling back down again. The other mice soon learned to keep out from immediately below him, though I fear they learned the hard way, because no mouse had ever climbed the inside of the piano before. Eventually, however, Mortimer reached a height where there was a little light, and he was astounded. Between where he was, and the great wooden sounding board at the back, was a long line of upright metal rods. There were thick ones and there were thin ones. Mortimer scrabbled over to the nearest one and tapped it with his paw.
"Pingggggggg!" sounded out in a perfect F sharp.
Mortimer tapped the next one and, "Pinnnnnggggg" in F natural this time.
Mortimer had seen enough. Now he could prove that the great and wonderful being didn't exist.
He scrabbled and tumbled his way back to the bottom of the piano and told everybody his news. There was sadness.
Soon the lovely music rang out, and everybody loved it. It soothed the soul and they felt better, but next morning, every mouse had a sad feeling in the tips of his (or her) whiskers. Now that Mortimer had found the truth, nothing was quite the same.
Now Mortimer had a girlfriend - Marianna Mouse - and they were engaged to become mouse and wife, after Christmas, when Januwobble came. He was distressed though that, since he had come back from his exploration, she was a little cool toward him. You see his news had made her sad too. This made Mortimer sad, and it also made him think hard. Was it possible he could have been mistaken. Then suddenly it came to him. "Eurika!" he cried, because scientists always exclaim things like that in ancient Greek, "Of course, I had to make the noise with my paw. The strings can't do it on their own."
Of course, you would have thought of that right away, but Mortimer was nothing if not persistant, besides which, he wanted to look forward to a peaceful married life. He determined that, on the very next morning - the Fumph day of Novumble - he would climb again, but he must go higher this time, that way he might find the being who tapped the strings.
Well he climbed, and you know that he had done it before, so he didn't fall down again QUITE so often, and he eventually reached the ledge from which he had first seen the strings. Then it was that Mortimer climbed some more, and I expect you already know what he found. Yes, there was a rack of wooden hammers. There was one for each string and it didn't need a genius to work out that, if they swung forward, they would hit the strings.
Mortimer was sad. He'd so wanted to be proved wrong. He was a scientist, however, so there was nothing for it but to climb back down and tell the news of his discovery. Nearly every mouse was sad. Of course there were some mice who still believed in the existance of the pianist, but they were just branded religious fanatics. The other mice, sadly, just enjoyed the music."
"So there IS a Father Christmas?" said Luke.
"Maybe," I replied. "Either way, you're not being very clever by writing him off."
"Why?"
"Because Christmas is a magical time," I replied. "Lots of people work very hard to make that magic. There are also cynical, people, with twisted minds and hearts, who work to destroy it. You just have to make up your mind which you are."
"I don't think I know how to make magic," he said sadly.
I smiled.
"You are magic Luke," I told him, "and don't let anybody tell you otherwise."
"But how do you make magic?"
"With little acts of kindness Luke," I replied. "Not trying to shatter what you regard as your brother's illusions would be a good start. Think about it. What is it Peter believes in? Goodness? Kindness? Generosity? Love? Instead of destroying his dreams, wouldn't it be better to just make them come true?"
"I'd need a red suit and a beard to do that," Luke remarked.
"Nope! I'm doing it, and I've never put a phoney beard on to do it."
"You don't need to,"observed Luke. "You ARE Father Christmas."
"If you think that," I countered, "why tell Peter otherwise?"
He winced.
"Ouch! I never saw that coming."
"So who is Father Christmas really?" Peter asked.
"Well I believe in a God who loves us all and gives us all good things," I replied. "I don't often call Him Father Christmas, but He fits the description. Luke, apparently, believes he's an Earthly parent, which puts a lot of responsibility on me, but I'll do my best. The important thing is that you both know that you are loved. God loves you, and I love you, and that's the way it should be. Now it's time we thought about dinner. Simon will be back from Monica's soon. Then, since Mary and Emily are round here for dinner tomorrow, we've got some more presents to wrap. Tonight, Simon and I are going to Church for the midnight service, but I think you two should come as well. Since you both want to know about the magic of Christmas, I think you should see for yourselves. "
Yes, gentle reader, our little family welcomed the Christ-child. A light shone in the darkness, and the darkness would never put it out.
Merry Christmas to one and all.