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YET IN THY DARK STREETS SHINETH.

by

David Calvert

Young Danny Braithwaite had but one thing on his mind as he sprang from his

bed and dashed to the window. ‘This time!’ he thought, excitedly drawing back the

curtain. A harsh white light invaded the bedroom, chasing the sleep from his eyes, and he

let out a jubilant ‘Whoop!’ at the magical transformation that had taken place over night.

He had waited almost an entire year and, at last, the snows had arrived.

“C’mon young’n!” he urged, shaking his brother violently from his sleep. “It’s

been snowin’. Let’s get ready and go out to play.”

Alan, his junior by two years, grumpily told him to ‘Nick off’, that it was far too

cold to get out of bed, and promptly pulled the covers over his head. Then suddenly the

import of the message struck home. “Snowin’!” he shrieked, sitting bolt upright.

“Yeah! Look – it’s as deep as anything.”

He scrambled to the window, blankets in tow. “Cor! Look at that. It must have

snowed all night to get as deep as that.”

“What’s going on in there?” called a familiar voice from the adjacent room.
 The celebrations came to an abrupt halt. “Er, nothin’ mam.” Danny called back

with a snigger, “We’re just getting’ ready to go out.”

“Not until you’ve both had your breakfast you’re not. And besides,” she

continued, “it started snowing last night, so I want you both properly dressed.”

“Yer know what that means, young’n.” Danny sighed. “Before we get outta here,

she’ll have us done up like Eskimos.”

That morning conversation at the breakfast table was animated. Alan was helping

himself to his third spoonful of strawberry jam, which he dolloped into his porridge and

swirled around until a glutinous pink mass stared up at him from the bowl. Danny was in

the throes of a protracted argument with his sister Carol, the eldest of the trio, over whose

Christmas presents would occupy the sofa the following morning. In the midst of their

dispute an innocent question brought everything to a shuddering halt.

“Mam – what’s the ‘Big C?’”?

Every eye was now trained on Alan, as he noisily sucked the dregs of porridge

from his tablespoon.

Mary’s face blanched as she slowly lowered the cup from her lips. “What do you

mean, love? Why do you ask?”

“Cos Ricky Pinder said he heard his mam and dad talkin’ about me dad, and they

said he had the ‘Big C’.”

Her face switched to an angry shade of red. “Did they now!” she snapped. “Well

you just take no notice of anything they have to say, sweetheart.” She sipped the last

dregs from her cup and rose to collect the breakfast dishes from the table. It was then she

noticed her daughter had become very quiet and seemed preoccupied with her thoughts.
 Carol was fourteen and was fully aware of the situation concerning her much

missed father. When he had first been admitted into hospital she and her brothers had

been allowed regular visits, but as his condition worsened only the adults were permitted

to see him – a decision she had found unbearably cruel, given that he may not be with

them for very much longer. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes as she pondered a life

without him.

“Alright kids!” Mary chirped. “Seeing as how it’s Christmas Eve, why don’t you

all write a note to Santa, telling him what you want.” She knew, of course, that Danny

and Carol were almost past the age of innocent belief, but this was a family tradition, and

besides, there was still the youngster to consider.

As she had hoped, Carol’s sombre thoughts were soon distracted as they each took

up pen and paper and began writing in earnest. The task completed, they folded their

sheets and ceremoniously burned them in the fire; the premise being that the smoke from

the ashes would, somehow, be carried to the North Pole where, they were reliably

informed, Father Christmas would, in some undisclosed manner, read it and fulfil their

wishes.

Danny was the first to be ready and waited impatiently as his mother dressed the

youngster. True to his earlier statement, she had ensured that each of them was suitably

attired for the wintry climate. But no sooner had they left her sight, when off came the

balaclavas and scarves and an energetic snowball fight ensued. As it progressed, so did

the number of their group until, at length, it seemed as though an entire army of children

were fighting a pitched battle at the end of the street. Eventually, the group filtered down

to a mere handful and it was suggested that better fun could be had on the neighbouring
pit-heap.

The ‘heapy’, as the boys were wont to call it, stood almost fifty feet in height and

had a broad, even top, creating a plateau effect which the boys put to good use as their

personal playground. In their time it had served a multitude of purposes. Today, it would

be employed as a gigantic slide from which they would propel themselves on remnants of

old conveyor belting, hurtling at breathtaking speeds down the icy covered slopes. With

boundless energy and screams of delight they descended, amid flurries of freezing snow,

to the farmer’s field below. Eventually, even their youthful exuberance gave way to cold

and hunger, and so it was decided that they would all go home for dinner, but return soon

after to continue the fun.

After lunch, Mary announced that she would be visiting their father that evening

and that they would be staying at Uncle Tom’s and Aunt V’s until she returned to collect

them. For Danny, in particular, the idea of spending Christmas Eve with his aunt and

uncle was an appealing one. They were a childless couple that lavished attention on the

children whenever the opportunity arose.

True to form, Tom greeted them with a cheery smile and proceeded to pull from

behind the ears of each of them, much to the boys’ amazement and glee, a fifty pence

piece, which he deposited into their eagerly waiting hands.

On entering the living room they gasped in admiration. Dominating one corner

was a brightly lit Christmas tree, bedecked with all manner of ornamentation, and

surmounted by a glistening star of silver. From the four corners of the ceiling to its centre

were draped richly coloured streamers of tinsel and paper. An advent calendar, its tiny

windows pealed back, hung in the centre of the fire breast, flanked on either side with a
wreath of holly. The entire room had been lovingly decorated in a multitude of effects to

delight and stimulate the senses. Only when the house light was switched off was their

true effect fully appreciated by the children.

Within half an hour of their mother’s departure, Alan announced, “I’m hungry!”

“You’re always hungry.” His sister declared.

Veronica looked up. “I think that should do it.” She said, applying the final

strokes of the brush to her niece’s auburn hair. “There’s some apple pie due out the oven

if any one wants any.” She said.

A chorus of “Yes please!” went out from the children, followed by a grunt from

their uncle who was otherwise occupied showing off his latest feat of legerdemain to an

appreciative audience of two.

“There’s no such thing as real magic!” Carol declared, defiantly. “Nobody can do

real magic.”

Danny was becoming increasingly tired of his sister’s ill-tempered moods and

was about to say as much when Tom intervened.

“And what makes you say that?” he quizzed.

“Because there just isn’t.” came her terse reply. “If people could do magic then

wishes would come true, but they don’t. They don’t come true no matter how hard you

try.” She was on the verge of tears when her aunt entered, laden with food and drink.

“You know,” Tom said between mouthfuls of freshly baked apple pie, “wishes can

come true – can’t they, love?” he turned to Veronica and smiled knowingly.

She, in turn, smiled, the corners of her mouth accentuating her dimpled cheeks.

“Alright then,” she relented, “if you must.”

 It was then he announced, “We’re going to have a baby!”

Veronica coughed loudly.

“Well – that is – “ he corrected himself, “Aunt V’s going to have the baby. In a

few months you’ll have a new cousin to play with. So you see,” he said, “some wishes do

come true.”

Carol wanted to believe with all her heart that things could be made different by

simply wishing it; that by some magical process, the love she had for her father was

strong enough to overcome the illness that kept them apart. In Danny and Alan, too, a

longing for their father had begun to stir, engendering cherished memories of Christmas’

past.

Tom looked out of the window to the snow capped roofs and the streets beyond.

He, too, missed his brother and sniffed back a single tear that threatened his composure.

Suddenly the phone rang.

After listening for a few brief moments, Veronica called out to Tom, “You’d better

take this.” Her hands were shaking as she passed the receiver to Tom. “It’s Mary.” she

whispered.

Fighting back his apprehension, he put the receiver to his ear and turned his back

on the children. The first sound he heard was his sister-in-law’s sobbing. “It’s Jim!” she

wept. He’s . . .”

“Don’t tell me!” he exclaimed. “Not tonight, of all nights.”

By now the children were alert to the serious tone in their uncle’s voice.

“No, no. You don’t understand.” Mary laughed, “He’s in remission He’s getting

better!”
 “But I thought there was . . . “

“No hope.” she cut in. “We all did, but that’s not the queerest thing, Tom. Jim told

me he’d had an odd dream this afternoon. He said he’d dreamt that three tiny fireballs

had entered through the hospital window and that as he watched, each of them turned into

a sheet of paper that fluttered to his bed. He recognised the handwritings on all of them as

belonging to the children. It was the very same letters they had written to Santa this

morning, Tom. I’m sure of it!”

“But what makes you so sure?” he asked.

“Because of what they’d written. Ask them what they wrote, Tom, and I’ll bet

they all tell you the same thing: “Dear Santa, all we want for Christmas is our dad

back."

Tom did as was requested of him and was stunned at their replies.

Later that night, as a fresh fall of snow gently descended earthwards, they huddled

contentedly around the tree, each knowing that something truly magical had taken place.

It turned out to be a Christmas unlike any other; a Christmas they would never forget in

the years to come.

ENDS