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Memories From
Macclesfield

ry C hr istm a
Merto all our readers s
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 2

Inside The People’s Friend

this issue
Seasons Greetings To All!
A very warm welcome to
this, our second festive
bumper issue.
I hope you are enjoying
the build-up to Christmas.
As always with the p25
“Friend”, our aim is to
bring you lovely stories
and fascinating features,
which we aim to do every
week.
But there is no doubt
that there is something
special, as we move into
the final weeks of the year, to see the magazine filled
with seasonal joy.
I would just like to take this opportunity to say
thank you for welcoming me into the “Friend” family
this year.
It has been an absolute pleasure to get to know
you and to help bring you all the great reading you
love in every issue.
I love receiving your letters and emails, and I would
ask that you keep them coming as we move into
2024.
I do hope you will be able to spend precious time
with loved ones over the next couple of weeks.
Fiction
We always, understandably, wish each other all the 4 The Spirit Of
best as the year comes to the end, but really, good The Season
wishes should extend to every day. by Pamela
Therefore, I will end with a quote from Charles Kavanagh
Dickens’s timeless Yuletide tale, “A Christmas Carol”. 12 Roger That!
“I will honour Christmas in my heart and try to by Graeme Edwards
keep it all year.” Amen to that.
16 A Midwinter Tale
On behalf of everyone who works on the “Friend”, I
would like to wish you a very happy Christmas.
by Eirin Thompson
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 3

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 4
Set
in the
1890s
The Spirit Of
The Season
Elias wanted nothing but the best for
his kind niece this Yuletide . . .
E
LIAS opened the
door on Christmas
morning to whirling
flakes of snow.
“Best get in plenty
of wood for the fire,” he
said, reaching for his cap
and jacket.
There was a button
missing on the jacket and
he resolved to ask their
Rose to see to it.
Illustration by Ruth Blair.
She was a good lass, was
Rose.
She was the only one of
their Wilf’s girls unwed and,
in Elias’s opinion, the pick
of the bunch.
BY PAMELA KAVANAGH
It was still early and all
very quiet.
Elias stood a moment,
recalling last night when
the carollers had come.
Their hearty songs had
taken him back to when he
was one of them, holding
the lantern that lit them on
their way.
Always a sup of
something at farmstead or
cottage door to help them
on to the next call.
They had been good
times.
He and Florrie had
walked together then.
Comely Florrie Parkin.
The sound of her fine
contralto harmonising with
his baritone would live in
his memory forever.
The air was cold and
fresh, flavoured with a
spicy waft from the tall
holly bush.
He should have made
some decorative holly balls
to sell at the gate, Elias
thought, with a tiny twinge
of guilt.
He had time enough on
his hands now that young
Rob Tremaine, next door
to their Wilf, had taken
over the woodyard he had
built up from scratch.
Elias entered the
woodshed to the tang of
stored timber.
From the holly bush, a
robin chirruped a cheerful
phrase of notes.
In the dimness of the
shed something caught his
eye in a shaft of daylight.
Curious, Elias went to
investigate.
“Lord ’umble us, if it inna
a Yuletide gift!
“Who’s been a-spending
their pennies on the likes of
me?” Elias asked in
astonishment
The robin sang all the
heartier, as if telling him to
look sharp and open the
present.
First things first, Elias
decided.
Slipping the package into
his coat pocket, he took an
armful of apple logs back
to the house.
Several journeys were
made before the chimney
alcove was stacked floor to
ceiling.
Done at last, he found a
crust of bread and went
out again to crumble it up
for the robin.
“Merry Christmas, kind
sir,” he wished the bird.
“Thank ’ee for the song.”

The robin looked at him
knowingly with bright eyes
and fluttered down to peck
appreciatively at the bread.
Indoors again, the fire of
apple logs crackling
fragrantly, Elias made a pot
of tea.
It was his festive
indulgence, tea being an
expensive commodity.
Pouring a good strong
cup, he took out the parcel
and placed it before him on
the table.
There was no written
label on the front, no
greeting tag, nothing.
Likely it was Rose, Elias
deduced, thinking to
surprise him for Christmas,
bless her.
He would know for sure
when she came.
He did not have long to
wait. A tap on the window,
a lively hail, and she was
there, stamping snow from
her boots on the mat.
She brushed errant flakes
from the thick mane of
dark hair that fell beneath
the rim of her rose-pink
bonnet.
Laughing, she kissed his
whiskery cheek.
“Uncle Elias, merry
Christmas!”
“And to you, Rosie.
Oh-ho, what’s all this?”
She was unpacking the
basket she had with her.
“Mam sent it. There’s a
joint of cooked ham, a
crock of pickles, a plum
pudding and a wedge of
fruitcake.
“Oh, and a fresh-made
loaf.”
“A feast fit for a king.
You mun thank your mam
very kindly.”
“I shall, though I wish you
would spend the day with
us, Uncle.
“I don’t like to think of
you all alone at Christmas.”
“Tes no hardship, and
your mam will have enough
of a houseful with all the
family there.”
“Oh, listen to you. The
more the merrier.
“You know where we are
if you change your mind.
“Dear Uncle Elias, this is
from me.”
She gave him a hand-
knitted scarf in his
favourite shade of maroon.
“Thank ’ee, Rose. I shall
be hunky-dory in this.
“There’s summat on the
dresser for ’ee.”
Retrieving the clumsily
wrapped package, Rose
tore off the paper and
beamed.
“Shell buttons for my new
blouse! How did you know
what I wanted?”
“A little bird told me.”
“Robin redbreast in the
garden?”
“Could’ve been.”
She laughed.
“Thank you, dear Uncle
Elias. Oh, my, what’s that?”
Rose’s gaze had fallen on
the yet-unwrapped parcel
on the table.
“Found it in the
woodshed when I went to
get logs for the fire.
“Someone left it there. I
thought it were ’ee, Rose.
Seems not.”
“A mystery gift! I wonder
who brought it.
“Do open it. There could
be a message inside.”
Elias untied the ribbon
and pulled off the
wrapping, revealing a tin of
top quality pipe tobacco.
“Lord ’umble us, if it inna
my best liked!
“I’m blessed if can think
who’s responsible for this.”
He was grinning broadly,
a touch of puzzlement in
his eyes.
“I shall enjoy a pipe of
baccy after me Christmas
meal. You off, then, Rosie?”
“I fear so. Lots to do
before church.
“We’re all going to the
early service together and
Mam wants the dinner
prepared beforehand.
Cheerio, Uncle Elias.”
* * * *
Who sent the tobacco?
Plodding homewards
through the deepening
snow, Rose debated the
question.
Someone had brought
the true spirit of
Christmastide into her
uncle’s home with that gift.
It smacked of grudges
forgotten and good will
abounding – all the
wonderful qualities that
this special day stood for.
Rose bit her lip. Wasn’t
she guilty of grudges and
hurts herself?
The quarrel with Netta
had been silly, really.
And all because she had
caught her friend
whispering with Rob next
door.
Their heads had been
close together.
Netta was becoming.
She knew how to attract
the lads with a flutter of
her lashes whereas Rose
felt she herself was rather
plain.
Still, Rose wanted to
make it up with Netta and
Uncle Elias’s mystery caller
had shown her the way.
The hair ribbons she had
bought for her friend were
still languishing in her
“Bless you, child. It’s Christmas
and you are only young once”
handkerchief drawer at
home.
If she hurried, there
would be time to wrap up
the gift and take it to Netta
and still be back to help
Mam prepare for the family
meal before church.
* * * *
“Oh, Rose! How splendid
of you! These will be
perfect for tomorrow when
Jed Norman comes to tea.
“I was looking for this
very shade of blue and all I
could find was boring
navy.” Netta pouted her
lips. “Disastrous!”
“Jed Norman – the
smith’s lad?”
“Why, yes. Did I not say?
He asked me to walk out
with him a while back – but
it never does to be too
eager, does it?
“And then I said yes and
things developed.
“He’s invited to Boxing
Day tea. Imagine!”
“But I thought you and
Rob . . .”
“Rob Tremaine next
door to you?
“As if I would entertain
such a thing when I know
how sweet you are on him.”
“It was just that you
looked so intimate.”
Netta shook her head,
flaxen curls bobbing.
“Dear me, no! It was
nothing, truly.
“But see, it’s Christmas
morning and I have
something for you, too.”
Netta’s gift was a
lace-edged cambric
SHORT STORY 5
handkerchief that would go
well with Rose’s new
blouse.
But better still was the
hug and make-up on her
friend’s doorstep.
Mam was bent over the
oven of the range, basting
the loin of pork she hoped
would go round them all.
She glanced up, flushed
with effort, as Rose entered
the kitchen.
“You’re back! Rob called.
He wants to see you.” She
slammed the cast-iron door
on the sizzling pork.
“Did Rob say what he
wanted?” Rose asked.
“Goodness me, no. Best
you pop round and see. I
told him I’d send you.”
“And leave you to peel all
those potatoes?”
Mam tutted, smiling.
“Bless you, child. It’s
Christmas and you are only
young once.
“Away with you and see
Rob. Just watch the time.
“We don’t want to miss
the early service.”
Rose took a quick look in
the mirror over the
fireplace.
She tidied her hair and
refastened her bonnet
strings at a flattering angle.
Gratified to see that her
cheeks were glowing and
eyes bright from the
bracing outdoors, she took
herself out again.
The snow had stopped
and Rob was in the garden,
clearing the front path.
He was incredibly
personable in good
broadcloth.
He put aside the broom
and gave Rose a smile.
“Why, Rose, what a
picture you are. The colour
becomes you.”
Rose blushed, her face
going pinker than the
velvet of her new clothes.
Playing the gallant was
unlike Rob and she tried to
think how best to respond.
Rob saved her the bother
by drawing from his top
pocket a small, square
tortoiseshell box, handing
it to her.
“Happy Christmas, Rose.”
6
Rose’s heart began
beating wildly.
With trembling fingers
she opened the lid and
there, nestling inside on a
bed of cream velvet, was a
ring.
“Oh!” She looked
enquiringly into Rob’s
steady brown eyes.
“Will you wed me, Rose?
For to be sure I’ve loved
you ever since we sat
together in school under
Miss Parkin’s gimlet eye.
“The woodyard is doing
well, Rosie. I am in a
position to support a wife.”
Rose hesitated. There
was nothing she wanted
more than to wed Rob.
But she had to make sure
of one thing – to hear the
words from Rob’s own lips.
“I saw you with Netta.
You were whispering.”
Rob’s eyes danced
merrily. He looked like the
There was nothing Rose wanted
more than to wed Rob
Rob of old, who had teased
her mercilessly and made
her laugh till she cried.
“Why, I do believe you
are jealous,” Rob declared.
“I am not! Netta claimed
it was nothing.”
“Did she? I wouldn’t have
called it nothing, exactly,
though it was nothing to
come between you and me.
Reckon I’d best explain.
“Miss Parkin wanted to
buy someone a Christmas
box but could not bring
herself to enter the shop in
question.”
Rose caught her breath.
Had she stumbled upon the
mystery giver?
“Was it tobacco?” she
asked breathlessly.
“Why, yes.” Rob stared,
surprised. “Miss Parkin
asked Netta if she would
approach a man to get it
for her – a tobacconist’s
premises not being the
most seemly for a lady.
“I came along and Netta
seized her chance. Wonder
what Miss Parkin was up
to?”
At that moment the
church bells began
summoning worshippers to
prayer.
Doors opened and folks
dressed in their best
scuttled out, the air
echoing excited voices and
calls of festive good wishes.
“Oh, my goodness. Mam
said to hurry so’s to make
the early service and get
back to baste the pork.”
“You haven’t given me an
answer. Wed me, Rose?”
“Yes! Oh, yes.”
Time seemed to stand
still as Rob removed the
ring from its case and
slipped it tenderly on her
finger.
“A kiss and we shall walk
to church together.
“You shall tell me what
you know about Miss
Parkin and the tin of very
expensive tobacco.”
* * * *
It was a joyful procession
that made its way to
worship that morning.
Rose’s sisters were there
with their families.
“A June wedding, I think,
Wilf,” Mam was saying to
Father. “The roses will be
out then.”
Mam chattered on and,
bringing up the rear, Rob
and Rose murmured
together secretively.
Once the service was
over, cottagers and gentry
alike gathered outside the
church in chatting groups.
The newly betrothed pair
excused themselves.
“For we must tell Uncle
Elias the news,” Rose said
to Mam, watching the
sparkle of the ring in a
shaft of wintry sunlight.
“Off you go, then. And
wear your muff or you’ll get
chilled.”
“Oh, Mam!”
Rose laughed and, linking
arms with Rob, the pair set
off along the frosting lanes
to Elias’s half-timbered
home by the wood.
* * * *
Elias was thinking about
sampling the festive fare
when a familiar tap came
at the window.
Seconds later the door
opened to admit Rose.
She was flushed, smiling
and beautiful, with Rob
Tremaine in tow.
It did not take a look at
the ring on Rose’s finger to
put two and two together.
“Tes goodly news, I’s
thinking. ’Ee, lad,
congratulations.
“You cunna have made a
better choice.
“Every happiness to the
pair of you!”
“Thank you, sir.” Rob,
too, was all smiles. “Rest
assured the woodyard will
certainly be in safe hands.”
“I never doubted it when
you took it on, Rob, though
tes gratifying how things
have turned out.
“Sorta keeps me
woodyard in the family,
like.”
Elias had just opened the
port wine he was saving for
a special occasion – and
none was none more so
than this – when there was
a discreet cough from the
open doorway.
The three of them
glanced up.
There stood Miss Parkin,
looking very trim in her
cape of holly-green and
matching fur-trimmed hat.
“Why . . . I mean, if it
inna ’ee, Florrie!
“Come in, dunna you
stand there in the cold.”
She stepped inside, a
little nervously.
“I came to convey my
compliments of the season,
but you appear to be
occupied.”
“Nay, you mun join us,
Florrie.
“Wish this happy pair all
the best for the future.”
“Indeed it will be my
pleasure.”
With glasses raised and a
toast given, silence fell.
Florrie Parkin’s gaze took
in Elias’s unkept
appearance.
“Dear me, there is a
button missing from that
coat.
“And a little attention to
hair and beard would not
come amiss.
“It has been some while
since you joined us in the
Christmas Eve carol
singing.
“I declare you need
taking in hand, Elias.”
He blinked.
“Um, well . . . happen
so, Florrie.”
“Did you like my gift?”
she went on, more sweetly.
“It were ’ee left it?”
“Indeed. Oh, Elias.
What wasted years they
have been.
“And all because I wanted
to pursue my teaching
ambitions – a necessarily
singleton path for a woman
to take – and you had your
woodman’s business to
build up.
“We are practically
neighbours and scarcely a
word between us in all this
time.”
Rob gave Rose a nudge.
“Maybe we should make
ourselves scarce?” he
suggested softly.
They left quietly and
Florrie Parkin stayed on.
Elias refilled their glasses
and, sitting by the fire, they
talked as if making up for
lost time.
When the mantel clock
struck noon, Florrie said
she must go.
“Millie will have the meal
ready and woe betide me if
I am late.”
“Oh-ho, that wunna do at
all!” Elias exclaimed.
He saw her to the gate,
where plans were made for
the following day.
Through the bare
branches of the trees, a
light from her house spilled
out commandingly.
Housemaid Millie
announced that the festive
meal would not wait.
At the turn in the path,
Florrie paused, sent Elias a
promising salute, and
walked smartly on.
There was a sudden
flutter of wings and the
robin alighted on the
gatepost.
“Who would’ve
countenanced it?” Elias
asked the bird. “Our Rose
and young Rob Tremaine
making plans and me
woodyard looking to be a
family concern, God willing.
“And if it dunna crown
all, Florrie and her tin of
baccy gettin’ the ball
rolling between us again.
And all on a Christmas
morning!”
The robin answered with
a chirruping song that, to
Elias, rounded off the
proceedings a treat. ■
 lovingg
BITS & PIECES 7
This week we’re

Wintertime Wonder We Glove It A Novel Noel

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at Leeds Castle from now until
January 1. The castle will be
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out more at leeds-castle.com.
These heated gloves will keep your
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supply which can be charged up using
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A bookshop is the perfect
setting for a cosy winter read.
With that in mind, grab a copy of
Jenny Colgan’s “Midnight At The
Christmas Bookshop”. It’s an
uplifting festive tale set against a
wintry Edinburgh backdrop.

Festive Favourite
Dig out “Elf” and sit down to enjoy
a family movie night under the tree
lights.
There’s not
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the big
day, and
we think
this is the
perfect
festive
Birthday Club Market Madness
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you in the who turns sixty on December 18. the magnificent Christmas markets
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festive treat! Tudor mince pies sink our feet into – they make you KFC for Christmas. It’s so popular
Images: Shutterstock.

contained 13 ingredients to
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In other old recipes, lamb and
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feel that bit warmer on those chilly
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Talk about feeling peckish . . .

Details correct at time of going to press.

 8

Memories From Neil McAllister

reminisces about

Macclesfield
past Christmases
spent in the
area around this
Cheshire town.

This week’s
cover
feature

Factfile
■ Smith’s Patent
Process Germ Flour,
today known as Hovis,
was first produced in
Macclesfield.

■ The Macc Lads

were Macclesfield’s
contribution to punk
music, but the town is
better known through
its connection to
tragic Joy Division
singer Ian Curtis, who
is commemorated on
a mural that looks
out from a gable wall
near the bus station.

■ Macclesfield
provided the
backdrop for the 2022
film “Your Christmas
Or Mine” whilst much
of Anton Corbijn’s
2007 film “Control”
about Ian Curtis was
filmed in the town.

■ Capesthorne Hall is
the home of Sir
William Bromley-
Davenport and his
wife, Lizzie. They
often host a number
Images: Neil McAllister.

of cultural events in
December, like the
Christmas carol
recitals, concerts and
festive markets.

Looking out across the
wintry slopes of Blaze Hill.
D
ESPITE growing
up in Cardiff,
every childhood
Christmas
memory of mine
is of the corner of east
Cheshire.
That’s where the hills
of the Peak District rise to
the east, the Cheshire Plain
stretches out towards
Chester, with Manchester’s
smoky conurbation to the
north.
One of my earliest
memories is a winter
journey by steam train to
Macclesfield, where the
gap between carriages
wobbled precariously.
Our destination was the
family home of Bollington,
which we previously visited
for the “Friend” when it was
declared one of England’s
best places to live.
Every Christmas was
spent at Grannie and
Grandad’s tiny cottage,
with its outside loo and tap
water so tasty I would take
bottles home.
Bedtime was in Auntie
Mildred’s next door, where
I would wake on Christmas
morning to find ice inside
the window and Santa’s
delivery in a pillow case.
Whilst my father’s family
arrived in Manchester from
Glasgow and Ireland to
Conical Tegg’s
Nose gives the
nearby Country
Park its name.
THIS WEEK’S COVER FEATURE
Shrigley Hall Hotel
is the perfect base
to explore the area.
work in Manchester’s mills,
my mother’s crowd were
earlier settlers.
The family story is that
two Scottish brothers of
the Gordon clan slipped
away from the army
returning from the
Peninsular Wars, settling in
the hamlet of Rainow in the
early 1800s.
By the time their
occupation of farmer was
recorded in the 1820s, the
name had been anglicised
to Gardiner.
The Gardiners made their
mark on local trade,
becoming grocers.
By the end of that
century, my great-
grandfather was partner in
the colliery and brick-
making works in Pott
Shrigley, in which church
Hazel and I tied the knot
40 years ago.
Shrigley Hall Hotel –
former home of the
Downes family – is a great
base to explore the area if
you fancy somewhere with
some history.
In any season Rainow is a
particularly pretty village,
lining the twisting, turning
road, which stretches from
where Kerridge Ridge is
home to stone quarries, to
where the landscape opens
up over Billinge.
Traders at the open-air Treacle
Market set up on Mill Street.
9
My intention was to take
a panoramic picture of this
scenic delight but, as we
rose up Blaze Hill, snow
started to fall.
By the time we reached
what used to be the
Highwayman Inn – another
victim of the decline of
country pubs – the view
had vanished.
“Maybe it will be clear in
Macclesfield,” Hazel said.
Rainow’s altitude won’t
be a surprise to fans of
BBC Radio’s “Today”
programme as Brian
Redhead, who lived in the
village, often talked about
the area.
By coincidence, his old
house on the lane towards
Tegg’s Nose Country Park
is now home to one of
Hazel’s childhood friends.
During the run-up to
Christmas 2022, this park
held an Elf Hunt,
encouraging children to
follow a trail to discover
hidden creatures.
From Teggs Nose’s car
park, as the snow cleared,
we enjoyed spectacular
views towards Macclesfield
Forest and the conical peak
of the hill – which gives the
park its name.
We retraced our route
along Bull Hill Lane back to
Rainow’s Holy Trinity
10
Church, where the old
pews have lately been
removed.
They’ve been replaced
with an assortment of
trees, each decorated with
a theme. One celebrated
friendship, whilst another
creation was creatively
recycled plastic bottles.
On the other side of the
main road Kerridge Ridge
leads to Bollington, where
White Nancy, the
Napoleonic memorial, has
been painted as Santa
Claus in the past.
One of my early
memories was hopping off
the bus in Waters Green by
the railway station, and
exploring the market
across the road.
Alongside the cattle
market, this was a bustling
place, where stalls
crammed with crockery,
edible goodies and “fents”
– ends of rolls of fabric –
did a roaring trade.
The town was once home
to many textile mills,
especially those spinning
and weaving silk, which
gave it the nickname
Silktown.
I’m sure many readers
remember the Macclesfield
silk pictures woven by
Brocklehurst Whiston in
the post-war years.
Now very collectable, the
story of these beautifully
woven pictures is recalled
in the town’s free-to-enter
silk museum at the bottom
end of Mill Street.
Descending from the
town centre, the unusual
white building on your
right is the old Majestic
Cinema, which closed years
ago.
But Maxonians, as locals
are known, do not lack
cultural experiences.
Cinemac in the Heritage
Centre on Roe Street hosts
Roger Monk with his
magnificent mushrooms.
Rainow has won
several prizes for
Best Kept Village.
shows, films, plays and
musical events.
If you fancy a brief walk,
find Paradise Street, where
a line of restored three-
storey terraced homes all
feature weaver’s garrets.
If you fancy taking home
a sofa, local institution
Arighi Bianchi’s store has
traded in the town since
the 1850s.
In more recent years a
colourful story has grown
up around the monthly
Treacle Market – which is
named after a wagon laden
with sticky sweetness,
which overturned on the
cobbles in bygone times.
The street market,
established in the 1990s,
has proved a popular
alternative to the covered
market hall, which has
suffered as out-of-town
shopping developments
have starved the town
centre of trade.
Centred in the space
outside St Michael’s Parish
Church and town hall, stalls
spread through the town’s
elevated centre, bringing
much appreciated trade.
If you arrive by train, you
have a choice of routes to
the market, either up
Waters Green to
Churchside, where you can
pause to appreciate
Holden and Prescott’s
decorations, or Will
Prescott’s waistcoat.
Larkton Hall Cheese
have lots of delicious
treats on offer!
The stately Holy Trinity
Church at Rainow.
Alternatively, turn left
past the Travelodge to
climb the 108 steps,
emerging exhausted to
enjoy the lovely old
properties at the top.
In the cobbled square
outside St Michael’s, we
found Rob Gray playing
and selling his home-made
cigar-box guitars.
“It is a perfect place to
buy unusual presents,” my
wife enthused, spotting
Ruth Robinson on her
hand-crafted ceramics stall.
“I’ve been doing the
Treacle Market for years,
and because of it I was able
to become self-employed.”
Ruth smiled.
Like the old outdoor
market, today’s stalls sell
an amazing variety of
things, many of which are
made in the locality – like
honey from Happy Valley.
“We have one hundred
and twenty hives,” Claire
Beardmore told us. “We
are here for every market,
not just for Christmas.
“We have pollination
contracts all around the
country, so can make a
variety of different honeys.
When I was a child, a
glass of hot Vimto in Ball’s
chippy on Hibel Road was a
winter treat.
That chippy disappeared
many years ago, but Macc
centre is still crammed with
pubs and cafés for those
wanting a sit-down brew.
But there is also no
shortage of consumable
delights in the market and,
as you would hope in
Cheshire, local cheese is
easily found.
Larkton Hall cheese, from
Want to know more?
Macclesfield Visitor Information Centre
Market Place, Macclesfield, Cheshire, SK10 1DX.
Tel: 01625 378123; www.visitmacclesfield.co.uk.
Shrigley Hall www.shrigleyhallhotelandspa.co.uk.
Malpas, is flavoured with
all manner of spices and
herbs.
“It is always busy here,
and always good fun,” Anne
Clayton told us.
What could be better to
wash down cheese than
local cider, or rather “Sida”,
named after creators
Simon and David, whose
apples come from nearby
orchards.
Still peckish?
There is no shortage of
stalls groaning with pies,
pasties, cakes and bread,
which Hazel couldn’t resist.
“It is rye bread,” she
explained, clutching a loaf,
before being diverted by
Roger Monk’s delicious
display of mushrooms.
“We are eighty,” his wife
told us. “When I asked
Roger if we would stop
working at ninety, he said,
‘Why retire early?’” ■
Please check latest advice before
planning your trip.
Getting there
By car: Leave the M6
at Junction 19, Holmes
Chapel.
By train: Macclesfield
is a 20-minute ride
from Manchester
Piccadilly, just over two
hours from London
Euston.
By bus: Arriva
services link
Macclesfield
with local
towns.
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 12
Roger That!
J
OHN could have
sworn he was being
watched as he
earthed up his
brussels sprouts in
readiness for the winter.
He paused and glanced
up towards the house.
There was nobody in
sight and his wife, Lynn,
wasn’t due back from town
until later that morning.
“I must be imagining it,”
he said to himself and
carried on with his work.
Yet a few moments later
John paused again.
Was that a bird he could
hear singing? He turned.
In an apple tree sat a
robin observing him
intently.
John smiled.
“Hello. How long have
you been there?”
The robin cocked his
head and then, to John’s
surprise, flew down to the
newly disturbed soil, just a
few feet away.
Illustration by Kirk Houston.
“You’re a lot bolder than
other robins we’ve had,”
John said, leaning on his
spade.
The robin found a small
centipede and ate it.
“Tasty?” John enquired.
His red-breasted
companion looked up.
“You’re right.” John
laughed. “I should get back
to work. Apologies.”
He continued to earth up
his sprouts as the robin
hopped about in search of
food.
John told Lynn about his
encounter when she
returned.
“It sounds as though
you’ve made a new friend,”
she said.
“I hope so,” John replied,
rubbing his lower back.
His wife raised an
eyebrow.
“Have you overdone it
again?”
“Possibly, but it needed
doing if we want home-
grown sprouts for
Christmas.”
“It’s a pity the twins don’t
like them.” Lynn smiled.
“I wasn’t keen on them
when I was their age,” John
admitted. “Hang on – are
we expecting guests?”
“Jake texted earlier. He’s
got Ollie and Emily this
Christmas.
“He’s asked if they can
spend it with us. I said yes.
I hope that’s OK?”
“Of course, although I
hope it goes better than
last time.”
John sighed, recalling the
tears that first Christmas
Jake and the children had
spent with them following
their son’s divorce.
“Oh, I’m sure it will,”
Lynn reassured her
husband. “And it will be
lovely to see them in
person rather than online.
“Ollie and Emily are
growing up so fast.”
John nodded. Long-
distance grandparenting
had proved tough at times,
especially for his wife.
“We’ll be able to visit
them in France more often
now that we’re both
retired,” he promised.
“When are they arriving?”
“Christmas Eve. They’re
flying over so Jake is going
to arrange for the
children’s presents to be
delivered to us.”
John rolled his eyes.
“I hope there are fewer
than last time,” he said. “If
you ask me, parents spoil
their children these days.
“They get everything they
want, when they want.
“Now, when I was
Could John
convince his
new feathered
friend to eat
from his hand?
BY GRAEME EDWARDS
eight –” He stopped
suddenly. “Lynn, it’s the
robin!”
John pointed through the
French windows.
“On the viburnum,
looking straight at us. He
must want feeding.
“I’d better put out some
sunflower hearts – or
perhaps he would prefer
dried mealworms.
“What do you think?”
Lynn smiled.
“If you ask me, gardeners
spoil their robins these
days. They get everything
they want, when they
want . . .” she began as her
husband grabbed his coat.
* * * *
By the time December
arrived, the robin had been
named Roger.
He and John had become
constant gardening
companions, much to Lynn’s
amusement.
Early each morning,
John would head outside,
whatever the weather, and
put out a saucer of
sunflower hearts for his
feathered friend, who was
always ready and waiting.
And whenever John
tended to the sprouts or
dug up a parsnip or two for
Sunday lunch, Roger would
follow close behind,
searching for any bugs or
worms that were unearthed.
Ollie and Emily were
thrilled when Lynn sent
them a video of Roger
accompanying John in the
garden.
During their weekly video
calls the twins would always
ask how he was.
“You should see if Roger
will take food from your
hand,” Ollie suggested.
“Yes, Grandad, you
should,” Emily agreed.
“Camille showed us some
videos of robins doing that
on YouTube when she came
over for tea.

“They were amazing.”
John and Lynn exchanged
a look.
An embarrassed Jake
popped his head into shot.
“I was planning on telling
you about Camille later.
“But these two spilled the
beans first.”
“Your mother’s all ears!”
John grinned.
“It’s so nice that Jake has
finally moved on,” Lynn said
as she made a start on the
Christmas cards later that
evening.
“It is,” John agreed,
peering intently at his
phone. “It must be serious if
he’s introduced Camille to
the children.”
“What are you so
absorbed in?” Lynn asked.
“I’m trying to find those
videos Emily mentioned.
“Ah, here we are!”
Lynn joined John on the
couch.
“Can you imagine the look
on the children’s faces if
Roger did that when they
visited?” John beamed.
Lynn laughed.
“I suspect it would look
rather similar to the look on
your face right now.”
* * * *
The following morning,
John found Roger sitting in
the viburnum.
It had become his
favourite spot to wait for his
breakfast.
John placed some
sunflower hearts in an
outstretched hand and
stood as still as possible.
The robin eyed the seeds,
then looked at John.
“Come on, little fellow,”
John said softly. “You’re
quite safe.”
Roger wasn’t convinced.
After a few minutes, John
decided to try a different
approach.
He crouched and placed a
seed on the ground, a few
feet in front of him.
Roger cocked his head to
one side, eyeing the morsel.
After a brief pause, he
flew down and ate it.
Then he looked up at
John as if to ask where the
rest was.
John slowly placed
another seed on the ground
– a little closer.
Roger hopped forward
and took it.
Still crouching, John held
out the sunflower hearts
once more, his hand level
with the ground.
Roger flew off into one of
the borders.
John sighed.
This wasn’t going to be
quite as straightforward as
he had hoped.
Over the next few weeks,
John tried dried
mealworms, mince pie
crumbs, some cheese, even
the odd grub he found in
the garden, without success.
“What time is their flight
due in tomorrow?” John
asked, reaching up to place
a gold star on top of the
Christmas tree.
“Ten a.m.,” Lynn replied,
inspecting their decorating.
“More tinsel, I think.”
“We’d better set off early,
just in case the traffic is
horrendous,” John
suggested, passing a bag of
decorations to his wife.
“The weather chap on the
telly was saying there’s a
chance of snow,” Lynn said.
“There, that’s better.
“Right, John, you can
turn the fairy lights on.”
John flipped the switch.
“What do you think?”
“The grandchildren will
love it.” Lynn smiled. “I’m
so glad we went for a real
tree this year.”
“I’ll remind you of that
when you’re muttering
about fallen needles!” John
chuckled.
“Well, I think we’re ready
for Christmas,” Lynn said.
“The presents are wrapped
and we’ve got the turkey.”
John sighed.
“The only thing we don’t
have is a hand-fed robin.”
* * * *
The next morning, John
awoke with a start.
“John! We forgot to set
the alarm,” his wife cried.
“What time is it?” John
yawned.
“It’s gone eight!”
They were up, dressed
and breakfasted within half
an hour and made it to the
airport just in time to greet
Jake and the twins at the
arrivals hall.
The journey back was
filled with talk of what Ollie
and Emily had been up to
at school, the latest
must-have toys they were
hoping Father Christmas
would bring them and a
skiing weekend their mum
and stepfather had planned
on their return.
“Have you and Camille
got anything nice planned
for when you get back,
Jake?” Lynn asked.
“We’ve booked a short
break in Paris at New Year.
“But never mind me and
Camille,” Jake said, keen to
steer the conversation
away from his love life.
“How’s Roger?”
“Roger!” John cried,
startling everyone.
“When did you become vegetarian,
Emily?” Jake asked in surprise
“During the mad rush this
morning I completely forgot
to give him his breakfast.”
“I’m sure he can eat at
the bird feeders,” Lynn
said. “Besides, we’re
almost home – just in time
by the look of the sky.”
“Has Roger landed on
your hand, Grandad?”
Emily asked.
“Not yet, no.”
“I’m sure he will,” Ollie
reassured him. “Have you
tried worms and stuff?”
“I have.” John smiled.
“Maybe Roger’s a
vegetarian like me?” Emily
suggested.
John glanced at his wife
and saw the colour drain
from her cheeks.
“When did you become
vegetarian, Emily?” Jake
asked in surprise.
“Yesterday,” Emily replied
proudly. “My best friend
Elsa is, too.
“She’s having a parsnip
and sage roulade for
Christmas dinner. What am
I having?”
“John . . .” Lynn began.
John smiled, signalling
left in readiness for an
emergency detour to the
supermarket.
* * * *
It was mid-afternoon by
the time they got home.
“I don’t know about
anybody else, but I’m
famished,” Lynn said.
“We’re having a buffet this
evening so is everyone OK
with soup for lunch?”
“Perfect,” John replied.
SHORT STORY 13
“Is it vegetarian, Gran?”
Emily asked.
“Let’s have a look,” Lynn
said, leading Emily and her
brother to the kitchen.
Jake’s phone pinged.
“It’s Camille. She’s
checking that we’re all OK.
“I’ll give her a quick call.”
John smiled. It was good
to see his son so happy.
“You’ll have some privacy
in the study,” he said,
putting on his coat. “I’m
just popping outside.”
In the garden he found
Roger sitting in the
viburnum, all fluffed up.
“I’m sorry the food is so
late,” John began, reaching
into a bag of sunflower
hearts. “It was rather
frantic this morning.
“We had to collect our
son and grandchildren from
the airport and we forgot
to set the alarm clock.
“Then we had to pop to
the supermarket – you
should see the queues.”
He held out his open
palm to inspect the seeds.
“Don’t worry, Roger, we’ll
forego the attempts at
hand feeding today.
“You must be
starving . . .” His voice
trailed off.
He was suddenly aware
that a robin was perched
on his index finger.
Roger looked up at John
and then peered at the
seeds in front of him.
Following the briefest of
deliberations he ate one,
and then another.
John stared, transfixed,
as his feathered companion
continued to tuck in.
Both were oblivious to
the snowflakes that had
begun to fall around them.
Then, after a final glance
at John, Roger was gone.
John gazed at his hand
with a big grin on his face.
He couldn’t quite believe
what had just happened.
“I must tell the others,”
he said excitedly, turning.
Beaming at him through
the French windows were
Lynn, Jake, Ollie and Emily.
They had seen
everything. ■
 A Lifetime of Care...
In 2013, we were contacted by Luke, a young Welsh lad who told us, "I am concerned about a pony who I believe is
blind because she's walking around in circles and has bumped into the fence several times. There is also a pond
nearby with a steep bank that the pony almost fell in. Due to her lack of eyesight, I fear she could get trapped or
even drown. The field is very muddy with no good quality grazing or additional food, nor clean water. The pony is
brown and white and there is a similarly coloured one nearby that I believe is the foal to the one I'm worried about."

We have contacts in South Wales who kindly went to investigate, but Luke’s picture that identified Balinda
on arrival they could only see hoof prints where ponies had been. The field was now empty and there was
nothing more we could do.

A month later, we were asked by Trading Standards if we could take some, or all, of 15 stray horses and ponies
from Wales that were about to be euthanised. Of course, we agreed to give all 15 a home at Hillside. On
arrival, the driver told us he had on board a blind mare, her foal, and another young, orphaned foal in poor
condition. We put the mare and two foals together in a stable and left them to settle.

The next day we thought, “How many blind mares

with foals could there be in Wales?” We
contacted Luke to see if he had any photos of the
ponies. Luckily, he did (see top right) and would you
believe it, she was the very same pony he had
On arrival in 2013 - Balinda, Carlos and Alison
been so worried about a few weeks earlier and
she had just arrived at Hillside along with her foal!

Ten years on, mum Balinda, her son Carlos and adoptive daughter Alison are still together and,
despite being blind, Balinda has always coped very well with her family beside her.

Together Forever - Balinda, Carlos and Alison...

...just three of the many animals at Hillside who have an untold story to tell.
In 2023 - still together, Balinda, Carlos and Alison
Please Help Others Like Balinda ...
Hillside
Traditional Animal
Sanctuary
‘nativity was founded
in 1995 to
scene’’
scene help and
campaign
Christmas for animals
Patron: Martin Shaw

Cards in need, particularly those

suffering every day in the
intensive factory farming
Please send me: Price Noof
Items £ p
industry.
Pack 20 ‘Nativity Scene’ Christmas Cards £9
We are home to 2500 Hillside Sanctuary Scenes Colour 2024 Calendar £3
rescued horses, ponies and Donate a ‘Gift of Hay’ to help feed our rescued
donkeys, 750 cows, 300 pigs, animals, in lieu of a present to your friends or Hay
20 cards in 2 designs 850 sheep and goats, and lots
family, to receive a Greetings Card, Gift
Certificate and Hillside Mini 2024 Calendar to
Bale
(5.5" square) of other animals including give as a present. £5

£9
dogs and deer...
Inc. P&P
URGENT
Funds are getting very low
in this current climate
Please help us to feed and
care for our many rescued
12 page animals by making a
‘Sanctuary Scenes’ donation TODAY or buying
2024 Calendar
cards or gifts at...
£3 Inc. P P&
www.hillside.org.uk
Donation/Order Helpline
If Hay Gift Certificates are required for gifts,
please state how many recipients in this box...
Tick if Donation Only (no certificate req)
Reg. Co. No. 3027338 GiftTotal
I would like to make a donation
Please make cheque/PO payable to Hillside Animal Sanctuary Ltd Total
or debit my Visa/MasterCard No.
Expiry Date......../....... CVV..........
Name..................................................................................
Address.............................................................................
..............................................................................................
................................Postcode..........................................
Please send me a FREE NEWSLETTER
with details of Hillside’s work, gifts & Open Days

01603 736200
For lots of Orders sent by
other cards Please return to: Hillside Animal Sanctuary return post
and gifts... Hall Lane, Frettenham, Norwich NR12 7RW
9am-9pm 7 Days

Here’s to a festive
season of good cheer
In her weekly column,
Maddie Grigg shares
tales from her life in
rural Dorset . . .
T
HE house is looking
good for the
festivities ahead.
I don’t know when
you put up your
Christmas decorations, but
I did ours at the beginning
of December.
It’s all looking lovely.
I used to wait until about
now to put up the decs.
But my reasoning these
days is if Advent has
started, then it’s fine to put
up the Christmas baubles
and tinsel.
I love Christmas.
Our home always seems
like it’s crying out for some
seasonal love at this time of
year.
I can almost hear it letting
out an appreciative gasp at
all that sparkle and glitter.
Lush Places is looking
good, too, with the
Christmas trees up around
the square and the big one
on the village green.
Yet again, I still haven’t
Images: Maddie Grigg, iStock.
had the courage to incur
Mrs Bancroft’s wrath and
go for coloured lights
outside, conforming to the
unofficial rule that only
warm white lights will do.
But inside our house,
there is colour everywhere.
What happens behind
closed doors is no-one
else’s business.
Shopping for presents is
done and all the gifts are
wrapped and under the
tree, ready to distribute in
a week or so’s time.
I never used to be that
organised, but these days I
find much satisfaction in
getting things done early.
It’s one less thing to think
about.
On Christmas Eve,
Mr Grigg will go bowling
with his grown-up children
and grandchildren, and I
will be pottering around the
house preparing for the
onslaught the next day.
At the time of writing, my
elderly mother and one of
my sisters will be joining us
for lunch, although it’s quite
conceivable that other,
younger family members
might be coming too.
I do hope so.
I find Christmas is much
more exciting when there
are little ones about.
Not like when we were in
Greece 11 years ago, when
the two of us sat down to a
meal consisting of the
world’s smallest turkey –
which was honestly no
bigger than my fist.
We couldn’t even tune
into the Queen’s speech at
three o’clock.
It was a fabulous
experience, living in a
different country for a year,
but it’s a strange thing
celebrating Christmas a
long way away from your
family and friends.
Here in Dorset, as the
years go by, there are
family members no longer
with us.
It’s the same for
everyone, and it’s always
hard.
All that we can do is, as
our dear Greek friend
Canadian George says,
“enjoy every day”.
Admittedly, that’s not
always easy or appropriate,
but I know what he means.
It’s about seizing the day,
making the most of things
and savouring memories of
our loved ones when they
were still around.
As you know, we had our
25th wedding anniversary
this year.
Whether you’re one to
mark these events or not,
it’s certainly a milestone
and one which Mr Grigg
and I wanted to celebrate.
And, like Christmas and
New Year when you think
of all the things that have
happened over the
previous 12 months, our
15
silver wedding gave us an
opportunity to reflect on
past events.
There are the bad things,
of course, which happen to
everyone. But there are
also the good things.
Weddings, births,
holidays, achievements,
pets and glorious days out
in the garden.
Days spent out and
about, such as when we
went to Scotland and met
my alter ego, Minnie the
Minx, in Dundee.
Health and happiness,
kind friends and strangers
who are there to support
you when you need it.
Earlier this year, I came
across a quote attributed to
author F. Scott Fitzgerald,
who wrote my favourite
novel “The Great Gatsby”.
It’s one which has stayed
with me.
“To be kind is more
important than to be right,”
it said. “Many times, what
people need is not a
brilliant mind that speaks
but a special heart that
listens.”
So here’s to a festive
season of good cheer and
kindness!
May your Christmas be
everything you wish for. ■
Mr Grigg became
Father Christmas.
 16

Starts in
1871

A Midwinter Tale
M
Y first year of
employment
with my
mistress was
1871.
I had been a housemaid
in the home of a merchant
gentleman, his wife and
two daughters before that,
and those girls ran me
ragged.
Their mother and father
encouraged them in all
their desires and, as a
consequence, they were
spoilt and greedy.
“Nelly, I have been
standing for hours for this
dress fitting and I am
exhausted,” Miss Becky
would say. “Please bring
me tea and cake.
“And make haste if you
do not wish me to faint.”
Never mind that I was
Illustration by Helen Welsh.
The happy time I spent in to attend an interview?
Before long, fortune
Miss Rossetti’s service would smiled on me.
Miss Becky and Miss
forever remain in my mind . . . Philippa were to get a
puppy.
BY EIRIN THOMPSON It was some kind of terrier
and they were beside
cleared the supper table. The news was that her themselves with mirth.
“And it must be now, if it is employers’ family friend, They were not so keen,
to dry before bedtime.” Miss Rossetti, was in need however, that they wished
She cared not that I of a servant. to journey into town in the
hadn’t eaten a thing since I have spoken to my wind and rain to collect the
broth and bread in the employer and madam will little thing.
kitchen at lunchtime. recommend you to Miss Their mother said this
If I wanted to keep my Rossetti, Lily wrote. would be a job for me.
employment, I must do as I So be prepared to come The timing could not have
was bid. and be interviewed, been more fortuitous.
I did not tell Mother how however you manage it. I could see Miss Rossetti
much I disliked the family, Above all, you must in the morning, fetch the
for she would have worried. demonstrate a calm puppy in the afternoon and
But I did confide in Lily, disposition and a readiness deliver it to the girls that
my sister, who looked after to forgive. evening.
two little boys at a fine I was both excited and I lay on my attic bed the
house in Bloomsbury. fearful. night before that special

wanted in the kitchen and
after that in the laundry
and would be in trouble for
being late.
“Nelly, I wish you to wash
my hair,” Miss Philippa
would demand, after I’d
Lily made it her business
to try to find me a new
position.
One day a letter came.
Lily wrote better than I
did, but I could read well
enough.
To find a new position
and escape the dreadful
girls would be like a happy
dream.
But what if I could not
find a way to be released
from my duties in order
day, and hugged myself,
unable to sleep.
* * * *
Miss Rossetti had thick,
dark hair and eyes like
coals.

When solemn, her face
was forbidding, yet when
she smiled, her demeanour
was kindness itself.
She asked me about my
work, what time I rose and
what time I went to bed.
She wanted to know if I
could cook, clean, mend
and sew, care for plants,
read and write.
I could do all these.
“I am not as good a
writer as my sister, Lily,” I
admitted. “But I haven’t
given up learning.”
Miss Rossetti believed
this was a fine attitude, and
said I would be free to read
the books in her library
when I wished.
Did this mean I was to
work for her?
Apparently it did.
I was to hand in my notice
and start with her on the
first of December.
Miss Rossetti told me she
was very fond of Christmas
and hoped I felt the same.
I loved Christmas, I told
her, and she would certainly
not find me lacking in the
spirit of the season.
She smiled at that, and it
had the look of the sun
coming out on a wintry day.
* * * *
The house was full of
Christmas cheer.
We had placed sprigs of
red-berried holly on every
picture and mirror, and
woven a garland of fir and
ivy to trail across the
mantelpiece.
The smell of hot mince
pies wafted from the
kitchen and mulled wine
simmered on the hob.
I had built up a good fire,
for it was very cold, with
snow on the ground
outside.
Miss Rossetti stood by
the window, looking out,
very pensive.
“Penny for them,
mistress,” I said, then
feared I had been too
familiar.
But Miss Rossetti didn’t
flinch.
She turned to look at me
and explained that she had
been asked to write a poem
about Christmas for an
American magazine.
Not for the year we were
in, but for publication the
following winter.
Miss Rossetti thought
there was no better time to
compose a Christmas poem
than when Christmas itself
filled the air.
But she had been
contemplating her subject
for days and had no ideas
for how to proceed.
“I’m sure the mistress will
find inspiration soon,” I told
her.
Miss Rossetti looked at
me intently, and asked
whether it would be quite
wrong to venture outdoors
in the hope of being
inspired.
“It’s vicious cold,
mistress,” I said.
She replied that we could
wrap up warmly, and I
understood that I was to be
included in this expedition.
The mistress wished to
go to Regent’s Park, for
she had played there
regularly as a child.
We donned our coats and
hats and mittens – mine
not so grand as my
mistress’s – and stepped
out cautiously on to the
blanket of white.
* * * *
It was a bitter day.
Not only was the air icy,
but there was a chill wind
that blew low and whistled.
At least, I thought it
whistled. Miss Rossetti
thought it more like a
moan.
The ground was frozen
like iron, and the lake was
frozen, too.
As we walked, my
mistress told me how
happy her childhood in the
locality had been, with trips
to Madame Tussauds and
the zoo, as well as frequent
visits to Regent’s Park.
There were two brothers
and two sisters – what
Mother and her friends
called “a gentleman’s
family”.
Miss Rossetti was the
baby, and she and her
brother, Dante Gabriel,
were named by their father
as “the two storms”, while
the other pair were “the
two calms”.
This was before her
father had become ill. Their
lives changed utterly once
he was unable to work.
It was clear that Miss
Rossetti had many fond
memories of childhood and
she seemed a little wistful.
We had walked perhaps
ten minutes when the snow
began to fall again.
“Snow falling upon snow,”
I said, and my mistress
nodded thoughtfully.
* * * *
That evening, the
mistress had me move her
little desk beside the good
fire, but asked me not to
draw the curtains as she
wished to see the snow
falling.
“What could I give him?” I echoed.
“I’m only a poor servant”
She asked if I had ever
pictured the Nativity scene
and what I thought of it.
“It was the humblest of
accommodation in which to
welcome a king,” I
ventured. “Yet, if you were
a baby, it provided
everything necessary.
“He had a loving mother
and a manger full of hay to
keep him warm on that chill
night, along with the heat
from the ox and the ass.”
She seemed to think
about that.
Then she asked me what
gift I would have taken to
offer Baby Jesus.
I puzzled over this.
“If I had been one of the
sheperds in the fields, I
suppose I would have
brought a lamb,” I replied.
Miss Rossetti asked me
to consider again what gift
I might bring, had I not
been a shepherd or a wise
man but simply myself.
I thought of the goose in
the kitchen, plucked and
ready to cook.
I thought of the
Christmas pudding, the
cake and the mince pies,
but I wasn’t sure that any
of these was quite right.
“What could I give him?” I
echoed. “I’m only a poor
servant.”
My mistress gazed at me
a moment without blinking.
She said I had given her
an idea and took up her
pen once more.
* * * *
It was my second winter
with Miss Rossetti.
SHORT STORY 17
Her poem, “A Christmas
Carol”, had appeared in an
American magazine, called
“Scribner’s Monthly”.
My mistress had taken
little things from that cold
December afternoon, and
turned them into such
exquisite verses.
It later appeared in a
book of my mistress’s
poems and I was proud to
buy a copy of my own, and
have it inscribed by Miss
Rossetti.
For many years, I
remained with my mistress.
I loved her, for she had a
beautiful soul, and when
she passed in 1894, I wept
very much.
Miss Rossetti would
never know that, in 1906,
the fine Mr Gustav Holst
would compose a setting
for her Christmas poem,
entitled “Cranham”, and
that it would come to be
sung across the land.
Three years later, Mr
Harold Darke would
compose an alternative
setting, this one more
complex and suited to
accomplished choirs.
For many Christmases I
had a full heart as I sang
that carol or heard it sung.
* * * *
The Great War came, and
Christmases were very hard
with two sons at the Front.
Happily both returned and
we sang together again.
We could hardly believe it
when we found ourselves at
war again in 1939.
This time I retreated to
the country where my sister
Lily lived in a cottage.
How glad we were when
peace returned, and at
Christmas in 1945, Lily had
all the family squeezed in
under her roof to celebrate.
Everyone looked at me
when we sang “In The
Bleak Midwinter” at the
little parish church on
Christmas morning.
“What was she like?” my
grandchildren asked me.
“Miss Christina Rossetti
was a kind of angel,” I said.
“An angel on earth.” ■
18

Every Little Matters IN THE NEWS

There is no need to force yourself to learn meditation, as new research
has shown that everyday tasks are an effective way to unwind.
Great Progress
The poll, conducted by eBay, found these to be the most Scientists have devised a new
popular de-stressors: test which will be able to pick up
signs of early cancer in a urine
• Making a cup of tea or coffee sample.
• Watering plants The specially treated paper
strips can detect the activity of
• Chopping herbs
enzymes that are released by
• Hanging out the washing growing tumours.
• Cutting the grass As the technology progresses,
• Folding the washing it is hoped that these tests will
• Hoovering also be able to tell the type of
• Driving cancer and where it has spread.
• Painting walls
• Weeding gardens

Great advice to keep you

happy and healthy.

Q. Why do I keep getting skin tags and A Change Of Diet

what can I do about it?
Noel Wicks,
qualified
pharmacist
(excilor.com)
is here to
help.
Skin tags are small growths that
hang off the skin, often found in skin
folds such as on the neck, under the
breasts or around the armpit or
groin areas.
They are common, with one in two
adults developing at least one skin
tag during their lifetime, with the
likelihood of them increasing after
the age of forty.
Being overweight, having diabetes
and hormonal changes in women
can all cause skin tags.
While they are not usually painful,
they can get caught in clothing and
people may find them unsightly.
Ultra
processed
foods (UPFs)
I recommend the Excilor skin tag are now known
treatment. to be addictive
The flat adhesive patch applies and unhealthy.
pressure to the base of the skin Expert
tag, cutting off the blood supply nutritionist
and causing it to wither and drop Rob Hobson
off within six days in a safe way. has written a
Keep an eye on skin tags and if new book,
they change colour, bleed, itch or which sets out
ooze pus, consult your doctor. the steps to
Excilor skin tag treatment is make your diet healthier, yet still
available to buy from independent bursting with flavour.
pharmacies and Amazon. With practical tips, effortless
wholefood swaps and tasty
recipes, he shows how to make all
your go-to ready meals, freezer
favourites, sauces and snacks
without the nasties.
In this way, you and your family
can embrace an unprocessed life
that is simple and satisfying.
“Unprocess Your Life” by Rob
Hobson will be published by
HarperCollins on Jan 4, £18.99.

We are unable to offer individual advice to readers. Please see your own GP if you have a medical problem.

Health Bite
Healing Herb
Fresh rosemary contains
vitamins A, B6, C, and other
B vitamins such as folate.
It is a source of antioxidants
that prevent cell damage, and
plant compounds called cineole,
which help boost brain activity.
This hardy and delicious
garden herb also contains
rosmarinic acid, which has been
shown to help suppress allergic
responses and nasal congestion.
When brewed as a tea, it can
help treat an upset stomach and
nausea.
Studies have shown that
sniffing rosemary could help you
perform better in memory tests.
Lost Memories
Don’t worry if you forget a
name or can’t find the word
you’re looking for.
Scientists say that forgetting
plays a critical role in how we
learn, freeing up brain space
temporarily and forcing us to
retrieve and re-engage with
material which, in turn, deepens
and extends our memories.
Always
check
labels
carefully
FOOD ALLERGIES AND INTOLERANCES
Our health
writer, Jackie
Mitchell,
learns more
about dietary
requirements.
Y
OU may be entertaining guests
with a food allergy or intolerance
over the festive period, or a
relative may have recently developed
a food intolerance.
Planning ahead is essential, so you
need to find out what the dietary
requirements are in advance – so you
can make sure everyone is included.
“Most people with food allergies or
intolerances spend most of the year
missing out on occasions that feature
food, so to be thought of will be the
best gift going,” Lucy Parr, chef and
author of “The Friendly Baker”, says.
“It can be difficult to cater for dietary
requirements if you’re not used to
doing it, so ask your guests for help.
“Find out what brands are safe for
them, and maybe ask them to bring a
dish to make the catering easier.”
When buying food, check labels.
In the case of a coeliac, you need to
look for foods which state “gluten
free” on the pack – or those that carry
Coeliac UK’s crossed grain symbol.
According to Coeliac UK, the top
Christmas gluten-free foods to make
or buy include gravy, Yorkshire
puddings, bread sauce, mince pies,
Christmas pudding and cake.
Most large supermarkets have a
special “free from” aisle, with a wide
variety of foods to cater for different
allergies and intolerances.
“Always double check ingredients
even if it’s something you’ve bought
before,” Lucy says. “Don’t assume it’s
OK. You’d be surprised how many
crisp flavours contain milk powder.”
Some festive food can pose an
allergy risk.
HEALTH 19
“Marzipan is typically made from
almonds and used in many Christmas
treats,” Simon Williams, from
Anaphylaxis UK, says.
“Nut-free marzipan is available, and
you can also make your own by
substituting ingredients such as
cornmeal or semolina.
“Stuffing contains onion, garlic,
herbs, breadcrumbs and egg, but can
also include chestnut, cranberry,
gingerbread, pomegranate and
different kinds of nuts.
“If any of the fourteen major food
allergens are present in an alcoholic
drink, this must be declared on the
label.
“Milk in cream liquors, cereals
containing gluten in beers and spirits
and sulphites in wine are common.”
When it comes to preparing food for
someone with a food allergy or
intolerance, Claire Bannerman, roving
chef with Vegetarian for Life, advises
cleaning work surfaces and equipment
thoroughly using hot, soapy water.
“Keep allergen-free food separate
from other foods and use separate
equipment and utensils to help avoid
cross-contamination in the kitchen,”
she says. “Note down ingredients
used in your dish, so you can answer
any questions guests may have.”
Becky Excell, cookbook author,
blogger and Coeliac UK ambassador,
recommends keeping the packaging
from any products used.
“This way guests can double check
ingredients,” she says. “Even crisps
can contain wheat in the seasoning.”
Take care over serving spoons.
“I ensure there are enough serving
spoons to go round, so there is less
chance of them being moved from one
dish to another,” Lucy Parr says.
“If you’re having a buffet, make sure
Images: Shutterstock.
dishes are well labelled.”
For more information, visit
coeliac.org.uk, anaphylaxis.org.uk,
lucysfriendlyfoods.com or
vegetarianforlife.org.uk. ■
20 ADVERTISING FEATURE

Tips to manage
heartburn over the
festive season
to avoid eating or drinking which may irritate your on over the counter

L
AST December,
NHS Digital
revealed there are
an estimated
13,200 visits to
the NHS’s heartburn and
acid reflux website page
during Christmas Day and
Boxing Day. That means
it’s viewed once every 13
seconds.
So, if you suffer from
heartburn occasionally
during the festive season,
you’re certainly not alone.
But is there anything
you can do to avoid this
uncomfortable condition
this year?
Well, management
tactics you’d use at any
other time of year still
apply: eat smaller and
more frequent meals, try
within three hours of
going to bed, chew your
food well and take your
time eating.
At bedtime, if heartburn
sometimes disrupts your
sleep, try sleeping a little
more upright, elevating
your head and chest
above the level of your
waist, as this can help
prevent stomach acid
leaking upwards.
And when it comes to
meal times, remember
that some foods are more
likely to cause or
aggravate heartburn
symptoms. This includes
fatty foods (like cheese,
bacon and sausages),
spicy foods, tomatoes,
citrus fruits, garlic, onions,
chocolate, alcohol, fizzy
drinks and caffeine, all of
digestive system.
Of course you’ll likely
want to enjoy a hearty
festive meal with family
and friends, but can you
add in some foods that
might actually help your
digestive system? That
could include fibrous foods
like wholegrains, green
and root vegetables (the
perfect Christmas dinner
side!), bananas, lean
meats, eggs, nuts,
watermelon, ginger and
probiotic-rich low-fat
yoghurt.
Then for snacks, you
could swap crisps and
creamy dips or salsas for
vegetable sticks and scoop
up something low in fat.
If management tactics
aren’t working speak to
your pharmacist for advice
remedies. But remember,
there’s also no one-size-
fits-all approach. Not all
foods affect everyone the
same, so bear in mind
your own triggers and
limits always.
There’s lots to love
about Christmas:
sparkling tree lights, the
smell of turkey roasting,
the sizzle of perfectly
golden roast potatoes,
gathering around the
table to read Christmas
cracker jokes, a post-
dinner snooze while a film
plays in the background
and so much more.
Look after yourself,
manage the symptoms of
heartburn if it arises and
enjoy all the wonders to
come this festive season!

Pyrocalm Control can provide effective

What is heartburn?
Heartburn is a symptom of indigestion and
is caused by stomach acid travelling up
towards the throat. It occurs when the
one-way system that prevents stomach
contents from entering the gullet
(oesophagus) – the muscular ring which joins
the oesophagus to the stomach – fails,
allowing stomach acid to travel the wrong
way. Those experiencing heartburn often
describe it as an uncomfortable burning
sensation. It’s usually felt in the centre of the
chest and sometimes travels up to the throat.
But heartburn can also come with coughing,
hiccups, bad breath and an unpleasant sour
taste. Often, it feels worse after eating, when
bending over or while lying down, and it’s
sometimes more common during the night.
relief from heartburn and acid reflux
Pyrocalm is a temporary treatment of heartburn and
should be used on a short-term basis to relieve the
burning sensation. The recommended Pyrocalm dose is 20
mg once daily for up to 14 days. It might be necessary to
take the tablets for 2-3 consecutive days to achieve
improvement of symptoms. The majority of patients
achieve relief of heartburn within seven days. Once relief
of symptoms has occurred, treatment should be
discontinued. If the problem persists, please consult
your GP for further treatment and
advice. Pyrocalm Control® 20mg
Gastro-Resistant Tablets. For the
short-term treatment of reflux
symptoms in adults. Contains
20 mg Omeprazole. Always
read the label.
 HEALTH 21

6 good reasons to drink

THE SCIENCE BIT

A 150 ml glass of Innocent strawberry and banana
smoothie contains:

● Calories – 76 ● Carbs – 18 g
● Fibre – 1.9 g ● Protein – 0.8 g
● Vitamins – C, folic acid
● Minerals – manganese, potassium

BOOSTS YOUR FRUIT INTAKE

If you’re one of the many people who struggle to eat
enough fruits and vegetables each day, adding
smoothies to your diet may help. One smoothie can
have two to three servings packed inside, delivering
immunity-supporting antioxidants which help to
reduce inflammation, improve digestion and lower
your risk of chronic conditions like heart disease,
osteoporosis and mental decline. A 150 ml glass
counts as one of your five-a-day.

A GREAT SOURCE OF FIBRE

Because the fruit and vegetables are pureed rather
than juiced, smoothies contain more fibre than the
equivalent glass of fruit juice. You might get anything
from 2-7 g of fibre in a glass, which takes you closer
to the daily target of 30 g of fibre we need for optimal
digestive health. Not only will the liquid keep you
hydrated, but the electrolytes found in many fruits
and veg will help keep your body in balance, too.

HIDDEN VEG
Green smoothies are given their vibrant colour by
throwing a handful of kale, spinach or celery into the
blender with the fruit. This boosts the nutrient profile
of your smoothie without adding any bitterness and
helps to keep the sugar content down. Get in the
habit of blending your own smoothies if you can,
avoiding the possible additives (including sugars and
sweeteners) in many shop-bought bottles.

MAINTAIN A HEALTHY WEIGHT

Blending a breakfast smoothie each morning when
you’re rushing to get out of the house can help
support weight maintenance when used as a meal
replacement, as long as you don’t drink too much. Sip
it slowly to prevent a blood sugar spike caused by the
fruit sugars entering your blood stream all at once.

MIX IT UP
The smoothie base of blended fruit with yogurt or
milk provides the perfect vehicle for protein add-ons
Images: Shutterstock.

(such as protein powder or nut butters), omega-3

enhancement (nuts and seeds), and nutritional
powders (including dried mushrooms, moringa or
collagen). If you’re on a liquid food diet, recovering
from surgery or illnesses, a healthy smoothie provides
you with all the essential nutrients you need.
 SHORT STORY
Building Works
S
ILENCE fell on the
church hall after
Father’s words.
“What do you mean
our parish is going
to be closed down?” Paul
asked on behalf of
everyone else at the AGM
of the parish of Saint Anne.
“Our congregation has
shrunk so much that
keeping the parish has
become unviable.
“The bishop has decided
to incorporate this parish
with Saint Gregory’s.
“They will welcome you
all with open arms.”
Father would know, as he
was the priest there, too.
“And we’ll organise
car-sharing for people who
can’t get there.”
“It all makes sense, but
we’re attached to our
church,” Julia said sadly.
“As soon as the heating
is repaired, people will
return,” Moira added.
The church’s heating
system had broken down
at the start of October and
attendance had plummeted
as a consequence.
“I’m sorry, but the
heating is not going to be
repaired.
“The church building will
be sold to a developer,”
Father John said.
Gasps rippled through
the room.
Illustration by Shutterstock.
“What will the developer
do with it?” Paul asked.
“They will build houses
on the car park and turn
the church into a
restaurant – after it’s been
deconsecrated, of course.”
“It would make a
beautiful restaurant,”
Moira said, looking out to
the church spire and the
tall stained-glass windows.
“But it doesn’t feel right.”
“I’ll be too sad to see our
church turned into a
restaurant.
“I won’t be able to walk
down this road ever again,”
Julia said.
The following morning,
Paul turned up at the
presbytery’s door.
“Father, the bishop
cannot sell the church.
“Canon law says a church
building can be repurposed
for ‘profane but not sordid
use’.”
“A restaurant is not
‘sordid use’,” Father said.
“A restaurant could be
considered a temple to
gluttony.”
“I don’t think so, Paul.
But good try.”
Not long after, Julia
turned up at the parish.
“Father, I’ve had an idea.
Our church’s acoustic is
much better than that of
the town’s hall.
“The council should turn
it into a concert hall.”
“That’s a great idea,
Julia. But the bishop has
already asked and the
council hasn’t the money.”
* * * *
In Sicily, the parishioners
of Santa Maria looked on
in dismay at what was left
of their church.
The earthquake hadn’t
been the first to turn their
church to rubble.
Would kind hearts and a
generous gift be enough to rebuild
these broken communities?
BY STEFANIA HARTLEY
In fact, this version of
Santa Maria hadn’t been
the first one.
After being flattened by
an earthquake in the
1970s, the original
baroque church had been
replaced with a modern
construction.
The architects had
promised it would stand
until judgement day.
But now concrete pillars
poked out of the rubble,
exposed to the shocked
eyes of the townsfolk.
“At least we’re all alive,”
one said.
The earthquake had built
up slowly through the day,
so everyone had had a
chance to find safety.
Some of the parishioners
suggested starting the
rebuilding then and there
with their bare hands, like
Saint Francis when he
rebuilt the church of San
Damiano.
Padre Giorgio told
everyone to keep away
until the fire brigade told
them it was safe to return.
But the fire brigade never
said it was safe.
Instead, they cordoned
off the area and put up a
sign that read DANGER.
That year, the Christmas
services were held in the
school hall.
“New year, new town!”
the mayor promised at the
town’s party, but in April
there was still no sign of
funds for the church’s
reconstruction.
Nature, however, had
started work on the church.
Yellow wood sorrel,
daisies and dandelions
blossomed between bricks
and pews.
* * * *
Father John was packing
the hymn books into boxes
when Moira walked in with
a wad of newspapers.
“You might like to use
some packing material for
fragile items.”
“Thank you,” Father said.
The only fragile item he
was packing was his heart.
He had to put on a brave
face for his parishioners
but he, too, was sad.
His gaze fell on the front
page of one of the papers,
which showed a photo of a
town in Sicily struck by an
earthquake.
His heart went to the
people affected.
He looked more closely
at the picture.
A metal cross lay among
the rubble.
“Moira, look at this.”
“Oh, yes, the earthquake
in Sicily. It looks like a
collapsed church,” she said.
“I might have just had a
great idea . . .” Father said.
Father John explained
his plan to the bishop later
that day.
“It’s a madcap idea,” the
bishop said.
Father pulled out his
phone and showed the
bishop examples of
buildings which had been
taken down in one place
and rebuilt, brick by brick,
in other locations.
“It must cost a fortune,”
the bishop pointed out.
“There might be a way
around it, if we are
prepared to be generous.”
* * * *
The developer agreed to
buy the land for a
peppercorn in exchange for
relocating Saint Anne’s
church to the Sicilian town
struck by the earthquake.
It was a huge job, but the
builder would end up with
cleared land where they
could build homes.

They wouldn’t have to
repurpose the church any
more.
So Saint Anne’s church
building was taken down,
stone by stone, and each
piece was marked and
catalogued to be shipped
to Sicily.
At the other end, the gift
prompted a generosity
race.
The best architects
offered their services pro
bono and the most skilled
engineers ensured the
building would withstand
another earthquake.
Masons, carpenters,
electricians, plumbers,
conservation experts and
parishioners made
themselves available to
work on the church for free.
Even a local botanist got
involved – by studying the
lichens and mosses on the
stonework, she could
confirm the correct
orientation of each stone.
Everyone worked round
the clock to ensure the
church would be ready for
Christmas.
* * * *
On Christmas Eve, as
Father John emerged from
Catania airport’s arrivals,
he was instantly pulled into
a bear hug by his Sicilian
counterpart.
“Grazie di cuore – thank
you from the bottom of our
hearts!” Padre Giorgio
exclaimed with shiny eyes.
Moira, Julia, Paul and
the other parishioners of
Saint Anne were welcomed
as warmly.
They were hosted in the
homes of the Santa Maria
parishioners.
The Christmas Mass was
celebrated together by
Father John and Padre
Giorgio in the rebuilt
church of Saint Anne and
Santa Maria.
During his homily, Padre
Giorgio told the story of
when he received Father
John’s e-mail with the
unusual offer.
“I thought it was a prank
and deleted it. Thankfully,
Father John wrote again.
“Now that your beautiful
church lives here, you must
come and visit us often.
“This will always be your
parish, too.” ■
The Show’s The
Thing
Tash couldn’t believe her
luck with this new house . . .
BY LYDIA JONES
H
E only said if the
set build didn’t
need him.”
Tash twizzled
her car keys and
tried to stop herself
looking down Station
Street for Luke.
Morag beckoned her
along the path to the
house.
“As if he’d let something
like that stop him. Come
on in.”
The whole aspect of the
Victorian redbrick terrace
was cheerful.
Shrubs flourished in the
front gardens and the bins
didn’t overflow.
A property displaying a
B and B sign was covered
in more pansies than Tash
had ever seen.
She felt herself release a
breath – she could be
happy here.
“It’s OK,” Morag said.
“You can leave your stuff
in the car for a bit.
“We don’t get much
trouble round here.”
“This is so different from
where I was before,” Tash
said.
“I’ll introduce you to the
rest of your new
housemates,” Morag said.
Tash stepped inside a
narrow hallway where the
original tiles gleamed
black, red and white.
“Come and meet Sian
and Liv.
“Nick is always off
mountain biking or rock
climbing at weekends.”
Tash followed Morag
into a bright room where
a large table jostled for
space amongst free-
standing kitchen units.
Sian and Liv had
evidently been waiting to
greet her and the four
women soon fell into
friendly conversation.
There was a loud knock
on the open front door.
Morag called out into the
hallway
“Come in, Luke. The
kettle’s on – you’ve
obviously got a sixth sense
for impending coffee.”
“This is true.”
He spoke to Morag but
his gaze rested on Tash.
She was aware of her
new housemates appraising
their visitor.
“You came,” she said and
then felt stupid. “How did
you know which house?”
Luke smiled.
“Car parked outside full
of boxes? Open doorway?
Lucky guess.”
“Of course.” Tash felt the
heat of her blush.
“Is that all of your stuff in
the car?”
His voice was all
practicality but his eyes
spoke of something else.
“Yeah.” She cleared her
throat. “I don’t really have
much in the way of
furniture after all those
years at sea.”
“That shouldn’t take long,
then.”
He held her gaze and
continued to smile.
“Right,” Morag said,
breaking the loaded
silence. “Let’s get all your
boxes into the hall, then we
can have that coffee.
“Luke, if you could give us
a hand shifting stuff
upstairs, it’s the room at
the front of the house.”
Luke stood in the
doorway of Tash’s room
bearing a box of books.
Tash was acutely aware
of toned muscles in the
arms that held it.
“That’s some view,” he
said.
“Isn’t it? I’ve put my
laptop on the table in that
bay window but I’m afraid I
SERIES: PART 17 OF 30 23
iStock.
might spend all my time
looking out over the park.”
“Those are cherry
blossom trees, aren’t
they?” he asked. “They’ll be
beautiful in spring.”
“I worked a cruise to
Japan for blossom season
once,” Tash said. “It’s
something I’ll never forget.”
Luke gave a funny little
tip of his head.
“Well, I’m not sure they’ll
be up to that standard.”
Tash had a bizarre feeling
she’d said the wrong thing.
“Where do you want
these books, then?”
“Just pop them next to
that piece of folded batik.”
“That’s some mix of
colours,” Luke said.
“It’s a wall hanging from
Bali. Open it, if you like.
“I thought it would
brighten up the wall.”
“Nah, you’re OK. That
was the last box, so I’ll
leave you to it.”
“Oh.” Tash knew a stab
of disappointment.
Her mobile shrilled.
“It’s my mum. I said I’d
call when I was moved in. I
can call her back.”
“She’ll want to speak to
you,” Luke said. “I’ll see you
soon.”
“OK. Thanks again for
your help.”
“No worries.”
And he was gone.
Tash gazed around.
She was happy to be in
this lovely house, happy
Luke had come to help,
and yet . . .
Every time she thought
maybe she wasn’t
imagining whatever was
between them, Luke
seemed to pull back. It was
so confusing.
Her mobile began again.
“Hi, Mum.”
More next week.
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Many Hands
C
HRISTMAS was
coming sooner
every year, Melina
thought with
dismay when the
butcher informed her that
he was taking Christmas
bookings.
She still hadn’t recovered
from last year’s effort.
But as soon as she got
home, she sat down with
pen and paper and started
planning her family’s
Christmas lunch.
For a starter, she could
make Tanino’s favourite
Sicilian sfincione pizza.
A pasta bake with minced
beef and mortadella ham
would do nicely for the first
course.
For the second, Melina
was torn between her
granddaughter’s favourite
falsomagro beef roulade, or
the sardine rolls with
breadcrumbs, pine nuts
Illustration by Jim Dewar.
and raisins, which her
daughter loved.
Unable to choose, she
put down both and made a
note to order the sardines
from the fishmonger.
On the list also went her
son-in-law’s favourite salad
– orange, fennel and olives.
A green salad would go
down well, too, and some
roasted potatoes to
accompany the second
course.
All three side dishes went
on the menu.
For dessert, Tanino
would buy a shortcrust
pastry and dried fruit
buccellato ring from the
cake shop.
Melina reviewed her list.
It was long, with many
laborious, time-consuming
dishes to be prepared.
She was going to
struggle, but she didn’t
want to take anything off
the list.
Her culinary skills were
her pride and joy, and she
glowed when her cooking
was appreciated.
She picked up the phone
and rang the butcher.
* * * *
Tanino was surprised to
find only a ball of
mozzarella and two slices
of bread on the table for
his supper.
Melina loved to cook.
She must have been very
busy that day.
“What have you been up
to today?” he asked.
She sighed.
“You won’t believe it. I’ve
had to put in our Christmas
orders with the butcher!
“It’s ridiculous how
Christmas is starting earlier
every year!”
Tanino stopped with his
fork halfway to his mouth.
“Hasn’t Rosanna spoken
to you yet?”
“What about?” Melina
asked with a frown.
After how stressful last
year’s Christmas had been
for Melina, Rosanna had
suggested to Tanino that
she, her husband and her
daughter could spend
Christmas at her in-laws.
It would make the other
grandparents happy and
give Melina a well-deserved
break.
Tanino thought it was a
good idea but wondered
how Melina would take it.
Clearly neither he nor
Rosanna had been brave
enough to find out, each
SHORT STORY 25
Could Melina
give up her role
as Christmas
cook?
BY STEFANIA HARTLEY
hoping that the other
would tell Melina first.
Now Melina had put in
her Christmas orders.
Tanino had to tell her.
“Rosanna and family are,
er . . . thinking of spending
Christmas with the other
grandparents,” he said,
avoiding her gaze.
“What? Nobody told me!
They can’t change the plan
at the last minute like this!”
“You’ve just said that it
was too early to plan
Christmas,” Tanino replied.
“And what about us? Are
we to spend Christmas on
our own?” Melina asked.
“Why not?” Tanino said.
Tanino usually spent
Christmas collecting orders
from butchers and cake
shops, lengthening tables,
carrying chairs and serving
drinks.
It always left poor Melina
frantic and tired.
“We could have a quiet
Christmas, just you and
me. No need to cook up a
feast. We can just enjoy
each other’s company.”
“We can do that any
day!” Melina said, throwing
her hands in the air.
“I want to spend
Christmas with my
daughter and my
granddaughter!”
“Rosanna and the family
live downstairs – we see
them every day,” Tanino
pointed out.
“It’s only right that, once
in a while, they spend
Christmas with the other
grandparents, too.”
* * * *
“I hadn’t told you yet
because I was waiting for
an answer from Alida and
Stefano,” Rosanna said
when Melina confronted
her.
“So it was you who asked
to spend Christmas with
them?” Melina was
shocked.
The betrayal was worse
than she had imagined.
A horrible thought
26
crossed her mind.
Maybe the other
grandma, Alida, was a
better cook than her.
“No, Mamma. I actually
asked them if you and
Papà could come, too.
“As luck would have it,
Alida and Stefano have just
replied.” Rosanna grinned.
“They’d be delighted to
have you.”
Panic swamped Melina.
“We can’t go!”
“Why not? It would be
lovely, and you wouldn’t
have to lift a finger,” Tanino
put in.
But Melina enjoyed lifting
fingers – and arms, too.
Since she was a little girl,
Melina had always spent
Christmas in the kitchen,
first helping her grandma,
then her mum, then
cooking on her own.
Yes, sometimes the work
was a bit much, but if she
didn’t cook at Christmas,
what else would she do?
“I don’t mind working in
the kitchen,” Melina said
candidly.
“I know. That’s why you
never let me help you. But
for once, you can be a
guest.” Rosanna smiled.
Melina had no idea how
to be a guest.
She had always been the
host at Christmas.
“It would make Valentina
very happy to have all her
grandparents with her at
Christmas,” Roseanna said.
“Please, Mamma, do it for
her.”
Melina wasn’t able to
deny her granddaughter
anything.
“Fine. We’ll go.”
* * * *
As soon as Melina
stepped through the door
at Christmas, she offered to
help in the kitchen.
“It’s all under control,”
Alida said with a big smile.
When the meal started,
Melina found that Alida
had good reasons to smile.
Starters, firsts, mains
and sides – every dish was
delicious and prepared to
the highest standard.
In comparison, Melina
felt like a rookie in the
kitchen, and a terrible
host, too.
Unlike her, Alida was
relaxed, attentive and
available for conversation.
Melina felt smaller with
every mouthful.
Just after dessert, Melina
excused herself and made
her way down the corridor
to the bathroom, but she
had forgotten where it was.
She opened the first door
and found herself in the
kitchen instead.
Melina looked around
and gasped.
Every surface was littered
with aluminium trays,
paper bags and cardboard
boxes bearing the name of
a catering company.
All those wonderful
dishes had looked
professional – because
they were!
Melina’s inferiority
complex crumbled, and
jealousy was replaced by
rising sympathy.
Poor Alida. She must be
a terrible cook to have
resorted to caterers!
This explained why she
had refused Melina’s offer
of help – she had a secret
to protect.
Ignited by grandmotherly
solidarity, Melina decided
to do all she could to
prevent anyone else
discovering Alida’s
embarrassing secret.
First, all those trays and
boxes must disappear.
Melina emptied the
leftovers into Alida’s own
crockery then squashed
boxes and trays into the
bin, pushing them as far
down as they would go.
“Mum, are you all right?”
Rosanna called from the
corridor.
Oh no. Melina’s absence
from the table had been
noticed.
She still had a few boxes
left but couldn’t risk
Rosanna coming into the
kitchen.
“All fine,” Melina said,
shooting out of the kitchen
and closing the door
behind her.
“I was just getting some
water.”
* * * *
Melina returned to the
dining-room just as Alida
got up to clear up the
table.
“Let us help you,” Tanino
said, getting up, too.
“No!” Melina stopped
him with her hand.
Alida disappeared into
the corridor.
Stefano chuckled.
“Don’t worry, Melina. In
our household, men are
allowed to help, too.”
“Yes. In fact, we’re all
going to help. Many hands
make lighter work,”
Rosanna said, standing up.
No! Everyone was
standing up to take their
plates to the kitchen!
Melina leaped up from
her chair and stood in their
way, blocking the entry to
the corridor.
“I’m sure Alida doesn’t
appreciate, er, interference
in her kitchen,” Melina
said.
If she couldn’t stop them
going to the kitchen, she
must at least delay them
long enough for Alida to
clear away the last boxes.
“She’s fine about it,
Mum,” Rosanna said.
“Alida isn’t jealous of her
kitchen. Now, let us
through, please.”
“Alida? Can we come into
the kitchen?” Melina called
down the corridor.
“One moment, please,”
Alida replied.
“My arms are tired.
These plates are heavy,”
Valentina complained.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,
but your other grandma
has told us to wait,” Melina
said without budging.
* * * *
“What were you asking,
Melina? I couldn’t hear,”
Alida said, emerging from
the kitchen with a smile.
She took in the scene and
frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
Everyone answered at
once, but Alida turned to
Melina.
“I asked everyone to wait
for your permission to
enter the kitchen,” Melina
explained with a wink.
“It’s absolutely fine. You
can all go in,” Alida said
with a smile.
“I couldn’t hear you
because I was sorting the
caterers’ packaging into
our recycling bags.
“Someone had stuffed
everything in the
undifferentiated waste
bin so I had to dig inside
and pull it all out.”
Melina froze. Why had
Alida told her secret?
* * * *
When the table had been
cleared and the others
were setting up the bingo,
Melina found herself alone
in the kitchen with Alida.
It was her chance to ask
the question.
“Do you not mind people
knowing that you’ve used
caterers?”
“Not at all,” Alida said
good-naturedly. “Christmas
isn’t a cooking competition.
“It’s about spending time
with family and friends.
“If I had cooked this
meal, I would have been
exhausted and I would
have spent all my time in
the kitchen instead of with
you all.”
“You are right. I should
take a leaf out of your
book,” Melina confessed.
“Every Christmas, I run
myself into the ground and
become grumpy and
insufferable to be around.”
“Family is more
important than food,” Alida
declared solemnly.
The coffee was gurgling
inside the percolator.
Alida turned off the flame
and Melina placed the
percolator on the serving
tray.
“Wait. Don’t take it to the
sitting-room yet. I’ve made
some biscuits to go with it,”
Alida said, pulling a tray of
beautiful pistachio and
lemon biscuits out of the
oven.
Melina complimented
them and Alida looked very
pleased.
They walked to the
sitting-room, Alida in front
with the biscuits, and
Melina behind with the
coffee.
But as they got to the
sitting-room, nobody paid
them any attention.
Everyone was crowding
around a box of chocolate
biscuits which Michele was
passing around.
Alida’s face contorted in
displeasure.
“Stop that! We’re having
my biscuits now!” she
snapped at her son.
Melina patted her arm to
calm her down.
“Family before food,
Alida, remember?” ■

The “Friend”
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Q You are a big cat lover. What is
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A I love their independent nature.
They don’t require constant
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entertaining themselves. But they are
also great listeners, and their purring,
gentle nudges and soothing presence
is very therapeutic. Cats are selective
about who they interact with, so when
a cat offers its love and friendship it’s
something very special.
Q Do you have a cat and if so,
can you tell us about them?
A I have several, most of them are
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like Conrad, the hero of my books,
though unlike Conrad she is female
and doesn’t talk. She does listen,
though. Her name is Celine and she
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a petrol station. Another rescue cat is
Christmas, black with white socks.
I found her on Christmas Day and she
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lesions. She was at the vets for six
weeks, but she is so happy now.
Q Conrad the cat is the main
character in your crime novels
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A Many writers do use
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crime novels, as opposed to
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A Always be reading and read the
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A In “The Cat Who Caught A Killer”,
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 28

Set in

Hot Off
1988
As Caitlyn negotiated

The Press
her new life, her mother
had her own concerns
for the future . . .
BY EIRIN THOMPSON

W
The Story So Far HEN she had prospect of such a big
imagined investor – they’d already
Journalist CAITLYN is friends with ANDY, the being back in started fantasising about
moving back to her deputy editor of the her old attic new office accommodation
hometown, Oakenridge, local paper. bedroom at and computers Arrowhead
to escape from the According to James, Lavender Cottage, Caitlyn would pay for.
pressures of her job in Andy is unhappy about had pictured herself But Caitlyn knew
London. not getting the editor snuggled under the duvet, Arrowhead’s form: they had
She has secured a new position, as he’s been reading herself to sleep like a track record of buying
position as the editor of with the “Chronicle” for she had done as a child. local weekly newspapers
the local paper, “The ten years, slowly working Back then, the height of and slashing staff and
Oakenridge Chronicle”, his way up. excitement had come from cutting budgets.
and her boyfriend MAX After meeting her new Enid Blyton’s tales of young Loyal workers lost their
agrees to join her if she colleagues, Caitlyn girls away at boarding jobs and the community no
decides to stay in the quickly discovers that school, or junior detectives longer had a healthy paper,
town permanently. locals think she’s unfit to on the scent of baddies. but a limp publication filled
Her parents, replace the outgoing Last night she had been out with generic celebrity
SCARLETT and PETER, editor, HARRY. kept awake by the and lifestyle material.
are also excited to have In addition, she learns unsettling rumour that As soon as she’d returned
Illustration by David Young.

her back at home. that Arrowhead Media, Arrowhead Media had set back to Lavender Cottage
Caitlyn shares the a London company its sights on buying “The she’d made a few calls,
train journey to renowned for destroying Oakenridge Chronicle”, of which substantiated the
Oakenridge with JAMES, local publications, is which she had just been rumour and gave an
a taxi company owner planning to buy the appointed editor. indication of how much
who turns out to be “Chronicle” . . . The staff in her office had Arrowhead were willing to
been buzzing at the pay for the “Chronicle”.

She could see that it was
a tempting sum.
“It’s hard to think what
worse news I could have
had on my first day,” she’d
told Max when she’d
phoned him.
“The current proprietor
might not be remotely
interested in selling, so
maybe hold off worrying for
a while,” Max had advised.
“But all our plans for
getting out of London are
predicated on me making a
go of this job!”
“And you will. Unless this
is your way of telling me
you’re having second
thoughts?” Max asked.
“I’m not.”
It was the truth.
Caitlyn had had more
than enough of city life.
Working as a magazines
journalist and being
expected to participate in a
hectic social life had wrung
her out to the point where
it had made her ill.
She had no second
thoughts about returning to
Oakenridge and the chance
to slow down, enjoy nature
walks and perhaps a drink
at the pub.
Max was a true
Londoner, though, and the
whirlwind of activity there
suited him.
Was he asking her about
second thoughts because
he was having some of his
own?
Between that and the
Arrowhead rumours, it was
no wonder that Caitlyn had
lain awake for hours.
And now here she was,
about to stride into the
newspaper office on Market
Street for her first full day
as editor.
“Hi, boss!” Louise, the
receptionist, greeted her.
“Good morning, Louise,”
Caitlyn replied. “Are you
always this early?”
“I always come a bit
before the others, so the
kettles are boiled for
everyone else arriving.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“Not entirely – in return,
they let me off contributing
to the tea and coffee kitty.”
“Seems fair. Do you have
the photographer’s diary?”
“Sure. If you can make
out the writing.”
Louise set the diary on
the reception counter and
turned it to face Caitlyn.
“Marcus doesn’t have
anything on until almost
ten,” Caitlyn said, referring
to the staff photographer.
“What time is he likely to
make an appearance here?
I was hoping to talk to
everyone together.”
“Marcus always shows up
at nine, if he doesn’t have a
marking somewhere else,”
Louise replied. “If he didn’t,
he wouldn’t get a chance to
grumble about how much
harder he’s expected to
work than everyone else.”
Caitlyn smiled slightly,
but decided to make no
response to that remark.
She wasn’t going to
pre-judge any of her team
based on gossip.
By ten past nine,
everyone had arrived and
Caitlyn asked them all to
meet in the editorial office.
“First of all, can I say how
delighted I am to be
appointed editor of ‘The
Oakenridge Chronicle’,” she
began. “I grew up in this
town, and I know how much
a part of the fabric the
paper is.
“I’ve spent a lot of time
looking at recent issues of
the ‘Chronicle’, and it
seems to me a very strong
example of a local weekly.
“However, that is not to
say there is nothing we can
do to make the paper even
better.
“I want to perhaps do a
bit of tweaking, so that we
not only keep our loyal
readers, but ensure a new
generation is coming on
board, too.”
Caitlyn scanned the
room. Everyone looked
happy enough with her
little speech.
Everyone except Andy,
her deputy editor.
He didn’t even look at
her, preferring to gaze at a
map of Oakenridge that
was fixed to the wall.
Caitlyn gave an inward
sigh and wondered what it
would take to win him over.
Rallying of the troops
done for the present, she
retreated to her office and
took a deep breath.
Now she needed to ring
Mr Stoupe, the paper’s
proprietor, and try to
persuade him against
selling to Arrowhead and
putting all those good
people’s jobs in jeopardy.
* * * *
Scarlett was not
renowned for her domestic
triumphs – she was a lousy
cleaner and a pretty awful
cook – but even she could
see that her mother-in-law
was not keeping on top of
her chores.
The little path up to Lily’s
front door was sprouting
weeds.
Scarlett bent down and
pulled up the worst of them
before ringing the doorbell.
It took Lily so long to
answer the door that
Scarlett was beginning to
wonder if she’d gone out.
But then Lily appeared,
smiling brightly.
Scarlett followed her
through the tiny porch and
into the parlour.
Newspapers covered the
sofa, a pile of post was
heaped on the table and a
basket of laundry stood on
the ironing board.
“You pop the kettle on
and I’ll make a bit of
space,” Lily said, reaching
for the newspapers.
“Maybe I’ll just help you
in here first,” Scarlett
answered. “Then we can sit
down to our tea. Is this
laundry to go on the
washing line?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“Come on, then. Where
are your pegs?”
As Scarlett carried the
basket outside, she noticed
how carefully Lily walked
down the path.
Lily dipped into the
basket and pulled out a
blouse, but when she went
to reach it up to the line,
she struggled.
“How about I do the
hanging and you pass me
the pegs?” Scarlett said,
and Lily nodded.
When Scarlett had first
come to Oakenridge, she
had found Lily a welcoming
mother-in-law.
Scarlett had been
brought up by her father,
after her mother died very
young, so having Lily to talk
to as she found her feet as
a wife had been wonderful.
It had been Lily who had
encouraged Scarlett to
pursue her own interests,
recognising that she
SERIAL: PART 2 OF 3 29
needed creative outlets as
well as her family if she was
to be happy.
It was Lily who had
taught Scarlett how to
create a garden and how to
grow raspberries and
strawberries and make
them into jam.
She had also been the
most fantastic grandma.
“Thank you,” was what
Scarlett most often found
herself saying to Lily. “And
again, thank you.”
For years, Lily had barely
seemed to age at all.
But all of a sudden, the
years were starting to catch
up with her.
“Have you had a look at
this post?” Scarlett
enquired when they
returned to the house.
“Sort of,” Lily replied.
“What does that mean?”
Scarlett continued, though
she was smiling.
“I need new glasses and I
can’t read them. Would you
take a look and see if
there’s anything urgent?”
“If you’re sure there’s
nothing private,” Scarlett
replied warily.
“I shouldn’t think so. I’ll
just go and fetch a clean
apron.”
Scarlett’s eyes followed
Lily as she made her way to
the foot of the stairs.
She watched as her
mother-in-law began the
ascent, gripping both the
original hand-rail and the
additional one Peter had
installed on the opposite
wall at Scarlett’s
prompting.
Even with two handrails,
Lily’s progress was slow.
* * * *
The two women made a
pot of tea and sat down
together to enjoy it.
“It’s such a treat having
Caitlyn here,” Lily said,
smiling broadly. “I’ve
missed her so much.”
“I know.” Scarlett
grinned. “She’s going to
make such a fabulous job of
the ‘Chronicle’, too.”
“Are she and Max
house-hunting?”
“No. They’ve agreed that
Cait will take three months
to focus on the job, then
they’ll start looking for their
own place.”
Scarlett tried to insist on
30
washing the dirty dishes
that were in the sink, but
Lily was adamant that she
would do them herself.
When Lily rolled up her
sleeves, Scarlett flinched.
“What happened to your
arm?” she cried, seeing a
large bruise.
“Don’t worry about that,”
Lily said dismissively. “I had
a little argument with the
doormat.”
“You fell?”
“I tripped.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Scarlett asked. “Was it only
your arm you hurt?”
“Just my arm. And I
hardly felt it.”
Scarlett pictured Lily lying
on the floor.
What if she’d broken her
arm – or a hip – and been
unable to summon help?
If Lily was at risk of
falling, and if she could no
longer hang out her
washing, deal with her mail
or manage her weeding,
perhaps it was time for a
change of lifestyle.
Which meant what,
exactly?
Should Scarlett and Peter
bring her to live with them
at Lavender Cottage?
There was a spare
bedroom on the ground
floor and that was also
where the bathroom was
located, so Lily wouldn’t
have to climb any stairs.
But what would that
mean for Scarlett?
With Peter the
breadwinner in the house,
would she find herself
obliged to become Lily’s
carer?
She loved Lily, and was
supremely grateful to her,
but Scarlett had always
valued her independence
and thrived on spontaneity.
Scarlett closed her eyes
and blinked back tears as
she realised the only other
option.
Lily could live with them,
and Scarlett would lose her
cherished freedom, or they
could place Lily in a home.
* * * *
Caitlyn was sitting in her
office sub-editing Ashleen’s
report about rural bus
services when Andy stuck
his head round her door.
“Someone here to see
you,” he said.
“Shall I show them in?”
“They’ve specifically
asked for me?” Caitlyn
checked.
“Very specifically,” Andy
assured her.
“OK.”
The next moment, a
middle-aged man stepped
over her threshold.
“Hello,” Caitlyn began,
standing up. “My name’s
Caitlyn Moore. I’m the new
editor at the ‘Chronicle’.
How can I help you?”
The man offered her his
outstretched hand and they
shook.
“Raymond Smart,” he
introduced himself. “I’m
very pleased to meet you.
“To be honest, it’s about
time the paper had a
change at the top.
“I have read ‘The
Oakenridge Chronicle’ for
years and I approached the
previous editor with a very
big story on more than one
occasion, but he completely
let me down.”
Caitlyn swallowed. Was
she going to be handed a
juicy lead in her first week
in the editor’s chair?
Had Harry Friar perhaps
grown complacent in his
position and not bothered
to pursue a story because it
was controversial or even
dangerous?
“Mr Smart,” Caitlyn
began, “I’m sorry if you feel
you’ve been disappointed
with our response before.
“I can assure you that I
am very keen to encourage
the public to bring their
news and concerns to our
attention.
“We will give them our
careful consideration.
Would you like to tell me
more?”
“Well, it’s like this. Traffic
wardens,” he said.
“Traffic wardens?”
“Completely out of
control. Write you a ticket
soon as they look at you.”
“Are you saying they’re
behaving unprofessionally?”
Caitlyn asked.
“I am,” Mr Smart stated.
“I brought it to your
predecessor’s attention
more than once, but he
never printed a word.
“Perhaps they got to him,
too.”
“They?” Caitlyn echoed.
“It’s a conspiracy.”
“A conspiracy?”
“The ecology people,” Mr
Smart explained. “They
want us motorists off the
road completely.”
“And you believe
environmental campaigners
are in league with traffic
wardens?”
“What other explanation
can there be?”
Caitlyn’s heart sank.
“You say you’ve brought
this to the attention of my
predecessor?”
“On numerous occasions,
but he did nothing and last
night I got another ticket
outside the chippy where I
popped in to get my tea.”
“Which chippy?”
“PJ’s. It’s –”
“It’s right on the corner of
Castle Street and Wood
Lane,” Caitlyn interrupted.
“Where there are double
yellow lines.”
“Yes, but I was only
parked there for a
moment.”
“You mean, while you
queued, placed your order
and waited for them to
prepare and wrap your
food and take payment?”
she asked.
“Correct.”
“Which could have been
quite a few minutes.”
Raymond Smart glared at
Caitlyn.
“I don’t like your tone,
Miss Moore,” he told her.
“Are you by any chance
associated with these
eco-warriors yourself?”
“In my role as editor of
the ‘Chronicle’, I aim to be
impartial in matters of local
politics.”
“So you will follow up my
story?” Mr Smart checked.
“I’m not convinced that
you’ve provided compelling
evidence,” Caitlyn told him.
“However, if you wish to
raise a concern about a
lack of town centre parking,
then I’m perfectly willing to
print your views on our
letters page.”
Mr Smart narrowed his
eyes, then puffed out his
chest.
“That would certainly be
a start,” he agreed. “Would
you prefer my letter to be
typed or hand-written?”
“Either is acceptable,”
Caitlyn said. “And you will
need to include your full
name and address.”
Mr Smart shook Caitlyn’s
hand a second time and
gave her a serious look
before turning and striding
from her office.
Thanks, Andy, she
thought. He knew exactly
what he had been doing.
It flashed through
Caitlyn’s mind to ring Max
and have a little moan
about her deputy
deliberately setting her up,
but she hesitated to go
running to him at the first
hint of trouble.
She stepped out into the
editorial office and almost
bumped into James, the
helpful chap from the train
the other day.
“Hello again!” he
exclaimed. “Caitlyn? Do
you remember me?”
“Of course,” she replied.
“What are you doing
here?” he asked.
Well, this was
embarrassing.
On the train, James had
shared with Caitlyn the fact
that his best friend, Andy,
was angry at being
overlooked for the editor’s
job at the newspaper.
James had had no idea
that Caitlyn herself had
been given the post, and
she had not enlightened
him.
There wasn’t any way of
hiding it now.
“Ready for a coffee,
boss?” Louise called across
the office, leaving little
doubt about whom she was
addressing.
James looked at Caitlyn,
first puzzled, then aghast.
He looked at Andy and
his jaw dropped.
“Don’t worry,” Caitlyn
murmured softly. “It’s all
fine.”
She turned towards
Louise.
“Yes, please,” Caitlyn
said. “I’m parched.”
“The reason I’m here is to
take out an advertisement,”
James continued. “I’ve
found a kitten and I’m
hoping to reunite it with its
owner.
“It seems healthy enough,
but I can’t keep it as I have
a spaniel and I’m afraid he
just won’t put up with it.
“We don’t have a rescue
centre in Oakenridge, so
I’m pretty keen to pass the
little chap on.”

While James had been
explaining, Scarlett had
come upstairs.
“I was going to treat you
to lunch, Caitlyn,” Caitlyn’s
mother told her. “But it
sounds like I might be
needed for other duties.
“Did I just overhear a tale
of an orphaned kitten?”
Scarlett added.
“James, this is my mum,
Scarlett, who has a track
record with waifs and
strays,” Caitlyn explained.
“Mum, this is James.”
Scarlett shone her
radiant smile on James.
“Pleased to meet you.
Now, where’s this kitten?”
James and Scarlett went
off to transfer the kitten
from his car to hers, and
James returned a few
minutes later to place his
advertisement.
“Your mum’s amazing,”
he told Caitlyn. “That small
cat was prickly towards me,
but she sang him a song
and hypnotised him.
“For her, he’s as meek as,
well, as a kitten, I suppose.
Is she always like that?”
“Ha!” Caitlyn replied.
“Pretty much.”
How lovely to hear her
mother complimented so
enthusiastically!
She couldn’t help
reflecting on how different
this was to Max’s
commentary, which didn’t
really appreciate Scarlett’s
make-it-up-as-you-go-along
approach to life.
* * * *
“Are you in a rush, Val?”
Scarlett asked as she and
her art club chums packed
up their things.
They had been sketching
a still life – luscious fruit on
a wooden board, which
would normally have made
Scarlett feel like reaching
out for a handful and
stuffing it in her mouth.
Not this afternoon,
though.
Val glanced up at her.
“Not especially. Fancy a
chinwag?” she asked.
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Come on, then. Let’s
grab a couple of
cappuccinos.”
In the café, Val pulled her
chair close to Scarlett’s.
“What’s on your mind?”
Val asked. “I thought you
weren’t your usual self in
the group just now.”
Scarlett hesitated. If she
spoke her concern out loud,
it would give it greater
substance, make it real.
But if she didn’t tell
someone soon, she felt like
it would eat her up.
“It’s Lily,” she began.
Val looked grave.
“Is she ill?”
“Not exactly,” Scarlett
said. “But she is getting
very frail, Val.
“She’s having a hard time
keeping on top of things
and I found out that she fell
recently and didn’t tell us.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,”
Val said, and put her hand
over Scarlett’s. “Have you
thought of getting her one
of those alarms she could
wear like a pendant around
her neck, in case she has
another fall?”
“Of course, but it’s not
enough,” Scarlet said. “That
house is an accident
waiting to happen.
“She isn’t coping with
day-to-day stuff any more.
I don’t think she can
continue living on her own.”
“So what’s the
alternative?” Val asked.
“There are two, as I see
it: either we bring Lily to
live with us, or we find her
a residential home.”
Val sighed.
“And neither of those
options appeals to you,
really – am I right?”
Scarlett nodded.
“Look, there’s no shame
in not wanting to move
your mother-in-law into
your home full-time,” Val
reasoned.
“Isn’t there?” Scarlett
answered doubtfully. “She’s
done so much for us down
the years.
“Now that the tables are
turning, all I have are
selfish thoughts about
being trapped.”
“Those aren’t your only
thoughts, or we wouldn’t be
having this conversation,”
Val observed.
“I’ve always known I’m a
selfish person,” Scarlett
continued.
“You might not always
have had a full-time job,
but I don’t think that’s due
to selfishness,” Val said.
“You’ve done huge amounts
of unpaid work as a
volunteer in the youth club,
the library and the women’s
refuge.”
“But I loved doing all
that!”
“Exactly. You’re in your
element when you’re
helping people. That’s
hardly a selfish life.
“Have you talked to Peter
about Lily?”
“Not yet.” Scarlett sighed.
“I wanted to get my head
straight first.”
Val nodded.
“Understandable,” she
said. “It’s a tricky situation,
but you’ll figure it out.
“Let me have a think, too,
and see if I have any ideas.”
“Thank you,” Scarlett
said. “On a lighter note, I’m
fostering the most
delightful little kitten . . .”
* * * *
Scarlett hurried home to
feed the kitten and start
the curry she had promised
to make for tea.
It was pretty much
foolproof, if she
remembered to top up the
liquid as required.
After the family had
eaten, Peter said he
wanted to put up some
shelves in the garage.
“Then we’ll have a girls’
night in,” Scarlett
suggested, looking at
Caitlyn. “I have a bottle of
wine in the fridge.”
“Sounds good,” Caitlyn
replied.
They took a sofa each
and Scarlett sprawled on
hers, entertaining the
kitten with a length of
ribbon.
The conversation ambled
through everyday subjects
and into their family
history, until, after two
glasses of wine, Caitlyn
turned to her mum.
“It’s a bit of a mystery to
me, you know, how you
ended up in a small town
like Oakenridge,” she said.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Caitlyn continued.
“I mean, you dress like a
bird of paradise and your
cosmetics make a bold
statement.
“You have little time for
convention. You’re not your
typical Oakenridge lady.
“There’s a wildness to
you, Mum, that the others
don’t have.”
31
“The others?” Scarlett
replied, looking curious.
“The women who do the
chrysanths for the church,
play golf and know all the
ages of the Royal family.”
Scarlett chuckled.
“That’s something of a
generalisation.”
“Yes,” Caitlyn conceded.
“But one that could never
include you. You’re unique.”
“I’ll take that as a
compliment.”
Caitlyn smiled.
“I meant it as one,” she
said. “But I still don’t know
how you ended up here.”
“It’s where your dad is,”
Scarlett replied. “Before I
met him, I had an excess of
energy and never quite
knew where it was going to
take me.
“It could have got me into
trouble.
“Your father was the
calmest, kindest person I
had ever met, and I knew
that, as long as he was in
my life, anchoring me, I
would be all right.”
“You’re so different,”
Caitlyn commented.
“Almost opposites.”
“I think we balance each
other out,” Scarlett said. “Is
that how it is for you and
Max?”
Scarlett watched her
daughter’s face as she
considered that question.
“Truthfully?” Caitlyn said.
“We’re different, too, but
that doesn’t seem to mean
harmony, in our case.
“We’re more likely to
clash than to compliment
each other.
“But I suppose that’s true
of lots of couples.”
“You know, Cait, if you’re
not sure about Max . . .”
Scarlet began.
“I am sure.” Caitlyn’s
answer was too quick.
“You seemed to get on
very well with James,”
Scarlett pointed out.
“Mum, I said I was sure
about Max,” Caitlyn
repeated.
Scarlett dropped the
subject and lifted the kitten
into her lap.
* * * *
Caitlyn had decided to
ring Max from work.
There was more privacy
in her editor’s office than
standing in the hall at
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Lavender Cottage.
“Mum and Dad are
looking forward to seeing
you at the weekend,” she
said. “As am I.”
“Yeah. About that . . .”
Max started.
“I thought we could check
into a hotel for the
weekend. Treat ourselves.”
“Are you kidding?”
Caitlyn replied, startled.
“There’s a room and free
food at Mum and Dad’s.”
“I know, but Scarlett and
I don’t see eye to eye on
matters of housekeeping
and hygiene,” Max stated.
“All I need is to spend my
weekend with a bout of
food poisoning.
“I don’t mean it to be
cruel. It’s just how I feel.”
“Mum and Dad would be
so hurt if you came to
Oakenridge and didn’t stay
with them,” Caitlyn told
him. “I can’t believe you’re
even suggesting it.”
“There’s no need to make
a big deal of it.”
“I’m not the one fussing,
Max. It’s you who’s being
ridiculous.”
For a moment, the
memory of her conversation
with Scarlett flashed
through her mind.
Was she absolutely sure
about her and Max?
They had been together
for five years.
But how would she feel if
he never wanted to stay at
her childhood home, and if
he always avoided her
mum’s hospitality?
How would that work if
they had children?
“I have to go,” she said,
hanging up.
Caitlyn looked at her
watch. Lunchtime.
She’d slip out and get a
breath of air, then come
back to her sandwich.
As she crossed the road
to the park, she heard
someone call her name and
turned round.
“James, hello!”
“Were you going for a
stroll?” he asked. “Mind if I
join you? I wanted a word.”
“Sure. What can I do for
you?”
“I thought I should let
you know, Andy’s been
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our website: www.thepeoplesfriend.co.uk.
bending my ear.”
“Oh. Still not happy that
he missed out on the
editor’s job?” Caitlyn asked.
“Quite the opposite. He’s
been singing your praises,”
James revealed. “Thinks
you’re going to be a great
asset to the paper and a
very decent boss to work
for.
“Apparently Harry used
to dump a lot of sub-editing
on him, which meant he
didn’t get to write as much
as he would have liked.
“But you give him time to
follow up the stories in
which he’s genuinely
interested by doing your
fair share of subbing. It’s
transformed him.”
“So he doesn’t hate me.”
“Definitely not.” James
grinned.
“Well, that’s certainly
good news,” Caitlyn replied.
“Now all I need is for the
rest of Oakenridge to
accept that their local
paper can actually be
edited by a woman.”
“Really? You’ve had
comments?” James asked.
“Many,” Caitlyn said.
“I admit it’s taken me
somewhat by surprise.
“Some people have
openly told me that it’s a
man’s job; others dropped
hints.”
“So prove them wrong,”
he told her. “Show them
that you can put out papers
as well as any man.”
Caitlyn found herself
drinking in James’s words
of encouragement.
She would make a
success of the paper, prove
her ability and, when the
proprietor finally answered
her calls, convince him it
was worth not selling to
Arrowhead Media.
“You have a gift,” she told
James with a smile. “You
know just what to say to
inspire.”
In another life, she might
have gazed into his eyes to
see if there was anything
there suggesting a spark.
But, of course, she
couldn’t. She was
committed to Max.
Continues on p104.
THE FARMER & HIS WIFE
The
Farmer
& His
Wife
This was a bit
of a crumby
gift, John Taylor
recalls . . .
I
T was a week before
Christmas when Charlie,
our postman, drove into
the yard in his red van.
“No bills this morning,
Mr Taylor!” he called.
Anne collected half a
dozen Christmas cards
from him, plus some junk
mail and a wee parcel.
It was the parcel that
intrigued her. It was
addressed in big letters to
Mr John Taylor.
I think if I hadn’t been
coming across the yard,
she would have opened it.
Instead, she had to
content herself with a
quick squeeze before she
handed the parcel over.
I took the parcel and we
went into the kitchen for a
quick cuppa.
I put the parcel to one
side and we began to open
the cards.
“Oh, we’ve forgotten old
George. I’ll send him a
card today,” Anne said.
Then unable to contain
her curiosity any longer
she added, “John, are you
going to open the parcel?”
“It’s only a seed sample.”
I knew it wasn’t seeds.
I had guessed who it was
from, despite the sender
trying to disguise his
identity by printing the
name and address.
I was surprised Anne
hadn’t twigged, too.
I could feel something
hard inside. I tore a corner
of the packet and let a few
black bits fall out.
“Oh, yes – these are the
new rape seeds, dear.”
33
Anne picked one up and
put it between her fingers.
It crumbled into bits.
“John, those aren’t
seeds. Open the parcel!”
I did, and out dropped
two mince pies.
But they were almost
unrecognisable – burned
so black that if you
touched them they just
crumbled.
I can’t name names.
All I can say is that the
sender was a younger
member of our family.
“Grandad, enjoy them
for supper!” I read the
accompanying note aloud.
Anne was not amused.
I was, but Anne says I
have a warped sense of
humour!
I won’t tell you which of
the lasses had put a batch
of mince pies in the oven
to warm for their guests.
She forgot about them.
When her husband went
into the kitchen, he
couldn’t see for smoke.
I don’t suppose she’ll be
the only one to do that
this Christmas.
I just hope this story will
remind you to take your
mince pies out in time! ■
More
next
week.
34

Cook Ahead For Enjoy the hectic

Christmas
festive period
with these
freezer-friendly
dishes.

Ice-cream COOK’S TIP:

Christmas Soaking the

fruit for
Puddings approximately
5 minutes in boiling
Serves: 6 water means that it
60 g raisins soaks up the rum
60 g sultanas or brandy more
60 g currants readily.
100 g glacé cherries,
quartered
3 tbs dark rum or brandy
½ tsp nutmeg, freshly grated
if possible
700 ml (approx. 1½ x 460 ml
tubs) vanilla ice-cream
A little vegetable oil
6 small bunches seedless
grapes
1 egg white, lightly beaten
2 tbs caster sugar
Mint leaves and 2-3 tbs
pomegranate seeds, to
decorate

1 Put the raisins, sultanas, currants

and glacé cherries into a heatproof
bowl. Cover with boiling water and
leave to stand for 5 minutes.
Drain really well, then stir in the
rum or brandy and nutmeg. Cover
and leave to stand overnight.
2 Next day, remove the ice-
cream from the freezer and allow
to soften for about 20 minutes.
Meanwhile brush 6 x 200 ml
individual pudding basins with a
little vegetable oil and line with
cling-film, allowing plenty to
overlap when filled. Tip the
ice-cream into a bowl and beat
with a wooden spoon until evenly
mixed, but still semi-frozen.
3 Stir in the soaked fruits. Spoon
into the prepared basins and cover
with the cling film. Transfer to the
freezer and freeze until solid. Dip
Recipes and food styling: Sue Ashworth.

the grapes into the lightly beaten

egg white, then coat them in caster
sugar. Open freeze until frozen,
then pack in a small freezer box.
4 To serve, allow the pudding
Images: Jonathan Short.

basins 4-5 minutes at room

temperature before turning out.
Remove the cling-film.
Serve, decorated with the
frozen grapes, mint leaves and
pomegranate seeds.
 COOKERY 35

Carrot, Pepper and Sweet Potato Nut Roast Serves:

3 tbs olive oil
2 red and 1 yellow pointed
peppers, halved lengthways,
seeds and tops removed
6 baby carrots, different colours
if available, sliced lengthways
250 g sweet potato, peeled and
thinly sliced
1 onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, crushed
300 g chestnut mushrooms,
finely chopped
1 tsp paprika
1 tbs soy sauce
1 tbs tomato puree
1 tbs chopped fresh rosemary
Salt and freshly ground black
pepper, to season
60 g hazelnuts
60 g pecans
400 g can chickpeas, drained
and rinsed
400 g can green lentils, drained
and rinsed
60 g ground almonds
3 eggs, beaten
Parsley sprigs, to garnish
1 Pre-heat the oven to 200°C/
fan oven 180°C/ Gas Mark 6. Grease
a 900 g (2lb) loaf tin with a little olive
oil. Fold a piece of foil into a wide
strip to cover the base and narrow
sides of the tin, with some overhang.
This will help you remove the loaf.
2 Put the peppers, carrots and sweet
potatoes into a roasting dish and add
half the olive oil, tossing to coat.
ves: 8
COOK’S TIP:
Roast for 25-30 minutes, until tender. To slice
3 Meanwhile, fry the onion in the neatly, cut
remaining olive oil for 5-6 minutes,
through the top
then add the garlic and mushrooms
and cook for a further 5-6 minutes,
layer of roasted
stirring often. Add the paprika, soy vegetables with
sauce, tomato puree and rosemary. scissors before
Season with salt and freshly ground slicing with a
black pepper. Cool slightly. knife.
4 In a food processor, blitz the
hazelnuts, pecans, chickpeas and
lentils together. Tip into a large bowl
and add the ground almonds, eggs
and mushroom mixture. Stir together.
5 Cool the roasted vegetables slightly.
Reduce the oven temperature to
180°C/ fan oven 160°C/ Gas Mark 4.
6 Arrange the roasted peppers and
carrots in the base of the prepared
loaf tin to give a good fit – reserve
one roast pepper for garnish.
Chop any excess carrots and add
these to the mushroom mixture
with the sweet potatoes. Tip this
mixture into the loaf tin, then bake
for 50-60 minutes until set and firm.
Allow to rest in the tin for 10 minutes
before inverting on to a serving plate.
Remove the foil and cool completely.
7 Pack the loaf in a freezer box and The perfect
freeze for up to 2 months. Freeze the vegetarian main
reserved pepper separately, cut into
course – or
thin slices. Thaw for 24 hours in the
excellent as a side
fridge before needed. Reheat covered
with foil for 30 minutes at 180°C/
dish to serve
with turkey or
fan oven 160°C/ Gas Mark 4. Slice
ham.
and serve, garnished with sliced roast
pepper and parsley.

Smoked Salmon and

Herb Mousse Serves: 6 These
individual
2 x 120 g packs smoked salmon smoked salmon
1 sachet (12 g) powdered gelatine starters are so
2 x 200 g packs soft cheese simple to
¼ cucumber, deseeded and finely chopped
prepare.
1 tbs finely chopped fresh dill
2 tsp chopped fresh parsley
Black pepper, to season
Cucumber slices and parsley sprigs, to garnish

1 Use the smoked salmon slices to line the base and sides of
6 x 150 ml ramekin dishes, trimming off the excess salmon.
Chop these trimmings into small pieces.
2 Pour 90 ml of just-boiled water into a jug and sprinkle in the
powdered gelatine, stirring well. Leave for 4-5 minutes to dissolve,
stirring occasionally to give a clear liquid.
3 Put the soft cheese into a mixing bowl and beat with a wooden
spoon to soften it, then stir in the salmon trimmings, cucumber,
dill and parsley. Season with black pepper. Add the cooled
gelatine liquid and stir thoroughly. Spoon the mixture into the
ramekins and level the tops. Chill until set, for 2 hours.
4 To store, wrap in freezer wrap and freeze for up to 2 months.
Remove from the freezer the day before serving, allowing them to
thaw overnight in the fridge. Run a knife around each ramekin and
invert on to serving plates. Serve, garnished with cucumber slices
and parsley sprigs.
36
Boxing Day Turkey and Ham Pie
450 g plain flour
2 tsp salt
100 g lard or white vegetable fat (Trex)
400 g turkey breast steaks, cut into
small cubes
400 g unsmoked gammon, cut into
small cubes
400 g pork sausage meat
2 tbs chopped fresh rosemary
1 tbs chopped fresh parsley
½ tsp ground allspice
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
100 g ready-to-eat dried apricots,
chopped
50 g dried cranberries
Beaten egg, to glaze
150 ml chicken stock
2 tsp powdered gelatine
1 Sift the flour and salt into a large mixing
bowl. Make a well in the middle. Gently heat
the lard or vegetable fat with 210 ml of water
Next week: delicious dainty nibbles.
Serves: 10
in a saucepan until melted, then bring to
the boil. Pour into the well and beat with a
wooden spoon to form a soft dough. Cool a
little, then knead until smooth. Cover and rest
for 20 minutes.
2 Meanwhile, mix together the turkey,
gammon, half the sausage meat, rosemary,
parsley and allspice. Season well. In a separate
bowl, mix together the apricots, cranberries
and remaining sausage meat.
3 Pre-heat the oven to 220°C/
fan oven 200°C/ Gas Mark 7.
4 Roll out three-quarters of the pastry on a
lightly floured surface and use it to line the
base and sides of a 20 cm loose-based cake
tin. Pack in half the turkey filling and level the
surface. Top with the apricot mixture, then
pack in the remaining turkey filling. Trim the
excess pastry, leaving a border of about 1 cm.
Dampen this with a little water.
5 Roll out the rest of the pastry and cut out
a 20 cm circle. Position it on top of the pie,
For more delicious recipes visit our
website: www.thepeoplesfriend.co.uk.
COOK’S TIP:
If the top of
the pie looks too
brown as it bakes,
ccover it with
double-thickness
Enjoy a g
greaseproof
slice of this paper.
celebration
pie!
pinch the edges together and make a hole in
the centre. Use the pastry trimmings to create
leaves and arrange on top of the pie. Brush
the surface with beaten egg. Stand the tin on
a baking sheet. Bake for 20 minutes, then
reduce the temperature to 180°C/
fan oven 160°C/Gas Mark 4 to bake for
1 hour and 30 minutes. Cool completely –
this will take a few hours.
6 Heat the stock until almost boiling, then
sprinkle in the gelatine, stirring until dissolved.
Cool for 10 minutes, then pour carefully
through the hole in the pie lid – you may
not need all of it. Chill for 2-3 hours to set
the gelatine.
7 Freeze the whole pie, packed in a
freezer box and keep for up to 2 months.
Alternatively, cut the pie into slices and wrap
individually in small freezer bags. Allow
2 days for the whole pie to thaw in the
refrigerator. Individual slices will take just
1-2 hours to thaw at room temperature.

Set yourself a
strict budget.
Season Of
Savings
Keep the festive magic alive on a
budget with Joan McFadden’s tips.
A
GOOD place to
start planning
for the big day
is working out
exactly what
you can afford to spend.
Rather than throwing
your credit card at
everything, budget
accordingly.
An environmentally
friendly approach can also
save money if you rent,
reuse or buy second hand.
Join local Facebook
groups, including
Marketplace, and either
search for what you want
or list what you’re looking
for.
This is the time of year
when people are brushing
the dust off unused gifts
and selling them for far
below retail price.
Use Vinted to do the
same, but before you buy,
sell.
Top up your Vinted
balance through your own
Images: Pixabay.
sales and use that to buy
gifts or party clothes.
For big Christmas
occasions, consider renting
your outfit – you will save a
fortune and help save the
planet!
Making Christmas
memories isn’t all about
spending a fortune, and
there are lots of family
activities that all ages can
enjoy.
Drive round to admire
the best decorated streets.
Have a baking session,
followed by a seasonal film
with hot chocolate and the
goodies you created.
Make up Christmas
boxes or a reverse Advent
calendar by collecting one
item every day to donate to
a food bank.
Collect pine cones on a
brisk winter walk and use
them to create festive
decorations.
Check if your local church
is having a Christingles
service. All you’ll need for
this activity is an orange
and a candle.
Instigating a tighter
budget for teenage or adult
gifts will take off the
financial pressure, while
encouraging everyone to
Decorating needn’t
break the bank!
use their imagination, with
brilliant possibilities.
A garden tool and
moisturising hand cream
for a keen gardener, luxury
cocoa and a fancy mug for
a chocolate lover, or wine
and delicious cheese for
someone who knows their
grapes.
Take a similar approach
A baking session is a
recipe for family fun.
TIPS 37
to Christmas dinner and
don’t feel you have to go
overboard.
Write a list and stick to
it, buy freezeable items
before Christmas and
compare all supermarket
offers, as they’ll be trying
to outdo each in low-priced
veggies and Christmas
staples.
Don’t buy a huge turkey
when a crown or breast
would be enough, or try a
local butcher for something
different, like a capon.
If the family are
descending on you for the
season, think local again.
Practically
ev verything you need
a
at this time of year
ccan be rented or
b
borrowed: sofa beds,
g
glasses and crockery,
e
even a larger dinner
ttable.
You can even get
your requests out
early on your local
Facebook group
and watch
community spirit in
action.
For the ultimate
save the planet
gesture, you could
also
l consider renting your
Christmas tree.
You can arrange for the
tree to be dropped off with
you directly.
Best of all, there’s no
recycling to deal with
afterwards, as it will be
picked up and replanted.
Affordable, fun and with
no lasting debt – now that’s
a happy Christmas! ■
 38
Lord Of Misrule
Helping two weary travellers had
won Will a curious reward . . .
BY CHARMAINE FLETCHER
W
ILL entered
their small
cottage,
shaking snow
from his
shoulders as an angel
might shake feathers.
“Will!” his sister Grace
called. “Where have you
been? With a blizzard
blowing up, and your natal
day tomorrow, too?
“In the time you have
been gone, I finished
making the shirt with the
fabric you wove.
“It should fetch a fine
profit, I’m certain.”
“Hush, now, Grace, we
have visitors,” Will
cautioned, moving aside to
reveal two men.
Illustration by Mandy Dixon.
One was short, and older
than his companion.
The younger stooped
beneath their low doorway.
Each was swathed in a
mantle of snow.
Having met them on the
road, from their dress Will
was confident they were
gentlemen of noble stock.
One wore elaborate
gauntlets – kid, Will
supposed.
Likely they cost a pretty
penny and, doubtless, were
too good for the December
weather on such a night.
As they stepped inside,
Will noticed Grace
observing the older
traveller’s dark hair and
kind, brown eyes.
Although he said little,
merely nodding courteously
in their direction, his air
suggested he would brook
no contradiction.
“They were bound for
Swanmead Hall and their
Yuletide revels,” Will said,
“but amid the storm,
unable to ride, became
separated from their party.
“They will rest and sup
with us until it has abated.”
He turned to the men.
Set
in the
1640s
“Will Thursfield, weaver,
and my sister, Mistress
Grace.” He doffed his hat.
The hat, of soft dun felt,
had seen better days,
made worse by the snow.
Regardless of his
impoverished appearance,
Will bowed low.
Following his lead, Grace
bobbed a wobbly curtsey.
“Sit ye down,” Will said.
“We have little, alas,
Christmas Eve or no.
“Winter’s been hard in
these parts but, thanks to
my sister, there is broth
and fresh baked bread.
“It will warm you
until . . .”
He glanced at Grace,
silently warning the girl to
hold her tongue, guessing
her views on strangers
depleting their meagre
supplies and firewood.
Though such thoughts
were unsaid, their inference
hung on the air.
If they understood, the
men said nothing, simply
nodding and smiling.
Grace pursed her lips.
Will wondered about the
men’s identity – especially
as they had not introduced
themselves.
He had not summoned
enough courage to ask.
Gratefully, the men sank
on to the worn settle,
extending their hands to
the fire.
Will took the footstool,
while Grace busied herself
with their meal.
The silence was broken
only by the crackling fire,
until eventually, Will spoke.
“Swanmead, Lord
Carstairs’ residence, is not
far,” he began, “just
through the forest and
across the border, on the
outskirts of Cambridge.
“Our cottage almost
straddles both counties.”
“Brother, you can’t mean
to venture out again in such
foul weather?” Grace
exclaimed, ladle in hand.
“Not I, but our guests
have business to be about,”
Will said. “With the right
directions, they might arrive
in time for the festivities.”
Again, Grace said
nothing, simply handing
them wooden bowls of
soup, placing a jug of
mulled cider and a basket
of bread on the table.
The older man leaned
forward, carefully feeling
the napkin she had placed
inside it for decoration.
“This is v-very good
work,” he said, unable to
conceal a stammer, his
accent a soft burr Will
didn’t recognise.
Noticing his shyness, Will
took pity on him.
“Thank you, sir.” He
beamed. “’Twas our first
apprentice piece, I the
weaving, and Mistress
Grace the lace.
“Our parents taught us
their trades, and we
wouldn’t part with it.”
* * * *
As everyone ate, the
room grew quiet again, the
snow beyond the small
window falling hypnotically.

“How do you manage,
Mistress Grace, in this poor
light with barely a candle?”
the younger man asked
eventually.
“Why, I work from sunrise
spring and summer,” she
replied. “I store the lace,
selling it at fairs, sometimes
to grand ladies.”
“I, too, follow that
pattern,” Will added. “’Tis
true, we need good light
but work has fallen off
lately.
“No matter, it will start
afresh in the coming year.
“Folk need shirts and
dress lengths for weddings
and such.”
Will saw the men
exchange looks.
“If you escort us to
Swanmede Hall,” the
younger said, “you would be
handsomely rewarded.
“Enough for candles, food
and materials aplenty,
sufficient for next year and
beyond.”
Will noticed Grace stiffen
while returning the small
cauldron to the fire.
“Begging your pardon,
sirs,” he said. “My sister has
concerns for her safety.
“The weather is cruel. I
could not return until late
on Christmas Day – leaving
her alone.”
“Indeed!” Grace cried.
“Sister!” Will warned.
“No, she is correct – but
’twould be a small price to
pay for generous
recompense,” the younger
man cajoled.
Will shook his head.
“I could not abandon my
sister, not on Christmas
Day,” he said.
“Yet you did leave her,”
the other pointed out.
“For kindling, to warm us
and cook other meals!”
Grace protested hotly.
“Grace, still yourself,” Will
cautioned.
He would have declined
but the older man indicated
his clenched hand before
slowly opening it, revealing
a feather.
It was not soft and white
but small, firm and grey.
Will watched him smile
knowingly, as they both
acknowledged its
significance.
The Brotherhood of the
Grey Goose Feather.
Glancing at his hat,
steaming by the hearth,
with a similar feather
concealed within its band,
Will knew what he must do.
Members of the
Brotherhood, true Fens
men all, were sworn to help
one another when the call
came.
With a sinking heart, Will
realised he couldn’t refuse.
“Very well, sirs, but the
snow is abating,” he said.
“We had best be on our
way if we are to reach
Swanmead by nightfall.”
“But Will –” Grace began.
He silenced her with a
meaningful look.
As he turned to go, Grace
thrust a package at him.
“’Tis the shirt. Mayhap
you might sell it,” she
murmured.
“Perhaps,” Will said,
tucking it within his cloak.
* * * *
The journey to
Swanmead Hall was cold
and difficult.
Although the snow had
ceased, the wind was
biting, the going hard.
Eventually, lights shone
in the distance, flaming
sconces, illuminating a path
to an imposing oak door.
Will noticed the two men
sharing a smile.
“You have made good
your promise,” the older
man told him, “as must we.
Come, join the revels – in
fact, better than that.
“You shall be Lord of
Misrule and we will wait on
you – a jolly jape for sure.”
His younger companion
looked sceptical.
“Why, good sirs!” Will
exclaimed. “My grandsire
and his, too, spoke of such
an ancient custom,
favoured by King Henry,
but surely, ’tis a bygone
tradition now?”
At the King’s name, the
two men raised their
eyebrows, unhappy to be
reminded of a Tudor.
“No matter, ’tis my wish
that you be Lord of
Misrule,” the elder said.
Will saw him glance at his
fellow traveller, who bowed
slightly in acquiescence.
“Very well, sir, I will
speak with Lord Carstairs.”
He turned curtly, walking
swiftly ahead of them.
The older man and Will
were welcomed into the
hall with much ceremony,
“A wondrous idea –
reviving Lord of Misrule,”
Lord Carstairs boomed.
“This is the man on whom
we must bestow the title?”
He eyed Will quizzically.
“Yes. He is a Christmas
Day babe,” the younger
man supplied wryly, “and,
according to superstition,
must one day be ennobled.
“He has done great
service and it is my lord’s
wish that our weaver here
should be Lord of Misrule.”
“Tables shall turn and nobles
wait on a commoner . . .”
“Then so be it,” Lord
Carstairs said heartily.
“Tables shall turn and
nobles wait on a
commoner, who should
command us all.”
There was a slight cough
from the older man.
“Everyone except my lord
here,” the younger man
supplied quickly, “who is
weary and has matters to
discuss with certain
Parliamentary guests.”
“That is so.” He nodded.
Lord Carstairs summoned
his steward, who appeared
from the shadows.
Large double doors
opened. Will was ushered
in and seated at the head
of the banqueting table.
Next, he was cloaked in
red and crowned with a
wreath of winter greenery.
Everyone cheered and
the steward indicated that
Will should speak.
He gazed around
nervously before
acknowledging his destiny.
“Let us toast the Lord of
Misrule!” he cried, raising
his goblet. “May Yuletide
gladness reign on this day
of light – Christmas!”
Everyone cheered. Lute
and pipes played as guests
talked, ate and drank.
Will was in disbelief – if
only his dear mother might
see him now: a lord at last,
on Christmas Day, too.
And so it continued,
feasting and merrymaking,
until the sun rose against
the dazzling white snow.
As tinges of pink
appeared in the sky, guiltily
SHORT STORY 39
Will remembered Grace.
Seeing him arise, the
steward nodded at Will’s
request as reluctantly he
removed his crown.
The carousing continued
as they left the room.
Will’s former travelling
companions appeared.
“We come to bid you
farewell, a loyal and true
servant,” the older one
said, smiling.
“And to make good our
promise.” His companion
proffered a basket of
provisions and a purse.
“You have helped a great
man in more ways than
one,” he murmured.
From beneath his cloak,
Will withdrew the shirt.
Regardless of his service,
he could not let Christmas
pass without offering his
benefactor a gift.
“Please take this, and
wear it when you most feel
the need to do so,” he said.
The older man appeared
touched, his eyes welling.
“I shall,” he said. “Alas, I
have nothing to give in
return – although . . .”
He fished in his pocket.
“Here,” he said, “perhaps
a portrait of me might
remind you of this night.”
Something flat and round
was placed into Will’s hand
and the man disappeared.
Journeying home, seeing
the cottage in the distance,
Will remembered the gift.
Withdrawing it, he turned
the token over, glittering in
the cold light. He realised it
bore the image of the King.
What on earth would
Grace say, he mused.
* * * *
On a chill January
morning in 1649, while
preparing to meet his
tragic fate, Will later heard
it said that Charles I wore
two shirts lest he shivered
and be thought a coward.
Will believed it was to
feel the warmth of human
kindness close to his heart.
In doing so, he hoped
Charles remembered the
humble weaver who had
little, yet gave all he had. ■
 40

Next year is our

20th anniversary!
With Christmas very close, it The children wish
is my pleasure to share with a merry Christmas
you this festive update on the to all readers!
magnificent work of the
Winnie Mabaso Foundation,
courtesty of founder and our
dear friend Lisa Ashton MBE.
For many years now
“Friend” readers have given so
generously to this wonderul
charity and this year has been
no exception. Your caring and kind approach to life
shines though in your many lovely donations, which go a
long way to help Lisa and her hard-working team to help
disadvantaged people in South Africa.
Christmas is a time that should bring people together,
and although we may live many miles apart, we have a
wonderful bond with the people in the townships and
that is something we can all
cherish every day, but
especially at this time of year.
Stuart Johnstone, Editor.

F
ESTIVE greetings to
you all from the
African sunshine!
What a great year it
has been for the
Winnie Mabaso
Foundation, and this is in
part to all of you who show
us so much support
throughout the year.
Images: Winnie Mabaso Foundation.
a huge thank you!
The children in our home
are flourishing and they are
all getting super excited for
Christmas.
They have been busy
preparing home-made
decorations and dressing
the tree to make our house
feel cosy and festive, and
Thanks to you, we were
able to distribute over 100
beautiful warm blankets.
We are continuing with
our grocery pack
distributions, which you
have helped us provide.
Each pack costs £20 and
feeds a family of four for a
month.

Lisa Ashton MBE,
the Winnie Mabaso
Foundation’s founder
and CEO, gives us a
Christmas update on
how your money is
making a difference.
You truly are the best
and I cannot thank you
enough for your generosity,
especially given how tough
things are economically for
us all at the moment.
Your big hearts make the
world of difference to our
friends and family in South
Africa, so on behalf of them
The Granny Club
is still thriving.
they will be writing their
letters to Santa soon.
It is the start of our long
school summer holiday
now, so we have some
exciting things in store for
them – including a trip to
the theatre.
They have all worked so
hard at school this year
that it will be good for
them to have some fun.
Last time I wrote to you,
I asked for your help in
enabling us to provide our
elderly friends with
blankets to keep them
warm.
As you know, they live in
corrugated iron shacks
without electricity or
running water, so winters
can be harsh for them.
Given it is Christmas, we
would love to include some
treats like biscuits and
sweeties, and I would be
most grateful if you would
consider helping us again
with these, please.
By the time you read this
update, I will be at the
seaside with our Granny
Club!
It takes eight hours to
drive to the ocean from
Johannesburg, and many
of them have never seen
the sea before.
But thanks to one of our
sponsors, Tropic Skincare,
we are taking them on a
short break away.
We will be visiting a
coffee plantation to see
how coffee is grown, as well
 REAL LIFE 41
People can collect
a hot meal at the
feeding station.

Some of the fun

creations from the
Sew Amazing school.

as a day out at a marine sewing school three days

park called Ushaka.
Our evenings will be
spent around the campfire
reminiscing about our lives
and making plans about
what we would like to do
next year.
Our Granny Club offers
practical support as well as
fun and social activities for
our elderly friends.
It is such a privilege to be
able to spoil them.
Our Friday night feeding
station is busier than ever,
with us providing a hot
meal to over 1,000
community members.
It costs us £5 to feed 20
people so if you’d like to
help us with this, we would
appreciate your support as
we seek to make their
Christmas a little brighter.
We have recently had our
graduation ceremony at
our pre-school, with several
of our tiny tots leaving us
per week instead of two,
and we will be able to enrol
more unemployed ladies!
The students have been
making the most delightful
animals in stunning African
fabric, and we have been
selling these to our
international visitors.
The ladies are enjoying
making a small income
from the items they are
making. We are very proud
of them all.
Our homework club and
sports club continue to
attract more and more
children.
We still need to get some
laptops to assist the
students, and I am always
so inspired to see how
seriously the children
take their education and
how dedicated they are
It’s always fun
decorating the
The homework
club supports a
lot of students.
with their studies.
The veggie gardens are
going from strength to
strength, and it is so
wonderful to see our
home-grown veggies
providing healthy meals for
our children.
Next year is our 20th
anniversary!
I can hardly believe it’s
been that long since I first
met Winnie Mabaso and
my life was turned upside
down!
It has been the biggest
honour to continue her
dream and I can’t wait to
share next year’s
celebrations with you all.
Well, that’s about all my
news for now.
I hope you have enjoyed
reading my update and
thank you once again for
being part of our Mabaso
family.
I love getting your letters
and updates on your lives
so keep them coming!
I wish you all a blessed
Christmas and a healthy
and happy New Year.
As always in Mabaso
Love,
Your friend, Lisa ■

How You
Christmas tree.
for primary school.
It has been such a joy to

Can Help
be a part of their lives for
the past couple of years
and to watch their
academic journey begin.
We can’t wait to see what The Foundation requires donations to fund its
the future holds for them. projects and vital work. You can donate
We will have more
students joining us in ■ By cheque: please make cheques payable to the
January, and next year we Winnie Mabaso Foundation and send to 78 North
will be able to provide each Road, Glossop, Derbyshire SK13 7AU.
of our 30 students with ■ Online: www.winniemabaso.org.
their own school uniforms!
We are delighted that You can contact Lisa by phone: 01457 891498,
next year we will be able to or by e-mail: lisa@winniemabaso.org.
open our “Sew Amazing”
 42
One More Sleep
L
ET’S practise your
adding as we go,”
Pamela said.
“Kathy, pull your
socks up.
“It’s cold out and you
want to look smart.”
Kathy stopped and pulled
her socks up, noting that
they didn’t match.
They were both lacy and
white, but the holes in the
right one were smaller than
the holes in the left.
“How many windows on
that house?” Pamela
asked, pointing.
“About four,” Kathy said.
“About isn’t much good,
is it?” Pamela laughed.
“Four, then.”
Kathy had tried to learn
to count, but too often she
failed and failure sent her
into a paddy.
Illustration by Kirk Houston.
A lot of things sent her
into a paddy, which was
why two foster homes and
four children’s homes had
got rid of her.
“They didn’t get rid of
you, Kathy,” Pamela would
Set in
1977
say every time they walked
along a corridor in Social
Services.
“Yes, we are moving you
on to a new placement, but
I have good feelings about
this one.
“Come on, let’s get milk
at the office. I may have a
fig roll.”
Pamela helped Kathy
with schoolwork
sometimes. She missed
quite a bit of school.
When she got moved to
another home, the class
she was put in was
sometimes further ahead,
especially in sums.
Seeing Pamela mostly
meant trouble for Kathy.
It meant that everything
was a mess again and that
she would be going
somewhere new.
Kathy had done some
thinking about this – she
did a lot of thinking for a
six-year-old.
She reckoned that once
she got it firmly into her
head that a home was only
Kathy wished
she could just
stay in one
home – moving
made her feel
uneasy . . .
BY ALISON CARTER
a home for a while, the end
wasn’t so bad.
It was fairly bad, but she
could contain it in her head
without it blowing up into
small pieces.
* * * *
“Here we are – number
nineteen,” Pamela said.
“Ready?”
It was November and
another strange house – a
big one this time.
When the door opened,
two grown-ups jostled for
space in the doorway,
smiling at her.
They entered a hallway
with a wide staircase.
The two grown-ups tried
to be more talkative than
each other, saying how
welcome she was.
They told her about her
bedroom and the garden.
“Have you noticed that?”
the lady asked, pointing up
the staircase.
There was a long piece of
cord made of red and
green twisted together,
fastened to the wall with
golden drawing pins like
Mrs Walsh’s at school.
Hanging from the cord
were little bags.
They were green and red,
too, and made of felt.
Disappearing into the
distance as it reached the
top of the stairs, the thing
was like bunting.
Kathy remembered the
Union Flag bunting in
Social Services for the
Queen’s Silver Jubilee that
year.
She looked up the stairs.
Each of the little bags was
about the size of her hand.
She had no idea what
they were.
But she decided that the
lady and the man were now
expecting her to count
them.
“I don’t know,” she said in
a small voice.
She glanced anxiously at
Pamela. New situations
were unsettling and prone
to make Kathy turn sullen,
a state she found herself
unable to come out of.
“Do I have to?” she
asked.
The man tapped the lady
on her arm and said they
should get some tea
instead and maybe Kathy
would like a scone.
They were soon out of
sight of the funny bunting
and standing in a big,
warm kitchen.
These people did not, it
turned out, have other
children – foster or
otherwise.
That made things easier
for Kathy during the first
days of the new placement,
though it meant endless
attention.
They looked at her in the
way that people tended to
look at her, which could be
annoying.
In her six years she had
developed a remarkable
awareness of her history
and of herself.
The kids around her were
similar, too.
“Behaviour problems.”
The phrase had been
passed around the
children’s home when
Kathy was five.
“Issues of abandonment.”
That phrase was familiar,
too, although Kathy was
not supposed to have
heard it.
The new house was nice
and the lady and the man
were kind.
They were fun, too, in a
way that Kathy was less
used to.
People often treated her
as though she was made of
glass at the start.
For now, Liz and Andy

were getting her to help
with Christmas – wrapping
presents and buying stuff
for the table.
Kathy didn’t know that
December had begun the
day that Liz took her into
the hall.
“Why don’t you see
what’s inside number one?”
Liz suggested.
It was only then, standing
on the first stair tread, that
Kathy noticed a number
embroidered on the top
right corner of the first felt
bag.
She had hardly been up
the stairs and so had not
had the chance to examine
the cord more closely and
the number of bags.
There was a bathroom
downstairs and Kathy’s
bedroom was on the
ground floor, looking out
over the garden.
She liked it more than
any bedroom so far that
she could remember.
“I know,” Liz said with a
nervous laugh as Kathy
examined the little felt bag.
“I sent Andy out for thread
and he came back with
dark colours – the silly
thing – so you have to look
closely.”
“One,” Kathy said.
“One,” Liz repeated.
“That’s right.”
Kathy stepped down to
floor level.
Liz was going to get her
to do counting – grown-ups
did that constantly.
Sums were going to be
her “saving grace”; if she
did well in tests, all her
troubles and her past
would vanish.
Kathy didn’t get it and
she was reluctant when
numbers were pushed at
her.
“Open it,” Liz said.
“Oh.” Kathy stepped up
on to the first stair again
and reached up.
“Sorry – the cord’s
tacked on quite high up.
“We didn’t know you’d be
so . . .” Liz stopped herself.
“See what’s inside.”
Kathy put her hand in
and felt a crackle of plastic.
She pulled out a wrapped
lemon sherbet.
“Thank you,” she said,
staring down at it. She
turned to Liz. “If it’s for
me.”
“Well, of course it is. I
know the sugar is not ideal,
but we can brush your
teeth again, can’t we?”
* * * *
The next day, before
school, it was Andy who
took Kathy into the hall to
get her coat and find her
satchel.
“Don’t forget the next
pocket, Andy!” Liz called
from the kitchen.
“I nearly did forget,” he
called back. “Number two,
when you’re ready, Kathy.”
She had to climb up to
the next step to get her
hand into the bag with a
two embroidered in its
corner.
Inside was a chocolate –
one of the gold ones from
Quality Street.
“Give me the foil,” Andy
said. “I’ll bin it.
“Do you like the crispy
bits in that one?”
Kathy nodded. It
appeared that she was
going to be allowed to
open a bag every day.
“Don’t get excited,” Andy
said as he crumpled the
gold foil. “You don’t get a
different sweet every day
– we’re not that versatile.”
In fact, the number three
bag contained a toy – a
plastic frame with nine tiny
tiles which had to be slid
around to make a picture.
Kathy worked at it on the
way to school.
Liz was impressed when
she finished the picture
before the school gates.
Day four’s bag contained
a rolled-up liquorice string.
It was then that Kathy
decided that she would see
how many bags there were.
That would also serve to
pre-empt any grown-up
who might ask her to count
them.
Liz and Andy were
cooking as she climbed the
stairs.
She counted twice –
there were 24 pouches.
After the last pouch there
was a photograph on the
wall.
It showed Liz, Andy and
two dark-haired boys who
were older than Kathy.
Kathy heard feet in the
hall and spun round.
“They are my nephews,”
Andy said with a smile.
“They’re both at university
now. Supper’s ready.”
That night in her bed,
Kathy worked it out.
She was in this house for
24 days.
Pamela had not
mentioned that fact, but in
recent times Pamela had
stopped telling Kathy so
much, almost as though it
wasn’t worth the effort.
The last bag marked the
last day.
That was natural because
the day after that was
Christmas Day and Andy’s
nephews would come and
Kathy felt her face heat up
with anger and distress
other proper family.
You couldn’t have a kid
like her in the way for a
real family Christmas.
Kathy had spent every
Christmas that she could
remember in a children’s
home.
She felt a certain pride in
her own cleverness in
working it out.
She decided that she’d
store any non-sweet items
carefully, so that when she
was taken away she would
have presents, of a sort.
And there were lovely
things to come – a doll, a
teeny French knitting set, a
sewing kit.
It was really nice of Liz
and Andy.
As Kathy climbed higher
and felt the end nearing,
her brain began to hum
and her body got twitchy.
It was the not knowing
– not knowing where she’d
go next, if she’d even be
able to stay in Mrs Walsh’s
class.
She shouted at Andy one
morning and refused to eat
her tea because Liz forgot
that she didn’t like
mayonnaise.
She saw Andy and Liz
look at each other.
“It’s fine – I’m off after
the last pocket,” she
wanted to say.
But she didn’t. There was
no point.
On the last day, Kathy
laid her bag and satchel on
her bed, ready for packing.
Then she stood on tiptoe
to empty the last bag.
SHORT STORY 43
It was bigger than the
others and contained not
only a chocolate Father
Christmas but a miniature
bauble and a set of
colourful hair ties.
Kathy felt her face heat
up with anger and distress.
Why could she not stay in
one place?
Liz and Andy were nice,
but they only wanted her
until Christmas.
Liz walked up the stairs.
“Kathy, what’s with the
bags on your bed?”
Andy joined them.
“Why the tears?”
“It’s the last one,” Kathy
said. Her voice had shrunk
again. “My last day.”
“No!” Liz and Andy cried
out together. “Kathy,
sweetheart, this is an
Advent calendar!”
She frowned.
“What’s that?”
They told her – it was the
countdown to Christmas.
It was meant to build up
excitement before the day.
There was no “ending”.
“I’ve never seen one
before,” Kathy said.
Liz held her close.
“Sweetheart, we are
looking forward to having
you here for Christmas so
much!”
“How long?” Kathy asked.
“As long as . . . forever, if
possible,” Andy said in an
odd, strangled voice. “If we
can all make it work.”
Kathy sat on the stairs,
thinking of the hidden store
of tiny gifts in her room.
Maybe she would get
them out and line them up
on the empty shelf.
Liz had been asking if she
wanted to fill up the shelf.
“Why don’t you eat
Father Christmas?” Andy
suggested. “He’s hollow.
“He won’t spoil your
breakfast.”
“No. I’m saving him,”
Kathy said. “For tomorrow.
Can I?”
Tomorrow. The word felt
warm and cosy.
“Yes, you can save him
for tomorrow,” Liz said.
“Happy Christmas,
Kathy.” ■
 44
Festive
Friends
Bill Gibb discovers how two veterans’
charities are combating loneliness
and isolation this Christmas.
I
T’S a time of year for
joy, celebration and
togetherness.
Unfortunately, Christmas
can also bring
challenges, financial
struggles and loneliness.
This can be the case for
those who are serving and
have served their country,
as well as many others.
Charities Legion Scotland
and Poppyscotland are
always on hand, working
closely to make the most
wonderful time of the year
everything it possibly can
be for those who need and
Images: Legion Scotland.
Legion Scotland CEO
Dr Claire Armstrong
The Legion Scotland carols
are always very popular.
deserve it most.
Legion Scotland has
21,000 members, with
139 branches and 59 clubs
across the country, and
support is always to hand
over the Christmas period.
“Our veterans community
support service comes into
its own over this period,”
Dr Claire Armstrong,
Legion Scotland CEO, says.
“We’ve five co-ordinators
who have a team of more
than seventy volunteers
working with them.
“They’ll deliver Christmas
hampers, presents and are
on the end of the phone or
e-mail right throughout the
festive period for anyone
who needs them.
“This can be a difficult
time for people, and
isolation and loneliness at
other times of the year is
compounded over
Christmas.
“If they need help, even
on Christmas Day, I know
our volunteers would be
there for them.
The carol service will take
place at Edinburgh’s
Canongate Kirk.
“Some of the volunteers
have no military connection
but others are veterans
who have been helped
themselves, been reminded
that life is worth living and
want to give back.”
One of the biggest dates
in the Legion’s festive
calendar is the carol service
which takes place on
Sunday, December 17, at
Canongate Kirk in
Edinburgh.
It’s the fourth concert for
serving personnel, veterans
and their families, and
attendance has more than
doubled since the first.
It is, Claire says, a day to
gladden the heart.
“The kirk is beautiful
anyway, but it’s decorated
so nicely for Christmas.
The charities help people
over the festive period.
“There’s such a warm,
welcoming atmosphere
from the minute you arrive.
“Some people may not
have seen each other for
months and it’s a great way
to come together and relax
for that hour with the
carols and lessons.
“The band of the Royal
Regiment of Scotland are
with us again and they add
so much fun. The noise fills
the whole place and if
you’re feeling a bit bah
humbug, by the time you
leave you’ll be feeling the
warm fuzzies!”
Gordon Michie,
Poppyscotland’s head of
fund-raising, knows what
Christmas is like both
inside and out of the
military.

He spent seven years in
the RAF, stationed in the
UK, as well as posted
overseas.
“You can be away on
operational tours,
hundreds or even
thousands of miles away
from loved ones,” Gordon
says.
“There’s an effort to
make it special, with
officers serving up the
Christmas dinner and
everyone looking out for
one another.
“That’s the things about
all three services, the
military is based on stories
and connections.
“There is always that
feeling of camaraderie.”
It’s a feeling that
continues after leaving the
military for all veterans,
and that can be someone
who has served anything
from one day to decades.
The age group ranges
from those who served in
the Second World War to
young men and women.
“Christmas is a time when
we see more of a need for
our welfare services, and
we get requests for funds
to help with lots of things,
including with Christmas
presents,” Gordon says.
“A big part of our work is
with older veterans who
may be lonely because they
no longer have that family
network.
“It’s all about providing a
safety net, and people
know there is at least
someone always on the end
of the phone.
“There are lots of
Christmas lunches and the
increasingly popular
breakfast clubs become
Christmassy.
“We also have carol
concerts and try and make
sure there’s always loads
going on for veterans to
meet other comrades.”
The comradeship of those
who served is legendary.
Gordon came across a
very special illustration of
that at a Remembrance
Day event in Edinburgh last
month.
A pilot happened to meet
a young soldier who he had
airlifted as a casualty out of
a conflict zone in
Afghanistan.
The pair got talking,
bonded over their shared
experience, and are now
planning on having a
Christmas dinner together.
With almost 500 service
users, the Lothians
Veterans Centre is always
busy, but at Christmas it’s
a real hive of activity – and
a vital lifeline for many.
The charity was set up in
2009, and the drop-in
centre in Dalkeith supports
veterans and their families
from Edinburgh and across
the Lothians.
The band brings fun to the event.
Working with partners
such as Legion Scotland,
they can access a veterans’
community, giving peer
support, housing,
employment and financial
advice and more besides.
“We’re a garrison town,
so most of our veterans are
ex-Army and about three
dozen are women,” CEO
Pauline Cherrington says.
“The ages go from
twenty-one right up to
those in their nineties.”
The centre is a warm
hub, so veterans can pop in
at any time for a chat,
some soup or a filled roll
and, of course, the
companionship that helps
combat loneliness and
isolation.
There’s a year-round food
and toiletries parcel
service, but at this time of
year it takes on a real
festive flavour.
“As well as all the usual
basics, we’ll put in little
seasonal extras plus some
presents for the kids,”
HELPING OTHERS 45
The band of the Royal
Regiment of Scotland
will provide the music.
Pauline says.
“If we know someone is
going to be on their own on
Christmas Day, we’ll make
sure there are things like
Christmas puddings, mince
pies and a little parcel to
open.”
One of the most popular
activities at the centre is
the Friday bacon roll
morning.
It has now become a
festive party that includes
mince pies, crackers and
singing of Christmas carols
and songs.
“It’s always such a jolly
event, and we get veterans’
families and kids coming
along,” Pauline says.
“Our choir also has a
Christmas concert for the
residents of the Erskine
Edinburgh Care Home.
“The veterans’ community
is a family, and it’s just
about going that extra mile
at Christmas when we know
there are people on their
own and may be
struggling.” ■
 46
Back To Birch
Cottage
W
HEN Fay’s
phone rang,
she assumed
that Grace
wanted a
last-minute chat about
Christmas arrangements.
Instead, her daughter
was ringing to say that the
twins had gone down with
chicken pox and so
Christmas was cancelled
– or at least postponed.
“I’m so sorry, Mum,”
Grace wailed. “The girls are
feverish and horribly
spotty.
“What’ll you do?
Spending Christmas with
Dan isn’t an option.”
Grace’s brother, Dan,
was currently in Shetland
with his fiancée’s family.
Fay knew she would be
welcome, too, but a trip to
Scotland’s Northern Isles
wasn’t one that could be
Illustration by Helen Welsh.
quickly arranged at any
time of year – never mind
on December 23.
“Don’t worry about me,”
Fay said. “What about you?
“I was bringing the
pudding and the cake . . .”
“They’ll keep. I suspect
Christmas dinner in this
house will be cheese on
toast, if we’re lucky.” Grace
tried to laugh. “Can you
believe that Martin has
never had chicken pox?
He’s isolating and checking
for spots.”
“It’s much worse if you’re
a grown-up. I wish I could
come and help,” Fay said.
“But Mum, what will you
do?” Grace asked.
“I’ll be fine,” Fay said
firmly. “And do look after
yourself, darling.”
Fay woke up early on the
24th and lay for a while
thinking about last year –
the first Christmas without
her dear husband.
It had been difficult,
but the presence of the
seven-year-old twins had
lightened the day.
It was also the last
Christmas in the old house.
Just outside a friendly
village, Birch Cottage had
been a perfect family
home, even though they’d
never had the money to do
it up as they’d wanted.
Fay was curious to see how
the buyers of her old
house were settling in . . .
BY KATE BLACKADDER
She hoped that the new
owners – what was their
name again? – wouldn’t
modernise it too much.
Although, hypocritically,
she certainly appreciated
the central heating in her
own new home!
She did miss her garden,
though.
Oh! That’s what she
would do on Christmas
morning – she would go to
the church service in the
village.
She hadn’t been back
since she moved, so it
would be lovely to see
some of their old friends
and be among other people
for the first part of the day.
She sat down after
breakfast to make a short
list of what she’d require
for a solitary dinner.
Smoked salmon. A steak.
Veg. Potatoes.
It would be easy to cook
when she came back from
church and she’d treat
herself to something
chocolatey to have with a
cup of coffee as she
watched the Queen’s
speech – the King’s speech,
she corrected herself.
It would be a different
kind of Christmas Day in
more ways than one.
* * * *
To say that December
25 was not turning out as
hoped was a bit of an
understatement.
Since they’d moved in last
month, Alice had pictured
how the house would look
for Christmas.
It would be beautifully
decorated – even though
there was renovation work
to come – with delightful
smells coming from the
kitchen range.
Neither of these things
was going to happen.
Although Charlie had
come home with a tree,
they had no idea which of
the unpacked boxes,
temporarily put in the attic,
held the decorations, so an
assortment of small toys,
ribbons and paper chains
had taken their place.
The girls were squeaky
with excitement over it but
it was not a thing of beauty.
And in the sitting-room,
when she moved the sofa
nearer the fire, she
discovered a damp patch.
Quickly deciding to
pretend she hadn’t seen it,
she moved the sofa back.
Charlie came in with an
armful of logs and added
them to the pile by the
fireplace.
“At least we can make
this room warm,” he said.
“Should we have had the
chimney swept first?”
As she asked the
question, Alice remembered
the crisp September day
they’d come to view the
house.
There had been a fire

burning in the grate then.
It was one of the things
about Birch Cottage she’d
fallen in love with.
Charlie must have been
having the same memory.
“Mrs Harper said it was
used regularly,” he said.
“It’ll be fine.”
“Good.” Alice rubbed her
cold hands together.
Charlie had spent ages
trying to get the old range
in the kitchen to co-operate.
Mrs Harper – Alice
remembered her saying
that her name was Fay –
had said apologetically that
it was “temperamental”.
But once they’d got the
hang of it, it worked fine.
Until today. There was no
oven to cook the beautiful
pastry centrepiece she’d
prepared yesterday, never
mind the roast potatoes
and all the trimmings.
And instead of spending
the morning having fun with
the children, it had taken all
their time to wrestle with
housekeeping problems.
Maybe they weren’t cut
out for country life.
The house was bigger
than their previous one but
they’d only afforded it
because it needed updating.
There was lots of ground
for Beth and Vicki to run
around in, and for Charlie
to have the garden he’d
dreamed of, but they were
townies, and every day here
was a learning curve.
“Where are the girls?”
Alice asked.
At five and six they were
fascinated by everything to
do with their new life and
had gone outside to watch
Charlie chop logs.
“Just behind me, I
thought,” Charlie said.
Just then, Beth came in
bouncing a ball she’d got in
her stocking while Vicki
clutched a very reluctant
hen she’d declared was her
favourite.
Alice wondered why on
earth Charlie had asked to
keep on Fay’s hens. Both
girls still wore their wellies.
“When will Santa be here,
Mummy?” Beth asked.
Alice looked at the trail of
muddy footprints, then
looked at the hen who’d
flapped its way out of Vicki’s
arms and was running
around like . . . like a
headless chicken.
She looked at the ball
heading for the vase on the
side table.
She took a deep breath.
She couldn’t lose her
temper on Christmas Day.
“He brought your
stockings this morning,
remember? Both of you,
leave your boots at the
back door in future.
“Vicki, take the hen
outside where she belongs.
“Beth, please stop
bouncing that ball in here.”
As Vicki and the hen left
the room, Beth obediently
let the ball drop.
It rolled under the sofa.
Before Alice could stop
him, Charlie had moved the
sofa to retrieve it.
He gazed wordlessly at
the damp patch and then,
as Alice had done, pushed
the sofa back and returned
to the fire.
“Daddy, you can’t light a
fire! How will Santa get
down the chimney?”
Vicki – still in her wellies
– stood in the doorway.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.
He’s already been. He
brought your stockings,
remember?” Charlie said
again, carefully placing dry
logs on top of the flames.
A minute later smoke
whooshed into the room in
a great cloud.
Charlie coughed.
“Something must have
blocked the chimney.
“Not Santa,” he
spluttered. “Better take the
girls outside, Alice.”
Outside, the cold wind
brought some welcome
clarity to her thoughts.
“Maybe a bird’s nest fell
down,” she told the girls.
“What about the little
birds, Mummy?” Vicki
looked at her anxiously.
Alice counted to 10.
“They’ll have flown away.
Now, run around and keep
warm.”
While her daughters
jumped back and forth over
a puddle, Alice tried to
ignore how cold she was.
Maybe Santa would
appear and bring them a
nice hot Christmas dinner.
* * * *
Fay slowed down so that
she could have a nostalgic
look at Birch Cottage.
Remembering their own
Christmases there, opening
presents in front of the fire,
she imagined the new
occupants doing the same.
But, instead, two children
were outside playing, and a
woman stamped her feet to
keep warm.
Risking a second glance,
she saw that the sitting-
room window was open,
smoke drifting out.
It looked like blow-back
from the fire – it was
inclined to do that when
the wind was in a particular
direction.
It wasn’t a good memory
for the family to have of
A minute later smoke whooshed
into the room in a great cloud
their first Christmas.
Unable to get the scene
at Birch Cottage out of her
mind, Fay drove by again.
There was no-one outside
the house now but she
stopped anyway and rang
the doorbell.
Their surname was King,
she suddenly remembered
when the door opened.
“Hello. I’m Fay Harper
– you bought the house
from me.”
The woman looked
surprised.
“I’m Alice. And this is
Beth and Vicki. It’s nice to
see you again.”
“Forgive me for intruding.
I’m sure you’ve got all sorts
of exciting things to do.”
Fay smiled at the girls.
“I’ve got two
granddaughters around
your age.
“I went to church in the
village and on my way
home I . . . I thought I’d say
merry Christmas and see
how you were getting on.”
“There was a fire,” Vicki
said. “But Daddy says
Santa wasn’t in the
chimney.”
“We wanted to have one
cosy room today,” Alice
said.
“I expect you usually
congregate in the kitchen.
“It’s the warmest room in
the house.” Fay laughed
but saw Alice’s face fall.
“I am sorry,” she said,
when told about the range.
A man appeared behind
SHORT STORY 47
Alice and held out his hand
with a grin.
“No need for apologies,
Mrs Harper. You told us it
had its quirks.
“But it’ll be gone soon
– we’re putting in a new
kitchen and central
heating.”
Fay swallowed. She was
about to say goodbye when
something occurred to her.
“How will you cook
today? Do you have a
microwave?”
Alice nodded.
“But my main dish needs
a real oven. I’ll have to
come up with a plan B.”
Fay hesitated.
“I live in one of those new
flats in town by the river.
I’m having Christmas on my
own, unexpectedly.
“You’d be very welcome
to use my kitchen and to
eat with me.”
The couple looked at
each other.
“We couldn’t let you . . . ”
Alice began.
“That beetroot
Wellington looks far too
good to waste, love,”
Charlie said.
* * * *
What a good idea this
was, Fay thought, bringing
in coffee. They had pooled
their resources, and
everyone enjoyed the
smoked salmon and Alice’s
vegetarian Wellington.
The white chocolate
snowman cake, which had
seemed a ridiculous
indulgence, was greeted
with joy by Beth and Vicki.
What a lovely family they
were.
Fay found herself
promising to visit and help
with gardening in spring.
“I always watch the
Queen’s – King’s – speech,”
Fay said at three p.m.
Charlie stood up.
“I’d like to make a
speech, although I’m
Charles King, not King
Charles!
“Thank you for taking us
in, Fay. You saved our
Christmas!” he declared
with a smile. ■
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 50
Polar Opposites
Could Jasmine and Tim find
anything to agree on?
BY BETH WATSON
J
ASMINE threw back
the duvet and
revelled in the cool
night air caressing
her skin.
The glow from the
streetlamp outside seeped
in at the edges of the
curtains, taking the edge
off the darkness.
She peered through the
gloom at the dense shadow
beside her.
Tim was sound asleep.
She could barely see him,
but she knew he would
have the duvet tucked tight
around him.
How could he bear to be
cocooned like that?
But he felt the cold, while
she was always toasty.
Illustration by Ruth Blair.
As soon as she opened a
window for fresh air, he’d
be behind her closing it.
“For goodness’ sake, Jas,
it’s the middle of
December!
“Do you want us to freeze
to death?”
They really were chalk
and cheese.
She drank strong black
coffee, he preferred milky
tea.
She’d go stir crazy if she
didn’t go for a run every
day, while the closest he
came to exercise was
watching it – endlessly –
on TV.
Could they be more
different?
She drifted back to sleep
counting the ways . . .
Next morning, she leapt
up when the alarm
sounded.
“I’ll shower and put the
kettle on.”
“Great. Give me a shout
when you’re done,” Tim
mumbled, only somewhat
awake.
Afterwards, Jasmine
curled up on the sofa with
her coffee mug, thinking.
They’d got together in
the spring at a wedding – a
colleague of hers had been
marrying an old school
friend of his.
Sparks had flown
between them over a
rumbustious strip the
willow.
When they were dating,
the differences between
them had been something
to laugh over, prompting
comical tussles.
Even the summer carnival
hadn’t escaped their
differences.
Jasmine called them the
“dodgems”, Tim called
them “bumper cars” – and
the clue was in their chosen
name for them as to how
each had driven them.
Jasmine could laugh now,
but goodness, he’d been a
menace.
In spite of it all, though,
things seemed to click
between them.
Laughter and liking were
growing into love.
Two individual futures
were beginning to look like
it might become one
shared.
Just a few months ago,
they had taken a big step
and Tim had moved in.
“I hope we don’t drive
each other nuts!” she’d
said, joking – and yet not.
Summer heat gradually
gave way to autumn and
chillier days.
And so came the first
indicator of how much they
might have to compromise.
“I don’t usually put the
heating on till November,”
she told him when she saw
him examining the control
panel one day early in
October when the
temperature dipped a bit.
“November!” Tim was
horrified. “I’ll die of
hypothermia by then.”
And the heating was the
least of it.
How had Jasmine not
known how much sport he
watched on TV?
Or how much mess he
made having something as
simple as a bath?
Or how he snacked all
the time?

She watched zero sport,
showered neatly and kept
rigidly to mealtimes . . .
And now Christmas was
here.
“I thought we’d have the
decorations up by now,”
he’d said a couple of weeks
ago, looking forlorn.
“Already? I usually wait
until Christmas Eve,”
Jasmine had said, her voice
fading as she saw the look
on his face.
“Christmas Eve? That’s
hardly worth the bother!”
She’d relented. Together
they’d sorted out her one
box of decorations and put
them up – which had been
a lovely evening, she
admitted.
Tim had concocted some
warm, spiced wine and
opened a box of mini
chocolate logs.
It had been magically
romantic as they’d
snuggled up together on
the sofa in the twinkling
glow of the tree lights.
Tim had been dismayed
by her minimalist approach
to decorations, though.
Every time she looked
since then he’d added
another bauble to the tree
or candle holder to the
bookcase.
He even got one of those
lit-up Christmas village
scenes which slowly spun
round to music.
She’d shuddered when
first she saw it in pride of
place on a side table.
But Tim had been so
delighted by it – what
could she say?
And it was kind of
growing on Jasmine.
Sometimes she was even
first to switch it on when
they got home from work.
There was something
mesmerising about
watching the skaters slowly
twirling on the fake frozen
pond.
Christmas proper,
though, would be the real
test.
Could she adapt to Tim’s
family’s boisterous
approach to the festive
celebration?
“You should see it –
brothers, sisters, nieces,
nephews – we all descend
on Mum and Dad.
“It’s mayhem! It’s the
best day of the year.”
It was totally different
from Jasmine’s family.
For a start, there was
only the three of them:
Mum, Dad and Jasmine,
their only child.
They would go for a walk
in the woods, exchange
presents, eat dinner –
which they all pitched in to
prepare – and then watch
a selection of films.
They were all movie buffs
and enjoyed choosing and
then debating the merits of
each one.
Jasmine loved the day –
it was such a special,
intimate time.
But she knew some
people might find it too
sedate. What would Tim
think of it?
Listening to the way he
talked about his family
Christmas, she feared he
would hate hers.
How they each did
Christmas was just like
everything else between
them.
They were polar
opposites.
She loved him to bits, but
was it enough?
Were they just too
different for it to work
between them when they
couldn’t agree on anything?
Tim finally appeared in
the doorway.
His eyes were bleary and
his hair was tousled.
He had a mug of tea in
his hand.
“Thanks for getting more
tea bags,” he said, raising
the mug in appreciation.
“I forgot to put them on the
list – again.”
He took a sip, eyeing her
through the rising steam.
“What’s up?” he asked,
propping one shoulder
against the doorjamb.
Jasmine smiled. Tim had
this knack of always tuning
in to her mood.
“I was thinking about
Christmas . . .”
“So was I!” he exclaimed.
“You first.”
“I was wondering if we
should perhaps, just this
first Christmas . . .”
“Do our own thing?” he
finished.
She squinted at him.
“I thought you’d want to
spend it together!”
He slid into the seat
beside her, his arm a heavy
warmth round her
shoulders.
“Of course I do. But I
thought maybe we could
see our own families first?
“It could sort of be a
compromise between old
Christmas and new.
“Unless you really want
me to come to your folks
with you.
“Or you could come to
mine, but to be honest, I
think you’d hate it. It’s
incredibly noisy!”
“And you’d hate the quiet
at mine.”
She nestled in to his
“It could sort of be a compromise
between old Christmas and new”
chest and he drew her
closer.
“What do you say? Shall
we each do our own thing
– just this first Christmas?”
Slowly, she nodded
against his woollen
sweater.
“I can’t believe we were
thinking the same way,”
she said. “I didn’t know
how to suggest it.”
And that’s what they did.
Tim dropped Jasmine off
at her parents’ house, and
after a quick exchange of
cheery Christmas greetings
with her mum and dad, and
one last tight hug for
Jasmine, he headed off to
spend the day with his own
family.
Jasmine had a lovely day
with her folks, exactly as
usual.
The weather held for a
cold, crisp walk through the
woods.
Mum loved her new yoga
mat and Dad declared the
cheese-making kit
something he’d been
hankering after for ages.
Good old mum for that
tip-off. He didn’t see the
wink they exchanged.
Jasmine couldn’t have
asked for a better selection
of books.
It was all perfect, yet . . .
As they pulled crackers
and groaned at the jokes,
declared themselves full
and then cut just one more
tiny piece of pudding, as
they settled down to watch
the first of their movies . . .
she was thinking of Tim.
SHORT STORY 51
If only he’d been here.
But was he missing her,
too? They were so
different.
Maybe his family
Christmas would bring
home to him how
mismatched they were.
The day wore on.
At six o’clock Tim would
return to collect her and
she couldn’t wait.
At five-fifteen, the
doorbell rang.
Dad had been snoring in
his chair but he woke up
with a start.
Mum pressed the remote
to pause the movie.
“I’ll go,” Jasmine offered,
straightening the paper
crown on her head.
She flipped on the
outside light.
It revealed a dark
silhouette through the
glass panel of the door.
A familiar silhouette . . .
A silhouette who made her
stomach flip.
“Tim!” she exclaimed,
when she tugged the door
open. “You’re early!”
“I know.” He looked
apologetic. “And I’m sorry
to burst in but . . .”
He reached for Jasmine
and drew her quickly into
his arms.
“I missed you. I’ve been
watching the clock till it
was time to come.
“And then I couldn’t wait
any longer.”
Jasmine felt her laughter
bubble up.
“Me, too!” she admitted.
“I’ve had a lovely time
but – I wished you were
here, Tim.”
He sighed against her
hair, his breath blowing her
paper hat off.
“Then next year, my love,
let’s do it differently and
have our own special
Christmas at home.
“It can be just the two of
us. Agreed?”
She nestled against him,
her worries evaporating.
They might be different,
but not where it mattered,
deep in their hearts.
“Agreed,” she said, just
before he kissed her. ■
 52

Overwintering

Birds
Polly Pullar identifies the birds who
fly to British shores for the winter.
The number of woodcock in the UK
swells in winter when thousands travel
south from Russia and Scandinavia.

W
INTER in the
UK is a
dynamic
movement
time for
many bird species.
Though warblers and
other summer migrants
have moved south, our
avian population is now
swelled by large influxes of
birds from the north.
Skeins of greylag,
pink-footed and barnacle
geese travel from
Greenland, Iceland and
Svalbard, as well as Russia.
They take advantage of
our milder climate and the
nutrient-rich estuaries,
lochs and island coastlines.
Often, there are rarities
among them.
The Hebridean island of
Islay and the Solway coast
are crucial for waterfowl
– in particular the barnacle
goose and a smaller
population of Greenland
white-fronted goose.
These birds, like many of
our seabirds, have suffered
Images: Polly Pullar.
Whooper swans, too,
travel from Iceland to
spend the winter here.
They may be seen
feeding on arable stubble
fields.
During heavy rain, vast
flocks may congregate on
flood water, making a
dramatic sight.
Their musical bugle calls,
and then, as they fly close,
the sound of their great
beating wings, through an
icy breath of mist, adds to
their wild aura.
It is extremely rare for
these elegant swans to
breed in the UK.
Though the shy and
elusive woodcock with its
cryptic brown plumage is
resident in the UK all year,
numbers swell in late
autumn and winter.
Hundreds complete a Fieldfares flock south
perilous journey crossing to feast on abundant
the stormy North Sea from fruits and berries.
Scandinavia and Russia.
Often all that is seen of feeding in invertebrate-rich including the beautiful
these beautiful members of fields at night. pochard, the shoveler,
the wader family is a Sadly, the woodcock pintail, smew and tufted

huge losses due to Highly
Pathogenic Avian Influenza
(HPAI).
The next few years will
be a critical time for them.
The Solway Firth and Islay are
vital wintering grounds for the
beautiful little barnacle goose.
fleeting glimpse as they remains on the quarry list,
erupt from the leaf litter on despite numerous petitions
the woodland floor. to stop shooting them.
It is sometimes possible Numerous duck species
to see them by torchlight, also spend the winter here,
The blackbirds that visit the garden this
winter could have travelled from the
far north to escape colder weather.
duck.
Some of these ducks, like
the woodcock, may have
travelled from Russia.
A large variety of waders
come to the UK in winter.
The UK is internationally
important for many of
them, including one of the
most easily recognised, the
fabulous pied
oystercatcher.
Seeing and hearing an
enormous gathering of
dapper pied birds with
their red bills and legs will
never be forgotten.
In parks and gardens,
numbers of some of the
more common resident
birds – particularly the
blackbird – burgeon.

Whoopers are genuinely wild swans.
They have a distinctive bugle-like call
that adds to their mystical spirit.
If the weather is sav
vage
further north, there may
m be
larger influxes as black
kbirds
and other members off the
thrush family, including
fieldfares and redwings, put
in an appearance.
Winter can bring many
surprises when visitors
include the glorious
waxwing from Scandinavia.
Perhaps brambling and
snow bunting appear, or
even rarities blown in from
The pochard from Russia and
northern Europe comes to
the UK for winter.
NATURE 53
The greylag is our most common species of
goose. Though many breed in the UK, huge
flocks fly here from the north for winter.
The beautiful male
smew is a duck
sometimes seen
here in winter.
The pink-footed goose comes
here in vast flocks from the
Arctic tundra where they breed.
across the Atlantic during
particularly severe storms.
A vagrant snowy owl may The UK is internationally
put in an appearance in the important for wintering
Cairngorms or other oystercatchers.
mountainous regions of the
north.
Spending more time
winter birdwatching will
bring rich avian rewards. ■
 99
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 SHORT STORY 55

Sylvia’s Surprise
Sylvia tried to include the whole community at Set
Christmas, but she was running out of ideas . . . in the
BY KATIE ASHMORE
1960s
S
YLVIA looked out of
her window and
smiled. Snow was
gently falling from a
pewter sky.
It was only a few days
until Christmas – how
wonderful if this one were
to be white.
The children would be
thrilled.
She would love to watch
Rosie and Frank building a
snowman next door and
throwing snowballs at one
another, their cheeks
glowing, their eyes alight.
She decided to put the
kettle on and go to fetch
another cardigan while she
waited for its whistle.
Before long, wrapped up
warmly, she settled beside
the electric fire and began
to sip her cuppa.
She glanced up at the
mantelpiece and smiled.
She had received cards
from everyone in the discovered that she was She took her time, Her adoptive mum,
village. collecting Barbie dolls. holding a large tin carefully Dorothy, was a fabulous
Several robins fixed her She was desperate for in front of her. cook and Sylvia had loved
with a beady eye, holly the new astronaut Barbie, “Morning, Sylvia. Come to help her in the kitchen
leaves glittered and church but her parents hadn’t in.” Her friend greeted her as she grew up.
spires rose dreamily into been able to get one. with a warm smile. “You’re She had developed a real
blue skies. The look of sheer joy on just in time for a coffee.” talent herself and liked to
“Well, Arthur,” she said, Josie’s face when she Carol looked pretty this surprise her friends with
glancing at the framed opened Sylvia’s gift had morning in a blue mini- treats, especially at
photograph by her been so wonderful that she dress with a matching Alice Christmas time.
armchair. had gone on to provide an band in her blonde hair. The two sat down on a
It was a black and white avalanche of surprises each She had been Sylvia’s couple of orange bistro
snap of herself and her year for people in her best friend since their chairs in the monochrome
brother, aged four. community. schooldays and was now kitchen with a mug of
“It’s time to put my mind She had a real knack for married with two little coffee each.
to a Christmas gift for finding the right gift. boys. Carol set a plate of
Mrs Threadneedle.” But what to get for Marla Sylvia handed her the tin. bourbons on the table
Sylvia loved to surprise Threadneedle? It was a “This is for you,” she said, between them.
her friends and neighbours. conundrum. smiling. “How are preparations
In the village, to her Carol beamed as she going for the big event?”
amusement, she had * * * * opened the lid. Inside was she asked.
become known as Santa Sylvia made her way up an enormous, beautifully Sylvia’s face lit up.
Illustration by André Leonard.

Sylvia.
It had started 10 years
ago, quite by accident,
when her neighbours’
daughter, Josie, had
broken her leg.
Sylvia had wanted to
cheer her up and had
the drive towards Carol’s
front door.
She was wrapped warmly
in a wool coat, scarlet
gloves and fur-lined boots.
Around her, the snow
flashed and a robin hopped
along a branch of holly.
decorated Christmas cake.
“Thank you, Sylvia. You’re
really kind, especially when
you’re so busy.
“You know how much I
love this.”
Sylvia was an excellent
baker.
“Really well, thank you.
Everything should be ready
for Christmas Eve.
“All the children have
been practising hard, the
WI are doing the
decorations and Dominic
has promised to get his
56
mother there on time!”
Carol nodded.
“It will be wonderful,
Sylvia. It’s your best gift
yet.”
Sylvia hoped so. She was
very excited about the
surprise for Mrs Roberts
and she couldn’t wait to
see the older woman’s face.
“My main problem now is
that I can’t think of
anything to get for Mrs
Threadneedle.”
Carol looked thoughtful.
“That is tricky. What do
you get for a woman who
has everything?”
“Exactly.”
Marla Threadneedle was
wealthy.
She could afford most
luxuries and wasn’t the sort
to relish a gift of home-
made baking or even an
expensive blouse, if she
hadn’t chosen it herself.
However, she always
seemed sad and had just
recovered from an
operation.
Sylvia really wanted to do
something for her this year.
“Hasn’t Arthur provided
inspiration?” Carol teased.
Sylvia shook her head
and grinned.
She knew that her friend
was amused by her habit of
talking to the photo of her
little brother.
He had been adopted by
another family and she
hadn’t seen him for many
years, but she liked to talk
to him and imagine what
he would be like now.
“I think Marla
Threadneedle is lonely,”
Carol said pensively.
Sylvia agreed, but she
could manufacture neither
friends nor family.
What could she do?
* * * *
It was Christmas Eve and
Sylvia was excited as she
drove towards the school.
She had put on her
Sunday best and a string of
pearls in honour of the
occasion.
She couldn’t wait to
surprise dear Mrs Roberts,
the retired music teacher,
who had recently lost her
husband and was very low.
As she drove past Mills’
Farm, however, another
lady came to mind.
Tess, the Mills’s
wonderful Labrador,
padded across the
farmyard.
Sylvia remembered that
she had recently had a
litter of puppies.
Mrs Threadneedle liked
dogs. Sylvia knew she had
kept two Alsatians until a
few years ago.
She wouldn’t normally
encourage getting anyone a
dog for Christmas, but in
these circumstances a
puppy could be the perfect
gift.
She beamed and made
her way through the streets
to the school car park.
She would stop at the
farm on her way home, but
for now she had to focus on
Mrs Roberts’s surprise.
The hall looked amazing.
The WI had been hard at
work.
A huge Christmas tree
illuminated one corner.
Its top almost reached
the ceiling and it was
decked with long strings of
lights and glittering
baubles.
Wreaths of holly were
strung above pictures and
across the front of the
stage, and bright paper
chains floated overhead.
Trestle tables laden with
delicious cakes stood ready
for the interval.
Sylvia looked round
delightedly and was about
to take her seat when
someone cleared their
throat behind her.
She turned and was
surprised to see Mrs
Threadneedle, who usually
avoided large gatherings.
She was even more
amazed to notice a bundle
of black fur in her arms.
“I wanted to thank you,”
she said.
Sylvia’s mouth fell open.
“Your friend, Carol,
brought this gorgeous little
fellow round.” The older
woman’s eyes grew moist.
“She said it was your
Christmas gift.”
“No. You must thank
Carol,” Sylvia replied, but
Mrs Threadneedle shook
her head.
“There’s no need to be
modest. Your reputation
goes before you.
“Well, I don’t know how
to express my gratitude,
but I’d like to start by
supporting this event.”
As she took her seat,
Sylvia was delighted.
Dear Carol had helped
her out and Mrs
Threadneedle was clearly
thrilled.
At that moment, Dominic
entered, his arm around his
mother.
“No, Mum. You must sit
at the front.”
“That’s all right, Dom. I’m
retired now. I can watch
the prize-giving from here.”
Sylvia grinned and moved
forward.
“Good evening, Mrs
Roberts.”
“Hello, Sylvia. How are
you?”
“Very well, but I have a
confession to make.”
Mrs Roberts raised an
eyebrow.
“This isn’t a prize-giving.
It’s a special concert for
you, prepared by your ex-
pupils to thank you for all
that you’ve done for them.”
Mrs Roberts’s mouth fell
open.
Her face was a picture
and Sylvia’s heart swelled.
“You must come and take
pride of place.”
Mrs Roberts’s eyes filled
with tears.
She raised her head and
walked proudly to the
front, arm in arm with
Sylvia.
* * * *
It was a wonderful
evening.
From her position in the
wings, Sylvia could see the
joy and delight on Mrs
Roberts’s face as past
pupils of all ages took it in
turns to perform.
Amongst others, Carol’s
boys played a piano duet,
Mr Simmonds did a solo on
his trumpet and the old
school choir sang their
hearts out.
The performances were
good and the WI cakes
were excellent.
Every now and then,
Sylvia caught a glimpse of
Mrs Threadneedle stroking
the small puppy and
smiling to herself.
It was over too soon.
Sylvia climbed the steps
to make a speech in honour
of Mrs Roberts and to
thank everyone for coming.
As she drew to a close,
there was thunderous
applause.
She was about to leave
the stage when Carol
mounted the platform.
“Not so fast.” She
grinned, making her way to
the microphone. “Before
we go we’d all like to thank
Sylvia for organising this
wonderful evening.”
Everyone nodded and
grinned.
“As a community, we’d
also like to thank her for
her kindness and
generosity to us all.”
Sylvia blushed scarlet.
“This Christmas, we have
a surprise for you,” Carol
said.
Someone came on stage
carrying a huge bouquet.
It was full of Sylvia’s
favourite blooms. The scent
of lilies and roses wafted
towards her.
This would be Carol’s
doing.
She went to collect them
and noticed that the hall
was uncannily quiet.
Why wasn’t anyone
clapping? She looked up
and everyone’s eyes were
fixed on her expectantly.
What was going on?
“I’ll take those.”
Carol nipped in and
grabbed the flowers,
leaving the stranger who
had been carrying them
staring at Sylvia.
Who was this? Didn’t she
know everyone in the
village?
Yet there was something
familiar about the mouth
and eyes.
She stepped forward and
heard a collective intake of
breath.
It couldn’t be, could it?
“Arthur?”
The man nodded and, a
moment later, she was in
her brother’s arms.
How had they found him?
She hadn’t seem him for
40 years.
As the tears began to
flow, there was an eruption
of applause from the
auditorium and her dear
friends rose to their feet.
She stepped back and
took her brother’s face in
her hands, her heart
overflowing.
This was a Christmas
surprise that surpassed all
others. ■

One More Gift
Would this present add a little
extra magic to the season?
BY ALICE ELLIOTT
A
WINTER sun
shone in the pale
blue sky, and
there was a
dusting of frost
over the fields by the farm
shop at Hornbeam Corner.
The building was covered
in twinkling lights, as was
the Christmas tree outside.
“How lovely,” Fiona,
Mark’s wife, breathed as
they pulled into the car
park.
“Oh!” Isobel, their
seven-year-old daughter,
squealed. “I can’t wait to
see Santa.”
“Our appointment isn’t
for half an hour, sweetie,”
Mark reminded her as he
opened the car door.
The Meet Santa
experience at Hornbeam
Corner had become so
popular, it was necessary
to book weeks ahead.
It was only the second
Saturday in December, but
still, they’d been lucky to
get a slot.
“Why are we so early,
then?” their older daughter
Pippa asked, reluctantly
putting her mobile phone
into her pocket.
“To do a bit of Christmas
shopping,” Mark replied.
Shopping wasn’t a chore
at Hornbeam Corner.
In fact, it put Mark in a
festive mood.
Fiona and Isobel were
enjoying it, too, as they
excitedly pointed out more
gift ideas.
Only Pippa remained
unimpressed as she trailed
after them, her eyes never
far from her phone.
“What are you going to
ask for once we get into
Illustration by Shutterstock.
Santa’s Grotto?” Mark
asked her, trying to get her
into the spirit of things.
“Dad, you haven’t booked
for me, too?” she asked,
rolling her eyes. “I might
see someone from school.
They’ll tease me for
believing in Santa.”
“Shh.” Mark shot her a
warning glance. “Don’t say
anything to Isobel.”
“I know,” Pippa said,
rolling her eyes again.
“You’re eleven, for
goodness’ sake, not
sixteen,” he told her, but
she was already engrossed
in her phone once more.
Mark sighed.
He knew his daughters
would have to grow up one
day, but Pippa had the rest
of her life to be an adult.
Surely one last visit to
Santa wasn’t going to hurt.
He was just thankful that
Isobel was still a firm
believer in Santa, the tooth
fairy and the Easter Bunny.
He looked wistfully at the
back of Pippa’s head.
Her flaxen hair still
reminded him of spun gold.
It only seemed like last
week that she was raiding
the dressing-up box at
home in search of princess,
fairy or cowgirl attire.
She’d had a brass-coated
locket then and refused to
go anywhere without it.
Mark and Fiona had
found it in a second-hand
shop on holiday in Brighton
one summer, bought it on
impulse and given it to her
the following Christmas.
Inside was a tiny mirror,
and Pippa would spend
hours immersed in
imaginative play as she
chatted to her reflection.
Mark had a sudden
yearning to see it again.
“Welcome!” Two elves
greeted the family at the
entrance to the grotto and
took the girls’ names.
Next, they were invited
behind the curtain and into
“Hornbeam Wonderland”, a
display which preceded the
meeting with Santa himself.
Before long they were
ushered into another room,
where Santa was waiting by
a roaring open fire.
“Well, if it isn’t Pippa and
Isobel!” He beamed.
Mark and Fiona
exchanged a smile.
The elves passing their
names to him really added
to the authenticity of the
experience.
Isobel gave a list of all
her Christmas dreams,
including a trampoline and
a doll that cries real tears.
When it came to Pippa’s
turn, she shrugged and
said she’d like a new phone
case and money for clothes.
“I’m sure we can manage
that,” Santa replied with a
laugh. “Now, it’s time for a
little something from me.”
He gestured to a pile of
gifts. Pippa and Isobel bent
down to pick one each.
“Merry Christmas, my
treasures!” he said. “May
you never be too old to
stare up at the skies on
Christmas Eve and listen
out for sleigh bells.”
“I’m saving my present
for Christmas Day,” Isobel
announced as they walked
back to the car.
“I’d better do that too,”
Pippa muttered. “They’re
the same shape so it’ll spoil
the surprise if I open mine.”
* * * *
Before Mark knew it,
Christmas morning arrived.
After sending Isobel back
to bed at least three times,
he and Fiona finally got up
around seven and went
downstairs with the girls.
SHORT STORY 57
“Santa’s been!” Isobel
cried as she ran to her
stocking and immediately
got to work on the gifts.
“This is the one from
Santa’s Grotto.” She pulled
out a soft chocolate-brown
reindeer from the paper.
“I got a white one,” Pippa
replied as she too
unwrapped a soft toy. “It’s
wearing a little necklace.”
“Mine doesn’t have that,”
Isobel said, peering over at
Pippa’s present.
“Gosh, that looks exactly
like . . .” Mark started.
“My locket,” Pippa
whispered. “It’s exactly the
same.”
Mark glanced at his wife,
but Fiona was just as
bewildered as him.
“I was looking for my
locket only the other day.”
Pippa opened the clasp
and stared at her reflection
in the mirror inside.
“Santa must’ve known
you’d lost something you
love and brought it back to
you,” Isobel said sagely. “I
told you he was magic.”
“I think you might be
right, Isobel,” Mark replied.
The winter sun drenched
the room in a golden light.
Pippa’s eyes were bright
as she looked around their
festive home as if seeing it
for the first time.
Mark may have imagined
it but, for a moment, he
was sure he could hear a
deep chuckle from far
away, and the distant
chime of sleigh bells from
high up in the sky. ■
58
Take A Festive
Forest Walk
Dianne Boardman
explores the
evergreen appeal of
a winter wander.
T
HE rain is pelting
down and the wind
is roaring through
our waterproofs,
but I don’t care.
I’m in my happy place
and it is winter, which
means fewer people
Grizedale
has a few
sculptures.
and more animals.
This is where I spent so
many winters as a child,
camping in the rain or even
in the snow, walking in all
weathers alongside my
parents and siblings.
I brought David here in
1983 before our marriage,
and he loved the quiet,
stark beauty, too.
We’ve returned often
over the last four decades,
bringing our own children
and teaching them to love
a winter forest, too.
This time we have
arranged to meet with
Jonny Winter, a northern
manager from Forestry
England, in whose care
Grizedale now rests.
We head straight for the
cosy restaurant to escape
the deluge from the black
cloud above us.
Jonny loves the forests in
winter as much as we do.
“Summer is wonderful, of
course,” he says, “but
wintertime is so special.
“You can see animal
tracks more clearly, and
getting out into the air
after being in artificially
heated and lighted houses
is so good for wellbeing.
“It doesn’t have to be this
kind of weather.
“A crisp, snowy day with
a bright winter sun, or even
the milder temperatures
once the rain has stopped,
is wonderful.
“There is a special light
after the rain.”
Jonny is also Forestry
England’s nominated
photographer for the area,
and is often found in the
winter woodland walking
with his dog, a fox-red
Labrador called Peggy.
“I just soak it all up,” he
says. “Yesterday I saw a
double rainbow, and on a
dark clear night I can be
found a long way from
anywhere just looking up at
the amazing sky.”
Dusk is another time
Jonny recommends for a
winter visit.
“There are no barriers on
the car parks,” he says, “so
anyone can drive in to
watch the sunset.
“The peace is restful and,
in our northern winters,
any fresh air and exercise
we can get is good.”
There is evidence that
escaping to a forest has
enormous benefits for our
mental health, too.
Seasonal disorders,
anxiety, stress, mood and
even our memory are all
helped by a walk in the
woods, whether a mindful,
meditational stroll or a
brisk, physical hike.
“Winter is a magical time
to visit the nation’s

There is a new walking
trail in Sherwood Pines.
Unusual conifers are
found in Bedgebury.
forests,” Josephine Lavelle,
Forestry England director
of marketing and
engagement, tells us.
“And nature really does
put on a wonderful show.
“There’s so much to
appreciate with all the
senses, from the frosty
branches of broadleaved
trees to the dense, lush
green of conifers set
against a winter sky.
“Wrapping up warm and
getting outdoors in the
winter months can help
support our wellbeing at a
For more information, visit forestryengland.uk.
Admire the
ponies in the
New Forest.
busy time of year.”
It looks like my dad knew
what he was doing after all
then, dragging us all out in
our boots, woollies and
waterproofs all those years
ago.
We may have protested,
but we always had a
thrilling time once we got
amongst the trees.
So why not wrap up
warm, pull on your sturdy
boots, pack your flask of
hot chocolate, then pick
your walk from Forestry
England’s round-up? ■
OUT AND ABOUT 59
Forestry England’s
Best Winter Walks
White Horse Trail, Kilburn Woods, Yorkshire
From the White Horse car park, after an initial
climb up alongside the horse, you will be rewarded
with fantastic views over the Vale of York.
The iconic White Horse is visible for many miles
and covers half an acre. It has been overlooking
the village of Kilburn since the late 1850s.
Ridding Wood Trail, Grizedale, Cumbria
This accessible trail offers a great introduction
to the forest and the sculptures.
It passes through beautiful oak woodland as well
as some unusual and ornate trees, whose
incredible structure with bare branches highlighted
make a wonderful winter sight as you stroll.
Tall Trees Trail, New Forest, Hampshire
Follow this waymarked trail and you’ll be guided
along a shady path beneath firs and redwoods that
were planted during the reign of Queen Victoria.
The trail covers a mile and a half and is flat with
a fairly smooth gravelled surface.
Pinetum Trail, Bedgebury, Kent
Enjoy a walk in the National Pinetum on a
waymarked trail amongst extraordinary trees.
This route is suitable for all ages and abilities.
Be inspired by stunning vistas of majestic and
unusual conifers, ancient oaks and a huge variety
of remarkable trees all nestled in the rolling hills
of the Kent High Weald.
Westonbirt, The National Arboretum,
Gloucestershire
Winter brings a whole new perspective to
the arboretum, as after the leaves have dropped,
the true architecture of the deciduous trees can
be seen in their splendour.
On a fine winter’s day, choose a walking trail and
look out for the bright orange bark of the Scots
pine, with its blue-green needles standing out
against the sky.
Discovery Trail, Haldon Forest Park, Devon
The Discovery Trail is an easy-going mile-and-a-
half walk with spectacular views across Exeter and
Dartmoor, and regular seating points to soak up
the sights and sounds.
On-site Tramper hire makes the forest accessible
for families, no matter their fitness or mobility.
Booking is strongly recommended.
The Ranger’s Path, Sherwood Pines,
Images: Dianne Boardman, Russell Sachs, Forestry England.
Nottinghamshire
The newest walking trail at this popular
Nottinghamshire woodland is also the longest with
a four-and-a-half mile circular route.
The trail is clearly way-marked so map reading
skills aren’t required, and it’ll take you into some
quieter areas of the forest – taking in pine,
broadleaf and heathland areas as you go.
The Woodpecker Trail, Salcey Forest,
Northamptonshire
This medieval woodland near Northampton is the
perfect place for a wintry wander.
The Woodpecker Trail – at six miles long – lets
you really stretch your legs.
Look out for deer and the occasional red kite.
Brown bear cull
imminent in Romania
220 of Europe’s la
st bears are abou
to be shot – URG
ENT ACTION NEE
DED
• The Romanian government
has confirmed plans to
cull 220 brown bears this
spring.
• Immediate intervention is
needed to get the bears
out of danger.
• Fauna & Flora is urgently
seeking funds to help
relocate the bears.
B rown bears are majestic and
misunderstood creatures. At birth
they weigh as little as a loaf of bread,
but, by adulthood, they become one
of the largest, most awe-inspiring
creatures on Earth.
They are so much more than sheer
strength and size; they show heart-
warming care for their young and a
playful curiosity that makes them utterly
endearing. Incredibly, their intelligence is
comparable to that of great apes, and wild
bears have been observed using tools,
t
which is a clear sign of advanced thinking.
Put simply, the mountainous woodlands
they call home would be a sorry sight
without these loveable beasts.
But – all too often – bears are portrayed as
villains and demonised by the media, leading
to a poor public perception of bears.
They’ve already been wiped out from
most of Europe, with the Carpathian
Mountains of Romania standing as one of
the last remaining strongholds for these
magnificent animals.
But that is now at risk, as the Romanian
government has just approved a bear cull
which would see 220 bears gunned down
needlessly.
There’s no time left to petition. The
Romanian government has already been
flooded with letters urging them to stop
this disaster. One more would just be a
drop in the ocean.
But there’s a loophole in the legislation,
and Fauna & Flora has a plan to get these
bears out of danger. They’ve issued an
urgent call to the general public for support,
so they can put this plan into action.
The government will only doom a bear to
© Daniel Mirlea / Fauna & Flora
be culled if it wanders too close to human
settlements – any bears staying in the
forest will be safe.
So, if Fauna & Flora can successfully
relocate the bears coming close to human
settlements and discourage them from
coming so close again, nobody will be able
to shoot bears as part of this cull.
Their expert wildlife intervention teams are
primed and ready to act.
But it’s an enormous task, and they are
going to need a lot more equipment to be
successful. For that, Fauna & Flora urgently
needs funds.
Their relocation teams need equipment
such as cages, tranquilisers and a specialist
vet, allowing them to rescue these bears
from life-threatening situations.
The equipment you provide could literally
be the difference between life and death
for a bear.
Fauna & Flora needs to get this equipment
as soon as they possibly can. Most bears
in the Carpathians don’t fully hibernate, but
they become passive and eat less over the
winter.
Once that period ends – in spring – bears
will start venturing out of the forest to look
 ADVERTISEMENT

for other food sources. Often, they’ll turn to

a shepherd’s flock.
Under this new cull, those bears will be
“If you value the natural world – if
practically doomed.
To stop these bears from getting a target
you think it should be protected –
on their backs, Fauna & Flora is providing
shepherds with electric fences and
then please support Fauna & Flora.”
sheepdogs. These sheepdogs will be able Sir David Attenborough, Fauna & Flora Vice-President
to help deter bears from getting near the
flocks of sheep, and they aren’t just any
sheepdogs – they are an ancient breed NCY
of Carpathian sheepdog that have been GE

E AL
EMER
protecting sheep for hundreds of years and
are unsurpassed at what they do.

PP
It’s vital that we get as many shepherds as BE R A
possible equipped with these protective A
measures before spring, to prevent any
conflicts with bears that could motivate
people to apply for a culling permit.
Your donation could provide all the
materials needed to build an electric fence
around a shepherd’s field, or you could
provide a shepherd with a Carpathian
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sheepdog puppy to defend their flock.

There is one other ray of hope, in the
form of a new Minister of Environment
in Romania, who is far more sympathetic
towards bears than their predecessors
have ever been. This could be our chance
to turn the tide and overturn the permits
that are waiting to be issued.
But, for now, each minute we delay allows
the danger to escalate, as the chance of a Dear readers: Fauna & Flora needs your help to get
bear venturing closer to humans and being Romania’s brown bear population out of danger.
marked as a ‘problem bear’ increases. We
need to act now. 220 hunting permits have just been approved by
To help please go to www.fauna-flora. the government and they could be issued at any
org/bear or use the cut-out coupon.
Alternatively, send your cheque (payable to moment. You could help fund Fauna & Flora’s
Fauna & Flora) to: Freepost RTKS-ZCXS-
HSBT, Fauna & Flora International, 126 Fairlie
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Road, Slough, SL1 4PY by December 29th. cutting out the coupon below, calling 01223 749019
Fauna & Flora’s century-long dedication
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or going to www.fauna-flora.org/bear. Please
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I’ll help save the bears of Romania

creatures. Thank you for anything you can
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Address
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£18
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 62

Christmas Is It seemed strange

to be celebrating
in the sunshine,
yet it was turning

Cancelled!
out to be the best
Christmas ever!
BY BETH WATSON

L
OIS stood on the She concentrated on
The Story So Far steps of the pool, remembering everything
bracing herself to Torsten had taught her.
After splitting Paula throws herself descend into the She reached the other
amicably with GARETH, into activities at the cool blue water. side and stood up – to
LOIS tries to distract resort, including yoga, Above her the sun had tumultuous cheering from
herself – but Christmas where she hits it off returned with clear blue Jens and Paula.
is looming and they had with teacher JENS. skies, as if yesterday’s “Look at you! You’re
originally planned to Lois accompanies storm had never happened. swimming! That’s brilliant.”
spend it together. Paula and Jens on their Yet again she had to Lois hauled herself up on
Lois’s parents are dates every evening, pinch herself. Tomorrow to the pool’s edge, grinning
going to spend where she befriends was Christmas Eve! from ear to ear.
Christmas in the Canary TORSTEN. Torsten gave her an “My first ever breadth!”
Islands, leaving Lois Torsten agrees to encouraging thumbs-up. Paula bounced down
facing the prospect of teach Lois how to swim. “Ready?” beside her.
spending the festive As Christmas Distant voices were “You sneaky minx! No
period alone. approaches, Lois can’t approaching and he craned wonder you haven’t said
Meanwhile, Lois’s help but feel strange. to look down the path. much about your lessons.”
friend PAULA wants to She wonders if she “Here they come!” Lois found herself
escape the pressure made a mistake Taking a breath, Lois wrapped in a tight hug.
from her busy job. breaking up with took one step, then “Careful – you’re getting
They go on holiday Gareth. another, until the water soaked!”
Illustration by Ged Fay.

together instead to the After another phone was up to her chest. “It’s worth it. What a fab
Canaries, but Lois is call from work, Paula Another breath, then she surprise.”
disappointed that it is makes a bold, impulsive struck out. Lois had cooked up the
not the same island as choice and quits – but She was swimming. plan with Torsten as soon
her parents. will she regret it? Such a mix of emotions as she’d realised she had
surged in her. finally learned to swim.

It had worked like a
dream, with perfect timing.
“It’s all thanks to my
amazing teacher.”
The sun had almost dried
her and she shifted to the
nearest lounger, letting her
eyes close.
Then she remembered
Paula’s decision . . .
“Have you told Jens?”
she asked.
“Told me what?”
Lois’s eyes snapped
open. Paula was still sitting
by the pool, but Jens, who
had been chatting with
Torsten, had come to sit
beside her.
Lois could have kicked
herself. It was a silly
mistake.
She tried to apologise to
Paula with her eyes, while
Jens asked again.
“Told me what?”
* * * *
Yesterday, after Paula’s
astonishing declaration on
her phone, Lois had waited
for her to end the call.
“Did you just quit your
job?” she’d asked.
Paula looked like she was
in shock.
“I think I did.”
They stared at each
other, then Paula visibly
relaxed.
“I did.” A smile twitched
at her lips.
She spread her arms as
wide as being squashed
into the sofa would allow.
“I can’t tell you how good
it feels.”
It poured out. How hard
it had become. How
stressful.
“It used to be challenging
and satisfying, but you
could have fun, too.
“But lately it’s just
been . . . miserable.”
Well, Lois had seen that
for herself, hadn’t she?
“Barry’s endless calls
over the last week were the
final straw,” Paula finished,
nibbling at her thumbnail
until she caught herself.
She tutted, holding out
her hands, fingers splayed.
The nails were all bitten.
“I used to have such
lovely nails,” she added,
her tone mournful.
Lois listened and nodded,
offering sympathetic
murmurs, until Paula finally
wound down to silence.
“Now what?” she asked,
and Paula’s shoulders rose
in a shrug.
“I don’t know. I’ll have to
find a new job, I guess.”
A thoughtful pause.
“Maybe I’ll just stay here.
I could teach yoga! It seems
to work for Jens.”
It was a throwaway
remark, yet it took root.
Paula returned again and
again to the idea.
“Maybe this is my first
small step. Remember
those plaques we saw?
“‘Sometimes the smallest
step in the right direction
ends up being the biggest
step of your life’,” she
quoted. “I just can’t stop
thinking about it.”
Lois knew exactly what
she meant.
She had looked at the
photo she’d taken of hers
so often that she knew it by
heart.
“‘If you want to really live,
you have to take risks’,”
she said.
“Exactly,” Paula agreed.
“Maybe this is the risk I
have to take – the small
step in the right direction.”
“Maybe.” It seemed like a
pretty big step to Lois.
There was a doubt at the
back of her mind, and she
knew she had to say
something, but hesitated.
What if Paula took it the
wrong way?
The lounge was quiet as
dinner approached.
They would have to get
ready themselves soon.
“Is this about Jens?” Lois
asked before she chickened
out. “Because I understand
how you feel about him.
“But you’ve only known
him a week or so.”
She eyed Paula, fearful.
Her friend was nodding.
“I know. It’s too soon.
That’s why I don’t want you
to say anything to Torsten
about this. I don’t want him
to tell Jens.”
Paula nestled farther
back into the sofa, drawing
her legs up under her.
She heaved a sigh.
“This is about Jens, sort
of. But it’s more about
something I need to do for
me.
“If I do decide to stay, I
wouldn’t want Jens to feel
I’m pushing him into
something he doesn’t want.
“Now I have to figure out
how to tell him without it
sounding like that’s exactly
what I’m doing.
“Does that make sense?”
Impulsively Lois leaned
over to give her a hug.
“Of course. And my lips
are zipped.”
* * * *
And now she’d only gone
and let the cat out of the
bag. What an idiot!
A shadow blocked out
the sun.
Torsten, standing before
her, reaching out a hand.
“I think we should leave
our friends to talk in
“Would you like to try
swimming in the ocean?”
private,” he said. “Let’s go
to the beach.”
Waves lapped lazily
against the finest sand Lois
had ever come across.
It really was the most
fascinating landscape.
“The tide is on its way
out,” Torsten commented.
Lois nodded, her
thoughts lingering at the
poolside they’d just left.
Torsten’s elbow bumped
against hers.
“Hey,” he said. “I don’t
know what this is about,
but worrying never helped
anything.”
“I suppose so,” she
agreed, though it couldn’t
stop her feeling bad for
having put her foot in it.
Had she ruined things for
Paula?
Torsten nudged her
again.
“Remember that time I
asked you if you were
feeling brave?” he asked,
mischief in his eyes.
“Yes,” she replied
cautiously.
“And it resulted in you
learning to swim?”
What was this leading to?
He swivelled his eyes at
the water lapping the
shoreline.
It was gentle, benign and
barely worthy of calling
waves.
“Would you like to try
swimming in the ocean?
Now is the perfect time.”
Panic seized her.
“No! I don’t think I’m
ready for that!”
SERIAL: PART 4 OF 4 63
He held up his hands in
surrender.
“OK. I understand. We
can just walk for a bit.”
So they set off, splashing
along the water’s edge, feet
sinking into the wet sand
and leaving exaggerated
footprints.
They chatted about
everything and nothing as
they walked, until Torsten
glanced across at her.
“Is Gareth still texting?”
he asked.
“Yes, every day.”
Several times a day,
actually, and if Lois didn’t
hear from him first she’d
text just to say hello.
Sometimes it felt as if
they’d never split up.
She had thought a lot
about what Torsten had
said – about how everyone
was different and it was
about how you perceived
those differences.
Had Gareth really
complained all the time?
She blushed when she
recalled how she’d called
him a whinger.
Had he just liked
different things from her?
It was funny how a bit of
space and distance could
change your perspective.
Now she could admit to
herself that perhaps she’d
been seeing criticism where
he was simply expressing
an opinion.
If you want to really live,
you have to take risks.
The wording on the little
plaque popped into her
head again.
She’d said she might
adopt it as a motto, and
she could think of two risks
on her immediate horizon.
One was the big one –
the one that could change
her life.
“I’m thinking I might have
made a mistake,” she said
to Torsten.
“About Gareth?” he
asked, instantly on her
wavelength.
It was one of the reasons
she was sure they would
keep in touch when she
went home.
They truly had become
friends.
64
“I think we just needed to
talk. You know, clear the
air instead of letting little
things get blown out of
proportion.”
Torsten had bent down
to examine some shells left
behind by the tide.
He picked up one and
slipped it into his pocket.
“I choose one every day
and send a photo to Felix,
so that he knows I’m
always thinking of him,” he
explained.
“Just like Gareth texts
you every day, or you him,”
he added with a smile.
“So you think I have a
chance?” Lois asked. “If I
phoned and suggested we
get back together, you
think he might say yes?”
“I think so. I could be
wrong. But isn’t it a risk
worth taking?”
“Can you give me a
minute?” she asked, taking
her phone from her pocket
“Take all the time you
need,” he replied,
wandering off.
She had just settled
herself on the sand,
mentally rehearsing what
she would say, when her
phone buzzed in her hand.
She glanced at the
screen, and her heart
flipped. Gareth!
“Hi,” she said, but before
she could say any more,
Gareth was talking fast and
sounding nervous.
“Lois, I really miss you. I
think we made a mistake.
Splitting up, I mean.
“I think what we had
might have been something
special if we’d given it more
of a chance.”
It had all come out in a
rush and she heard him
take a breath.
“When you come home,”
he said more slowly, “can
we meet to talk? Please?”
She was smiling.
“I was about to phone
you to say the same thing.
“I literally had my phone
in my hand!”
Then they were laughing
together, and suddenly Lois
had the feeling it was all
going to be OK.
She was still smiling when
she went to find Torsten.
He squinted up at her.
“A risk worth taking?” he
asked.
Her phone pinged.
It was a text from Gareth.
Nothing but a heart emoji.
She grinned as she held it
out to show him the screen.
“Definitely. We’re going
to meet up when I get back
and have a talk.”
So that was the big risk
that she’d steeled herself to
face, and look how well
that had worked out.
Now for the smaller one.
“I’m still wearing my
swimsuit,” she said. “I’m
ready for my next
swimming lesson.”
* * * *
Jens nudged Paula, the
sun in his eyes turning
them ice blue.
“Told me what?” he
asked again, with such a
sweet smile that her heart
melted. But then the smile
changed to concern.
“Is everything OK?”
“It’s fine, honestly. I
wasn’t going to say
anything yet because it’s
only just happened and I’m
still figuring things out and
I don’t . . .”
She was babbling, so she
took a deep breath,
thinking furiously of how to
put it.
He lifted her hand from
where it clung to the tile
edge of the pool, eased out
the fingers and clasped it
between his.
“Paula,” he said, his tone
measured. “Just tell me.”
It calmed her like a cool
breeze.
“OK, so I’ve told you
about my job and how
much pressure it is.
“Well, I quit. Resigned,”
she clarified.
“Good for you,” Jens said
at once. “Life is too short to
spend it being miserable.
What will you do now?”
“I was thinking about
staying here.
“I could teach yoga if
there were any openings?”
She looked at him. This
was the crucial moment.
How would he react?
“That’s wonderful,” he
said.
She could tell he was
making an effort at
lightness.
“We’re always looking for
more teachers.
“I’ll introduce you to a
couple of people.
“And I can vouch for how
good you are.”
Something in him had
become shuttered. He was
acting cool.
Had she got this
completely wrong? Was it
nothing more than a
holiday romance to him?
She could feel her heart
beginning to break.
“Of course, I’ll have to
look into the whole visa
and residency question,
and find somewhere to
stay,” she said quickly.
Now that she had got
over the initial mad
excitement of her crazy
impulse, she realised that
she would have to fly home
at the end of her holiday
and begin to put all the
formal pieces in place to
enable her return.
She would have to leave
Jens behind.
He was talking again.
“Once we find you a job,
it will be much easier for
you. But there is plenty of
time for that.”
He drew her to him so
that her head was resting
against his chest.
She could hear the beat
of his heart and felt his lips
brush her hair.
“I will still be here when
you come back,” he said.
“If that is what you want.”
The uncertainty in his
voice brought tears to her
eyes.
That was why he had
been so hesitant! For the
exact same reasons as her.
“You might meet
someone else,” she said,
teasing now.
She felt the vibration of
him shaking his head.
“I don’t want anyone else.
I’ll be here. However long it
takes.”
“Are we crazy?” she
asked. “We’ve only known
each other a week!”
“There are no rules on
how long it takes to fall in
love.”
The palm trees whispered
above them and the pool’s
water lapped at their feet.
Had any moment ever
been more perfect?
* * * *
Christmas Day! Lois lay
on a sun lounger, her book
propped open but
neglected as she watched
the morning light play
across the pool.
Already it was the kind of
warm that made all your
muscles relax.
This was the life.
Yet there was something
very odd about knowing it
was December 25 –
knowing that, yet feeling so
disconnected from it.
It was warm, the sun was
slowly rising into a
cloudless blue sky and she
was lying here in a bikini.
She smiled, picturing her
usual Christmas morning
routine.
It would begin with a pot
of coffee, a posh blend that
she would have bought
specially, then a flurry of
happy phone calls to her
parents and her friends.
She’d already phoned
Gareth, of course.
That had been lovely,
and only reinforced her
sense that they would
make it through this.
He was right: what they
had was special.
It had just taken them
too long to see it through
all the other superficial
clutter.
Then she’d spoken to
Mum and Dad as usual,
too, but they’d been oddly
reticent about their plans
for the day.
“Is your hotel doing
something nice and
Christmassy for the
guests?” she’d asked, but
Mum had been vague.
“Probably – I haven’t
really looked into it.”
That was odd. Mum
loved Christmas as much as
she did!
“We’ll see how the day
goes,” Mum went on. “We
are on holiday, after all.
“Free as birds to spend it
any way we want.”
“Well, have a lovely time,
whatever you do. I’ll talk to
you later.”
“Yes, you, too.” Mum had
rung off surprisingly
quickly.
Now she was waiting for
Paula to get back from
yoga with Jens.
Thank goodness
everything was OK with
them. In fact, they seemed
more loved-up than ever.
Maybe she and Gareth
would be like that once
they’d talked . . .
Then she and Paula
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66
would go for breakfast, just
the two of them, which
again was very different.
Normally she’d go over to
Mum and Dad’s for a
special treat – croissants
and bucks fizz.
Afterwards they’d wrap
up warm and go for a walk,
winter weather permitting,
with Mum watching the
clock to be sure they were
back in time to fit in with
her cooking schedule.
Of course there was
always something that
went wrong.
And yet, each year, they
would declare it the best
day ever.
It just proved that it was
family and laughter and
being with the people you
loved that really made it.
And today, without any
of those things, would be
odd.
“Hi! No swimming lesson
with Torsten today?”
It was Paula, glowing
after her hour of yoga.
Was that what today
would be – just another
day’s holiday?
It added to her feeling of
disconnection.
“No, the surf school guys
are having a Christmas
barbecue on the beach,”
she explained. “He said we
can come along.”
Paula pulled a face.
“I can’t stand sand in my
food,” she said,
uncharacteristically
negative. “I’ll stick with the
hotel kitchen, thanks.”
She threw herself down
on to the nearest lounger.
But although she lay
there with her eyes closed,
Lois could see that her feet
were waggling restlessly, as
if she was tapping in time
with a tune in her head.
She kept checking her
phone, too.
After a few minutes of
this, Lois was just
beginning to find it
irritating – that constant
fidgeting was making the
lounger squeak – when
Paula, with yet another
glance at her phone,
squinted across at her.
“Aren’t you going to
phone your mum?”
“I did it earlier.”
“Oh.” A laden pause.
“I wonder if it’s sunny in
Lanzarote – did she say?”
“No. She didn’t say much.
I guess she was busy.”
Lois tried not to sound
peeved. This was such a
special holiday for her
folks, after all.
“Did you tell her merry
Christmas from me?”
“Um – well, I said ‘Merry
Christmas’. She’d have
known I meant it from both
of us.”
“I hope so.” Paula
sounded dismayed. “Maybe
you should text her to tell
her?”
“I’m sure she knows.”
“Oh, please. I’d hate her
to think I’d forgotten.”
Paula was so insistent
that, with a sigh, Lois
dashed off a text.
Paula says Merry
Christmas!
The reply came almost
instantly.
Lovely. Merry Christmas,
Paula.
“Ask her how the weather
is,” Paula added.
“I’m sure it’s sunny there,
too, but – oh, all right,”
Lois conceded, typing
quickly, trying not to show
her impatience.
What was with this
sudden interest in her
mum?
She hit send.
The ping of a phone
receiving a message
sounded from somewhere
around the pool.
She hadn’t realised there
was anyone else here. That
was unusual at this time.
Her phone dinged with
Mum’s reply.
Sunny and warm here!
You girls been for breakfast
yet?
Going in a minute, she
typed. Send.
There was that ping
behind her again.
How about you? she
typed quickly. Send.
Ping.
Table for four? came the
reply, and by this time
Paula was in fits of giggles.
“What . . .” Lois began,
but the next instant hands
came around from behind
to cover her eyes.
“Guess who?” a familar
voice said.
“Mum?” She spun round.
“I don’t believe it!”
And there behind her was
Dad, and they were
grinning.
“What – but how –?” She
couldn’t string the words
together.
Mum and Dad perched
beside Paula on the edge
of her lounger, three
co-conspirators in a row.
Paula and Mum high-
fived each other.
“That worked like a
dream!”
“It was so funny! Her
face!”
Lois scrambled to her
feet and stood, hands on
hips, glaring down at them.
“Will someone please tell
me what’s going on?”
Mum and Paula
exchanged smug smiles.
“How about we tell you
over breakfast?” Paula
suggested.
“Croissants and bucks
fizz, of course,” Mum
added.
It turned out Paula had
reserved a table on the
terrace, with a perfect view
of the gardens and the
pool.
A splendid Christmas
tree had been placed in
one corner, and holly and
red bauble centrepieces
added to each table.
It was all incongruous in
this idyllic sunshine setting,
but Lois was glad of it.
A silver ice bucket stood
to one side of their table, a
gold-foiled bottle sticking
out of it
Breakfast was self-service
as usual.
Paula scurried around
making sure Lois’s parents
were well taken care of
before filling her own plate.
Lois trailed behind, still
in shock.
“Right,” Lois said once
they were back at the
table. “Spill!”
They were all talking over
each other, but the story
began with Paula.
“I felt really rotten for
cancelling your Christmas.
“Especially when you’ve
been so patient with me
about everything and I’ve
been so cranky.
“But you never
complained a bit.”
She had wanted to do
something special to make
it up to her – a sweet
thought that made Lois’s
eyes prick with tears.
While she’d been reading
about their bus tour, Paula
had discovered that a ferry
ran between Fuerteventura
and Lanzarote. And it only
took an hour.
“I thought we could take
it to visit your folks for
Christmas –”
“But then, when Paula
phoned me about it,” Mum
broke in, taking up the
story. “I thought it would
be even better if we came
here and sprang it on you
as the most fabulous
surprise!”
They had come the day
before, and were lodging in
an apartment down the
road for a few days.
“Paula arranged that
online for us. It belongs to
a German couple. It’s
beautiful.”
Paula had also arranged
for them to have breakfast
and Christmas dinner with
them here at the hotel.
Lois’s head swivelled
back and forth as they
batted the conversation
between them like a game
of ping-pong.
And if her eyes had been
pricking before, now the
tears spilled over.
“You did all this for me?”
she asked, clasping Paula’s
hand. “You’re the best
friend . . .”
“No, you’re the best
friend,” Paula replied, and
then she was crying, too.
“And you –” Lois turned
wet eyes on Mum and Dad.
“– you’ve given up your
special Christmas.”
Mum looked indignant.
“How could any
Christmas be more special
than spending it with my
daughter?” she demanded.
Dad topped up their
champagne flutes while
they recovered themselves.
“Do you think it’s time for
a toast?”
“Yes – no!” Lois had
remembered something.
“Give me a minute,” she
said, tossing her napkin on
the table. “I’ll be right
back.”
She left them exchanging
quizzical glances and ran
back to her room.
Now, where had she put
it? She hunted through her
wardrobe for the carrier
bag, then remembered
she’d hidden it in her
suitcase.
Yes, there it was.

Dashing back along the
corridors she was giggling
to herself. Now, if only
Paula would cooperate . . .
She peered round from
behind the Christmas tree,
out of her parents’ line of
sight but dead in line with
Paula.
If she could just catch her
eye . . .
Paula finally spotted Lois,
beckoning frantically.
Paula smiled at her
parents, clearly offered
polite excuses, and then
walked ever so casually
towards the tree.
“Here!” Lois tugged her
arm, and they ducked
behind it.
“What on earth?” Paula
began.
“Please say yes,” Lois
broke in, and Paula’s
eyebrows shot up.
“Yes to what?”
Lois had been clutching
the carrier bag out of sight
behind her back, but now
she brought it out and held
it open so that Paula could
see inside.
“To this.”
Paula peered in, and
then back up at her.
“Is that what I think it
is?”
Lois nodded, injecting
every possible ounce of
pleading into the look she
gave her friend.
“Please?”
A pause, which Lois tried
to read. Was it yes or no?
“OK. I’m first for the
lucky dip!”
Paula’s hand dived in,
swirled about and finally
emerged clutching a bundle
of red cotton.
She straightened it out
and held it up against
herself.
“Oh, I like this one!”
The T-shirt was bright
red, with a jolly gnome
stitched on the front
wearing bright clothes.
The finishing touch was
the white hairy beard
below his button nose.
Santa’s Little Helper,
read the logo.
“How apt!” Lois chortled,
thinking of Paula’s part in
her mum’s surprise
appearance.
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our website: www.thepeoplesfriend.co.uk.
Paula peered back into
the bag.
“Let’s see yours, then.”
Lois tugged out the
remaining item.
It was bright green and
adorned with three
gnomes.
They were basically giant
white beards with striped
legs sticking out the
bottom, striped arms and
hands sticking out the
sides.
And the finishing touch
– their pointed hats were
wound round with multi-
coloured tree lights.
Ho Ho Ho! It’s
Christmas!, it read.
She had loved it on sight
at the market, and had
bought the other in the
hope, rather than
expectation, that she could
persuade her friend to
wear it for Christmas
dinner.
“Cute,” was Paula’s
approving comment.
“Come on,” she urged,
tugging hers on over the
vest she was wearing.
“Your folks will be
wondering where on earth
we’ve got to.”
They were giggling like
children as they returned
to the table.
Mum’s face lit up when
she spotted them.
“Oh, you two! Don’t we
all look the part. Time for
that toast now, I think.”
They raised the glasses
that Dad had filled.
“Merry Christmas!” The
cheer rang out at their
table, and was picked up
and echoed at the others
around them.
Paula leaned over to
Lois.
“So much for Christmas
being cancelled,” she
murmured, then she
grinned. “Thank goodness!
This is fab.”
Mum, meanwhile, was
wiping away tears as she
looked round the table at
them.
“I know I say it every
year, but I think this really
is going to be the best
Christmas ever.”
The End.
On
Reflection
From the
manse window
BY JANICE ROSS
T
HERE is a story of a
traveller in the Middle
Ages who came
across a place in France
where a lot of building
work was going on.
He stopped to speak to
the stone cutters.
“What are you doing?”
he asked the first man.
From his reply and his
general demeanour it was
obvious that this man was
unhappy in his work.
“I am cutting huge
boulders with the simplest
of tools and then lugging
them over to that spot as
instructed.
“It’s such a meaningless
job and backbreaking in
this heat. I wish I didn’t
have to do it.”
The second man gave
his answer.
“My job is to work these
boulders into regular
shapes as instructed.
“It gets repetitive at
times but I have a wife
and family at home to
feed so I just have to get
on with it.”
“And what are you
doing?” the traveller
asked the third worker.
This worker responded
with shining eyes as he
pointed to the heavens.
“I’m building a
cathedral!”
This story powerfully
displays how important
attitude is.
Attitude has a profound
impact on our
performance, how we
communicate and how we
relate to others.
Attitude is one of the
few things over which we
have control in life.
Having a positive
attitude doesn’t mean that
ON REFLECTION 67
we ignore problems or
gloss over hard issues, but
that we face difficult
situations with resilience.
There is another story of
a girl, Mary, who was busy
about her household tasks
when she was visited by an
angel.
“Greetings, you who are
highly favoured! The Lord
is with you.”
Understandably, Mary
was troubled.
After all, I imagine an
angel would bring an
awesome presence into
this little home.
Was this a dream? What
could God want with her?
The angel’s message was
explosive.
Mary’s initial reaction to
the news might have been
different.
“Oh, no, I am not worthy
of this. Don’t you know
that Leah two doors down
is very religious and good.
“Surely, she would be a
better choice.”
Or she might have
replied with worry.
“But what will Mum and
Dad say, and Joseph?
They will never believe
me.”
But Mary reacted in
neither of these ways.
“I am the Lord’s servant.
May it be to me as you
have said,” she said.
This showed more than a
positive attitude on Mary’s
part. It displayed
remarkable faith that God
was good and trustworthy.
Later, Mary would burst
into song with the
wonderful words of the
“Magnificat”.
As we hear and reflect
on the Christmas message,
may our attitude be like
Mary’s – one of
thankfulness and faith. ■
Next week:
Andrew Watson finds
light in the darkness.
 68
There are so
many things
you can make
Laura Coventry chats to former bomb clearance
diver Duncan Sharp, who is now the Macramé King!
D
UNCAN SHARP
is no stranger to
knots.
Around 40 years
ago, when he was
in the Navy, he started
practising macramé, a
knotting technique used in
textiles.
Recently he returned to
the craft after joining forces
with a sustainability-
conscious charity close to
his heart called R:evolve
Recycle.
“It started off during
Images: R:evolve Recycle, Duncan Sharp.
lockdown when R:evolve
Recycle was producing
Christmas-themed face
masks,” Duncan explains.
“I popped in to buy some
to send to my son and his
family in America.
“When I was there, I got
chatting to Lisa, who is
one of the people behind
the project.
Duncan joined
the Royal Navy
at seventeen.
“I happened to mention
I’d been doing stained
glass, woodwork and,
during the 1980s,
macramé.
“Lisa latched on to that.
She gave me some T-shirt
yarn and asked me to
make macramé pot plant
holders.
“That led to me doing
more macramé things for
the charity.”
Duncan is delighted
about the recent
resurgence of the ancient
art form.
He’s embraced the
developments in
technology that have made
his creative hobby more
accessible.
“It’s very different to
doing macramé in the
1980s.
“I now use YouTube for
tutorials, new ideas and
ways to do things slightly
differently,” he says.
“During the 1980s and
1990s, I was using books
from America to find out
more.
“I also use Amazon now
to source my materials.
It was always difficult to
find shops that sold the
type of rope of beads in the
1980s.
“There’s a much better
variety of materials and
twine on Amazon.
“And there are so many
things you can make with
macramé now, as well as
pot plant holders, like wall
hangers and even Highland
cattle!”
Knot-tying is something
Duncan is very competent
at, having served in the
Royal Navy, and he draws
some comparisons between
the two.
“When I was in the Navy,
you learn how to tie
different sorts of knots, and
that is exactly what
macramé is, a variation of
knots,” he says.
“In macramé, they call
them ‘square’ knots but in
the Navy (and everywhere
else) they are known as
‘reef’ knots. There are
crossovers, as we are
dealing with ropes.
“Of course, in terms of
seamanship, the ropes are
much bigger!
“The knot at the end of
the heaving line rope is
called a ‘monkey’s fist’.
“This type of knot can be
used in macramé, too, for
making keyrings and
things,” Duncan adds.
During his nine years’
service in the Navy, Duncan
had a very specialised job.
Duncan at R:evolve Recycle
with a macramé piece.
Signing up at the age of
seventeen as a radio
electrical mechanic, he then
qualified as a clearance
diver for bomb and mine
disposal.
Only a handful of the
people on the course
completed it.
After that, he was often
on the frontline of major air
and sea disasters.
“An Aer Lingus viscount
crashed in the Irish Sea in
1968 or ’69,” Duncan
explains.
“I was working on the
recovery of that. We had
dived into two hundred and
fifty feet of seawater on
compressed air, which
meant we suffered from
nitrogen narcosis.
“It brought on feelings of
drunkenness. It was quite
frightening, but there

were no after-effects.
“I worked on HMS
Reclaim, the Navy’s deep
diving and salvage ship,”
Duncan continues.
“I would go into the
diving bell and they
lowered that down.
“I then went outside the
bell, wearing a drysuit, and
we were supplied air by a
line.”
After leaving the Navy
Duncan became a diving
instructor at an underwater
training school.
He also worked as an
offshore diver in the North
Sea for a private company,
before becoming a
consultant.
“During my diving career,
I worked on quite a lot of
helicopter crashes on the
commercial side, as a diver
and managing the
recovery,” he says.
“There was the Chinook
that crashed in the North
Sea and a Bell 212
helicopter that fell off a
platform, and there were
several others.”
Did diving down to
air-crash wreckages affect
him in any way?
“In all honesty, you don’t
think about it. You put your
own thoughts and feelings
aside.
“It’s only afterwards that
you start to think about
what happened,” he
admits.
Today, happily retired
Duncan loves to channel
his energies into his
creative projects for
R:evolve Recycle.
He teaches there, too,
and is known as the
Macramé King.
HOBBIES 69
Bringing “Charm And Light”
To The Charity Project
Duncan dedicates “Recently, a new
his spare time to volunteer was drawn to
R:evolve Recycle where one of his macramé
he passes on skills and pieces and asked ‘Who
teaches the craft to made this, and can they
others. teach me?’ Duncan, of
R:evolve Recycle’s course, said ‘Yes, come
people connector, along next week and I’ll
Nicole Abbate, is bring my stuff’.”
grateful for Duncan’s
can-do attitude and
sparkling personality,
saying he brings
“charm and light” to the
project.
She added, “Duncan
is never stuck because
he knows so much and
can turn his hand to
anything – and he
always wants to learn
more.
As well as macramé,
R:evolve in Lanarkshire
runs other crafting
workshops and “make-do-
and-mend” sessions to
promote sustainable
fashion practices. Duncan is delighted at the
In an effort to prevent renewed interest in the craft.
textiles from going to
landfill, R:evolve Recycle hand-made gifts.
also has a handful of swap Thrift+Gift also
shops, recently launching stocks several of Duncan’s
Thrift+Gift, selling used macramé, stained-glass
high street and vintage and embroidery
clothing, as well as creations. ■
To find out more, visit
www.revolve-recycle.co.uk/thriftandgift.
Duncan’s macramé has
inspired others to learn.
 70
Charades
By Candlelight
Eliza did not want to
entertain Augustus Lanyon,
but there was no other option . . .
BY H. JOHNSON-MACK
E
LIZA, quick! You
won’t believe who’s
coming down the
drive!”
Miss Elizabeth
Woodley, darning in hand,
stood to peer out of
Middleham Manor’s long
drawing-room window.
The skeletal fingers of
sleeping trees flanking the
avenue looked like soldiers
standing to attention.
There was a small group
of cloaked figures trailing
along underneath.
“That’s the Lanyons,” she
Illustration by David Young.
observed, turning to her
younger sister with arched
brows. “Why on earth
would they turn up here?”
The only reason any
member of the gentry
would be travelling on the
inhospitable midwinter
roads would be to
celebrate Christmas two
days hence. The Woodleys
weren’t expecting guests.
Amy shrugged.
“You know their cousins
live nearby. Perhaps they
met with an accident
heading for their estates.”
And so it proved, as Lady
Lanyon presently explained
to Mrs Woodley.
“We had the most
provoking mishap to our
carriage on our way to stay
with family,” the lady said.
“The horses got spooked
– heaven knows why.
“We’ve sent our driver for
assistance but with this
awful weather, I’m afraid
we must trespass on your
hospitality until the
Set in the
Regency
period
carriage is fixed.
“We’re so sorry for the
inconvenience.”
“Nonsense – you’re very
welcome.” Mrs Woodley
drew Lady Lanyon closer to
the fire. “’Tis an age since
we saw each other, so we
can take the opportunity to
catch up on news.
“Is tea all right for you,
sir, or would you prefer
something stronger?”
Her son, Augustus
Lanyon, was propped
against the mantelpiece.
“Tea is fine, madam.”
Elizabeth studied him
surreptitiously.
She’d always found
something incongruous
about Mr Lanyon’s very
broad shoulders and those
affected ways he displayed.
He might be one of the
most eligible men in
society, but naught could
more quickly wrinkle her
nose than foppishness.
As if he felt her gaze, he
turned toward her, quizzing
glass raised to one eye.
“Miss Woodley, it’s a
pleasure to meet you
again.”
Elizabeth murmured a
suitable reply, encountering
such a pertinent look from
Amy that a sudden
suspicion sprang to mind.
As soon as she could, she
made her escape with her
sister.
“Please tell me that this
situation is none of your
doing!” Elizabeth said.
Amy affected an innocent
expression.
“Really, Eliza. I don’t
know what you mean.”
Elizabeth drew in a
frustrated breath.
As she adored her sister,
she begrudged her neither
her prettier face nor her
perkiness.
But Amy’s bad habit of
believing she could achieve
whatever she wanted in
life, including a brilliant
marriage for Elizabeth, had
been heading them straight
for trouble for some time.
“That had better be
true,” Elizabeth warned.
* * * *
In her thick patten shoes,
Elizabeth hurried along the
lane to the main road,
keeping to grass verges to
avoid the more slippery
frost-silvered tracks.
She cast an anxious look
up at the heavy grey skies,
then stopped short at sight
of Augustus Lanyon pacing
the mouth of the copsed
tunnel, where scuffmarks
revealed this to be the
place of their accident.
He glanced up, his wide
eyes revealing he was just
as surprised by her
appearance.
“Ah, Miss Woodley,” he
muttered. “What brings you
out here?”
“I was about to ask you
the same thing,” she said.
“I was wondering if
Judson had found someone
to clear the carriage.”
“It looked as though you
were examining the road.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught
as Augustus met her gaze,
his dark eyes impenetrable.
Then he smiled slowly.
“Whyever would I need to
do that?” he said.
Inwardly cursing Amy for
whatever game she’d been
playing, Elizabeth managed

to match his polite remarks
about the countryside as
they returned to the house,
feeling as though they were
deliberating avoiding a
particular subject.
The threatened snow
began to fall just as they
re-entered Middleham.
“We may have to
trespass on your kindness
a little longer,” Augustus
observed drily, following
her gaze to the flakes now
tumbling from the skies.
Having checked that her
mama and Lady Lanyon
were still content in each
other’s company, Elizabeth
followed the sound of a
hymn being vigorously
played on the gallery piano.
She paused to watch her
sister’s fingers dance
across the instrument.
“Back from your walk,
love?” Amy finished playing
and beamed at Elizabeth.
“It’s now snowing, and
fairly heavily,” Elizabeth
said, “so it’s likely that the
Lanyons will have to stay
overnight, at least.”
Amy clasped her hands
together in delight.
“Then you have the ideal
opportunity to show off the
real Elizabeth!”
“To the foppish Augustus
Lanyon?” Elizabeth asked.
“Appearances can be
deceptive,” Amy said. “And
sometimes you have to
make things happen.”
“I am happy for life to
take its own path in its own
time,” Elizabeth retorted.
“Though I love you for
worrying about me.”
Middleham had a festive
feel that night.
The household responded
to the presence of guests
with plum pudding served
at dinner and garlands
draped downstairs.
Elizabeth smiled at the
happiness in her family’s
faces, reflected in the
firelight and candles
warming the parlour.
She might abhor the
method in which the
Lanyons had come here,
but it was lovely to see her
mother enjoying herself.
Since her father’s death,
Mrs Woodley was reluctant
to spend time in London
without a male chaperone,
denying herself the former
joy she found in society.
Lady Lanyon had brought
back her laughter.
Mrs Woodley prompted
her eldest daughter to
begin the festive parlour
games they’d planned.
Elizabeth complied, lifting
up her fan where the first
of the charades the group
had to guess was printed.
“My first, I trust you are,”
she intoned.
“My second, I can see
you are, and my whole, I
can assure you, you are.”
“It is ‘Welcome’!” Lady
Lanyon proclaimed.
Elizabeth applauded
along with the rest, one eye
on Augustus lounging by
the mantelpiece.
He failed to answer any
of the following charades.
When his turn came to
act one, his performance
was just all theatrics.
The evening ended on a
toast with golden sherry.
Mrs Woodley and Lady
Lanyon went up to bed
arm-in-arm, with Amy
trailing behind them.
Picking up her candle,
Elizabeth prepared to
follow them.
“One moment.” Augustus
barred the doorway. “Do
you not care for Christmas
festivities, or is it my
presence you object to?”
“Very well.” Elizabeth
smoothed her skirts then
met his dark, questioning
gaze. “I do like charades,
sir, but parlour ones, not a
faked personality.
“I do not pretend to know
why a man of your stature
would wish to be taken for
a fool, but I do not
appreciate your mockery of
my family in our home.”
Eyes widening, he
reached out a hand to her
before letting it fall.
“Have you ever hunted,
Miss Woodley?” he asked
after a moment. It’s a sport
I do not indulge in, having
experienced something
similar since my first
London season.
“Even fools and
macaronis, if they have
funds or a title, are
mercilessly pursued by
matchmaking mamas or
desperate daughters.
“Imagine how much
worse it would be for a
man with any sign of
intelligence. Tell me, how
did you guess?”
“The way you walked
when you believed no-one
was looking,” Elizabeth
began. “Your searching for
answers to what any
average person would take
for a winter accident . . .”
His smile was lopsided.
“I never meant to mock
you,” he murmured. “When
you play a part for long
enough, it becomes habit.”
“Just how many of those
charades did you know
before we did?” she asked.
His expanding smile
confirmed her suspicions.
“Can I trust you to keep my
secret?” he asked
“I enjoyed this evening
more than I have done
anything for a long time,”
he said. “I believe you’re
intelligent enough to know
that it wasn’t because of
the charades.”
He held out a hand
again, and when she
slipped hers into it, he bent
to brush his mouth across
her skin.
“Can I trust you to keep
my secret?” he asked.
She raised her fan to her
face, lowering her lashes
coquettishly.
“What secret?” she said.
* * * *
By the following
afternoon, the Woodleys
were watching the
departure of their guests
from the drawing-room
window.
“The roads are still pretty
dangerous,” Amy said.
“They could have stayed for
at least another day.”
Elizabeth hid a smile.
It might be wishful
thinking, but the look
Augustus had shot at her
behind his quizzing glass
before they left had hinted
that last night was the
beginning of something.
* * * *
They spent a quiet but
cosy Christmas surrounded
by candlelight, good food
and soft laughter.
For Twelfth Night, Mrs
Woodley invited the local
Reverend and squire’s
families to Middleham.
SHORT STORY 71
Elizabeth and Amy had
fashioned character masks,
then indulged in a winter
walk to deliver these.
Now they stood arrayed
in glittering jewel-masks
and candlestick gowns as
Queen of the Revels and
her daughters, greeting
their guests on this crisp
winter’s night.
Elizabeth heard the
clatter of carriage wheels
sound down the drive.
“It’s the Lanyons!” her
mama exclaimed.
Elizabeth watched as
Lady Lanyon and her son
stepped from their coach.
The sight of Augustus
surveying them through
that hideous quizzing glass
made her heart sink.
Then, as the others
turned away, he caught her
eye and sent her a wink.
She sighed in relief,
accepting his arm into the
parlour.
After games and wine,
the Reverend’s sister sat at
the gallery piano and the
party prepared for dancing.
Elizabeth joined hands
with the vicar for a country
dance, then Augustus
asked her for the next.
When he’d stepped on
her toes and flamboyantly
apologised, she decided
she needed some air.
He insisted on escorting
her on to the balcony and
fetched her shawl.
“I’ve been thinking,” he
said as he joined her, “this
charade is becoming
dangerous, so it must end.”
“You’ll brave those
matchmakers?” she asked.
“I hope I will not have
to.” He turned her to face
him. “Marry me,
Elizabeth.”
“On one condition, Mr
Lanyon,” she said. “That,
with me, you are never
anything but your true,
wonderful self.”
His smile warmed her
down to her toes.
“With pleasure,” he
replied. “But I have a
condition, too.
“From now on, call me
Gus.” ■
 72
Interesting things
are often risky
From Royal Mail to Royal Mint – John Wright speaks
to artist David Gentleman about his career.
T
HERE is a sweet
straightforwardness
about the way
David Gentleman
draws.
At first glance, the
locations captured in his
highly accurate artworks
are instantly recogniseable.
But then the viewer will
spot something evocative:
a building’s faded glory, a
child skipping ahead of
their parents, the bright
sky of a different country.
They’re evocative,
perfectly capturing the
mood of the scene.
David is a talented
observer, translating all the
subtleties and humour of
everyday life into his work.
At ninety-three, David is
still drawing.
He has lived on the same
street of London’s Camden
Town with his wife Sue
since 1955.
“I’m drawing the Crescent
and my surroundings here
continually,” David says.
He must know every
Images: Shutterstock.
crack in the pavement by One of David’s evocative
now! scenes of London.
“I think Camden Town is
interesting in itself and it’s
very varied, but it’s got the
canal as well,” he explains.
“The canal is lovely and
the walk to Regent’s Park
and Primrose Hill.”
The scale of his work is
surprising, too – from
postage stamps to his
1978 mural at Charing
Cross Station on the
London Underground.
“It’s still there and it’s
also in pretty good nick,”
he explains.
“When I did it, I said to
London Transport, ‘I’m not
sure that this thing isn’t
going to be obliterated by
graffiti in the first
weekend.’” They also screen-printed
But they reassured him. several spare copies.
“Our principle at London “But nothing’s ever
Transport is to treat the happened,” David adds.
public with respect and David is famous for his
they’ll respect you back,” watercolour, lithography
they told him. and wood engraving.
“But we’ll lay on barrels Producing some 20
of solvent just in case!” books of his own and He drew a train
illustrating 37 by others, station in India.
he was also the Post
Office’s most prolific stamp
designer and created coins their working life.
for the Royal Mint, as well “They trained as painters
as posters and logos for and, in Glasgow, my dad
industry and public bodies. had been able to support
David grew up with his himself by painting and
parents and a brother in doing some cartooning
Hertford. after World War I, in which
“My father rented a he was wounded.”
slightly secluded house David studied at the
with a very big garden and Royal College of Art, spent
a river on one side,” he another two years there as
remembers, “and so it was a junior tutor, then
an ideal place to grow up. immediately became a
David’s amazing “My parents were both full-time freelance artist.
work can be artists. They were “I made a sufficient living
appreciated by Glaswegians and went on straight away,” he says.
everyone. with jobs for the rest of “I did work for magazines,

some advertising . . .
“My first big commission
was from Joe Lyons of
Lyons’ Corner Houses.
“In the early Fifties they
published a lot of
lithographs, which they
commissioned to hang up
in all their cafés.”
David’s first commission
came in 1953 – a painting
of a red fishing boat for
which he was paid £250,
an extraordinary £7,400
in today’s money.
“I was pretty lucky,” he
says, “considering that the
David’s mural at the
station still remains.
job at the college paid four
hundred pounds a year.”
But he does know the
feeling of sailing a little
close to the wind.
“In the first long summer
holiday from the college I
went off on my own to
Brittany, with the money
I’d saved from National
Service,” David reminisces.
“I stayed there in a café
in the small town of
Lannion, where they gave
me a room.
“I liked it so much I asked
to stay a bit longer and
The mood in his
drawings can be
felt by viewers.
painted a mural, which was
also of a fishing boat, for
them in the café.
“But I was absolutely out
of money by the time I was
waiting, ten weeks later, on
the quayside for the boat
home.”
David’s work has been in
steady demand since the
mid-1950s.
“The floodgates at the
Post Office were suddenly
opened when they became
more adventurous than
they had been,” he
explains.
“I did one hundred and
three stamps for them.”
David’s career has
certainly been very varied.
“I’ve made my living out
of an unusual mixture of
things.
David Gentleman is represented by Patrick Bourne &
Co., London. Available work can be viewed on their
website at www.patrickbourne.com.
REAL LIFE 73
David was very
inspired by the
Island of Nauru.
The Magical
Family Escape
David’s commissions
have taken him
everywhere travelling
solo, until one tropical
paradise in the 1970s
got him thinking.
“The furthest I’ve
been was to the tiny
mid-Pacific island of
Nauru,” he says. “I
went to design stamps
for their government.
“I planned for a
fortnight but found
the place so
fascinating, knowing
they were paying me
well enough, I got my
wife and children to
join me for a month:
lovely snorkelling,
warm water, staying in
their hotel fifty yards
from the beach.”
The stunning reef
with its coral shapes
inspired even more
watercolours.
And he remembered
to do the stamps!
“And particularly in the
Eighties and Nineties, I
started doing my own
books – the most recent,
called ‘My Town’, being one
about London.”
David has some advice
for anyone considering a
career in the arts.
“It’s not something you
can count on, but it’s very
interesting to do,” he says.
“I can say that interesting
things are often risky.”
Luckily for the rest of us,
he took his own advice! ■
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 76
A Wonderful Idea
Jean and I couldn’t help but be inspired when we
watched this festive classic . . .
I
T’S A Wonderful Life’ is
on TV this morning,” I
mentioned to Jean.
We were washing up our
mugs in my kitchen.
“Which one’s that?” Jean
enquired, hanging the clean
mugs on to my mug tree.
“Which one’s that?” I
echoed incredulously.
“It’s only the ultimate
Christmas movie!
“James Stewart feels his
life has been a big waste so
he throws himself into the
river on Christmas Eve.
“Then he is rescued by
Clarence Odbody – an
Illustration by Ruth Blair.
angel who’s trying to earn
his wings. Remember?”
“Oh,” Jean said. “That
film. It’s a bit long, isn’t it?”
“A bit long? It’s the
perfect length, Jean,” I
BY EIRIN THOMPSON
said. “It’s Frank Capra, for
goodness’ sake.”
“Well, you watch it and I’ll
read a book.”
“Oh, Jean, no. Don’t say
that. How long is it since
you’ve seen it?”
Jean put her head on one
side and twisted her mouth
the way she does when
she’s trying to concentrate.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever
actually seen the whole
thing,” she admitted,
hanging up her tea towel.
“Well, then!” I exclaimed.
“Now’s your chance.
“Trust me. I know you’re
going to love it.”
Jean continued to look
unconvinced.
“We can tuck into the
posh crisps? It’s only a
few days until Christmas,”
I added.
“Throw in a glass of your
spiced apple juice and I’m
on board,” Jean said. “And
I get to pick what we do in
the afternoon.”
* * * *
For someone who
claimed she wasn’t
interested, Jean did a very
good impression of an avid
viewer.
When a young George
Bailey saved his brother
from drowning, Jean
leaned forward in her seat,
all agog.
And when the errand boy
George bravely challenged
troubled pharmacist, Mr
Gower, in order to prevent
an accidental poisoning, I
saw her surreptitiously slip
a tissue from her pocket.
By the time the adult
George was persuaded that
his existence had, in fact,
made a huge difference and
touched the lives of many
others, both of us were
sobbing and wiping our
noses.
“You were right,
Maureen,” Jean spluttered.
“It is the greatest
Christmas film ever.”
“I know,” I managed
between sobs. “I’m so
happy you liked it.”
Even heightened emotion
doesn’t put Jean and me
off our grub.
After the credits rolled,
we were soon back in the
kitchen, poking through the
fridge for something for
lunch.
“How about a
ploughman’s?” I suggested.
“I have plenty of cheese
and a new jar of pickle.”
“Sounds good, Maureen,”
Jean said. “Simple food is

just the ticket, since we’ll
be over-eating very soon.
“I’ll put the kettle on and
make a pot of tea to go
with it.
“After lunch, shall we
catch a bus into town?
“I don’t actually need
anything, but I quite like
being part of the hustle
and bustle at this time of
year.”
“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
* * * *
The bus had lots of
passengers, but Jean and I
managed to find a double
seat about halfway down.
Jean sat by the window
and drew a Christmas tree
in the condensation on the
window.
At the stop after ours, a
young family boarded.
The dad was trying to
manage two small children
and a folded buggy, and
the mum was carrying a
baby.
They struggled to keep
their balance as the bus
pulled away, but no-one did
a thing to help them.
Jean and I exchanged a
look, then a nod.
“Excuse me,” I said to the
mum. “Would you and your
little ones like to sit down?”
“Oh, but we couldn’t!” the
young woman replied.
She was unable to
disguise a look that
suggested we were much
too old to sacrifice our
seating.
“Don’t worry about us,”
Jean instructed her. “We
might not be in the first
flush of youth, but we swim
and do Pilates – we can
certainly stand for a few
stops.”
The mum looked like she
really wanted to sit, but
still felt unable to accept an
offer from such oldies.
Then someone rang the
bell and a few people rose
to their feet to disembark.
“Problem solved,” Jean
said with a smile. “Now
there’s room for everyone.”
The mum, the baby and
one of the little children sat
on the seats immediately in
front of us.
“When are we going
home?” the little child
asked fractiously.
The mum was trying to
entertain the baby with a
beaded rattle, but it
couldn’t quite settle and
was grizzling softly.
“First we have to find a
home,” the mum said.
Had Jean overheard this
remark, too?
I looked at her. She
raised her eyebrows.
The mum’s phone rang,
then.
“You have to answer it,
Mummy,” the young child
said. “It might be
important.”
The mum wriggled about
in her seat and managed to
free her phone from her
bag.
“Emma,” she said. “Long
time, no see.
“Look, I’m on the bus
right now. Is it urgent?”
There was a pause, then
she continued.
“We had to sell the car,”
she said. “Adam lost his
job – the firm went bust.
“We thought the cash
from the car would fund
the mortgage payments
until he got a new position,
but it didn’t happen.
“So now it’s three days
until Christmas and we’re
homeless.”
Jean and I exchanged
another, more worried,
look.
“Mum would put us up if
she could,” the woman
added, “but she’s in a
bungalow with one
bedroom and a tiny
sitting-room – she can’t
take five of us.
“I know you would,
Emma, but you and Bill are
in a one-bedroom
apartment.
“It wouldn’t work for
more than ten minutes.
“We’re going to the
advice centre in town to
see if they can do anything
for us.”
Well, that sounded like
the right approach.
A young family turfed out
of their home less than a
week before Christmas
were bound to be a
priority.
“We are going to follow
them, aren’t we?” Jean
asked as we got off the bus
in the town centre.
“I was hoping you’d say
that,” I answered.
“I just need to know that
they’ve got somewhere to
lay their heads tonight.”
“Me, too.”
We helped the dad
unload the buggy, which he
opened up with a practised
touch.
Then the mum strapped
in the baby and the dad
pushed, while she took the
two other children by their
hands.
“Where is the advice
centre?” Jean asked me.
“If it’s the one I’m
thinking of, then George
Street,” I replied.
The family seemed to be
setting off in that direction.
Jean and I followed at a
Jean and I exchanged another,
more worried, look
discreet distance.
The advice centre waiting
area had paper and
crayons, which the walking
children fell upon
immediately.
“I’m going to draw
Santa,” the bigger of the
two said.
“Daddy, where will Santa
bring our presents?” she
added.
“I don’t know yet,” their
father admitted. “But that’s
what we’re here to find
out.”
“I don’t mean to poke my
nose in,” Jean began.
This was utterly untrue,
as poking her nose in is
pretty much Jean’s
favourite pastime.
“But do I gather you’re
stuck for somewhere to
stay at the minute?”
“That’s putting it mildly,”
the dad said with a sad
smile. “You think you have
it all – a nice house, a
decent car, food on the
table, but all it takes is a
bit of bad luck and before
you know it you’re
destitute.”
“We’re not destitute,
Adam,” the woman said
with a forced smile. “We’re
just between homes. We’ll
find something.”
At that moment, an older
woman stepped out from
behind a heavy, closed
door.
“Mr and Mrs Hamilton?”
“That’s us,” Adam said,
standing up. “I’m Adam
and this is Cath.”
“If you want to leave the
SHORT STORY 77
children out here with us,
so you can have a bit of
privacy . . .” I began.
“That sounds like a timely
offer. There’s CCTV of the
waiting area in my office,”
the older woman added,
“so you can see them for
yourselves the whole time.”
“Thanks,” Cath said, with
a more genuine smile this
time. She handed me the
baby. “That would be
great.”
Jean hunkered down
beside the little boy and
girl at the drawing table.
“I’m Jean and this is my
best friend, Maureen,” she
told them, as I jiggled the
baby on my knee and blew
softly on its downy hair.
“What are your names?”
“I’m called Nancy,” the
little girl replied. “And he’s
Barney. He’s my brother.”
“And is the baby your
sister?” Jean asked.
“Yes,” Nancy confirmed.
“She’s Abigail.”
“You all have lovely
names,” Jean said
admiringly.
“Santa’s bringing me a
baby doll for Christmas,”
Nancy said.
“How lovely,” Jean
replied.
She glanced at me as if to
ask if I thought Santa
would manage that for this
child this year.
I acknowledged her
communication with a long
blink.
“And Barney’s getting a
swing,” the little girl added.
A swing? How on earth
was this unfortunate young
family going to run to a
swing, never mind get it
home on the bus?
Should I say something?
“You know, Nancy,” I
started, “sometimes Santa
doesn’t bring exactly what
we ask for.
“Sometimes it’s a
surprise, instead – but
surprises can be lovely.”
Jean glared at me.
“I’m sure Santa won’t
disappoint any of you,”
Jean insisted. “I’m quite,
quite sure.”
We sat with the children
78
for a good half hour.
Jean taught Nancy how
to write a capital N, so she
could initial her pictures.
She sang “Row, Row,
Row Your Boat” with
Barney and then sat back
for a breather while the
two siblings played
together.
Little Abigail fell soundly
asleep against my chest.
I wiggled my scarf into
place in case she dribbled
on my good red woollen
duffel coat.
Eventually, the Hamilton
parents emerged from their
meeting.
They thanked the woman
whose office it was, but
they looked far from happy.
“Have they found you
somewhere?” Jean asked.
“Yes and no,” Adam
answered.
“There’s going to be a
house available and it’s
even within walking
distance of a primary
school, which is great,”
Cath began. “It has three
bedrooms and a little
garden.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t
get the keys until the sixth
of January,” Adam finished.
“So you have nowhere to
sleep tonight,” I observed.
“There is a hostel . . .”
Cath said.
“But you don’t fancy it,”
Jean surmised. “Well, I
think we have the answer,
if you’re willing.
“The five of you can stay
at my place until your new
house is ready – I can stay
with Maureen.
“She has plenty of room.”
Cath and Barney’s jaws
dropped.
“You’re offering us your
home?” Barney checked.
“But you don’t even know
us.”
“Maybe not you
specifically,” Jean said, “but
I know people, and I feel
quite sure I can trust you.
“Come on, let’s go now
before it gets dark.
“We can all travel
together on the bus and I’ll
give you the tour of my
place, pack a few things
and leave you to it.
“Don’t get too excited –
it’s only a semi-detached
bungalow, but it’s
comfortable, and I have a
travel cot in the spare
room for when my young
relatives come to stay.”
I had to hand it to
Jean – when moved by
someone else’s plight she
didn’t do half-measures!
* * * *
On the bus to Jean’s, I
sat beside Cath, who again
had baby Abigail on her
knee.
“Just by the way,” I
murmured. “While you
were having your interview,
there was some talk about
what might be on the way
from Santa in a few days.
“Are those expectations
going to be a problem?”
Cath broke into a broad
grin.
“Fortunately not,” she
said. “We’ve been paying
into a Christmas club at the
toy shop since the summer,
so that’s all taken care of.
“We had a slight blip
when Nancy changed her
mind and said she wanted
a doll’s-house instead of a
baby doll, but we managed
to convince her that a baby
doll would be more fun and
could sleep in her bed with
her.”
Cath suddenly looked
alarmed.
“Oh, it’s just occurred to
me – does Jean even have
a garden where we can
pitch the swing?”
“Fear not,” I said. “Jean
has a nice, flat piece of
lawn at the back of her
bungalow – it’ll be perfect.
“I guess you’ll have to
keep the blinds closed at
the rear of the house on
Christmas Eve afternoon, if
you want to assemble the
swing in daylight.
“Jean has a very helpful
and useful neighbour called
Jimmy, who would be glad
to lend a hand.”
* * * *
Jean and I made up all
her beds with fresh linen
and set out towels and a
hair-dryer, and sheets and
cellular blankets for the
travel cot.
Nancy and Barney sat up
on the sofa watching
television while baby
Abigail chewed on a rusk.
“Do we live here now?”
Nancy asked, looking up.
“No!” her mum
exclaimed. “This is
Jean’s bungalow.”
“But it’s your holiday
home,” Jean offered.
“You’re going to spend
Christmas here before you
move to your very own new
house.”
She turned to Adam.
“Forgive me for asking,
but do you have money for
food?”
“There’s nothing to
forgive,” he said. “It’s a fair
enough question.
“But yes, we’re not
completely broke. We’ll be
able to buy a turkey and all
the trimmings.”
“Oh, good,” Jean replied.
“But do let us know if
there’s anything you’re
short of.
“Christmas is not a time
to be frugal.”
Before we left, Jean
insisted on making
everyone mugs of hot
chocolate with
marshmallows.
When they had finished,
Nancy climbed up beside
Jean on the sofa and took
her hand.
“I love your house,” she
said softly.
“Thank you,” Jean
responded.
“And I love you,” Nancy
added.
* * * *
It was dark by the time
we caught another bus
back to my place.
“It’s getting chilly,” Jean
observed as we hurried
home along the footpath.
“It’s Christmas. It’s meant
to be cold,” I replied.
“All the same, I’m glad
the heating’s on a timer –
the place should be nice
and cosy for us when we
get there.”
“I hope you have some
soup in,” Jean added. “It’s
a soup kind of night.”
“I didn’t leave any out of
the freezer, but there’s
always tinned.”
“Cream of tomato?”
“Certainly.”
“With soft white bread?”
“What else?”
We made it home,
dropped our bags and
peeled off our outdoor
things.
I warmed the soup and
Jean sliced the bread and
buttered it.
“Do you want to eat it at
the table or on our knees?”
I asked.
“Oh, on our knees,
please,” Jean answered.
We sat side by side on
the sofa with our lap trays,
listening to the Christmas
music on that light classical
channel we both enjoy.
“Do you think I’m off my
rocker, handing over my
home to complete
strangers?” Jean asked.
I took a moment to think.
“No,” I said. “I think
you’re very much on your
rocker.
“It was a very kind and
generous thing to do and
entirely in the spirit of
Christmas.”
“I couldn’t let them stay
in a hostel over the
holidays,” Jean
commented. “I’m sure the
staff there do their very
best, in difficult
circumstances.
“But those little children
needed somewhere soft
and reassuring after having
to leave their family home.”
“Well, your bungalow is
certainly that,” I said.
“Do you really think so?”
Jean asked.
“Of course. I mean, the
number of pillows you put
on the beds is a bit over
the top, and I don’t hold
with the fabric orchid in the
lavatory, but all in all your
bungalow is a warm,
homely environment.
“It’s just perfect for a
family Christmas.”
“You never said you
didn’t like my orchid.”
“You never asked,” I said.
“And by the way, Shrimp, it
hasn’t escaped my notice
that your grand act of
altruism followed closely on
the heels of watching ‘It’s A
Wonderful Life’.
“Do you think I didn’t
twig that you, like George
Bailey, want to know you’ve
made a positive difference
to others during your time
on earth?”
“Do you think I was trying
to be like George Bailey?”
Jean asked.
“I do.”
“Oh, Maureen. You don’t
have all the answers,” Jean
told me. “I wasn’t trying to
be like George.
“I was trying to be like
Clarence Odbody – I was
trying to earn my wings!” ■

Annabel Thomas is
promoting sustainable
whisky-making.
She was the
queen of spirits
Daniella Theis hears how whisky company founder
Annabel Thomas hopes to shake up the industry.
S
COTLAND’S
national drink is
steeped in history.
People think they
know whisky: how
to make it, how to market
it and who the drink is for.
That is what Annabel
Thomas, founder of
Nc’nean, a distillery near
Lochaline, hopes to change.
Nc’nean has only been
selling whisky since 2020,
but Annabel’s vision
started over 10 years ago.
In part, she was inspired
by her links to the west
Images: Nc’nean and Andy Bate, The Angels’ Share.
coast through her parents’
Highland farm that is the
location of the distillery.
Another was trying to be
the change she wanted to
see in the industry.
“There is a lot of focus on
tradition, which is great,”
Annabel explains.
“But there’s also room for
companies to think more
future-facing.
“That is what I felt the
need to do; I guess in part
because I didn’t see anyone
else do it.”
According to the founder,
the name Nc’nean is an
abbreviation of the Gaelic
goddess Neachneohain.
“She was the queen of
spirits and a fierce
protector of nature.
“Strong and independent,
she was never afraid to
walk her own path.
“We just thought that so
neatly summed up what
we’re trying to do.”
Annabel’s vision slowly
became reality through
years of fund-raising,
building, and – eventually
– making whisky.
Despite the challenges,
the drink gained popularity
quickly and Nc’nean has
been quietly revolutionising
the industry since.
“It’s all about putting
people, planet and profit
on an equal footing,” the
founder adds.
Nc’nean were the first
organisation in the UK
The distillery is located on
Annabel’s parents’ Highland farm.
Find out
more about
Nc’nean on
their website,
ncnean.com.
spirits industry to use
100% recycled glass.
Their distillery is powered
by 100% renewable
energy, they only use
organic Scottish barley in
their products and they
have also created 11 jobs
for locals in the remote
area the distillery is in.
This autumn, the
company launched a new
drink as part of their
Quiet Rebels range,
celebrating each employee.
This year, they created a
whisky to the flavour and
character of distillery
manager Gordon.
Aside from promoting
sustainable whisky-making
and celebrating its people,
the brand’s mission is to
open the drink up to new
audiences and change
perceptions of the industry.
“We’re trying to make
sure that whisky is still here
in one hundred years’ time.
“Whether that be
adapting the way our
REAL LIFE 79
Nc’nean suggest drinking
their whisky with soda.
brand looks, or the fact we
suggest drinking it with
soda – we put a recipe for
that on the side of each
bottle – for those that
don’t want to drink it neat.
“That messaging is
important.”
As a woman at the helm
of a whisky company – an
industry sometimes
perceived as predominantly
male – Annabel hopes to
change this thinking.
“It wasn’t something on
my mind in the early years.
“It was more by-the-by
that I was a woman,” she
adds. “But I’ve come to
realise that I have the
opportunity to make a
positive change by talking
about it.
“I have been asked things
like, ‘do you even like
whisky?’ or ‘do you do this
with your husband?’
“Would you ask me that if
I was male? That shouldn’t
happen.
“That needs to change
everywhere.
“We run Women’s Whisky
Week every year, which is
an opportunity for two or
three women to come and
spend a week at the
distillery.
“It’s to help change their
minds, but also other
people’s minds.” ■
 80
A Slice Of
British
Life
Andrew Baker.
A
NDREW Baker
professes
himself to be a
lifelong cake
lover.
“I think everyone likes
cake,” he says. “I have
always loved it.
“It has always been a big
part of my life.”
But like many good
ideas, the journey to his
new book, “Cake: A Slice
Of British Life”, was not as
straightforward as that.
Instead, it came about
Images: Shutterstock, Alamy, Geoff Pugh.
when the author – who is
also a journalist and
commissioning editor of
“The Daily Telegraph” –
was sitting in a fancy
London café, enjoying his
treasured treat alongside a
cup of tea.
“I was having a slice of
Battenberg cake,” he says.
“I started wondering how
Daniella Theis talks to author
Andrew Baker about his new
book in which he shares his love
for our nation’s favourite treat.
Battenberg cake came
about and I had no idea.
“When I was home, I
started looking at it and fell
down my research hole.”
He found out more about
the humble slice than he
expected.
“When it comes to the
story of Battenberg cake,
there’s a lot to it.
“I got quite excited by
that and thought, ‘Hold on
– if this is the case with
Battenberg cake, then what
about all the other cakes?
‘They must have a story’.
“I realised once I started
thinking about it that there
was a lot of material here.
“I spoke with
HarperCollins and I
suggested there might be a
book in this, and they
agreed.”
The book is more than
just research and fun facts
about our beloved treats.
“One way of going about
it could have just been
looking up all the history of
each cake,” Andrew
explains.
“With the internet, that is
not hard these days.
“I could have ordered an
example of each to come to
my house, and sit there
with a fork and eat it.
“But that, to me, didn’t
seem enough.
“I wanted it to be a kind
of quest, which maybe is a
ridiculously romantic notion
for a book about cake.
“I wanted to find the
‘true’ slice of each cake that
I was writing about; made
in the right way, made by
the right people and made
for the right occasion.
“In every case, I wanted
to eat it in the location that
was appropriate to the
cake I was talking about.
about ”
This “quest” sometimes
was straightforward –
when Andrew decided to
write about Dundee cake,
he found himself on the
way to Dundee.
When writing about
Eccles cake – a pastry filled
with dried fruits from
Lancashire – he visited the
area, met people and
spoke to them.
Yet, for other cakes,
finding the best location
was less straightforward.
Victoria sponge, named

Andrew was inspired
to write his book whilst
eating Battenberg cake.
Fridge cake was
supposedly Queen
Elizabeth’s favourite.
after Queen Victoria, has
no clear geographical
origin.
Andrew ended up visiting
the Queen’s favourite
holiday home: Osborne
House on the Isle of Wight.
For others, he had to get
even more creative.
“It wasn’t always easy,”
Andrew says. “The first
cake in the book is linked
to King Alfred.
“Legend goes he was
resting at the household of
a pig farmer, and the
farmer’s wife
asked Alfred
to keep an
eye on the
cakes and
don’t let
them burn.
“But
Alfred was
so tired
from the
battle, and
the cakes
burnt.
“The farmer’s
wife was furious and
threw him out the house.
“So I got similar cakes to
those eaten in Anglo-Saxon
England, and I took them
to a recreation of an
Anglo-Saxon farm with an
open fire.
“I put them on the fire,
and they burnt. I ate them
– they were disgusting.
“These slightly stupid
experiments took me to
the right kind of places with
the right kind of cake in the
right kind of situation.”
Andrew laughs strongly
when recalling the tale of
smuggling a bit of Fridge
cake – supposedly the
late Queen Elizabeth’s
favourite – into Windsor
Castle’s throne room.
“Windsor Castle, like all
Royal residences, has a lot
of security,” he explains.
“It is a bit like an airport
where you have to go
through an x-ray machine,
and I had a slice of cake in
the pocket of my coat.
BOOKS 81
There’s a great tale behind every
cake – even one featuring King
Alfred and an angry farmer’s wife!
“I realised I would have author continues, “I would
to put my coat through remember things.
that machine and that was “Not just the taste and
a bit worrying. smell. Once you remember
“I was thinking that, if the cake, the rest of the
they thought it was some scene begins to take shape
kind of explosive, I’d be around you.
taken away by the guards “It reveals more stuff
and put into a dungeon, than you even think you
never to see my family could remember.”
again. Andrew hopes that the
“But it didn’t happen that book will impact readers.
way. It was OK.” “I think it will inspire a lot
Aside from Andrew’s of old memories,” he says.
unwavering dedication to “It might not change
the cause and these anybody’s life, but I hope it
accompanying anecdotes, will make people feel
another key aspect of the good.” ■
book, according to him,
was discovering and
detailing cake’s power to
trigger memories.
It brought back the past
not just personally, but for
others he shared his book
idea and journey with.
“Taste seems to be like a
magic key to the memory,”
the author explains.
“For instance, my mother
is ninety-nine years old.
“When I talk to her, she
doesn’t always remember
very well what happened
yesterday, but when I talk
to her about cakes, she
remembers the cakes that
her mother used to make
in the 1920s – nearly one
hundred years ago.
“The taste and the smells
associated with the cake “Cake: A Slice Of British
triggered those memories Life” is out now and
for her. available across most
“When I was thinking of major bookstores.
my own childhood,” the Priced at £16.99.
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A Breath Of
I
T’S rare now to have
power cuts, though that
might change in future.
However, when they
happen, due to most
houses being dominated by
electricity, we are all
ill-prepared.
Iomhair and I grew up in
places where power cuts
were commonplace and
often went on for days.
Though our house is all
electric, we have a large
double camping gas ring
and a cupboard full of
candles, and we are
fortunate to have two
wood-burning stoves and a
shed full of wood.
This means that if the
weather is terrible, we can
still keep the house warm.
Secretly, I quite enjoy
power cuts.
They make everything
grind to a halt: no screens,
no computer, and life slows
for a while.
However, it is dire in
towns and cities because
all shops need power.
We have become so
dependent.
With fast-advancing
climate change, snow
Having a cupboard full
of candles keeps the
atmosphere cosy.
seems to be increasingly
rare, but when it does
come, it is heavy and
causes endless problems.
In the winter of 2009, we
had a substantial fall in the
lead-up to Christmas and it
caused major issues, such
as long power cuts.
At that time, we had a
great deal of fun with our
neighbours and their little
girl, Emma, who used to
love coming to see our
baby hedgehogs.
We often had them round
or called in there, which led
to impromptu parties.
Margaret is someone
who I love to bits, and she
soon became a close friend.
She regularly helped me
feed orphan wildlife, or let
out dogs if we had to be
away for the day.
Though I still see her, it’s
not the same since they
moved away. I miss
Margaret and all the fun.
When we had a power cut
following heavy snow and
plummeting temperatures,
Margaret rang to ask if our
electricity was cut off, too.
She was concerned that it
might only be their house,
as the lines were dangling
low over their garden
weighed down with snow.
The power was off for
days, and she kept ringing
up the electricity company
to find out what progress
there was, and then ringing
me to report on it.
However, Iomhair and I
were secretly enjoying it.
There was a camaraderie and
everyone had time to chat
The power cut did make
life difficult, but Iomhair
was also enjoying going
around the village and
making sure everyone
could cope and keep warm.
There was a camaraderie
and everyone had time to
chat, often around a candle
as it was dark by late
afternoon.
However, Margaret was
getting angry about it and
doing a fair amount of
grumbling and ringing,
making me think of a
practical joke.
I love practical jokes and,
as Margaret also has one
of the best senses of
humour I know, I thought it
would make us laugh.
She played into my hands
as she called to say that
she had rung the Hydro
Board, and they had said it
would be back on soon.
I left it until afternoon.
Then I phoned Margaret
and put on a broad
Scottish accent.
“Hello, is that Margaret
Raeburn?” I said. “I am
ringing about your power
supply.”
“About time, too. When is
NATURE 83
Renowned
nature writer
Polly Pullar takes
a lighthearted
look at rural life.
the power going back on?”
Margaret asked.
“Well, Mrs Raeburn, I am
sorry to tell you that due to
unforeseen circumstances,
it will be off for another
four days,” I replied.
Poor Margaret was livid
and not too polite in her
response.
“I am very sorry, but we
are offering compensation,”
I said.
“What sort? We are
freezing cold here.”
“Mrs Raeburn, we will be
supplying free hot-water
bottles.”
There was a long silence.
“Hot-water bottles! What
on Earth use are they?” she
asked.
Well, that is a polite
version of what she said.
“Polly, is that you?” she
added after a pause.
What a giggle we had!
That afternoon, the
power did come back on,
but by that time I had
called round and Margaret
had opened a bottle of
home-made damson gin.
“Let’s just have a wee
nip,” Margaret said and,
because it was so delicious,
one nip led to another.
After all, it was nearly
Christmas.
It was odd that my walk
back home through snow
seemed to take a while . . .
Cheers! Happy Christmas
to you all. ■
Images: Polly Pullar.
We’ll take another
“Breath Of Country Air”
in our January 27 issue.
84

Brainteasers
Brainteasers
Arroword Follow the arrows to place the answers, then
read down the shaded letters to find a festive
Part
One
mode of transport.
Florida’s
Club’s Hijacker’s Bed for
country Raging fire Forlorn Spoilt child Garden tool
masseur prisoner a baby
(inits)

This planet

Small Amplified Every Chaos,

Insect
snake light part of mayhem

Rod to hold
Hate
curtains

Location Bring Frozen Fitting,

device to mind water suitable

Spittle

Orchestral Creek, Police

instrument small bay officer

Discard

Kriss How long will it take you to correctly fit the chilly places into the grid? When
you’re done, rearrange the shaded squares to reveal something that might keep
Kross you warm in winter! (3,4)
9 6 6 letters 8 letters
ALASKA MOUNTAIN
9
ARCTIC MURMANSK
6
CANADA 9 letters
FAROES ANTARCTIC
8 NORWAY GREENLAND
7 letters
7
ICELAND
6 6
6
LAPLAND
TRAINERS

All puzzles © Puzzler Media Ltd -

7 www.puzzler.com
 PUZZLES 85

Answers
on p115

Wordsearch Find all the words to do with winter sports in the grid. Words can
run horizontally, vertically, forwards, backwards or diagonally.

ALPS PISTE T E L A H C H Z E Y Z T V
ANORAK PUCK T K T H K S K A T E S I I
ASPEN RINK I M A N T S D R S U C I S
CANADA SKATES
N T I R L R E H I E L M O
CHALET SLALOM
FLURRY SLED F R I O O I E N P T Y O R
FRANCE SLOPE L L P E C N G O N D O L A
GLACIER VISOR U E U A A D A N A C G A D
GLOVES
G R L R E M I N E O L L T
GOGGLES
GONDOLA O G R A R C F I G E O S H
ICE M A P E S Y N G N E V O D
LUGE R T G U S P L A S L E D I
LUTZ
A U E N C E E M R O S R T
MOGUL
L I A E S K P N H F N Y U

Numberjig Can you fit the listed numbers into the grid?

6 2 5 1 3 3 digits 64732 8273162

274 84704 8824523
287 6 digits 8 digits
546 126731 38767204
721
351577 56677324
777
735711 65807883
4 digits 67543223
7 digits
1242
5866078
2368
6726265
2456 7367236
5402
5 digits
43111
62513
86
The Pick Of
The Crop
Alexandra
Campbell shares
her favourites
amongst this
year’s gardening
books.
T
HIS year’s best
gardening books
combine interesting
writing with high
production values and
good photography.
Many address the issues of
sustainability, resilience and
wildlife-friendly gardening.
The gardening world is
becoming somewhat polarised
between those who promote
rewilding and those who
prefer more managed spaces.
These books will help you
feel better informed and
decide how far you want to go
in your own garden.
One of the most interesting
new trends is the number of
garden experts who are now
producing their own books.
In the past, self-publishing
was called “vanity publishing”
and was virtually ignored.
This year, only three of the
five shortlisted finalists in the
hotly contested Garden Media
Guild’s “Garden Book Of The
Year” award were published
by traditional publishers.
The other two finalists were
Jane Perrone’s “Legends Of
The Leaf,” which was funded
via Unbound, and Adrian
Bloom’s “Foggy Bottom – A
Garden To Share”, published
independently.
This trend ultimately means
more choice in gardening
books because publishers
often can’t invest in topics
that seem too niche.
Now it’s easier for people to
share their expertise in print
form, we’ll be seeing a wider
range of gardening books. ■
For The Urban And
Window-sill Gardeners
– Especially Newbies
Published by Watkins Books,
“Rebel Gardening” by Alessandro Vitale is
the first book from Alessandro, who is
known as “Spicy Moustache” on Instagram
and TikTok – where he has a combined
five million plus followers.
He explains how to grow and cook food
in small spaces, such as courtyards,
window-boxes and front gardens, with an
emphasis on recycling, traditional
methods and seasonal eating.
His style is easy-to-understand and
contemporary, with an urban vibe.
There are also DIY projects, such as how
to construct a raised bed and making your own compost and fertilisers from
nettles, comfrey or even old tomato plants.
There’s lots of advice on new ideas, but also basics, such as how to grow herbs.
It’s an absorbing book – read it before giving it away as a present!
For Those Who
Want To Be More For Those Who Love
Wildlife Friendly “Gardeners’ World”
Adam Frost is probably one of the
The RHS “Companion To Wildlife best-loved presenters on “Gardeners’
Gardening” by Chris Baines – World”, for his easy-to-understand
published by Frances Lincoln – is a and chatty way of conveying
completely revised and updated invaluable information.
version of their original “How To “How I Garden” by Adam Frost
Make A Wildlife Garden”. – published by Ebury Books – is
It’s another book shortlisted for both practical and personal, full of
the Garden Media Guild’s “Garden anecdotes as well as key information
Book Of The Year” award, and it on both garden design and how to
incorporates scientific research, as choose and grow plants.
well as advice on some of the issues Adam’s realistic and friendly
in this area. approach to
It’s a good gardening
comprehensive makes this
guide which book both
helps those on relatable and
both the enjoyable, as
rewilding and well as being
managed based on a
garden sides lifetime of
achieve what hands-on
they want in gardening and
their gardens, garden design
while helping experience.
wildlife.
 87

For The For The Garden

Houseplant Devotee Traditionalist
Published through crowd-funding “Foggy Bottom – A Garden To
on Unbound, “Legends Of The Leaf” Share” by Adrian Bloom is perfect for
by Jane Perrone is sub-titled: those who want to hear from an
Unearthing the secrets to help your expert plantsman, who created his
plants thrive”. own six-acre garden, Foggy Bottom,
This is a fascinating and detailed over five decades.
account of 25 of the most popular The story takes in design, plants
houseplant species, explaining and what to do with them in an
where they come from, how they engaging and informed narrative.
grow in the wild and how to look It’s about creating a traditional
after them. garden with a palette of plants which
Jane runs the podcast “On The we will all recognise – beautifully photographed and rightly described as
Ledge” and is a houseplant expert. an “inspirational guide to plants and gardens”.
I am not generally a houseplant You can buy the book from foggybottomgarden.co.uk, where you can
fan, preferring my greenery to grow also read an excellent preview.
in the garden,
but I found this
to be a good
read, both
interesting and For The Allotmenteer
enlightening.
I would say
Or The Grow-Your-Own
that the type Enthusiast
size is smaller
than is usual in With two excellent launches short-listed
such books, but for the “Peter Seabrook Practical Book
the narrative Of The Year” award, it’s a good year for
whips along in those who want to grow their own.
an engaging Sarah Raven is one of the best gardening
fashion. teachers around, and I’ve referred back to
her books over decades.
“A Year Full Of Veg”, published by Bloomsbury, is the result
of her 30 years of trialling home-grown fruit and veg to find the
For The Gardener Who varieties that are easiest to grow and give the best harvests.
Wants To Be More In addition, Rekha Mistry’s “Kitchen Garden”, published by
DK Books, has 40 profiles of good allotment crops to grow.
Environmentally Aware Rekha has a large following on Instagram for her straightforward
and well-explained allotment and grow-your-own advice.
“The Resilient Garden” by Tom Massey
is published by DK Books.
Tom is one of the show garden
designers most likely to trigger the
question, “Is it really a garden?” For The Gardener
Having created show gardens themed
around refugee camps and border Who Always Wants
crossings, he has focused on the theme of
resilience for much of his career. To Know “Why?”
This book is part memoir and part Published by DK Books,
handbook in what you can do to help your “The Science Of Gardening” by
garden withstand and improve the Dr Stuart Farrimond looks at the
changing world in which we find ourselves. science behind all the words and
The garden design advice is useful, phrases you hear in gardening,
including lists on giving straightforward explanations
how to evaluate the and clear directions.
materials you use It starts with the basics of
in designing the gardening, such as “Which way does
garden – what the my garden face?” and “What is soil
environmental pH and how does it affect what I can grow?”
issues are around Whereas some gardening books will, for example, tell you to
wood, stone, plastic “move plants in autumn or spring”, this book explains exactly
and metal. what happens to the root system and the leaves when you plant
There are also either at the wrong time or the right one.
suggestions for There’s plenty of information about the environmental side of
resilient plants, and gardening, too.
the garden designs I was interested to hear that lots of small pollinator-friendly
featured in the flowers, like asters, are better for pollinators than a few bigger
book do really feel flowers, as they don’t have to fly so far between flower heads. ■
like gardens!
 Starts Today

Return To
Rose Manor
With her old family home back on the market, Iris
was prepared to make a life-changing decision . . .
BY TERESA ASHBY

I
RIS ANDERSON shook
out the soft cotton sheet
and watched it flutter
down and settle on the
bed.
She smoothed it out with
her hands and finished
making up the bed.
There was nothing like
the smell of freshly
laundered sheets for lifting
the spirits.
Illustration by Helen Welsh.
concerned-looking young
room attendants.
“I’m helping Daisy and
Niall, aren’t I, guys?” Iris
replied.
“You think they need
help?” Sally demanded.
“Not at all,” Iris said. “I
just fancied a change of
scene.”
Sally escorted her back to
her office like a naughty
Iris slumped in her chair.
“I’m bored, Sally,” she
said. “I’ve come to realise
that the part I loved most
about running a hotel was
actually working in it, not
stuck in an ivory tower.”
“One, it’s an office, not an
ivory tower,” Sally said
sternly. “And two, running
the hotel is my job.”
“But it’s my hotel, Sally,”
Think about it.
When Sally had gone, Iris
drummed her fingers on
the table.
For the past few weeks,
she’d felt restless and
unsettled, but didn’t know
why.
She’d grown tired of the
hotel she’d once loved.
She’d enjoyed building
her business up and had

“What do you think you’re
doing, Iris?”
She looked up to see
Sally, her housekeeping
manager, wearing a very
disapproving frown.
Behind her stood two
child.
“What is this, Iris?” she
said. “Some sort of mid-life
crisis?
“This is the third time I’ve
caught you helping out.
What’s going on?”
Iris replied despairingly.
“Why don’t you go on
holiday? Start enjoying the
fruits of your labour.”
“I’ll think about it,” Iris
promised, but that was all
she’d do.
relished the challenge, but
now it was all running
smoothly thanks to her
brilliant team, it left her
surprisingly little to do.
Sometimes she reflected
that she was happier when

she first started out with a
handful of guests staying at
her little B and B.
But Sally was right, she
should be enjoying her
success, not sitting here
feeling sorry for herself.
Her e-mail alert pinged
and she almost wished it
was a problem to be
solved.
But it was better than
that! Much better.
The e-mail was from an
estate agent and in the
subject line was written,
Sale of Rose Manor.
She hesitated before
opening it, not wanting to
get her hopes up.
It could be bad news, of
course.
Perhaps Rose Manor had
been demolished. Perhaps
it had burned to the
ground.
She pressed her fingers
to her mouth.
What if Rose Manor was
finally to be sold?
Her heart pounded as she
tapped the key to open the
e-mail.
Hi, Iris.
I hope this finds you well.
You asked us to let you
know if Rose Manor came
on to the market.
I have just learned that
the property is to be sold
at auction and I have
attached details from the
auctioneer.
Regards and best of luck,
Daniel.
For a few seconds, it felt
as if her heart might
explode out of her chest.
She felt breathless and
excited.
Her old family home, the
place she’d only ever seen
as a neglected ruin, was
finally attainable.
Her mind flew to the
other side of the country
and she could see it
nestling in the overgrown
gardens, sad and sorry,
and her heart cried out to
it.
“I’m coming home!” she
exclaimed, and she called
Rob.
She’d always been close
to her nephew.
He’d always felt more like
a younger brother, as she
was a teenager when he
was born.
Safe to say she was closer
to Rob than anyone else
in the family.
“Hi, Iris,” he said
cheerfully. “Everything
OK?”
“More than OK,” she said
and left a pause.
She could sense his mind
whirring.
There was no doubt he
was on her wavelength.
“Rose Manor?” he
whispered.
“Yes!” she confirmed. “It’s
coming up for auction. I’ve
just this minute found out.”
“After all these years,”
Rob said. “Yes!”
She laughed, imagining
him punching the air.
“I know!” she cried. “I’ve
been bothering all the
estate agents in the area
for years, begging them to
let me know if it ever
happened.
“They must be as relieved
as we are, if only to finally
get me off their backs.”
Rob shared Iris’s passion
for family history, while
everyone else seemed
happier to forget the past.
“Maybe the hidden
treasure will be found at
last.” Rob laughed.
“Probably better you
don’t mention that to
anyone else,” she said
cautiously. “They already
think of me as barmy.
“Anyway, who cares
about hidden treasure?
“Just imagine walking in
the footsteps of our
ancestors, Rob!”
“Would you e-mail me the
details?” he asked, but she
could already feel him
putting his responsible
head on as he sounded a
note of caution.
“You do know you can’t
afford to buy it, don’t you?”
he added.
“I know.” She sighed.
Her grandfather, Robert,
had lived in the village until
she was eighteen.
She used to stay with him
in the school holidays at his
cottage, sometimes with
her older brother John,
Rob’s dad.
She had such happy
memories of those times,
and Grandad’s stories had
kindled a passion in her for
Rose Manor that had never
faded over the years.
Grandad’s father,
William, frittered away
everything in the 1960s
before fleeing the country,
leaving his family and his
debts behind.
The house had to be sold
and the family scattered,
except for Grandad who
refused to leave the village
he loved.
“It’s our home, Iris,” he
used to say. “Our ancestors
built it and one day I want
an Anderson living there
again.
“It won’t happen in my
lifetime, of course.”
He used to have a twinkle
in his eye when he said
that.
“Never forget, will you?”
he’d asked her.
“I’ll never forget,” she’d
vowed, and she hadn’t.
“So,” Rob broke into her
thoughts, “we’ll go over to
view the property before
the auction?”
“You’ll come with me?”
Iris asked.
“Why do you think I’m sticking
at a job I hate?”
He laughed.
“Try stopping me! You’ve
told me so much about that
place, I feel as if I know it.”
“Perhaps one day you
will,” she said. “Rob, I have
a plan.
“I know how I can buy
Rose Manor, but I may
need your expertise as a
mortgage advisor.”
“You shouldn’t even think
about borrowing money,”
he said. “That’s my advice.”
“Perhaps I won’t have to.
So what do you say, Rob?
Are you in?”
“Of course I’m in.”
“Good, because I don’t
want to do this on my own.”
“You won’t have to,” he
promised.
* * * *
Rob couldn’t wait to get
home from the bank and
check the details Iris had
sent, so he could print
them out.
His girlfriend, Becky,
watched the paper coming
out of the printer.
“What are you doing?”
she asked, but he only
smiled, hardly able to
contain his excitement.
“What is it?” She laughed.
“Have you found a house
for us?”
SERIAL: PART 1 OF 6 89
He hated having to burst
her bubble.
“It’s Rose Manor,” he
said. “It’s going to be
auctioned.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Not that again, Rob!
Aren’t you tired of those
old stories?”
She had lost patience
with his family history
research a long time ago
and couldn’t understand
how it could consume him
so completely.
He could get lost for
hours once he found a
thread to follow.
“It’s exciting,” he said.
“My old family home.”
“It was never your family
home, Rob. You’ve never
even been there.”
“I know, but hear me out,
Becky,” he said as he tried
desperately to tone down
his eagerness. “I’m going to
look at it with Iris.
“It won’t cost us anything
to look. You can come, too!
It’ll be a fun day out.”
Becky picked up the
papers.
“It’s a wreck,” she said.
“And you can be sure they
haven’t used photos that
show the worst of it.”
“I know,” he said, thinking
she had a point. “But it
won’t hurt to have a look.”
“Why bother?”
“It’s always been my
dream to see it.”
“Your dream? Or hers?”
Becky was referring to Iris.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,
Rob, there’s no talking to
you when you’re like this.
“When are you going to
start thinking about our
future instead of this
obsession with the past?”
“I do think about our
future,” he said. “Why do
you think I’m sticking at a
job I hate?”
He hadn’t meant that to
come out.
Last time he’d mentioned
not liking his job, Becky
accused him of wallowing in
self-pity.
“Here we go again,” she
said. “It’s all about you,
isn’t it, Rob? Don’t you ever
think of anyone else?”
Then she stormed out
90
of the room.
Rob knew he ought to
follow her but, as he looked
at the printout, he sank
down on his chair and
began to read the details
and examine the
photographs.
He’d waited so long for
this – to see plans and
photos and get a feel for
the place.
He couldn’t resist calling
his father.
“Rose Manor is going to
be auctioned.”
“I know!” John Anderson
said tersely. “I’ve already
had your aunt on the phone
bending my ear about it,
and I’m telling you what I
told her. Stay away.”
“We’re only going to
look,” Rob said.
“Why?” his dad said. “It
means nothing to any of us.
We have no memories of
living there.
“It’s in the past, Rob, and
that’s where it needs to
stay. Don’t go stirring up
old hurts.”
“Aren’t you even a little
curious to see it?” Rob
asked.
“Not in the least,” John
said. “Forget the past and
better yet, don’t listen to
any of Iris’s stories about
hidden treasure.
“My grandad used to go
on about it all the time,
filling her head with
nonsense.”
“That isn’t what this is
about, Dad,” Rob said. “I
don’t care about treasure. I
just want to see the place
before it’s demolished.”
“Well, it could have
ceased to be a thorn in the
side of this family all these
years.”
“It’s not a thorn; it’s a
rose,” Rob said softly.
“Oh, Rob.” John sighed.
“You’re as bad as she is.”
Permission had never
been given to build on the
land, but the planning laws
had changed and perhaps a
buyer would be successful
where others had failed.
Unless Iris really did have
a viable plan, Rose Manor
would probably be
destroyed.
It had changed hands
several times over the
years, but it was as if it was
waiting for the family to
come back and claim it.
Rob finished speaking to
his father.
“It’s getting late, Becky,”
he called out. “Shall we go
out for dinner?”
Silence greeted him.
“Becky?” he tried again.
She wasn’t in the flat!
“I’m staying at my
mother’s,” she said when
he phoned her. “And I’m
not coming back until you
come to your senses.”
“I don’t get it,” he said.
“All I’m talking about is
taking a look. What’s wrong
with that?”
It wasn’t the first time
she’d walked out on him.
Usually he gave in right
away and she came back,
but this time it was
different.
He wanted her to at least
give it a chance.
“Just think about Rose
Manor, Becky,” he said.
“I can’t let Iris down.”
“But you can let me
down,” she snapped and
hung up.
* * * *
Helen Stewart propped
her bike up outside the tea
shop and fastened the bike
lock cable, before realising
the place was in darkness.
That was odd!
Usually the lights were on
and there’d be customers
sitting in the window seats.
She tried the door and
found it locked with the
Closed sign still up.
“What’s happening,
Helen?” Joy, one of her
colleagues, joined her.
“Why is it shut?”
“I don’t know.” Helen bit
her lip. “I hope nothing’s
happened.”
The tea shop had been in
the village for as long as
Helen could remember, and
they had never failed to
open before. Ever!
“No point hanging around
then,” Joy said. “Let me
know what happens.”
She turned and walked
away, but Helen couldn’t do
that.
She was far too worried.
She knocked on the door
and cupped her hands
against the glass.
Chairs were still upturned
on the tables and all the
display cabinets were
empty.
“Peggy! Ronnie! Are you
in there?” she called out
and knocked again.
Taking a few steps back,
she looked up at the flat
above the tea shop.
The curtains were open,
which she hoped was a
good sign.
Peggy and Ronnie were
both well past retirement
age, but the tea shop had
been their life and there
was never any sign that
they were slowing down.
Helen had worked there
since she was a Saturday
girl, putting her wages and
tips aside for university.
But she fell pregnant just
before taking her A levels,
and there was no question
of her going to university.
What she did was step
out of school and into the
Registry Office, where she
married the love of her life,
Sean.
And then she went to
work for Peggy and Ronnie,
sometimes taking her
daughter Cassidy with her.
Helen dug her phone out
of her pocket and tried
calling Peggy, but she
wasn’t answering.
Neither was Ronnie.
All sorts of things went
through her mind, but then
she saw a shadowy shape
moving about inside.
Intruders!
She had a sudden vision
of Peggy and Ronnie tied to
chairs upstairs while their
flat and business were
ransacked, and began to
hammer on the door.
Relief flooded through
her when Peggy appeared
at the door and unlocked it.
“Oh, Peggy, thank God
you’re OK,” Helen cried as
she wrapped the small
woman in her arms. “I was
so worried.
“Has something
happened? Is it Ronnie?”
Peggy pulled away. She
looked smaller than usual,
and rather crushed.
“You’d best come up,
Helen,” she said, and
locked the door behind
them before leading the
way up to the flat.
Ronnie was sitting in an
armchair, looking as
shell-shocked as his wife.
“Sit down, Helen,” Peggy
said and Helen sank on to
the sofa.
Helen didn’t ask any
more questions, but waited
while Peggy struggled to
find the words.
“We’ve had to close the
business, Helen,” Peggy
said at last.
“You don’t have to do
that,” Helen said. “If you
need some time out, I can
run the place.
“I’ve done it so many
times over the years.”
“No, Helen,” Peggy said
firmly. “After all these
years, it’s crippling us.
“Costs have gone up and
we don’t have as many
customers as we used to.”
“We’re too old to keep
struggling, love,” Ronnie
put in.
“We decided to close
while we still had enough
for our retirement,” Peggy
added. “To be honest, now
the decision has been
made, it feels as if a weight
has been lifted.
“We’re going to sell up
and get ourselves a
bungalow.”
She smiled when she said
that.
Helen’s mouth was dry.
How could she not have
seen this coming?
“The worst of it is letting
you down,” Ronnie said.
“All of you, but most of all
you, Helen.
“You’ve been with us
since you were a girl.”
“Don’t even think about
that,” Helen said. “You have
to put yourselves first.”
“We will make proper
redundancy payments,”
Peggy said. “You can be
sure of that.
“It sounded easy when we
decided to shut up shop,
then we started thinking
about how we were going
to tell you all . . .”
“So we hid up here,”
Ronnie said ruefully.
“You’re the only one who
kept knocking.”
“I was about to ring the
police,” Helen said. “I
imagined you up here tied
to chairs, watching your
home being turned over.”
It made them laugh.
“You watch too many
detective shows,” Peggy
said. “But I can see why you
were worried and it wasn’t
fair of us to worry you like
that.”
“We’re going to have to
let everyone know,” Helen

said.
“We?” Peggy said.
Helen reached for her
hand and squeezed it.
“You don’t have to do any
of this on your own,” she
said. “I’ll go round and see
everyone this morning.
Look, they’ll understand.
“No-one wants to see you
struggle. We all love you
too much for that.”
* * * *
Sitting astride a sturdy
branch in the garden of a
house, Cassidy turned off
the chainsaw and took a
moment to take in her
surroundings.
It was a beautiful area on
the outskirts of the village,
and everywhere looked lush
and green and full of life.
Birds were singing their
hearts out and she felt like
doing the same.
She could even see the
old manor house which
looked sad and forlorn, but
yet somehow hopeful – as if
it was waiting for someone
to come and save it.
Up here in the branches,
This couldn’t have come at
a worse time for her
she could forget about her
parents and their troubles.
If only there was some
way she could help them,
some way of bringing them
back together . . .
“Everything all right up
there, Cassidy?” her
grandad called out from
below.
“Yes, sorry, Biff. I was just
lost in thought for a
minute,” she replied.
“They’ll sort themselves
out,” he answered as if he’d
read her thoughts, but she
knew it worried him, too.
Cassidy was about to
restart the chainsaw, when
she saw a familiar figure
cycling up the hill towards
them.
What was she doing up
here? Why wasn’t she at
work?
Cassidy secured the
chainsaw to the branch and
climbed down.
By the time she reached
the bottom, the bike was
lying on the verge and Biff
was hugging Helen and
looking worried.
Surely her daft dad
hadn’t started divorce
proceedings!
“Mum? What’s
happened?” Cassidy asked.
Helen turned her tearful
face to Cassidy and began
to babble.
They couldn’t understand
a word she was saying.
“We were about to take a
break,” Biff said. “Let’s sit
on the verge and have a
cup of tea.
“Then you can calm down
and tell us what’s
happened.”
He took a flask out of his
bag and while Cassidy and
Helen sat down, he poured
a cup for her.
“Peggy and Ronnie have
closed the tea shop,” Helen
blurted out.
“Wow,” Cassidy said.
“Why? Has something
happened?”
“They’ve been running at
a loss for a while,” her
mother said. “It was pretty
awful.
“I’ve just been round all
the staff breaking the news.
“No-one was pleased to
find themselves out of a
job.
“It was heartbreaking. No
wonder poor Peggy was
exhausted and drained just
at the thought of doing it.”
“So you did it for her.”
Cassidy rubbed her mum’s
arm. “That was good of
you, Mum. Are they OK?”
“Yes, I think they’re
relieved that they’ve made
the decision and acted on
it,” Helen said. “But where
I’ll get another job at my
age, I don’t know.”
“At your age.” Biff
chuckled. “You’re still a
girl.”
“I’m forty-five,” she
reminded him.
“Biff’s right, Mum,”
Cassidy said. “You’re
definitely not old.
“Look at Biff – supposed
to have retired this year
and working for me.”
Helen smiled, but she
looked so lost.
This couldn’t have come
at a worse time for her.
“You could work for me,
too,” Cassidy said
impulsively. “Until
something else turns up.”
“Me? Do gardening?”
Helen said.
“You know how to mow a
lawn, don’t you?” Cassidy
laughed. “And we’ve plenty
of work on.”
It wasn’t true.
She did need Biff’s help
now and then, but mostly
she could manage on her
own.
Still, she’d always said
she’d like to expand, so this
was her chance.
If Helen could do some of
the regular maintenance
jobs, Cassidy could move
more into the landscape
gardening side.
Most of all, she didn’t
want Helen sitting at home
moping.
Her parents had recently
split up and her dad was
staying at his work
premises.
He was a builder and had
used a portable cabin as
his office for years, and now
he’d made it his home,
sleeping on a fold-out bed
and living off takeaways.
The worst of it was,
Cassidy knew that they
were both as miserable as
sin living apart.
* * * *
Iris stood in the waiting-
room at the solicitor’s
office, flicking through one
of the newspapers on the
table, but she couldn’t
concentrate.
She was far too worried
about what Patrick would
say.
What if, like everyone
else, he thought she’d lost
her mind?
He might even refuse to
act for her.
Restless, she walked over
to the window and looked
out just as her phone rang.
It was Rob, but she didn’t
answer.
She’d call him back when
she’d spoken to Patrick.
Patrick Blake’s father had
been Iris’s father’s lawyer,
and when Patrick qualified,
he then became hers.
“You’re early!”
She spun round to see
Patrick standing in the
waiting-room doorway with
a big smile on his face.
“Good to see you, Iris,”
he said as he hurried over
91
to kiss her cheek. “Come on
up.”
As she sat down in his
office, the phone rang
again.
“Do you want to get
that?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I want to get this over
with first, Patrick,” she
said. “I’ve something to tell
you.”
“That sounds ominous.
Should I be worried?” he
asked.
“Not at all. It’s Rose
Manor,” she finally said.
“The Rose Manor?”
“Yes! It’s coming up for
auction and Rob and I are
going to view it.”
“A dream come true, eh?”
he said. “Sounds exciting.
“So you’ll be able to go
and have a look round, just
as you’ve always wanted.
“I mean, that is the plan,
isn’t it? To have a look?”
His forehead creased in
concern when she didn’t
reply straight away.
“Iris?” he prompted.
“I want to buy it,” she
announced.
His demeanour changed,
and he suddenly became
serious.
“Can you afford it?” he
asked.
“If I sell the hotel,” she
said.
He leaned back in his
chair and shook his head.
“Iris, you know what I’m
going to say to you,” he
said. “That’s why you
looked so nervous.”
“You don’t approve?” Iris
asked.
“I’ve watched you devote
your entire life to that
hotel. Not to mention –”
He broke off.
“Go on, say it,” she said.
“You put your personal
life on hold,” he finished.
“At the time it seemed
worth the sacrifice,” she
murmured, but he didn’t
hear her.
“What if you sell the place
and can’t raise enough to
buy Rose Manor?” he
continued. “You end up
with nothing!
“You can’t make a huge
decision like this on a
whim, without even taking
any advice.”
“I have taken advice,” she
said.
“Let me guess – Rob?”
92
Patrick laughed. “You two
are as bad as each other.”
Her phone rang again
from inside her bag, but
she ignored it.
“I don’t want to rain on
your parade,” Patrick went
on, “but you need to think
this through objectively and
dispassionately.
“And that’s something I
“My reputation is the least
of my worries”
don’t think you can do
where Rose Manor is
concerned.”
“I haven’t thought of
anything else,” Iris justified,
“not just since the
possibility became real, but
since I was a girl.
“Grandad’s dearest wish
was that the house should
be returned to the
Anderson family.”
“All I’m asking is that you
think about it some more
before making any rash
decisions,” Patrick told her.
Oh, dear.
Iris didn’t know how to
tell him the rest . . .
This was the part where
he might refuse to act for
her and herald the end of
their friendship.
“I’ve been in talks with a
hotel chain,” she said.
“They’re very interested
and I want you to handle to
legal side.
“My mind is made up,
Patrick. There’s no going
back.”
“No going back?” he
echoed, looking alarmed.
“Please tell me you haven’t
signed anything.”
She couldn’t look him in
the eye.
The silence was
punctured by the muffled
sound of her phone.
“Without checking with
me first? Oh, Iris,” he said.
She took the phone out
of her bag and turned it to
silent.
“I should have done that,
sorry,” she apologised. “Do
you think I’m crazy?”
“Yes,” he replied. “But I
know how long you’ve
harboured the dream of
returning to Rose Manor.
“Maybe it can work out,
but I’ll miss you if you go,
you know that.”
“I’ll miss you, too,
Patrick,” she said. “I was so
afraid you’d refuse to have
anything to do with it.”
“Why would I do that?”
he said. “I am always here
for you. In a professional
and personal sense.”
“That’s good, because I
don’t trust anyone as much
as I trust you.”
“Yet you signed
something without letting
me see it first?”
Iris took the papers out
of her bag.
“It’s not a contract and I
haven’t agreed on a price,”
she explained. “It’s just an
agreement.
“I wanted to be sure
they’d keep all my staff on,
things like that.
“I’m sorry, Patrick, but I
read it through and it
seems fine.”
He took the document
and she fell silent while he
studied it.
“It’s an informal
agreement,” he said.
“Luckily for you it’s not
legally binding, but you
can’t go signing things like
this without speaking to me
first.
“What if you want to back
out? You could get a
reputation for being
untrustworthy.”
“My reputation is the
least of my worries,” Iris
said. “I just want my home
back and I’m not going to
back out.”
It was never her actual
home, but she hoped
Patrick would understand
what she meant.
“Would you like to go
over to the park for lunch?”
he then suggested. “I’m
free for a while.”
He took a sandwich box
from his desk drawer.
“I made extra knowing
you were coming,” he said.
“That sounds perfect,
Patrick.” Iris smiled.
* * * *
They walked to the park
and sat down.
“You make the best
sandwiches,” Iris remarked,
taking one from the box.
“This is delicious, Patrick.”
“I know,” he replied. “I’ve
had plenty of practice with
no-one at home to make
them for me.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s all right. My
ex-wife never used to make
my lunch anyway.”
She knew it was in the
past and his marriage
hadn’t lasted long, but it
must still hurt.
She had no experience of
that herself.
As Patrick said, her hotel
was her life and there had
never been room for
anything else.
“So what’s the plan?” he
asked. “Restore it and sell
it on, or turn it into another
hotel?
“You have the skill for
that and I know you won’t
knock it down, unless you
really have to.”
“There is no plan,” Iris
replied honestly. “I’ve never
thought beyond buying it
and restoring it.”
“Realistically,” he began
again, “I don’t think you
could afford to buy it, do it
up and then live in it.
“The upkeep is going to
be huge, so you’ll have to
make it pay somehow.”
Iris loved Patrick for how
he was talking to her about
it, as if it was already a
done deal.
She knew Rob would be
pleased, too.
That reminded her, she
hadn’t spoken to him for a
few days.
She hoped he hadn’t
changed his mind.
Patrick was speaking
again, talking sense and
covering the practicalities
she hadn’t even considered.
He’d always been able to
put her feet on the ground
when she needed it.
“Thank you, Patrick,” she
said.
“Don’t thank me until
you’ve made a success of
it,” he replied.
“I won’t be doing it
alone,” Iris added. “Rob’s
going to help out.
“I know he can’t do
anything financially except
advise, but I need his youth
and his vision.”
“He’s a good lad,” Patrick
said. “And he’s level
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headed – compared to
you, anyway!”
Iris gave him a playful
punch on the arm.
“I’d better see why he
was calling,” she said and
fished her phone from her
bag. “Do you mind?”
“Go right ahead,” Patrick
said. “I’ll get coffees from
the kiosk.”
She watched him walk
over to get the coffee and
called Rob back.
He answered on the first
ring.
“Iris, thank goodness,” he
said. “I’ve been trying to
get hold of you.”
“I know,” she stated.
“What’s wrong?
“I’m sorry I didn’t answer
before, but I was in a
meeting with Patrick.”
“It’s Becky,” Rob said,
sounding so miserable.
“Is she all right?”
“She’s left me.”
“Left you? Why?”
“She left in a huff over
Rose Manor,” Rob
explained. “She went to her
mother’s.
“I honestly thought that
she’d come back if I just
gave her a few days to cool
off, but she’s digging her
heels in.
“She says unless I forget
about Rose Manor and
stop all this nonsense – her
exact words – she won’t
come back.”
Iris put her hand to her
chest. Poor Rob!
“Oh, Rob, I’m so sorry,”
she said. “You were only
going to look at it.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m
sorry, too. I think I am
going to have to step back.
“Of course, I’ll still give
you financial advice, but
that’s all I can do.
“I really hope you haven’t
done anything drastic.”
Iris lowered the phone as
Patrick walked back
towards her with two
coffees, smiling all over his
face.
But his smile vanished
when he saw the look of
desperation on her face.
What on earth was she
going to do now?
To be continued.

Santa’s physical attributes
changed during the years.
Dawn Geddes
celebrates 200
years since this
festive poem
was published.
T
HE Christmas
poem, “’Twas The
Night Before
Christmas” is a
treasured part of
our festive traditions.
Every year, children from
across the world snuggle
down with their parents to
hear the story of Christmas
Eve unfold – from the
stockings being hung up to
Santa coming down the
chimney “with a bound”.
This December 23 marks
the 200th anniversary of
the poem, which was
originally published as “A
Visit From St. Nicholas” in
the New York newspaper,
“The Troy Sentinel”.
While the verses of the
magical poem are so well
known that many of us can
recite them off by heart,
the story behind the tale is
still shrouded in mystery.
Images: Wikimedia Commons.
The verse poem was
originally published
anonymously.
Its vivid descriptions of
Saint Nicholas visiting a
child’s house to deliver
presents proved incredibly
popular around the world.
HERITAGE 93
’Twas the
night before
Christmas
He was a writer, Dutch this work made a huge
land surveyor and impact.
gentleman farmer who died The poem didn’t just
in 1828 – five years after enchant readers, it
the poem was changed the way the world
first published. thought about, and
Henry, who celebrated, Christmas.
was born in The history of Saint
Poughkeepsie, Nicholas – or Santa – can
New York, never be traced back to the third
Fourteen
years after it
staked a claim
to the work, but
century.
The real patron saint of
appeared in his family children, who was born
print, the bitterly disputed near Myra, a Roman town
American Clement Clarke Clement Clarke’s in modern-day Turkey, was
Moore claimed
academic,
Clement Clarke to be the writer.
authorship.
They said
known for his generosity.
Descriptions of Santa’s
Moore, claimed
“A Visit From St. Nicholas”
they’d heard
their father recite the poem
physical attributes changed
significantly over the years.
as his own. long before it was “’Twas The Night Before
The wealthy professor published. Christmas” transformed
published it in one of his While there’s no definitive him from a slender and
collections of poetry, evidence to support either stern-looking man into a
stating that he wrote it to man as the author, much jollier being with a
entertain his own children. computer analysis of the “beard” as “white as the
Today, it is believed that work found that the poetry snow” and “a round belly”.
the real author of the poem style had more in common “’Twas The Night Before
was likely Major Henry with Henry’s work. Christmas” also created the
Livingston Jr. Whoever the poet was, idea that Santa flies around
delivering presents thanks
to his reindeer-led sleigh.
’Twas the night before Christmas, While the idea of Santa
keeping reindeer dates
when all through the house back further than this
poem, this was the first
Not a creature was stirring, time Santa Claus had been
associated with so many of
not even a mouse; them – and the writer gave
them names, too.
In the original verse, the
The stockings were hung by reindeers were Dasher,
Dancer, Prancer, Vixen,
the chimney with care, Comet, Cupid, Dunder and
In hopes that St Nicholas soon Blixem.
The final two names
would be there; came from the Dutch words
for thunder and lightning,
but were later changed to
Donner and Blitzen.
The children were nestled all So, when you snuggle
snug in their beds, down with loved ones, raise
a glass to the poet and give
While visions of sugar plums thanks to them for creating
the Christmas lore that we
danced in their heads. all know and treasure. ■
94

Our
pick of
cracking
festive

AllABOUTBooks
fiction

Our top six Christmas books and so much more . . .

Festive Families Seasonal Secrets A Cotswold Christmas
A December The Christmas The Gingerbread
To Remember Book Club Christmas Village
Jenny Bayliss Sarah Morgan Kiley Dunbar

Estranged sisters Maggie, Simone Erica, Claudia and Anna are Margi, who is in her sixties, is
and Star are forced together after bonded by years of friendship and the organiser of the annual
their father’s death. He left a series their love of reading. They gather for Wheaton gingerbread exhibit.
of challenges to complete together their book club holiday at Maple She has lost her Christmas
– the last thing they want to do. Sugar Inn where Hattie tries to make spirit after a disastrous, short-
“A December To Remember” her guests’ dreams come true. lived marriage and is secretly
swirls with But single planning to
grudges mother Hattie leave the village.
balanced with is close to But Wheaton
understanding breaking point – and Patrick in
and self- and just wants particular
awareness. to survive the – might not
The three festive season. have finished
sisters come The friends’ with Margi.
to understand lives become This tale is a
just what – or entwined with lovely festive
who – is Hattie’s in this reminder that
important in heartwarming age is no barrier
their lives. read. to love.
RRP £8.99. RRP £8.99. RRP £8.99.

Home For The Holidays Naughty Or Nice? Midwinter Mystery

Snowed In The Party Season Murder On The
Catherine Walsh S.J.I. Holliday Christmas Express
As a runaway bride, Megan It’s the most deadly time of the Alexandra Benedict
is dreading going home for the year . . . Eighteen passengers. Seven
holidays. The festive season is in full swing stops. One killer.
When she enters into a pact with but someone is picking up men at In the early hours of Christmas
Christian, pretending to be a Christmas parties and leaving them Eve, the Highlands sleeper is
romantic couple to survive dead. derailed. With the train stuck in
excruciating family Christmas Detective Sergeant Eddie Carmine snow in the middle of nowhere, a
celebrations, neither realises just and Detective Constable Becky killer stalks its carriages, picking
quite what Greene must off passengers
they are letting race to stop one by one.
themselves in the party girl. This
for. This fast- exciting, dark
This paced police and disturbing
romantic and thriller adds a locked-room
funny festive whole new thriller has
read is filled dimension more than just
with family, old to the mystery and
friends and consequences murder
deep feelings of being lurking
with added naughty or between its
spiciness. nice. pages.
RRP £9.99. RRP £9.99. RRP £9.99.
 BOOKS 95

5 minutes with You’ll have written “The

Christmas Love Letters” in the

Sue Moorcroft summer. How do you get into the

You’ve become President of the
Romantic Novelists’ Association
– congratulations! What does this
prestigious role mean to you?
Thank you! I’m stunned, flattered
and honoured to be appointed.
The Romantic Novelists’ Association
is a big part of my life. I was helped
by its New Writers’ Scheme and I’ve
served on the committee and edited
its anthologies.
There’s a big interest in giving
status to romantic fiction at the
moment. Why is this important?
Respect is owed to the genre
because it’s one of the mainstays of
publishing and brings pleasure to
millions every year.
Yet it’s sometimes treated as less
worthy than other forms of literature.
The author of “The Christmas
Love Letters” on writing,
romance and the joy of family.
Is this because it attracts a mainly
female readership? I don’t know.
But falling in love is an important
thing to happen to any person.
Reading about it makes us happy.
How important is it to you to
achieve the balance between
escapism and relatable events?
In life, we experience many things,
good or bad: money woes, job losses,
illness, crime, births, holidays,
weddings – and we fall in love in the
midst of it all.
That’s what I want for my novels
– to be more than just a love story.
“The Christmas Love Letters”
has a Norfolk setting. Why did
you choose to be close to home?
Readers show an appetite for books
set at UK seaside resorts.
The village of Nelson’s Bar came
into being in “A Summer To
Remember”. I thought it would be
great to experience it in winter.
As it turns out, Nelson’s Bar
embraces Christmas! And I had a
wonderful research trip to Norfolk
last December.
mood for writing out of season?
I gained experience when my
stories appeared in magazines such
as “The People’s Friend”. It was usual
to submit winter stories in summer.
I help things along by playing carols
while I write. When we get wintry
weather I go out and make notes.
How important was it for you to
explore family and relationships
in “The Christmas Love Letters”?
Maddy barely sees her parents but
lives with her daughter and great-
aunt, while her husband Adey has
been missing for years.
Raff is close to his adoptive sister
and his niece. It’s said that Christmas
is a time for family, and I wanted to
show that family takes many forms.
How will you be spending
Christmas?
Quietly, with just a
few members of
the family and a
traditional meal on
Christmas Day.
But on Boxing Day
we have extended
family gatherings.
I do enjoy those!
“The Christmas Love
Letters” is published by
HarperCollins, £8.99.

What We’re The Historical One

Reading Wartime Wishes At Bletchley Park
Molly Green
One Moment In September 1938, Madeleine smuggles two
Becky Hunter young pupils from Munich to Berlin. She is saved
from trouble on the train by a handsome man.
“One Moment” is the must- Then in Bletchley Park, a year later, a familiar
read debut of the year. It deals face shows up when Maddie is training in Morse
with the deepest grief and with code. She understands the potential risk to her
emotions like sadness, anger country and heart – and she must protect both.
and regret. RRP £8.99.
But it leaves the reader feeling
uplifted, entertained and
connected to the very essence of
who they are
as people.
A Classic Story
Becky
Hunter’s Fifteen Wild Decembers
story of Evie
and Scarlett
Karen Powell
brings joy, This is Emily Brontë’s life, told through her
happiness own voice. What could be better on a cold
and pleasure winter’s afternoon than to step back in time to
in a story Emily’s world and hear her story through this
simply not to fabulous reimagining by Karen Powell?
be missed. It’s achingly beautifully written and so
emotional. A glorious book.
RRP £8.99. RRP £14.99.
96

Brainteasers
Puzzle It Out! Part
Two
Spot the Difference Can you find ten slight differences
between these two p pictures?

Fits and Starts Short and Sweet

1 2 3
Fit the three-letter words into the correct
spaces in the grid so that each row spells 4 5
out a word. When you’ve finished, the
6 7
shaded column will reveal one more word.

ASH E O M Y 8 9

CON C A E L
10
ICY A S E D
ACROSS DOWN
MUG S G L E 1 Detest (5) 2 Barrack (3)
6 Novel in digital 3 Acorn tree (3)
RAM F I O N form (1-4) 4 Wild (animal) (5)
8 Residue (5) 5 Bread supplier (5)
SUM P L A U 10 Strong spirit (5) 7 Rowing
implement (3)
TEA B C L E 8 Overly (3)
9 Make enquiries (3)

All puzzles © Puzzler Media Ltd -

www.puzzler.com
 PUZZLES 97

Answers
on p115

Suguru Codeword
In this puzzle, each number refers to a different letter of
Fill the grid so that each cell in a bold the alphabet, so in every square containing a number
outlined cluster of cells contains a digit. 10, there should be a letter R. Fill in all instances of the
A cluster of two cells contains the digits three letters we’ve given you, then try to work out the
1 and 2, rest.
a cluster of three cells contains 7 1 2 2 11 10 6 9 14 12 14
the digits 1, 2 and 3, and so on. No
same digit appears in any neighbouring 8 21 11 1 14 21 21

cells, including diagonally neighbouring 21 8 21 17 26 21 25 17 10 1 24 2

cells.
22 11 19 25 13 25 1

14 24 10 26 21 11 23 8 18 11 18

2 5 3 1 1 11 15

11 21 10 1 17 19 10 11 18 18 11 21
R E D
18 11 14 25 1

5 14 25 6 9 8 20 17 10 26 22 2

25 17 1 8 11 5 2

17 26 8 10 2 11 25 14 21 1 10 11

5 3 14 11 6 19 17 21 10

16 26 18 6 25 6 21 11 10 4 6

4 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

5 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
R
11
E
12 13

14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26
D

Anagrammist Unravel each of the words in front of the grid to make

another seven-letter word. Fit these words into the rows
of the grid so that the shaded diagonal spells out a
Christmassy word. What is it?

CASSOCK
HAMPTON
PROTEIN
MEETING
TERRAIN
RAMBLED
GALLERY
 98
A Season For Love
Susan hadn’t expected to
find a winter romance on
her shopping list . . .
BY STEFANIA HARTLEY
S
USAN checked her
Christmas shopping
list one last time
before going back
to the car.
A sewing box for Charlie,
tick. The knitting machine
for Sammy, tick. Cookie
cutters for Alex, tick. The
painting kit for Chris and
the playdough for Jamie.
Thank goodness the doll
that Jules had seen in the
window was still there!
When the shopkeeper
told her she was buying the
last one, Susan gave such a
sigh of relief that other
customers turned to look.
Christmas shopping had
always been stressful, but
now that she was on her
own and the number of
grandchildren had grown, it
was getting harder.
When Carl was alive, he
would help plan the trip,
prioritise shops to visit,
and help carry the bags.
But, most importantly, he
would spot the signs of her
patience fraying and
promptly suggest a visit to
the tea shop in good time.
She pressed the car’s
remote key, opened the
boot, and put her bags in.
Ah, what a relief!
She massaged the crooks
of her elbows and wrists
where the bags’ handles
had cut into.
“Excuse me?” a man’s
voice said behind her.
Susan turned around.
A gentleman with a crop
of greying hair and sparky
sky-blue eyes was looking
at her with a cocked
eyebrow and a car key in
Illustration by Mandy Dixon.
his hand.
“Yes?” she responded.
“I’m always happy to
receive presents,” he said,
“but are you sure that you
want to give me all that?”
“I beg your pardon?”
He pointed the key to the
car and pressed it.
The car flashed its orange
lights and beeped.
“Oh, I must have dropped
my key, thank you!” Susan
cried.
She stretched out her
hand but he didn’t give her
the key.
“I think that you’ll find
that this isn’t your car,” he
said with an amused smile.
“What?” She looked
around.
An identical car was
parked three spaces down.
She rummaged in her
handbag, whipped out the
key and pressed it.
The car responded with
flashing lights and a beep.
Her car!
The gentleman was right:
she had indeed loaded her
shopping into his boot and
asked him to hand her his
key!
Heat rose to her cheeks.
“I’m really sorry. Our
cars are identical, and I find
Christmas shopping a little
stressful,” she said.
The man smiled kindly.
“You have nothing to
apologise for,” he said.
“You couldn’t have got into
the wrong car if I hadn’t
forgotten to lock it.
“And, as you can see,
you’re not the only one who
finds Christmas shopping a
little stressful.
“My wife used to do it for
us but I’m on my own now.
At least you’ve been
successful.”
He gestured to the bags
she had loaded into his car
boot, and Susan felt her
cheeks heat up again.
“I’ve run out of the shops
empty-handed,” he stated.
He opened his empty
arms and they laughed.
“I’m Theodore,” he
introduced himself.
“Nice to meet you. I’m
Susan,” she said in turn.
“What was in your
shopping list that you
didn’t manage to buy?”
He scratched the back of
his head and looked
sheepishly at his feet.
“Actually, I haven’t
written down a list . . .” he
began. “That’s probably the
first of my problems.
“The second is that I have
no idea about what some
of the things are. For
example, is a French
knitting doll a doll with
knitting needles, or is it a
doll that speaks French?”
Susan smiled. She had
used French knitting dolls
all her life and they weren’t
dolls at all.
“Give me a moment to
put away my shopping – in
my car this time,” she said,
“and I’ll show you where
you can buy one.”
* * * *
“I think this is all,” he
said, staring in disbelief at
the shopping bags full of
presents he carried.
This beautiful stranger
had helped him wade
through the Christmas
shopping, and he was now
safely out the other side.
“I don’t know how to
thank you for all your help,”
he said. “Can I offer you a
cup of tea?”
She hesitated.
Oh no, he had been too
forward. Susan had helped
him out of kindness and
now he was making her
uncomfortable.
She probably had a
husband waiting for her.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t
have presumed . . .” he
mumbled.
“I’d love a cup of tea,” she
hurried to say.
Something in his heart
flipped, a mixture of
excitement and panic.
Was there something

nearby? He looked around.
“There’s a tea shop round
the corner.” She smiled.
The place was cosy, with
mismatched furniture and
crockery, and handknitted
cushions.
“This is my favourite
place. The owners make all
the soft furnishings,” she
said.
Theodore nodded
distractedly.
The dainty table between
them was too small for a
man with legs like a cricket
to sit opposite a woman he
had just met, and he was
concentrating hard on not
bumping knees with her.
“Do you come here
often?” he asked.
A shadow flitted across
her face.
“My husband used to take
me here when he was alive,”
she said.
* * * *
Susan hadn’t felt so at
ease with a stranger
since . . . she couldn’t
remember when.
They talked about their
lives, their families and all
the Christmas preparations
they had to do, as though
they were old friends
catching up, not strangers
who met in a car park.
They blissfully sat at their
table, heedless of the
passing time, and
eventually a waitress came
over with the bill.
The prospect of saying
goodbye to Theodore and
never seeing him again was
like icy water on warm skin.
“You said your Christmas
tree is still up in your loft,”
Theodore began. “I hope
you’re not taking it down on
your own.
“I was thinking . . .”
He looked into his clasped
hands.
“Maybe . . . if you want,
I could help you take it
down . . .”
Was it just the heat of the
little room that made his
cheeks flush?
“I’d love you to come over
and help me,” Susan
murmured, and her cheeks
felt very hot, too.
* * * *
The turkey was in the
oven, the tree was up and
all the presents were sitting
nicely under its tinselled
branches.
Theodore had helped her
with everything, and she
had helped him right back.
They had seen each other
every day.
When one of them
panicked about geese
being sold out, the other
suggested a butcher who
might have some.
When one of them lost
track of which cards had
already been sent, the
other had kept tab.
With Theodore by her
side, preparing for the
festivities had been a
breeze.
But now, even though her
whole family was with her,
she felt a little lonely, just
because he wasn’t there.
If only . . . no, what a silly
thought!
Of course he should
spend the day with his
family. Christmas was for
family, not for friends.
But a corner of her heart
wished he could be more
than a friend . . .
“Did you take the tree
down from the loft on your
own?” her eldest daughter,
Sophie, asked suspiciously.
“I didn’t. I had help,”
Susan replied awkwardly,
busying herself with the
brandy sauce.
Theodore filled her heart
with so much happiness
but her brain kept asking
the difficult questions.
How would her family
react to her having a close
male friend? What if they
disapproved?
She didn’t want to mar
the happiness of Christmas,
so she kept her mouth
closed and cut up the
carrots.
The meal went beautifully
and everyone loved their
presents.
“Can you see the angel at
the top of the tree?” she
almost said, in a reckless
moment. “Theodore put it
up for me!”
But she stopped herself.
An announcement like
that would be followed by
questions that she wouldn’t
know how to answer.
It would be madness to
ruin a good Christmas.
“This is for you,
Grandma,” Charlie told her,
putting a parcel on her lap.
It had come in the post,
but not straight from a
shop, and the address was
handwritten.
“Why did you send it
through the post if you
knew you were coming,
sweetheart?” she asked.
“It’s not from me,
Grandma.”
“Oh. Who is it from,
then?” Susan said, glancing
around, but her daughters
shook their heads.
“Open it, Grandma!” the
children shouted excitedly.
Suddenly her fingers
started to tremble.
Could it be from . . .
Theodore?
No, it couldn’t be.
He hated shopping and
had needed her help to buy
the presents for his
grandchildren!
She hadn’t got him
anything and she had no
reason to expect that he
should.
Was it just the heat of the little
room that made his cheeks flush?
Still, as all her family
watched her unpeeling the
brown tape in total silence,
her hands went clammy.
The parcel inside was tied
with a velvet ribbon that
ended in a wonky bow.
Just the way Theodore
would tie a bow. Her heart
hammered in her chest.
She couldn’t wait any
longer and tore the
wrapping paper.
A beautiful fascinator lay
inside a box.
“Wow, Mum! Who sends
you presents like that?
“Read the card!” her
daughters ordered.
A little envelope had
dropped to the floor.
Susan picked it up and
opened it very slowly, while
her blood rushed through
her ears like a torrent.
It was an invitation to a
New Year’s black tie dinner
party. From Theodore.
Her heart flipped and her
cheeks burned.
“Who is it from?” the
children demanded.
“It’s from a new friend of
mine,” she murmured.
“His name is Theodore.
He’s inviting me to a New
Year’s party.”
SHORT STORY 99
She lifted her gaze to
check her daughter’s
reaction, but instead of
disapproval on their faces
she saw surprise.
For a beat, silence hung
over the room.
“Did you know that
Theodore means ‘gift from
God’?” Sophie said.
“I think that’s just the
right name for him.”
Her other daughters
nodded and Susan’s heart
soared with relief.
* * * *
The fascinator suited her
to a tee.
It was a miracle it did,
because when the
shopkeeper had asked him
for a description of the lady
he was buying it for, all he
had told her was that she
was beautiful.
All through the dinner,
Theodore couldn’t help
looking at Susan.
Indeed, she didn’t need
any fascinator.
She was fascinating
enough on her own merits,
he thought, and tonight she
was even more beautiful.
He had no idea whether
it was the wine or her
presence, but he was drunk
with happiness.
When it was time for the
New Year countdown, they
picked up their glasses and
stood closer together than
they ever had before.
“Three . . . two . . . one . . .
“Happy New Year!” the
dinner host shouted into
the microphone.
People cheered, bottles
were uncorked and party
horns hooted.
But when Theodore
turned to Susan to wish her
happy New Year, he was
lost in the depths of her
eyes.
He was so lost that he
bent down and kissed her,
and she kissed him back.
“Happy New Year, Susan.
I hope to spend many more
with you,” he said, his voice
breaking.
“I hope that, too,” she
replied with a warm
smile. ■
 100
Strictly The Best
DIY SOS
Bill Gibb catches up with True
Colours Theatre to find out what
it’s like to take part in the show.
E
VERY week,
hundreds of
youngsters in the
north-east of
England head along
to a charity in Wallsend,
near Newcastle.
Many have additional
needs, such as autism,
ADHD, physical and
life-limiting conditions and
mental health issues.
But that can all be
Images: Zoe Campbell Photography, True Colours Theatre.
forgotten once they pass
through the doors of the
True Colours Theatre.
At the theatre, they can
express themselves
through dance, singing and
theatre performances, fully
supported and with no fear
of judgement.
Their differences are
celebrated.
With Christmas swiftly
approaching, festive
concerts will be bringing
seasonal joy to those
taking part and watching.
What makes it even more
special this year is that it’s
all taking place in a
fabulous new centre.
It was built in just six
days thanks to the efforts
of hundreds of tradesmen
and firms, who gave their
time and materials for free
as part of BBC One’s “DIY
SOS Strictly Special” this
summer.
True Colours will mark its
10th anniversary next
year, and founder Ali
Taylor knows from personal
experience the difference
being able to express
yourself can make.
“I have diagnoses of
autism and ADHD,” Ali
says.
“As a child, I struggled
with my emotions and I had
to work really hard to stay
in friendship groups.
“I had to mask, which is
learning to conform and
putting on a front.
The charity will
celebrate their 10th
anniversary soon.
“Strictly” stars Katya
and Anton loved
meeting the kids.
“You learned how to copy
people to appear the way
you were supposed to look,
and doing that all day was
exhausting.
“Having had those
struggles to fit in, I wanted
to make sure no other child
had the same problems.”
Ali had danced from the
age of three and took part
in her first competition
when she was only four.
Going to theatre and
dance was the only place
Ali felt safe and that she
could truly express herself.
Ali founded True Colours
in 2014, after her niece
Emily-Kate was diagnosed
with a life-limiting condition
called tuberous sclerosis,
as well as autism, ADHD
and complex epilepsy.
Ali wanted somewhere
Emily-Kate, and many other
youngsters, could
experience the freedom
and joy of the performing
Presenter Nick
Knowles keeps
a watchful eye.
arts in a safe environment.
While it’s flourishing now,
the early days were very
different.
“We had nine children
when we started having
sessions within another
charity I supported,” Ali
says.
“We’d rent a room, which
wasn’t ideal for all we
wanted to do, and then
moved to a community
centre.
“After we had a lot more
people coming along and
were nominated for some
awards, I knew we had to
take the next step. We

True Colours cheered
for the DIY SOS team.
became a charity in 2020.
“By that time, we had
about a hundred getting
involved, and now we have
about two hundred and
fifty, just at the weekends,
as well as all the other
groups we support.”
With more room for the
classes, as well as break-
out areas and safe spaces,
True Colours moved to the
premises they currently
have in Wallsend.
However, it was
completely derelict, with no
electrics, no useable toilets
and a barren outside area.
To get it in a useable
Ten, tens, tens across the
board for the big build!
The children liked
practising in their
new dance studio.
condition, they faced a bill
of over £90,000.
That’s when the popular
television show “DIY SOS”,
presented by Nick Knowles,
became involved.
They had put out a call
for not-for-profit dance and
performance organisations.
True Colours won,
despite the feeling that
their needs might be too
big a job even for the
hugely experienced and
ambitious “DIY SOS” team.
“It was a mind-blowing
experience,” Ali says.
“I had a wish list of what I
wanted, but once I handed
The children enjoyed
the new garden.
that over I wasn’t allowed
to see what was going on.
“We look on all the
tradesmen as our heroes.
“Not only did they do this
work, but they still come
back to check on us and do
jobs if we need them.
“The whole community
has been amazing.
“When it was unveiled to
us, I could hardly express
my emotions because I
couldn’t process what had
happened.”
A few “Strictly Come
Dancing” stars – including
former champion Katya
Jones, popular fellow
professional Graziano Di
Prima and judge Anton Du
Beke – lent a hand during
the process.
It was an emotional affair
that moved the team and
viewers alike to tears,
especially when True
Colours dancer Charis met
her hero Katya, and then
gave a heart-rending stage
performance.
“Charis lost her dad who
was one of our committee
members, and she adored
‘Strictly’,” Ali says.
“She used to go and see
them and attend their
workshops with him, and it
was their thing.
“It was heart-breaking
when he died, and for
Charis to meet her idol was
the most magical moment.
“It brought part of her
dad back to her.
Find out more:
www.truecolourstheatre.co.uk
REAL LIFE 101
“The ‘Strictly’ stars still
message and check how
everyone is doing, which is
so caring.”
When all the work was
completed, against all the
odds as unforeseen
structural problems were
detected, True Colours
were left with the most
amazing new facility.
There’s a dance studio –
complete with a “Strictly”
glitterball – as well as
break-out rooms, a café
and a sensory room and
garden.
It’s all used to the
maximum effect by Ali and
her inspiring team.
“We now have classes
during the week,” she says,
“as well as the busy
weekends, when we have
sessions all day.
“The children come from
the age of three right up to
the young adults in our top
performance class.
“We see them come
through the doors scared
and with no confidence,
and soon they are doing
things their parents or
carers have never seen
them do.
“Gaining the confidence
to get up and perform is
probably the most magical
bit, and seeing them
achieve that is more than
anyone could give you.”
Ali is there every day,
involved in every class,
either taking them or
working with the teachers.
As well as her skills and
encouragement, the
youngsters view her as a
role model, as they know
she has a similar diagnosis
as them.
There are ambitious
plans for True Colours to
offer even more, and Ali
would love to see other
theatre schools elsewhere
with the same ethos.
“This is my heartbeat, my
entire world,” Ali adds.
“It’s what I live for, and
those children and young
adults are our future.
“They can have self-belief
and not doubt themselves
the way I did.” ■
 102

A Floral

Welcome
Create a stunning table centrepiece using
a festive favourite – the poinsettia.
Easy

You Will Need

• Short length of
plastic pipe (to hold
the candle)
• Bowl
• Chicken wire
• Cream and red
poinsettias
• Selection of foliage
(fresh or faux).
We used winterberry,
anthurium,
eucalyptus pods and
protea
• Candle (wax or LED)

Tools
• Strong glue
• Household scissors
or secateurs
• Florist’s tape

TO MAKE
1. Attach the plastic tube to
the bottom of the bowl using
the glue.

2. Cut a length of chicken wire

to roughly the diameter of the
bowl, scrunch it up and place
it inside the bowl around the
section of tube. Fix it in place
using florist’s tape placed over
the edge of the bowl.

3. Insert the cut poinsettias

and the other florals close
together into the chicken wire.
Use the photograph as a
guide and aim to create an
interesting shape.

4. Place the candle into the

plastic tube. If you are using a
Images: Stars For Europe.

wax candle and plan to light it,

make sure the foliage is clear
of the flame.

5. When everything is in
position, add water to the
bowl.
 103

Tip:
Cut poinsettias will
last for up to two weeks
if you immerse the cut
stem end in hot water
(approx. 60°C) for a few
seconds immediately after
cutting and then in cold
water. Finally, place the
cut flower in fresh
water.
 Continued from Page 33
Hot Off The Press
Could Caitlyn save the “Chronicle” and her relationship?
C
AITLYN hadn’t
bargained on the
electric gates
outside the Stoupe
family home, and
now she had to clamber
out of her car to speak into
the microphone.
“It’s Caitlyn Moore to see
Mr Stoupe,” she said,
before a buzzing sounded
and the gates began to
open.
Mr Stoupe was the
proprietor of “The
Oakenridge Chronicle”.
Caitlyn had decided that
she must speak to Mr
Stoupe herself to try to
persuade him not to sell.
She drove up the crunchy
pebbled driveway and
Illustration by David Young.
parked at the front of the
grand building.
“Hello,” she said to a man
who was bent over with his
back to her, pulling up a
couple of weeds that had
sprouted. “I’m here to see
BY EIRIN THOMPSON
Mr Stoupe – can you point
me in the right direction?”
The man straightened up
and Caitlyn noted that he
was very well dressed.
She barely had time to
register that he was
unlikely to be a gardener,
when he held out a hand.
“Jeremy Stoupe,” he
introduced himself. “I take
it you’re Caitlyn.
“I would have come to
the office sooner, but I’ve
been away. Come inside
and we can talk.”
Just then, a golden
Labrador came bounding
round the corner.
It approached Caitlyn,
tail wagging furiously,
sniffed her shoes, then
jumped up and plonked
two muddy front paws on
the front of her work suit.
“Ollie! Down!” Mr Stoupe
snapped.
Ollie lowered himself,
then immediately jumped
up on Caitlyn again.
“Sorry. I’m afraid he’s
very friendly,” Mr Stoupe
explained, although it
certainly didn’t sound like
an apology for the
pawprints decorating
Caitlyn’s clothing.
Caitlyn followed Mr
Stoupe indoors, trying not
to be overawed by his
home’s grandeur.
The large, square hallway
had enormous rugs on the
floor and ornate
chandeliers overhead.
Straight in front of them
was a staircase that rose,
then split off to a landing
on the left and right.
“This way,” Mr Stoupe
said, ushering her to a
corridor and through a
heavy wooden door.
“The library,” he
announced.
It was all Caitlyn could do
not to gasp.
A house with its own
Set in
1988
private library – it was like
something from an Agatha
Christie novel.
“Please, take a seat,” Mr
Stoupe said, indicating one
of two leather armchairs.
They both sat.
Ollie slunk to the deep
hearth rug and lay down.
“So how can I help you?”
Mr Stoupe asked.
Caitlyn took a deep
breath. She wanted to get
this right.
“First of all, thank you for
seeing me,” she began.
“I know I’ve only been
editor of the ‘Chronicle’ for
five minutes, and I’m not
going to come running to
you every time there’s any
sort of problem, but this is
a matter that needs
addressing.”
“Oh?”
“The staff are
professional journalists,”
Caitlyn explained. “It’s their
job to know what’s going
on around them.

“So it can’t come as a
complete surprise to you to
learn that they have found
out about the takeover
offer from Arrowhead
Media.”
“I see,” Mr Stoupe said.
“Well, as you say, that’s
only to be expected.”
“Yes.”
“And are you here to tell
me I have a mutiny on my
hands?”
“Not at all,” Caitlyn said.
“The fact is, the team think
any such takeover would
mean new investment in
the paper – they’re
speculating about new
computers and fabulous
new premises.”
“Really?” Mr Stoupe
replied.
“But it’s only a matter of
time before they dig a bit
deeper and discover what I
already know,” Caitlyn
went on. “That half of them
will probably lose their
jobs, and the ‘Chronicle’
will change from a paper
filled with community news
into a second-rate rag.”
Mr Stoupe raised his
eyebrows at Caitlyn.
“And that is your
considered opinion?”
Caitlyn looked at the
proprietor levelly.
She had to hold her
nerve if she were to make
her point effectively.
“Arrowhead Media might
know what they’re doing
with their lifestyle
magazines, but I honestly
believe they bring ruination
to the smaller, local titles
they acquire.
“‘The Oakenridge
Chronicle’ is an institution
round here. People regard
it as a trusted friend, and
that means something.
“They won’t feel the same
about pages and pages of
fashion, wordsearches and
celebrity gossip.
“If they want any of that,
they’ll look in specialist
mags.”
Caitlyn clasped her hands
tightly in her lap.
“The ‘Chronicle’ is the
heart of Oakenridge and
the surrounding area,” she
went on. “It’s young
families’ first days at school
and it’s the obituaries of
the area’s best-known
characters.
“It’s the Scouts, the
Women’s Institute and the
Blooming Marvellous
committee.
“It’s smiling kids peering
out of dens at the summer
scheme and the Christmas
lights switch-on in winter.
“The ‘Chronicle’ is also
somewhere you can read
the classifieds if you need a
second-hand sofa, or a
plumber or a caravan to
hire,” she finished.
Mr Stoupe returned
Caitlyn’s gaze.
“You make a very
passionate case, Caitlyn.”
She hoped she did – but
did she sound too
emotional? Should she be
more business-like?
Would a man in her
position make a better
case?
Caitlyn nodded.
“If Arrowhead Media
don’t resource the
‘Chronicle’ as you have
done in the past, then
advertisers will drop out.
“There will be even less
money in the kitty and the
whole thing will die a slow
death,” she added.
“I am appealing to you,
Mr Stoupe, not to allow
that to happen.”
Mr Stoupe rose to his
feet, indicating that the
audience was concluding.
“Well, I have listened to
your points and I will take
them into consideration,”
he assured her. “You can
tell your team that no
decision has yet been
made, and that they will be
informed of any changes in
due course.”
“Thank you,” Caitlyn
replied, because what else
could she say?
Mr Stoupe and Ollie
accompanied her to the
front door, and she left the
grand house feeling
distinctly downhearted.
She was far from
convinced that Mr Stoupe
had found her little speech
at all compelling.
If only she could find a
way to bring home to him
the vital importance of a
newspaper like the
“Chronicle” . . .
* * * *
Back at the office,
Caitlyn imagined talking
over the proposed
disastrous sale with Max.
She felt sure she knew
what he would say.
He’d tell her that local
newspapers were on their
last legs, that they were
publications from an earlier
time that had had their
day, and she should return
to London and a new job
on a swish magazine.
It niggled at her, the
feeling that Max had never
genuinely wanted to leave
London, and that he was
only doing so because she
had worked herself sick.
She suspected his heart
had never been in the
move and he would jump at
any excuse to renege.
James was different.
When she pictured
herself discussing the
“Chronicle’s” situation with
him, she felt herself relax.
Somehow, she just knew
he’d be a good listener
– he would take on board
her concerns, but would
have no personal agenda
driving any advice he might
propose.
Caitlyn remembered how
her mum had nudged
James’s accommodating
personality into a recent
conversation about how
Caitlyn and Max’s
relationship featured rather
a lot of friction.
Caitlyn had dismissed the
remarks outwardly.
But inwardly they had
resonated somewhat.
* * * *
Scarlett jumped out of
her old Volkswagen Beetle,
threw her shawl around her
shoulders and plonked on
her shoulder bag.
She was visiting Lily
again.
Scarlett sighed as she
took in the grimy windows
and the reappearance of
weeds in the flower-bed.
Lily simply wasn’t
managing any more.
The chores weren’t
getting done and her
mobility was deteriorating.
The time had come.
Scarlett was going to
have to broach the subject
of a change in living
arrangements.
“Morning, Lily!” she
called, with a feigned
brightness, when
Lily answered the door.
“How are you today?”
SERIAL: PART 3 OF 3 105
“I’m great, thanks,” Lily
replied.
Scarlett had to admit
that Lily did look fresher
than she’d done in a while.
“I thought I’d pop round
and see if there are any
little jobs I can help you
with,” Scarlett told her.
“Then perhaps we could go
for a drive.”
The drive was an idea
Scarlett had hit on when
she thought back to
difficult conversations she’d
had with an adolescent
Caitlyn.
Sometimes sitting down
together, facing each other
at the kitchen table or in
the sitting-room seemed
too intense, or even
confrontational.
But side by side in the
front seats of the Beetle,
both staring ahead, the
words seemed to come
more easily.
“Oh, let’s leave the
housework for now,” Lily
proposed. “I’d much rather
go for a drive while the sun
is shining.”
Scarlett hesitated.
By the time she’d said
her piece, Lily might not
even invite her into her
home, and then she
wouldn’t be able to help
Lily tidy up.
But she didn’t want to
start their day with an
argument.
“OK,” Scarlett agreed.
“Grab your things and we’ll
go.”
She helped Lily into her
jacket, watched her put her
keys in her handbag, then
took her mother-in-law’s
arm in what she hoped
passed off as a chummy
way and helped her into
the front passenger seat.
“Where shall we go?”
Scarlett asked, as she put
her key into the ignition.
“Surprise me!” Lily
declared.
Scarlett eased out on to
the main road and drove
away from the village.
There was a nice straight
stretch of road up ahead
that would take them to
the lake where, if Lily
hadn’t fallen out with her
by then, they could have a
cup of coffee at the Old
Boathouse.
“Nice to see the sun out,”
Scarlett commented.
106
“It is,” Lily agreed.
“Caitlyn seems to be
settling into her new job,”
Scarlett continued. “She’s
got tons of ideas to freshen
up the ‘Chronicle’.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Well,” Scarlett began,
“she wants to include more
voices, so she’s going to
promote the letters page,
starting with a prize for the
letter of the week.
“And she’s going to send
out a reporter and
photographer to carry out
vox pops on topical issues.
“Plus, she’s initiating a
column called Viewpoint,
where a local person with
an interesting perspective
can have eight hundred
words to express
themselves and hopefully
get readers thinking and
open up a debate.”
“It sounds like Caitlyn’s
going to shake things up,”
“Come on – spit it out. I can tell
something’s bothering you”
Lily said.
“Not too much, though,”
Scarlett said. “She knows
the value of maintaining
the ‘Chronicle’s’ traditions,
too.”
“You didn’t bring me out
to talk about Caitlyn,
though, Scarlett – did
you?”
“Didn’t I?”
“Oh, Scarlett.” Lily shook
her head. “I’ve known you
long enough to recognise
when you’ve got something
on your mind.
“Come on – spit it out.
I can tell something’s
bothering you.”
Scarlett checked her
rear-view mirror.
There was nothing behind
them. There was nothing in
front of them, either, but
good, straight road.
It was now or never.
“All right, then, Lily,”
Scarlett conceded. “I’m
concerned about you. So is
Peter.
“I know you love your
home and I know you’re
You’ll find recipes, features, a daily serial and great
subscription offers at www.thepeoplesfriend.co.uk
fiercely independent, but I
can also see that it’s
getting trickier for you to
manage the day to day
stuff.”
Lily didn’t reply, so
Scarlett continued.
“I really think the time
has come for you to
consider making some
radical changes,” she said.
“Lily, it’s just not safe for
you to live on your own any
more.
“Those stairs give me
nightmares, frankly. And
your kitchen floor is very
uneven.”
Scarlett expected Lily to
snap back at her, or launch
an almighty sulk, but she
did neither.
“I agree,” Lily replied. “I
don’t want to live by myself
any more.
“It’s started to feel lonely,
and at night in particular I
feel vulnerable.”
Scarlett gave a little
gasp. How stupid she had
been!
She should have realised
sooner how Lily was
feeling, instead of assuming
that the only thing she
cherished was her
independence.
“How long have you been
feeling this way?” she
asked guiltily.
“Oh, not long. Just a little
while,” Lily answered.
Scarlett let out a long
breath of relief.
“Peter and I will do
everything possible to help
you move out,” she said.
“We’ll take loads of photos
of your old place and put
them in an album.”
“Thank you, Scarlett,” Lily
said. “That’s good of you.
“Look, we’re at the Old
Boathouse already. Let me
buy you a coffee.”
Scarlett parked and
helped Lily out of the
passenger seat.
Her mind was racing as
she anticipated the next
part of her plan.
It had crossed her mind
that Lily might move into a
residential home, but she
had dismissed the notion.
Lily was a little unsteady
and needed some support,
but she had Peter and
Scarlett right there in the
same town, with a spare
bedroom and bathroom.
As much as Scarlett loved
Lily, she nevertheless felt a
stab of self-pity as she
imagined being stuck at
home keeping her
mother-in-law company.
No more jumping in the
Beetle and driving into the
hills to paint.
No more spontaneously
deciding to catch a train to
London to tour the galleries
or buy a dress.
No more taking a whole
day under the duvet with a
juicy new novel, just
because she could.
From now on she would
be with Lily all day, every
day.
Which wasn’t terrible –
Lily was good-natured and
a lot of fun – but Scarlett
had never been so tied
down before, partly
because Lily herself had
been such an active
grandma to Caitlyn.
It was going to mean a
seismic change in lifestyle.
“Let’s take an outdoor
table and enjoy the fine
weather,” Lily proposed.
As they strolled over
to the wooden benches, a
voice called out to Scarlett
and she turned to see
James.
“James! How are you?”
she asked. “This is Lily, my
mother-in-law.
“Lily, this is James, a
friend of Caitlyn’s and the
man who found the kitten
I’m fostering.
“And I take it this is your
spaniel, James.”
He nodded.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“This is Minty. Scratch his
ears and you’ll have a
friend for life.
“Now you must let me
buy you both coffee and
cake, as a thank-you for
taking in Claws.”
“Claws? You mean the
kitten?” Scarlett was
shocked. “But she’s an
absolute pet!
“I decided not to name
her, as I’m really hoping we
can return her to her
rightful owner.”
James collected coffees
and slices of Victoria
sponge and brought them
on a tray to the outdoor
table, where the trio
chatted easily in the
morning sunshine.
Eventually, James looked
at his watch.
“I had no idea we’d been
sitting here for so long!” he
exclaimed. “I must go.”
“Your little dog is utterly
charming,” Lily said, giving
Minty’s ears a last fondle.
“Caitlyn would love him.”
Funny, Scarlett thought, I
was just thinking the same
about James.
* * * *
It still felt like a novelty
to Caitlyn to have her own
car.
She’d passed her driving
test years earlier, but there
had been no need of a car
when she lived in London,
and finding a parking space
near her flat would have
been a constant headache.
Scarlett had kept the
Beetle insured for both of
them, so that Caitlyn could
brush up on her driving
skills when she visited, but
Caitlyn had decided that
she would need her own
vehicle, so she had bought
a smallish saloon car.
She parked in the train
station car park and looked
at her watch – Max’s train
should be arriving any
minute.
By the time Caitlyn had
read the notices on the
station noticeboard, a train
had pulled up by the
platform.
Max was the first one to
disembark.
“Hi, you!” Caitlyn called
as he came towards her.
“Did you have a good
PF

journey?”
“I would have preferred it
if you were taking us to the
hotel,” Max replied through
a frosty smile.
Caitlyn frowned.
Max had proposed the
two of them spend the
weekend at the Oakenridge
Arms instead of being with
her parents at Lavender
Cottage.
He had cited Scarlett’s
slapdash housekeeping as
the reason, even
suggesting Caitlyn’s mother
was liable to land him with
a case of food poisoning.
Caitlyn had been hurt
then, and she was hurt
again now.
She knew for a fact that
Scarlett had spent much of
the week tidying and
cleaning the cottage to
make it appealing.
She’d even bought new
towels and stocked up on
expensive wine.
Couldn’t he show a tiny
bit of gratitude for her
family’s sincerely given
hospitality?
“Nice wheels,” Max
observed, as they
approached Caitlyn’s car.
“Do you like it?” she
asked.
“I do. We could go for a
long drive tomorrow. Up
Summersham way,
maybe?” he suggested.
“Why so far? I was hoping
to show you Oakenridge’s
sights.”
“It has sights? They kept
that quiet.”
Caitlyn felt her face twist
in irritation.
Why had Max even
agreed to moving to
Oakenridge if he couldn’t
find a single nice thing to
say about it?
As they pulled away,
Caitlyn felt annoyance rise
up like bile in her throat,
and suddenly she realised
that she needed to speak.
“Max, you couldn’t make
it any plainer that you’re
starting to regret saying
you’d move out to the
sticks,” she stated.
“What?”
“You have no interest in
us making a life here,”
Caitlyn explained. “You
don’t like Oakenridge.
“I don’t think you much
like my family and I’m not
even sure if you like me.”
“Steady on!” Max said.
“Well, think about it,” she
went on. “Today is
publication day for my
re-vamped ‘Chronicle’.
“You haven’t asked a
thing about it, much less
requested to see a copy.
“It’s a big deal for me, yet
it means nothing to you,”
she pointed out. “Tell the
truth: you don’t really want
to move out of London at
all, do you?”
Max sat beside her in
silence.
“Come on, Max,” she
urged him. “Talk to me.
And I need you to be
completely honest.”
“I meant it at the time –
about us moving here,” he
replied quietly. “At least, I
thought I did.”
“But now?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Go on.”
“I suppose I might not be
cut out for life in a small
town,” Max explained. “I’m
a city boy, born and bred.
“It’s what I know. It’s
where I belong. Plus, I
might have met someone.”
Caitlyn’s hands gripped
the steering wheel tighter.
“Might have?” she said.
“All right then, I have,” he
confessed. “But nothing’s
happened. Not really.”
Caitlyn growled with
frustration.
“Why on earth did you
even bother to come here,
Max?” she demanded.
He sighed.
“Because I didn’t know
what I felt,” he said. “Not
for certain.
“But with every mile the
train took me further away
from London, I grew more
and more convinced that I
didn’t want to leave.
“I’m sorry, Caitlyn,” Max
went on. “I’ve let you down.
“And if you still want me
to stay and try and work
things out, then I will.”
Caitlyn checked her
watch, checked her
rear-view mirror and
turned the car around.
“You’re just in time to
make the last train back.”
* * * *
Scarlett was cooking and
Peter was washing up.
“I know – I seem to have
used every single pot and
pan and spoon in the
place,” Scarlett lamented.
“Did you hear me
complaining?” Peter asked,
a twinkle in his eye.
Scarlett flashed her
radiant smile on him.
“I never hear you
complain, Peter, and
heaven knows I give you
plenty of excuses.”
“I’m just grateful to have
my dinner made for me,”
Peter replied amiably. “And
by the most beautiful
woman in Oakenridge.”
He dried his hands and
put his arms around his
wife.
“I love you, Scarlett.”
“And I love you, Peter.”
Suddenly a small fluffy
bundle came hurtling
across the kitchen floor and
leapt on Peter’s shoe lace.
“Oh, look at her!” Scarlett
gushed. “Isn’t it wonderful
the way a kitten can make
fun out of just about
anything?”
“It’s nice having her
around,” Peter replied.
“But I hope we find her
owner soon.
“If Mum’s moving in, that
little pet is going to be
something of a tripping
hazard.”
Scarlett smiled, but it
wasn’t genuine.
She loved Lily, yet
bringing her to live with
them at Lavender Cottage
marked the end of a long
chapter in Scarlett’s life,
which was characterised by
spontaneity and liberty to
act out her wishes on a
whim.
It would be a privilege to
have Peter’s mother with
them and to be able to
offer her a good life.
But it came at a cost.
Just then, the phone
rang.
“I’ll get it, if you can
watch the pans,” Scarlett
said, hurrying to the hall.
She lifted the receiver.
“Hello?” she said.
“Scarlett?”
“Lily! I was just thinking
about you,” Scarlett said.
“Is everything all right?”
“More like perfect,
actually,” Lily replied.
“Really? You certainly
sound chirpy – has
something happened?”
“I’d say so – yes,” Lily
said. “Remember that chat
we had in the car the other
107
day about me not wanting
to live on my own any
more?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s all settled.”
“Settled?” Scarlett
replied.
“Indeed,” Lily stated.
“Muriel, Elsie and I are
going to sell our houses
and buy a big bungalow
with one bedroom for each
of us, plus an extra one for
guests – or for a carer,
should any of us need one.
“We’re going to chip in
for a cleaner and a
gardener, share the
cooking and fit a
dishwasher.
“We’ll be like ‘The Golden
Girls’ on TV!”
Scarlett’s jaw dropped.
Then she started to laugh.
“Are you serious?” she
checked.
“I am,” Lily replied. “The
three of us talked it over at
the bowling club.
“We all wanted more
company, but none of us
are ready to move into a
care home.
“It was Elsie’s bright idea
to buy a place together.
“At first we all chuckled
about it. Then we looked at
one another and we
thought: why not? It’s the
ideal solution.
“Muriel’s son, Colin, is an
estate agent,” Lily went on,
“and he’s said he’ll sell all
our places free of charge
and help us find something
suitable to share.
“He’s coming round to my
house to do a valuation
tomorrow. Isn’t it brilliant?”
“Lily, it’s a wonderful
plan,” Scarlett agreed. “I
can hear in your voice how
happy you are about it.”
“Oh, I am, Scarlett,” Lily
assured her. “I really am.”
Scarlett scurried back to
the kitchen to tell Peter the
news.
“There’s never a dull
moment with the women in
this family,” he observed
with a smile. “Colin
Sergeant is a decent bloke.
“He’ll get Mum a good
price, I’m sure.”
They were speculating on
what that price might be
when they heard a car in
the driveway.
“That must be Caitlyn
and Max coming back from
the station,” Scarlett said.
108
“I wonder if they’d be
interested in buying Lily’s,
Elsie’s or Muriel’s place.”
Before she could process
that thought, Scarlett was
dashing to the front door
and throwing it open.
But outside it wasn’t
Caitlyn’s new saloon car in
the driveway.
It was a wonderful old
Austin – black with
gleaming chrome.
And stepping out of it
was James!
“Hello!” Scarlett
exclaimed, always happy to
greet a visitor.
“Good evening,” James
replied. “Sorry to land on
you without any warning,
but I didn’t have a phone
number for you and I
remembered you said you
lived on this road, so I
came along hoping to spot
the Beetle!
“I hope I’m not
interrupting your meal.”
“Not at all,” Scarlett
assured him. “Oh, look,
here comes Caitlyn now.”
Caitlyn pulled in on the
gravelled verge just beyond
the garden wall.
She stepped out of the
car alone, slammed the
driver’s door and locked it.
No Max?
What was going on?
Scarlett decided against
asking if Max had missed
his train.
Something told her that
that enquiry would be best
saved for later.
“Caitlyn! Look who’s
here,” she said instead.
Caitlyn didn’t look
entirely herself, yet she
seemed pleased to see
their visitor.
“I have a bit of good
news,” James announced.
“I’ve had a phone call as a
result of the piece in the
paper. I’ve found the
kitten’s owner.”
“That is good news!”
Scarlett exclaimed.
“The reunion will make a
nice little follow-up for the
paper, if the owner is
willing,” Caitlyn observed.
“The owner is a very
relieved six-year-old called
Bethany,” James was able
to tell them. “And her
mother is so happy that I
think you will get your
story.”
“Poor Mum, though,”
Caitlyn added. “You were
getting rather attached to
that little ball of mischief,
weren’t you?”
“I was, but I’m ever so
pleased that we can return
her to her rightful home.
“It’s a terrible thing,
losing a pet. And if this
little girl was only six . . .”
“Would it be too much to
ask you to say your
goodbyes now?” James
enquired, making a wincing
face. “I got the impression
that young Bethany was
desperate to be reunited
with her pet – whose name
is Sooty, by the way.”
“I’ll just go and fetch
her,” Scarlett replied
happily.
“Do you mind if I come
with you, James?” Caitlyn
asked. “If I bring my
notebook I can get the
story myself.”
“Sure,” James agreed.
“I’d be grateful, actually.
“She had a tendency to
wander all over the car
when I last tried to
transport her, so an extra
pair of hands would be a
blessing.”
Scarlett told them that
dinner was running a bit
late anyway, so there was
plenty of time for Caitlyn to
go with James.
Soon they were trundling
along in the Austin, Caitlyn
admiring the walnut
dashboard and enjoying
the ancient leather smell of
the seats.
“This is where we’re
going?” she cried when
James pulled off the road
and stopped in front of a
pair of high gates.
“Yes. Apparently we need
to be buzzed in for them to
open,” James explained.
“But this is my boss’s
place,” Caitlyn continued.
“It’s the home of Jeremy
Stoupe, who owns ‘The
Oakenridge Chronicle’.”
“What a coincidence,”
James noted as the gates
swung open.
It turned out that Sooty
the kitten was the beloved
pet of Bethany Stoupe,
whose grandfather was the
newspaper proprietor.
He, his daughter-in-law
and granddaughter were all
immensely grateful to find
Sooty none the worse for
her adventures, and
thanked Caitlyn and James
for their parts in the
reunion.
Mr Stoupe took them to
one side as the woman and
child fussed over Sooty.
“I didn’t expect to see
you again so soon,” he
began, looking at Caitlyn.
“But I am happier than
words can say that it is so.
“Now, you must let me
give the pair of you
something as a reward.
“Shall we say five
hundred pounds?”
“We don’t want your
money,” Caitlyn stated
firmly.
James shook his head to
show that he agreed.
“But if you mean what
you say,” Caitlyn went on,
“and you wish to give us a
truly meaningful reward,
then I would ask you to
think about this.
“The only reason we were
able to match that kitten
with your granddaughter
was because we had a
genuine local newspaper
via which to do so.
“In its current form,
‘The Oakenridge Chronicle’
makes all kinds of local
news, events and other
matters important.
“It gives a platform to
everyone who needs or
deserves it.
“This would cease to be
the case if the current
bidders are successful –
they will lay off dedicated,
experienced staff and be
happy to fill the pages with
rubbish about celebrities
and bingo competitions,
where the winners could be
hundreds of miles away.”
This time, Mr Stoupe
seemed to be giving Caitlyn
his full attention.
He let her finish, then
nodded.
“Very well,” he said.
“Come and see me again
on Monday morning and I
will give you all the time
you want to put forward
your case.
“Bring your deputy, too.
Let me hear what you have
to say.”
Bethany and her mum
waved Caitlyn and James
off as they drove away in
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the Austin.
“I can’t thank you
enough,” Caitlyn told
James. “Your act of
kindness might just have
saved our newspaper.”
“So you think he’s
decided to hang on to it?”
James asked.
“Perhaps not quite, but
he will,” Caitlyn replied,
feeling altogether more
confident.
When James brought
Caitlyn home, Scarlett
came rushing out, insisting
he stay for dinner, unless
he had other plans
James said he’d be
delighted, and that his only
alternative dinner plans
involved a curling corned
beef sandwich.
“What’s happened to
Max?” Scarlett whispered
to Caitlyn as they moved
indoors.
“It’s over, Mum.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Scarlett
said.
“Don’t be,” Caitlyn told
her. “I think it was probably
over for a while, but neither
of us had managed to
acknowledge it.”
“So you’re not broken
hearted?” Scarkett asked.
“I suppose I’m a bit sad,”
Caitlyn admitted. “It’s
always sad when things
end. But I know it’s the
right move.
“I feel so much better to
be back in Oakenridge, and
Max would never have
settled here.”
James was already
opening his napkin in his
lap at the kitchen table.
“Mind if I sit beside you?”
Caitlyn asked.
“Oh dear,” Scarlett said,
setting an oven dish of
something in the middle of
the table. “I seem to have
slightly overcooked
dinner.”
“The word is ‘burnt’,
Mum,” Caitlyn replied,
though she was smiling.
“That’s how you know it’s
real home-cooking,” James
pronounced. “Since the
whole lucky Sooty
experience, black’s my
favourite colour.”
The End.
 Inside the next issue
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110

Beat The MEASUREMENTS

Chills!
To fit sizes: 81/86 cm
(32/34 ins), 91/97,
(36/38), 102 /107
(40/42), 112/117
(44/46), 122/127
(48/50).
Actual size: 102 cm
(40 ins), 112 (44), 122 (48),
133 (52½), 143 (56½).
Length: 60 cm (23½ ins),
Diamond and cable 60 (23½), 62 (24½),
62 (24½), 63 (25).
patterns are Sleeve seam: 46 cm
combined in this (18 ins).

Aran-inspired sweater MATERIALS

that is worked in a 7 (8, 8, 9, 9) 100-g balls of
King Cole Subtle Drifter
subtle two-tone Chunky, shade Leaf
chunky yarn. (4673). One pair each
5 mm (No. 6) and 6 mm
(No. 4) knitting needles;
cable needle; 2 stitch-
holders.
For King Cole yarn stockists
telephone 01756 703670
or e-mail enquiries@
Advanced kingcole.com.

TENSION
14 sts and 20 rows to
10 cm measured over st-st
using 6 mm needles.

ABBREVIATIONS
Alt – alternate;
beg – beginning; cont
Photographed at Seamill Hydro Hotel, www.seamillhydro.co.uk.

– continue; CBP – slip next

st on cable needle and hold
at back of work, K1, now P1
Images: Eve Conroy. Hair and make-up: Kat McSwein.

from cable needle; CFP – slip

next st on cable needle and
hold at front of work, P1,
now K1 from cable needle;
CR1F – slip next st on cable
needle and hold at front of
work, K2, now K1 from
cable needle; CR2B – slip
next 2 sts on cable needle
and hold at back of work,
K1, now K2 from cable
needle; dec – decrease:
foll – following;
inc – increase: K – knit;
m1 – pick up horizontal
loop lying before next st
and purl into back of it;
P – purl; rem – remain;
rep – repeat; st(s) –
stitch(es); st-st – stocking-
stitch (knit 1 row, purl 1
row); tog – together.

Important Note
Directions are given for five
sizes. Figures in brackets
refer to the four larger sizes.

Figures in square brackets [ ]
refer to all sizes and are
worked the number of times
stated.
Diamond Panel
(20 sts)
1st row (right side) – P5,
CBP, P1, CBP, CFP, P1, CFP,
P5.
2nd row – K5, [P1, K2] 3
times, P1, K5.
3rd row – P4, CBP, P1, CBP,
P2, CFP, P1, CFP, P4.
4th & every foll alt row
– Work across 20 sts knitting
all knit sts and purling all purl
sts as they present, thus
4th row will read – K4, [P1,
K2, P1, K4] twice.
5th row – P3, CBP, P1, CBP,
P4, CFP, P1, CFP, P3.
7th row – P2, CBP, P1, CBP,
P6, CFP, P1, CFP, P2.
9th row – P2, CFP, P1, CFP,
P6, CBP, P1, CBP, P2.
11th row – P3, CFP, P1, CFP,
P4, CBP, P1, CBP, P3.
13th row – P4, CFP, P1, CFP,
P2, CBP, P1, CBP, P4.
15th row – P5, CFP, P1, CFP,
CBP, P1, CBP, P5.
16th row – K6, P1, K2, P2,
K2, P1, K6.
These 16 rows form Diamond
Panel.
BACK
With 5 mm needles, cast on
80 (88, 96, 104, 112) sts.
1st row (right side) – K3,
[P2, K2] to last st, K1.
2nd row – K1, [P2, K2] until
3 sts rem, P2, K1.
Rep these 2 rib rows until
work measures 6 cm, ending
after 1st row.
Next row (wrong side) –
P5 (12, 6, 10, 8), ★m1, P3
(3, 4, 4, 5), rep from ★ until
6 (13, 6, 10, 9) sts rem, m1,
purl to end – 104 (110, 118,
126, 132) sts.
Change to 6 mm needles and
patt.
1st row (right side) –
K3 (3, 4, 5, 5), [P2, K1] 1
(2, 3, 4, 5) time(s), P2, ★K1,
P2, CR2B, CR1F, P2, K1 ★,
work 20 sts from 1st row of
Diamond Panel, K1, P2,
[CR2B, CR1F] 3 times, P2, K1,
work 20 sts from 1st row of
Diamond Panel, work from ★
to ★, P2, [K1, P2] 1 (2, 3, 4,
5) time(s), K3 (3, 4, 5, 5).
2nd row – P3 (3, 4, 5, 5),
[K2, P1] 1 (2, 3, 4, 5) time(s),
K2, ★P1, K2, P6, K2, P1 ★,
work 20 sts from 2nd row of
Diamond Panel, P1, K2, P18,
KNITTING 111
K2, P1, work 20 sts from 2nd
row of Diamond Panel, work
from ★ to ★, K2, [P1, K2] 1
(2, 3, 4, 5) time(s,) P3 (3, 4,
5, 5).
3rd row –K3 (3, 4, 5, 5), [P2,
K1] 1 (2, 3, 4, 5) time(s), P2,
★K1, P2, CR1F, CR2B, P2, K1 ★,
work 3rd row of Diamond
Panel, K1, P2, [CR1F, CR2B] 3
times, P2, K1, work 3rd row of
Diamond Panel, work from ★
to ★, P2, [K1, P2] 1 (2, 3, 4,
5) time(s), knit to end.
4th row – As 2nd row but
working 4th row of Diamond
Panel.
5th to 16th rows – Rep 1st
to 4th rows 3 times but
working 5th to 16th rows of
Diamond Panel.
These 16 rows set patt.
Cont in patt until work
measures 60 (60, 62, 62,
63) cm from lower edge,
ending after a wrong-side row.
Shape shoulders – Cast off With 6 mm needles, cast on across 26 (30, 32, 36, 38) sts
10 (10, 11, 11, 12) sts at beg 60 (66, 70, 76, 80) sts evenly of back working K2tog 2
of next 6 rows, then 9 (10, and taking care not to cast on (3, 3, 5, 5) times evenly
10, 12, 11) sts at beg of next tightly. across cabled sts, pick up and
2 rows – 26 (30, 32, 36, Purl 1 row. knit 16 (17, 17, 19, 19) sts
38) sts. Work in patt: evenly down left side of neck,
Slip rem sts on to a 1st row (right side) – K12 knit across 20 (24, 26, 30,
stitch-holder and leave. (15, 17, 20, 22), P1, K1, P2, 32) sts of front working K2tog
[CR2B, CR1F, P2, K1, P2] twice, 1 (2, 2, 4, 4) time(s) evenly
CR2B, CR1F, P2, K1, P1, K12 across cabled sts, finally pick
FRONT (15, 17, 20, 22). up and knit 17 (18, 18, 20,
Work as back until 16 (18, 18,
2nd row – P14 (17, 19, 22, 20) sts evenly up right side of
20, 20) rows fewer than back neck – 76 (84, 88, 96, 100)
24), K2, [P6, K2, P1, K2] twice,
up to start of shoulder shaping sts.
P6, K2, P14 (17, 19, 22, 24).
have been worked, ending 1st & 2nd rows – Purl.
after a wrong-side row. 3rd row – K12 (15, 17, 20,
22), P1, K1, P2, [CR1F, CR2B, 3rd & 4th rows – Knit.
Shape neck – Beg with a 2nd row, now work
P2, K1, P2] twice, CR1F,
Next row (right side) – Patt 9 rows in rib as given for back.
CR2B, P2, K1, P1, K12 (15,
42 (43, 46, 48, 50), turn. Cast off evenly in rib.
17, 20, 22).
Cont on this group of sts for To Make Up – Do not press.
left half of neck. 4th row – As 2nd row.
These 4 rows set patt. Join right shoulder and edges
Work 3 rows, dec 1 st neatly of neckband. Stitch cast-off
at neck edge on each row – Cont in patt, shape sleeve by
dec 1 st at each end of next edges of sleeves to upper side
39 (40, 43, 45, 47) sts. edges of back and front. Join
Work 12 (14, 14, 16, row, then on every foll 6th
(6th, 6th, 5th, 4th) row until side and sleeve seams.
16) rows straight, thus ending Block if required. See
at side edge. there are 46 (50, 58, 70,
48) sts, then on every foll ball-band for further care
Shape shoulder – Cast off instructions. ■
6th (4th, 4th, 4th, 3rd) row
10 (10, 11, 11, 12) sts at
until there are 36 (38, 40, 42,
beg of next row then on the
44) sts rem. Next week:
two foll alt rows – 9 (10, 10,
Work straight until sleeve knit this stylish jacket.
12, 11) sts.
measures 39 cm, ending after
Work 1 row straight.
a right-side row.
Cast off rem sts.
Next row – Purl, dec 4 (6, 4,
With right-side facing, slip next
6, 4) sts evenly across – 32
20 (24, 26, 30, 32) sts
(32, 36, 36, 40) sts.
(centre sts) on to a st-holder
Change to 5 mm needles and
and leave. Neatly rejoin yarn
work in rib as given for back
at neck edge and work 1 row
until sleeve measures 46 cm
straight.
or desired length.
Complete as left half but
Cast off evenly in rib.
working 1 row more before
shaping shoulder.
Image: Eve Conroy.
TO COMPLETE
Neckband – Join left
SLEEVES shoulder. With 5 mm needles
Note: These are worked from
and right-side facing, knit
the top down.
 112
Amy’s Choice
T
HE row had been
terrible.
Amy was only
grateful that she
and Carsten didn’t
live together.
She had been able to
stuff her things into her
shoulder-bag and go home.
It was all so unnecessary,
in Amy’s opinion.
Illustration by Tracy Fenell.
At first, Carsten had
seemed so proud to
introduce her to his family
and friends.
“Amy’s a nurse. She takes
care of sick kids,” he’d said,
squeezing her hand.
Amy was proud to work as a nurse,
but would Carsten understand?
BY EIRIN THOMPSON
Before long they were
showing her their verrucas
and moles and detailing
their aches and pains.
Amy was glad to advise
when she could.
Everyone thanked her
and Carsten told her it was
the first time his crowd had
taken any of his girlfriends
seriously.
“Nursing’s a proper job,”
he said. “My ex made
kitchen art – nobody was
impressed by that.”
“What’s kitchen art?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Now I’m intrigued. You
can’t leave me hanging.”
“All right. She glued
macaroni and oats and
lentils and things to canvas,
then painted them and
framed them.”
“Well, not everyone is
defined by their job. She
must have had other
qualities.”
“Must she? Anyway,
that’s history. Now it’s
about you and me.”
There had been
woodland walks, lazy
brunches, movie nights and
candlelit dinners.
Carsten had been warm,
attentive and charming.
He had seemed so
delighted to spend time
with Amy that he never
minded working around her
shifts . . . until recently.
“I’m sorry,” she’d said
repeatedly. “I have to
work.”
At some point, he had
stopped responding with
an affectionate shrug and
instead replied with a
dramatic sigh or a scowl.
Amy disliked
disappointing him, but
didn’t really believe she’d
done anything wrong.
“I’ve always worked this
way – I haven’t changed,”
she reminded Carsten.
Carsten resorted to
sulking and at some stage
started calling Amy
“Florence” in a sarcastic
tone.
He wasn’t like this all of
the time.
Often he would shop and
cook so that he could
provide dinner at his place
when Amy was tired after a
busy shift.
When her car was with
the mechanic, Carsten
drove her to and from work
without complaint.
“‘When he is good, he is
very, very good, but when
he is bad he is horrid’, to
quote the nursery rhyme,”
Courtney, Amy’s flatmate,
pronounced.
“He’s not horrid. I think
he wants to be supportive,
but he just gets fed up with
me being a no-show.”
“I suppose that’s why so
many of your colleagues
have relationships with
other people in the
business,” Courtney
observed. “Outsiders don’t
quite get what it’s like.
“Is Carsten worth the
hassle?”
Amy sighed.
“I honestly don’t know.”

And now they’d had this
huge row.
Amy had said she would
be working on both
Christmas Eve and
Christmas Day and Carsten
had been appalled.
“Both days? You’re not
serious. That’s not fair.”
“Children don’t stop
being ill just because it’s
Christmas,” Amy protested.
“Yes, but you’re not the
only nurse on the ward –
what’s everyone else
contributing?”
“I volunteered to do both
shifts so the nurses with
their own kids at home
wouldn’t have to,” Amy
explained. “It’s a magical
time for families.”
“Right – so it’s just fine if
we miss out.”
“Hey! If we’re ever lucky
enough to have children,
wouldn’t you want some of
the younger nurses to do
the same for us?”
“Oh, forget it!” Carsten
had cried. “You couldn’t
make it any plainer that
your job comes first, Amy.
“I can count myself lucky
if it doesn’t come second
and third, too.”
“Nursing is more than a
job to me, Carsten. It’s a
vocation.
“When I’m on the ward I
feel useful and that I can
make a difference.
“I feel valued, which is
more than I’m getting from
this relationship right now.”
“So you’re ending things
between us?” Carsten
demanded.
“I didn’t say that.”
“It’s what you meant.”
“I don’t know what I
meant. Look, maybe we
need some time apart.”
“You’re walking away.”
“I’m going home. I need a
bath and a decent sleep.”
“And after that?”
“I’m not sure.”
Back at the flat, Courtney
produced a box of tissues.
“I hate rows.” Amy had
sobbed.
“Maybe you should call
time on this relationship,”
Courtney replied. “It’s not
making you very happy.”
* * * *
Ellie was sitting up in her
hospital bed, holding her
doll and teddy aloft and
managing a conversation
between them.
“Ready for some
supper?” Amy enquired.
“In a minute,” Ellie said.
“It’ll take me at least a
minute to make it, so speak
up now.”
“I’m still thinking,” Ellie
explained. “Look – this is
you and this is Doctor
Rodgers.”
She indicated her toys.
“Oh? What are we
saying?”
“Dr Rodgers is asking you
to go to the cinema.”
Amy laughed.
“Is he indeed?”
“Yes. And you’re saying
yes, please.
“Doctor Rodgers says
he’ll buy your ticket if you
pay for the popcorn.”
“Sounds fair. Now, have
you had time to think yet?
“Rice Krispies? Toast?
Rich Tea biscuits?”
“Rice Krispies.”
“Coming up. Would you
like orange juice, too?”
“Yes, please. Nurse
Amy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure Santa will
know where to find me?”
“Perfectly sure. Sister will
set out a mince pie and
some carrots for him and
the reindeer when you go
to sleep tonight.
“When you wake
tomorrow, you’ll see what
he’s left for you.”
Ellie gave a wide smile,
showing where her two
front teeth were missing,
then pressed her doll’s and
teddy’s faces together.
“Look, you and Doctor
Rodgers are kissing!”
Ellie laughed at this, and
Amy was just about to
giggle, too, when she heard
a voice behind her.
“Ellie – you’re looking
brighter.”
Oh, no! Dr Rodgers! How
much had he overheard?
Dr Rodgers was the new
senior registrar.
The children he treated
adored him.
“I am brighter,” Ellie
replied. “Santa’s coming
tonight.”
“Then I’d better be quick,
so you can go to sleep,”
Dr Rodgers said.
“It’s all right – I haven’t
even had my supper yet.”
“I’ll fetch that right
away,” Amy said, still
blushing at the thought
that Dr Rodgers might
have seen their effigies
kissing.
“Can I have my Rice
Krispies with warm milk?”
“Sure. Why not? It’s
Christmas Eve.”
* * * *
The big lights had been
switched off in the
children’s ward and Amy
was checking who was
asleep and who was awake.
Ellie was spark out, her
doll wrapped in one arm
and her teddy in the other.
The red-haired boy in the
next bed was slumbering
deeply and the two bays
opposite were unoccupied.
The staff had made every
effort to allow as many
children as possible to get
home for Christmas.
“Ursula, Julie, hi!” Amy
whispered enthusiastically
as the two nurses who were
coming on to cover the
night shift appeared. “Any
sign of a sleigh out there?”
“No sleigh, but the
snow’s coming down thick
“You sound devoted to your work.
I’m working both days, too”
and fast,” Ursula replied.
The curtains had been
pulled for a while.
“It wasn’t forecast, as far
as I know,” Julie said. “It’s
caught everybody out.”
Amy pulled back a corner
of the curtain to peek out.
Her colleagues weren’t
exaggerating – it was
something of a blizzard!
“Not the best conditions
for driving home, but very
festive,” she pronounced.
“Maybe you should call a
taxi,” Ursula suggested.
“I don’t fancy my chances
of finding one on Christmas
Eve night.
“I hope the slope down to
the roundabout is gritted.”
“Where are you spending
Christmas Day? Do you
have far to travel?” Julie
asked Amy.
“Not far – I’m working,”
Amy said with a grin.
“Oh, back again?” Ursula
responded. “I’ll go home for
a sleep after this shift.
“Kevin’s cooking
Christmas dinner for the
SHORT STORY 113
whole family.”
“Oh, I’ll get my Christmas
dinner, all right,” Amy said.
“Betty in the canteen pulls
out all the stops on
Christmas Day.
“She says it’s her
tradition and she wouldn’t
be anywhere else.”
The red-haired boy sat up
in bed and rubbed his eyes.
“Is it Christmas yet?” he
asked sleepily.
“Not just yet,” Ursula told
him, and went to settle him
and tuck in his covers.
“Go and get some rest,”
she told Amy. “You’ll need
your energy for tomorrow.”
Amy pulled on her coat
and made her way to the
foyer.
Through the hospital’s
glass frontage she could
see the snow falling in
huge, fluffy flakes, landing
on what was already quite
a thick white carpet.
“Do you want to build a
snowman?” a voice behind
her sang.
Amy turned.
“Doctor Rodgers! I didn’t
have you down as a fan of
‘Frozen’.”
“Isn’t everyone? Are you
heading home? Can I offer
you a lift?”
“That’s very kind – and
very tempting.
“I don’t like driving in
weather like this.
“But I must – I’m working
again tomorrow. I’ll need
my car to get back in.”
“You’re working both
Christmas Eve and
Christmas Day?”
“I sound like a sad case,
don’t I?”
“You sound devoted to
your work. I’m working
both days, too.
“Look, the snow can’t
keep coming down at this
rate for long.
“How about I buy you a
coffee from the vending
machine and we wait here
for a few minutes before
venturing out?”
“OK,” Amy answered.
“And I wouldn’t say no to a
KitKat.”
Dr Rodgers told Amy to
call him Bryan.
114
As they sat in the foyer,
she learned that he had a
Golden Retriever called
Robbie.
“Is there someone at
home with him when you’re
not there?” Amy asked,
then backtracked. “Sorry
– that sounded like I was
prying.
“I was just thinking that it
must be difficult to manage
with your long hours here.”
Bryan smiled.
“I live alone – apart from
Robbie – but the family
next door have two very
responsible teenagers who
are happy to earn a few
quid for dog-sitting.
“They walk him and feed
him when I’m working.”
“How about you? Who’s
at home?”
“Just my flatmate,
Courtney. She’s an
administrator in A and E.”
“Is she working over
Christmas, too?”
Amy looked at her watch.
“She should be back at
the flat by now, but she’s
heading north tomorrow to
see her family – assuming
the roads are driveable.”
“Although it does look as
if the snowfall is tailing off,”
Amy said. “Maybe we
should make a dash for our
cars.”
* * * *
It was Christmas Day on
the children’s ward.
Ellie’s mum and dad were
sitting by her bed, helping
her construct a picture
from fuzzy felt.
Her two older brothers
were nearby, trying to get
to grips with the yo-yos
they’d found in their
stockings.
Amy was chatting to the
little red-haired boy who’d
been admitted the previous
evening after a car crash.
His parents were also
injured, although not in any
danger.
But they were in a
different part of the
hospital.
“It’ll soon be time for
lunch, Rory,” Amy told him.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes . . .” He frowned.
“That’s good. You need to
eat well to get better. Do
you like turkey?”
“Yes.”
“Roasties?”
“Yes!” Rory perked up.
“Gravy?”
“Yes!”
“Brussels sprouts?”
“Y . . . no!”
“I nearly caught you
there! OK. Let me go and
get ready to serve up.
“You can play with your
dinosaurs until I come
back.”
It was thanks to Courtney
that Rory had had a
satisfactory visit from
Santa Claus.
As a member of the
hospital choir, who
rehearsed on a casual
basis, she had visited some
of the wards to sing carols.
Courtney had been
singing in the children’s
ward when little Rory was
admitted, and deduced
that, with his parents also
receiving care, there was
no-one to do the needful.
“What have you asked
Santa for, Rory?” she had
enquired.
He had confided that he’d
written a letter requesting
“dinosaur stuff”.
Courtney had telephoned
the big toy shop in town
and more or less insisted
that they put together a
package of whatever
dinosaur merchandise they
still had on the shelves,
and deliver it to the
children’s ward before
midnight.
Some time after Amy
had gone off duty, the
manager had turned up
with bags of goodies –
plastic models, a dinosaur
board game, jigsaw and
dominoes, a dinosaur
schoolbag and pencil case.
Amy hadn’t slept any
better than an excited child
herself.
This was because Bryan
had asked if they could try
to schedule their lunch
breaks so they could eat
Christmas dinner together.
“You’ve given it the big
sell,” he told her.
Amy knew it wasn’t
exactly a date, sharing a
workplace lunch, yet it was
something – wasn’t it?
She’d started thinking
about Carsten.
Would it be a betrayal to
have a pre-organised lunch
with Bryan?
But was her relationship
with Carsten even still on?
She wasn’t sure, and
perhaps not being sure was
insufficient grounds for
behaving like a singleton.
She had wondered
whether she wanted to try
to fix things with Carsten.
Was she hesitating
because of the ugliness of a
Christmas break-up?
In the end, Amy decided
to dodge dinner with
Bryan, giving the excuse of
ward duties.
She arrived in the
canteen just as he was
leaving.
“You didn’t exaggerate,”
he told her, grinning as he
placed his tray on the
trolley. “I won’t need to eat
for a week.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,”
Amy replied.
“Actually, I’m pleased I
caught you,” Bryan added.
“I was wondering . . . I’m
sure you have a lot on over
Christmas, but do you think
you might join me for a
drink at some point?”
“Oh . . . I –”
“I’ve put you on the spot.
Tell you what, let me give
you my mobile number
and, if you feel like it,
phone me.”
Amy’s mind was racing.
What about Carsten?
They hadn’t officially said
things were over.
She’d not even admitted
to herself whether she
wanted that to be the case.
Taking another man’s
number sounded like going
behind Carsten’s back.
But if she took the
number, it didn’t
necessarily mean she had
to call.
“I’d like to, Bryan,” she
managed to say. “But I
don’t think I can.
“I mean, not yet.”
“Do I detect some
unfinished business?”
“That’s a fair way of
putting it.”
“OK. I can wait.
Meanwhile, enjoy lunch – I
can recommend the bread
sauce.”
He smiled at Amy with
the same warm, kind eyes
he showed the frightened
children he treated, then
he walked away.
* * * *
It was a happy Christmas
afternoon on the ward.
With so few patients the
staff weren’t overstretched.
Amy was allowed to take
Rory to see his parents.
Their injuries meant they
were confined to their
beds.
They were exceedingly
grateful to see their son.
Rory would be free to go
home with his auntie the
next day, all being well,
where she and his cousins
would make a fuss of him
until his parents were
discharged.
All the presents had been
opened, the crackers pulled
and plenty of treats
enjoyed where possible.
Finally, it was time for
Amy to leave.
She would drive straight
to her parents’ place for
supper before sharing gifts.
In the foyer, however, she
stopped in her tracks.
There was Carsten,
sitting on the benches by
the shuttered convenience
shop.
“What are you doing
here?” Amy asked,
surprised.
“I had to see you,”
Carsten said, rising to his
feet.
“Oh. Any reason?”
“Because I have
something to say to you –
well, more than one thing
to say, in fact.”
“And it has to be now?
I’ve just had two very long
days.”
“I know. And I know
you’re tired, but it’s a good
tired – I get that now.”
“You do?”
Carsten looked at Amy
with a serious demeanour.
“I’m sorry, Amy. I’m sorry
I’ve been such a grump
about you working over
Christmas.
“I was wrong – it’s a
noble calling, being a
nurse, and it’s to your
great credit that you put
your patients ahead of your
own fun.”
“I see. Well . . . thank
you.”
“That’s not all. I started
asking myself why I was so
ratty about it, and I figured
it out – I was jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Jealous that you were
doing something with your
life that meant so much to
you and others.
 115

Puzzle Solutions

■ PUZZLE SOLUTIONS ■ PUZZLE SOLUTIONS ■ PUZZLE SOLUTIONS ■ PUZZLE SOLUTIONS ■

“Jealous that your work Carsten’s face darkened.
was so fulfilling and “You think you’re better
rewarding, while I was just than me – just because Arroword
doing a job for a monthly you’re already trained and
pay packet. doing the job. U C D B
From
“So I’ve decided, in a “You don’t think I can do P H Y S I O E AR T H P84 and
O AN T S A O
nutshell, if you can’t beat it. Maybe it suits you
A S P F L O A T H E P96
’em, join ’em!” better to be Saint Amy T R E C A L L A
“Meaning?” while I’m just selling status R AD AR S A L I V A
“I’ve decided to become a symbol motors to vacuous G I N L E T COP
nurse! I have the right rich people.” C E L L O R E J E C T
A levels and, with your Amy sighed wearily. SLEIGH
help, I reckon I can get in “Listen to yourself,
to university.” Carsten,” she said. “This is
“I’m a bit taken aback,” why you and I aren’t
Amy confessed. working. Kriss Kross Numberjig
“I’m surprised myself,” “At least, it is for me. A A 6 2 5 1 3 5 6
Carsten admitted. “I One minute you’re my GR E E N L AN D L 7 4 5 8 6 6 0 7 8
T A
assumed I’d sell cars for greatest advocate, the next N A S
7 5 1 6 5
6 7 2 6 2 6 5 7 4
the rest of my working life.” you’re running me down. O MUR MAN S K
5 8 7 7 3 6 7 2 3 6
R C A
“It would mean a big “I’m tired of it. I’m sorry. W T I 8 4 7 0 4 7 3 2
drop in income, going back I really hope you find what F ARC T I C C 0 2 2
A Y A C E 7 1 1 6 4 7 3 2
to being a student,” Amy you’re looking for, but this R N L 8 8 2 4 5 2 3 3 3
pointed out. is the end of the road for MOUN T A I N A 8 6 4 5 5 4 6
E D N
“I know. But I’m prepared you and me.” S L A P L AND
3 8 7 6 7 2 0 4 7 8
3 2 0 1
for that. As Amy drove to her 4 3 1 1 1 8 2 7 3 1 6 2
“I could take in a lodger, parents’ home, the roads LOG FIRE
if it comes to it. Unless . . .” were now clear of snow,
“Unless what?” although there were quite a Wordsearch Spot The Difference
“Unless you fancy moving few snowmen still standing T E L A H C H Z E Y Z T V
into my place and we share in gardens along the way. T K T H K S K A T E S I I
what we have until I She should have felt I M A N T S D R S U C I S
N T I R L R E H I E L M O
qualify.” tired, after her two long F R I O O I E N P T Y O R
Amy sat down on the shifts, yet she actually felt L L P E C N G O N D O L A
bench. strangely weightless, or at U E U A A D A N A C G A D
G R L R E M I N E O L L T
Carsten plonked himself least unencumbered. O G R A R C F I G E O S H
next to her, peering It must be because she M A P E S Y N G N E V O D
eagerly into her face. no longer had “unfinished R T G U S P L A S L E D I
A U E N C E E M R O S R T
“What do you think?” business”. L I A E S K P N H F N Y U
Carsten asked. She was now free to do
“I think the world as she pleased.
certainly needs more Did she wish she had
nurses,” Amy replied. “And Bryan’s phone number,
I think it’s great that you after all?
want to do something that A little of her did, but
Fits And Starts
feels worthwhile to you. most of her knew that 1 Economy 2 Caramel 3 Assumed 4 Smuggle
5 Fashion 6 Plateau 7 Bicycle
“But this is something there was no sense in NAUGHTY
you must choose for bouncing from one
yourself, Carsten. relationship straight into
“It can’t be a gesture to another. Short And Sweet Suguru
please me.” She’d take a while just to 2 3 2 4 5
AB HOR
“It isn’t. I mean, I hoped be herself and then she’d F O A B 1 4 1 3 1
you’d be glad, but I think see how things were. E BO OK A 5 3 2 5 4
I’m doing it for the right Bryan had said he was R A K 4 1 4 1 2
A T RAC E 3 5 2 3 5
reasons.” willing to wait and she L O S R
“Then I wish you all the believed him. 2 4 1 4 1
VO DKA
1 3 5 2 3
very best and I hope this Amy pulled into her
new path delivers all that parents’ driveway and
you’re looking for. looked through the sitting-
“However, it won’t put room window. Codeword Anagrammist
you and me back together.” The fire was roaring in
“What? Why not? Doesn’t the grate and the
J I T T E R Y L A V A Cossack,
U N E I A N N
it prove I can be a better Christmas tree was lit up in NUN CO N S CR I P T Phantom,
person? Helping others?” the corner. F E H S Q S I Pointer,
“Maybe. You’ll find out They’d kindly left the
A P RON E X UD E D Teeming,
Z I I E K
along the way. curtains open to greet her. E NR I CH R E DD E N Trainer,
“But you and I are at very The front door flew open D E A S I Marbled,
different points in our and her mum and dad
A S Y L U M CRO F T Largely
S C I U E W T
journey, Carsten. waved from the step. COUR T E S AN I R E
“You might be surprised “You’re here!” her mum A E Y H C N R CHIMNEY
BOD Y S Y N E RGY
at how difficult you find it cried. “Now it really is
– or just the opposite.” Christmas!” ■ I T Z GWY J U L R E V Q
AKBCDHMN F X P SO
 TEA-BREAK TRIVIA 117

believe it?
Would you
1939
is the year
Rudolph the
Red-nosed
Reindeer
was
I’d Like To Know created.

Q How many people use the London

Underground every year?

Transport for London says the Tube

1 in 5
A can see up to five million passenger Britons have donated an
journeys a day, meaning more than one billion unwanted Christmas
trips are taken annually. In 2019 there were present to charity,
1.35 billion passengers using the service. according to a survey.
At peak times, there are more than 543
trains operating around London’s 272
underground stations. The Tube launched in
1863, and the busiest stations these days £31
include King’s Cross, Tottenham Court Road
was the estimated
and Waterloo. The tracks combine to create a
network around 400 km in length.
average cost of a
traditional Christmas
dinner for four last year.

Q made
I watch them when they’re on TV, and it
me wonder. How many James Q inI know the Lake District
north-west England is 5 weeks
Bond films have been released to date? big, but exactly how big?
was how long Band Aid’s
A total of 27 Bond films have been The Lake District is
A released to the world – the first being A England’s largest national
“Do They Know It’s
Christmas?” stayed at
“Dr. No” in 1962. park at 2,362 square No.1 in the UK when it
The last was “No Time To Die” in 2021. kilometres – and nearly was released in 1984.
Scottish actor Sean Connery was the first 30,000 hectares of this is
James Bond, and he featured in seven films woodland. The region also
before hanging up his 007 boots.
Roger Moore, meanwhile, has also starred in
seven of the James Bond films.
plays host to England’s largest
lake – Windermere – which is
14.8 square kilometres.
3
The James Bond films are based on writer The Lake District is also is the number of times the
Ian Fleming’s book character of the same home to England’s highest 1984 song has been
name. Twenty-five of the films were made by mountain, Scafell Pike. re-released – 1989, 2004
Eon Productions, and two were created by In 2019 the region had and 2014.
another company. 19.89 million visitors.

227,000 miles
Something we didn’t of wrapping paper is
binned in the UK every
know last week . . . Christmas, according to
estimates.
Two astronauts once surprised the
ground control team with a rendition
of “Jingle Bells” from space – using a
harmonica and bells. The tune, played
on NASA’s Gemini 6A space flight in
December 1965, holds the Guinness
World Record as the first song played
in space.
Images: Shutterstock.

The tune, written in the mid-1800s,

wasn’t actually a Christmas song to
begin with, but it took on a festive
connection over the years.

Got a question? Get in touch through e-mail wouldyoubelieveit@dcthomson.co.uk

or *write to “The People’s Friend”, 2 Albert Square, Dundee DD1 1DD.
*Please do not send an SAE as we cannot give personal replies.
 118
The
Robin’s Song
Nell would always fondly remember the
year she given this precious decoration . . .
N
ELL was
spending a lovely
afternoon by the
fireside.
Harriet, her
twenty-year-old
granddaughter, was
dressing the tree with all
the well-loved decorations.
Harriet had always been
a stickler for this Christmas
Eve tradition – although
there was a difference this
year as her boyfriend,
Markus, was taking part.
Nell couldn’t help but
notice the adoring smiles
they gave each other and
Illustration by Mandy Dixon.
how their hands touched as
he passed her the
decorations one by one.
It added to the charm of
the scene.
Markus was a lovely lad.
He and Harriet were at
BY BECCA ROBIN
university together.
It was a tribute to his
feelings for Nell’s youngest
granddaughter that he’d
jumped at the offer to stay
with her family this
Christmas rather than
return home to Germany.
He explained that his
brother and family were
staying with his parents, so
they wouldn’t be too lonely
without him.
In any case, he and
Harriet would be flying
over to see them before
the start of term.
Each decoration had its
own story, from the paper
lantern Nell’s mother had
owned as a child to the
pom-pom snowman that
Harriet made at school.
“This is beautiful. Is it
hand-made?”
Markus removed a
wooden robin decoration
from the box.
He turned it over gently
in his hands, running his
fingertip over the intricate
carving of the feathers.
Nell smiled to see the old
robin. He didn’t look in bad
shape, from his red-painted
breast to his gleaming
black eyes.
“A long time ago he could
sing,” she explained. “His
tail is hollow.
“As a child I used to blow
into the end, but the
whistle mechanism in his
throat broke so now he’s
mute.”
Markus tried blowing
softly into the tail.
Nothing emerged from
the little robin’s beak but a
small puff of wind.
He put the bird to his ear
and shook it ever so gently.
“It sounds like
something’s come loose
inside,” he remarked.
He held the bird aloft and
looked into his open beak.
“I can see the part that
used to make the whistle,”
he said. “I think I might
know how it worked.
“If only I could get at it, I
might be able to reattach
it.”
“Markus is really good at
fixing things,” Harriet said
with pride.
Markus passed her the
robin, which had a little
eyelet screwed into his
back bearing a loop of
green ribbon.
She hung him from one of
the most prominent
branches where he jigged a
little before coming to rest.
“It’s my favourite of all
the decorations,” Harriet
said. “It’s got the best
story. Please, tell it, Gran.”
Nell should have been
expecting this request, but
it still caught her out.
She wondered if it was
appropriate, what with
Markus being German.
“Oh, I don’t think we
need to hear that one.” She
shook her head
emphatically.
“But Christmas wouldn’t
be the same without your
robin story.”
“I doubt Markus will be
interested.” Nell made big
eyes at Harriet, who
seemed to realise what the
problem was.
“Honestly, Gran, it’s fine.
Markus knows there were
prisoners of war in this
country.”
“Ah, it was made by a
German prisoner of war?”
Markus asked. “That’s so
interesting.
“I’ve read lots of accounts
that they were treated well
in the camps in Britain.
“Please, go ahead and
tell the story.”
They both looked keen.
Nell was persuaded there
was no harm in doing so.
She cast her mind back
to the Christmas of 1946,
when she was seven years
old.
* * * *
The war had been over
for more than a year.

The British servicemen
and women had returned
home, including Nell’s
father, who had served as a
mechanical engineer.
It was going to take a
while for the country to
recover, with food scarce
and rationing still in force.
The prisoners of war in
the nearby camp were still
being sent to work on local
farms.
That year, for the first
time, British families were
allowed to invite the
prisoners into their homes
to celebrate Christmas,
should they so wish.
Nell’s family had been
ready with their offer.
She’d overheard her
mother and father
discussing it and sensed
sympathy for those so far
away from their loved ones.
By now, the men at the
camp were well-liked by
many locals who’d got to
know them.
It was Christmas morning
and “Family Favourites”
was on the wireless.
Kneeling up on a chair
before the kitchen table,
Nell hummed along to the
festive tunes as she made
breadcrumbs for the bread
sauce.
Her mum prepared the
fine turkey they’d been
lucky enough to get hold of
and her dad was in the
scullery preparing
vegetables grown in their
own garden.
Her mum was expecting
Nell’s little brother,
Michael, so Nell and her
dad were doing as much of
the work as they could.
Later, Nell was given the
job of laying the table in
the dining-room.
By contrast to the wet
and windy weather outside,
the room was snug with a
fire lit in the grate.
Her dad had placed
sprigs of holly over the
picture frames and Nell
had spent several days
making a long paper chain
out of newspaper.
Nell was fizzing with
excitement at the thought
of her stocking hanging
beside the fireplace.
Santa had filled it to the
brim but it was the
tradition in their family not
to open presents until after
Christmas dinner, so she
had to be patient.
There was a knock on the
front door.
Nell looked out of the
bay window and saw two
men, one dressed in
uniform and the other in a
belted raincoat and hat.
For a moment, she
wondered if two prisoners
of war were coming to
dinner that day.
Her father ushered both
men inside out of the rain.
In a short while the man
in uniform re-emerged and
walked briskly down their
front path to where a truck
was waiting in the road.
She guessed he was one
of the guards from the
camp who had come to
deliver their guest.
“Nell!” her father called,
and she ran into the lounge
to greet their visitor.
Her mother was already
shaking hands with the
man who had a very
pleasant, smiling face.
He could speak English
well, although he spoke
very softly and seemed shy.
“Here’s our daughter,
Nell.”
“Ah, they told me a little
girl lives here. Please, call
me Franz.”
He put out his hand and
Nell shook it, feeling very
grown up.
“I have a daughter called
Frida. She is nine years old.
“I can show you a recent
photograph, if you like?”
From his jacket’s inner
pocket he pulled a small,
leather wallet.
Inside was a black-and-
white photo of a smiling
girl standing hand in hand
with a woman, presumably
her mother.
It was only later Nell’s
dad explained that Franz
would not have seen his
daughter in years.
Communication between
prisoners and their loved
ones had only been
recently allowed.
Nell began to understand
how precious this
photograph must have
been to him.
“And that’s your wife?”
Nell’s mum asked.
“Yes, Greta.”
“She looks very nice.”
The conversation paused
as they studied the photo.
“You’re dripping wet.
Please, let me take your
coat and hat,” Nell’s dad
offered.
Nell’s mum insisted their
guest sit in the armchair
beside the fire and gave
him a glass of sherry.
“Really, this is all too
kind,” Franz kept
repeating.
Although he smiled, he
looked a little stunned, as
though this were a great,
unexpected honour.
“We must have a toast.”
Nell’s dad held his own
glass of sherry aloft, while
She cast her mind back to
the Christmas of 1946
Nell and her mother raised
their glasses of lemonade.
“Here’s to a very happy
Christmas.
“We are delighted our
guest can join us this year.”
“Happy Christmas!” They
all raised their glasses.
Nell’s mum excused
herself to check on the
turkey and make the gravy.
Little by little, the
conversation between
Nell’s dad and Franz began
to flow more easily.
Naturally, they stayed off
the subject of recent
hostilities.
Franz remarked on Nell’s
Christmas stocking and
talked about similar
customs in Germany.
He described his home
town where he worked as a
carpenter and they listened
with interest.
Then he embarked upon
a most peculiar tale, which
seemed chiefly directed at
Nell.
“You’ll never believe it in
all this rain, but a little
robin accompanied me
here today.
“As we were leaving the
camp, I noticed him
sheltering in the branches
of a tree and singing away
so merrily.
“Then to my surprise, he
flew in through the opening
at the back of the truck.”
Nell’s eyes grew round.
She looked at her dad, who
was smiling broadly.
Franz continued. He was
evidently a great
storyteller.
SHORT STORY 119
“I was sitting with all the
other men being driven
into town.
“The townsfolk have been
so generous, inviting us
into their homes for
Christmas.
“We value the gesture
very much, I have to say.
“Anyway, in flew the
robin and he landed on the
floor in our midst and
continued to sing.”
“Where did he go then?”
Nell asked.
“As soon as we pulled up
outside your house, guess
what?
“The robin flew out of the
truck as though he had
reached his destination,
too. What do you make of
that?”
“I wonder if he’s still in
the garden?”
Nell ran to the window
but the rain streaking the
glass obscured her view.
“I don’t think the robin
would like it outside in this
bad weather.”
“I’m sure he’s found a
warm dry place by now,”
Franz assured her. “I got
the feeling he may have
been looking for a new
home.”
Before long, the three of
them were called to the
dinner table.
There were tureens full of
steaming hot vegetables, a
boat of delicious gravy and
a dish of bread sauce,
which Nell was quick to say
she’d helped make.
Her dad sat at one end of
the table and carved the
golden turkey.
It was large enough to
allow for generous
portions, along with sage
and onion stuffing.
There was also a bottle of
peapod wine made by
Nell’s dad the previous
summer.
To Nell it seemed like a
feast, especially as she
couldn’t remember the last
time she’d eaten turkey.
Once, she glanced across
the table and saw Franz
dabbing at his eyes with a
handkerchief.
Her dad didn’t say
120
anything but reached
across and patted their
guest on the arm, for which
Franz nodded his thanks.
“It has to be the most
delicious meal I have ever
tasted,” he said.
Nell helped her mother
clear the plates, having
rejected his offer of help.
“Well, I hope you’ve still
got room for Christmas
pudding and custard,”
Nell’s mother said.
“The feast to end all
feasts.” Franz shook his
head in wonder.
Nell’s dad said he would
They all held their breath as
Markus inserted the loose part
wash up later, so after the
pudding they retired to the
lounge where coffee was
served to the adults.
“You’ve been waiting
patiently all morning,”
Nell’s mum said to her.
“It’s only right you should
open your presents now.”
Nell was so excited as
she took down the stocking
from its hook.
Strangely, it looked and
felt fuller than it had when
she’d run downstairs to
check that Santa had been.
She was sure she couldn’t
remember the present at
the top being wrapped in
blue paper.
When had the extra gift
been added?
Nell removed it and,
kneeling on the hearthrug,
unwrapped it while the
adults looked on.
She gasped as the little
wooden robin rolled into
her lap.
Picking it up, she
examined the beautifully
carved and painted bird.
“Aha! That’s where the
little robin went,” Franz
said.
Nell’s parents laughed
with pleasure.
The penny dropped for
Nell that Franz’s earlier
story had been made up,
leading to this surprise.
It made the gift even
more delightful.
At a later date, Nell’s
father would explain that
when he’d first entered the
house, Franz had asked
permission to give a
present to the child he’d
been told was living there.
He’d handed the gift to
her dad, who had sneaked
it into her stocking.
But at that moment it
was all such a mystery,
Nell was overjoyed.
“Thank you so much.”
She beamed at their guest.
“Did you carve the robin?”
Franz inclined his head
modestly.
“I think he may still have
a Christmas song for you.”
He did a mime as though
playing a whistle.
Nell turned the robin
over and noticed his hollow
tail. Franz nodded his
encouragement as she held
it to her mouth and blew.
The sweetest piping trill
emerged from the bird’s
beak, answered by
appreciative laughter from
the adults.
“Oh, that’s even more
special!” Nell declared.
“I have also made one for
my dear Frida,” Franz said.
“One day soon, I hope to
be able to give it to her in
person.”
After playing with the
robin for a little while, Nell
went and hung it on the
Christmas tree in the
corner of the room.
* * * *
“Franz came to see us
several times and we
became good friends.”
Nell was reaching the end
of her story.
Harriet and Markus had
been listening intently.
“Conditions relaxed at
the camp, and the men
were allowed to come and
go more freely over the
next few months.
“At last, Franz was able
to return to his family in
Germany.
“It would have been the
first time he’d seen them in
years. Just imagine how
happy he must have been.
“The following Christmas,
we received a photograph
of the three of them with
Frida holding up a robin
identical to my own.
“After that, I always
imagined that when I made
my robin sing, somewhere
in Germany another little
robin was singing, too.”
“What a beautiful story,”
Markus said.
“Unfortunately, he
dropped off the tree a few
years ago and his whistle
broke. I was ever so upset.”
Nell sighed. “If I could only
reattach that little part.”
Markus studied the robin
again.
“Harriet, do you have
something like tweezers?”
Before long, they’d set up
a little workstation on the
coffee table.
They amassed a range of
tools including tweezers
from Harriet’s make-up
bag, a long thin knitting
needle and a tube of extra
strong glue.
Harriet brought the lamp
from the study to provide
extra light for her boyfriend
to work by.
It was a fiddly job, and it
took a while, but Markus
worked slowly and patiently
without getting flustered.
Nell felt confident the
robin was in safe hands.
He used the tweezers to
remove the small part
which had come loose and
then inserted a dab of glue
using the end of the
knitting needle, both inside
the bird’s mouth and on
the part he’d removed.
They all held their breath
as Markus inserted the
loose part very delicately
with the tweezers.
“According to the
instructions, the glue
should be perfectly dry in
two hours.”
“I don’t know if I can wait
that long.” Harriet laughed.
“Patience, my love,”
Markus said jokingly.
After hanging the rest of
the decorations on the
tree, the two young people
decided to go for a walk.
While they were out, it
began to rain heavily, much
to Nell’s dismay.
Soon, long streaks of rain
were blown across the
window-pane, obscuring
her view of the outside
world.
It put her in mind of that
Christmas long ago when
they’d welcomed their
other German guest.
She hoped Harriet and
Markus weren’t soaked.
An explosion of laughter
in the hallway announced
the pair’s return.
By the time they entered
the lounge, they’d removed
their coats and scarves and
were drying their hair with
towels.
“We managed to shelter
through the worst of it,”
Harriet assured her.
“But we ran most of the
way home.”
“Come and warm
yourselves by the fire,” Nell
insisted.
Her granddaughter did
so, but then the little robin
on the table caught her
eye.
“Has it been two hours
yet?” she checked.
“One hour and forty-five
minutes.” Nell had been
timing it. “I’ll put the kettle
on while we’re waiting.”
They sat drinking tea for
another fifteen minutes
while the excitement
mounted.
“Can we see if it’s worked
now?” Harriet begged.
“The moment of truth,”
Markus declared.
Harriet passed the robin
to Nell.
“You should be the one
to try it, Gran. Go on.”
Nell hesitated, then
placed the robin to her lips.
She blew gently and that
same sweet, piping trill she
remembered so well
emerged from his beak.
“He’s good as new,” she
marvelled. “I never thought
I would hear him sing
again. Thank you very
much.”
“You’re welcome,”
Markus said. “Thank you
for letting me stay this
Christmas.”
After they’d each had a
turn at making him sing,
the little robin was
suspended from the branch
once more.
He jiggled a little before
coming to a standstill.
At different points that
evening, Nell’s eyes came
to rest upon the dear little
fellow with his red breast
and gleaming black eyes.
She couldn’t help but
wonder whether
somewhere in Germany an
identical robin was still
singing his own Christmas
song. ■
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 122
Always By
Your Side
Will Martin and Bruce be able to
recover their relationship?
O
H, give me
strength,” Martin
fumed as the
episode of
“Rebus” was
interrupted again by a
stream of Christmas
advertisements.
Sighing, he pressed the
mute button on his TV
remote control, silencing
overblown perfume ads and
jolly scenes of happy
families tucking into turkey.
Every year, he thought,
we’re force-fed this
Illustration by Kirk Houston.
sugar-coated fiction of
Christmas magic and family
togetherness.
Like the advertisement
showing now, with two small
boys excitedly building a
snowman before rushing in
BY JENNIFER GREGORY
to enjoy their supermarket
turkey dinner.
But Martin knew from
bitter experience that
families could be a source of
sorrow as well as happiness.
And many people,
including him, no longer had
any family to share the
celebrations with.
It had been different when
Jill, his wife of over 40
years, had been alive.
Although children had not
come along, they had built
busy, fulfilling lives.
Their various nephews,
nieces and godchildren had
helped to fill the gap.
But now Martin was a
widower and the
godchildren and young
relatives were busy building
lives of their own.
These days he had little
contact with them, apart
from a card at Christmas.
Far from being the season
to be jolly, he reflected
grimly, for him this was now
simply the season to be
endured, as stoically as
possible.
And yet . . .
He shifted in his chair as
the unwelcome thought
bubbled, unbidden, to the
surface of his mind.
It wasn’t strictly true, was
it, that he had no family?
There was Bruce, the
elder brother he’d turned
his back on amid a storm of
angry recriminations.
Bruce.
It was almost a year, he
realised with a shock, since
they had last met.
Without warning, Martin
was rocked by a jolt of
sadness so strong that it
was like a physical pain.
Was it those little boys in
the advert?
Despite himself, he found
he was moved by the
children’s joy and wonder.
The scene stirred a
memory: nostalgia for a
distant, rose-tinted past
shared with the brother he
had loved.
He sat up and peered
intently at the screen, which
seemed blurred.
As he adjusted his
glasses, he realised with
surprise that it wasn’t the
TV picture or his glasses
that were at fault.
It was his eyes, which
were wet with tears.
But then, mercifully, the
advertisements were over.
He was back on the mean
streets of Edinburgh, with
detective John Rebus and
Siobhan, his loyal sergeant.
Martin sank back into his
armchair, trying to push the
unsettling thoughts to the
back of his mind.
* * * *
During the following days,
as he went about his daily
tasks, Martin found his
mind straying towards
Bruce and the quarrel that
had led to their rift.
For a moment he allowed
himself to think about
how much he missed his
brother – even more so
since his recent retirement.
But then he dismissed the
thoughts.
Harsh, hurtful words had
been spoken on both sides,
wrenching open a chasm
between the two of them.
And after all this time,
Martin wasn’t sure it could
ever be bridged.
As he trundled the
vacuum over the living-room
carpet, his eye was caught
by the photograph on the
mantelpiece.
It was of Jill, his late wife,
relaxed and smiling on
holiday a few years ago.
He switched off the
machine, his expression
softening.
“I miss you, Jill,” he said
aloud, picking up the
photograph. “In less than

two years, I’ve lost the two
people who meant most to
me in the world.”
“But you haven’t really
lost Bruce, have you?” a
voice in his head pointed
out; a voice that, in his
distress, sounded like Jill’s.
He knew, of course, that it
was a trick of the mind.
He just happened to be
thinking of Jill at that
moment.
One thing was certain,
though: Jill wouldn’t have
let this quarrel with Bruce
go unresolved for so long.
“For goodness’ sake,
Martin, apologise to him,”
she’d have said. “One of you
needs to make the first
move, and you’re the one
most at fault.
“You shouldn’t have
criticised your brother’s
fiancée.”
“No,” Martin addressed
the photograph, “I probably
shouldn’t. But I meant it for
his own good.”
“You should have been
more sensitive to Bruce’s
feelings,” Jill’s voice pointed
out. “Elizabeth was his
choice and you should have
respected that.”
“I suppose that’s true,”
Martin acknowledged.
“It’s Christmas, Martin,”
the voice urged, “a time to
put the past behind you, a
time for forgiveness.”
Martin sighed.
“I think it’s too late now,
love,” he said.
Sadly, he replaced the
photograph on the
mantelpiece and turned
away.
“It’s never too late to
forgive!”
The voice in his head was
so clear and strong that it
was as if Jill were in the
room beside him.
Startled, he turned,
almost expecting to see her
standing in front of him.
There was no-one there,
of course.
“Now you’re going senile,”
he chided himself, slightly
unnerved. “You’ve been
alone for too long.”
He picked up his phone
and scrolled through his
contacts until he found the
number of his friend, Billy.
After a couple of rings,
Billy answered.
“Morning,” he began. “It’s
Martin. Do you fancy a
round of golf with me
tomorrow?”
* * * *
It was a bright, crisp day,
but cold.
After their round of golf,
they went for lunch at the
Wheatsheaf, a nearby pub.
The bar was warm and
inviting.
A wood-burning stove
crackled and glowed,
coloured lights adorned the
room and a large tree
twinkled in the corner.
In the background a song
was playing – “It’s The Most
Wonderful Time Of The
Year”.
They found a table and
Billy took a swig of his pint.
“I don’t mind telling you,
Martin,” he began, “I’ve
never been so glad to get
out of the house.
“Sue’s running around like
someone demented, making
lists, wrapping presents and
generally driving me up the
wall.
“She pretends she’s
exhausted by it all, but
really she loves it.”
Martin smiled.
“Jill was the same,” he
said.
“We’ve got all our brood
plus the grandkids coming
round for Christmas lunch,”
Billy continued. “It’ll be
bedlam, but fun.”
“It sounds like it,” Martin
agreed.
Billy glanced at him.
“Got any plans yourself?”
Martin shrugged.
“Nothing special,” he
admitted. “I don’t bother
much, now that it’s just me.
“But that suits me fine,”
he added, anxious not to
elicit pity from his old
friend. “I’ve got used to my
own company.”
“Well, there’s a lot to be
said for one’s own
company,” Billy agreed. “No
arguments, for a start.
“But, listen, why don’t you
come and have Christmas
lunch with us?”
“That’s kind of you,”
Martin said, touched, “but
I’ll have a nice time with the
radio, a ready-made
Christmas dinner and a
glass of wine.”
Billy pulled a face.
“You can’t have a ready
meal on Christmas Day,” he
objected.
“Sue won’t mind, if that’s
what’s worrying you.
“She always orders an
enormous turkey. There’ll
be plenty to go round.
“Are you sure you won’t
come for an hour or two?”
“Honestly, Billy, I’m sure,”
Martin insisted. “I’m used to
a quiet Christmas.
“Even when Jill was alive,
it was always just the two of
us on the day.
“On Boxing Day, we
usually went round to
Bruce’s but now –”
Martin stopped suddenly
and took a gulp of his drink
to hide his embarrassment.
Billy looked at him
curiously.
“I saw your Bruce a couple
of weeks ago,” he began.
“He said he hadn’t seen you
for a while.”
“No, that’s right,” Martin
said.
“So,” Billy continued,
“why’s that? You and Bruce
were always close.”
“We were,” Martin
acknowledged, “but we fell
out. We don’t see each
other now.”
“That’s a shame.” Billy
shook his head. “I’d never
have thought it of you two.
“Is there no chance of
patching things up?”
“I doubt it,” Martin said.
“But isn’t it worth a try?”
Billy persisted. “It’s
Christmas –”
“Oh, Christmas!” Martin
exclaimed impatiently.
“What’s that got to do with
anything? No, it’s too late.”
“Surely not,” Billy said.
“Isn’t Christmas all about
forgiveness and new starts
and stuff?”
“I didn’t know you’d taken
holy orders,” Martin
exploded. “I didn’t come
here for a sermon.”
“Sorry,” Billy said, “I didn’t
mean . . .”
But Martin was regretting
his flash of irritability.
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t
have snapped. Only . . . you
sound like Jill.”
Billy looked surprised.
“Jill?” he echoed. “You
mean, you haven’t seen
Bruce since before Jill –”
“No, I didn’t mean that.”
Martin toyed with his jacket
potato, suddenly self-
conscious.
Could he tell Billy? Would
he understand?
SHORT STORY 123
After a moment, he
cleared his throat.
“You’ll think I’m going
doolally but I keep hearing
Jill’s voice in my head, as
clearly as if she’s in the
room.
“She keeps telling me the
same as you – forgive and
forget.”
He risked a furtive glance
at his friend to gauge his
reaction. Billy’s expression
registered only sympathy
and understanding.
“It’s quite common for
bereaved people to hear –
sometimes even see – their
loved one who’s passed,” he
said reassuringly. “It’s a
natural part of grieving,
they say.
“Doesn’t mean you’re
going bonkers, Martin.”
“It’s as if she knows
exactly what’s bothering me
and she’s trying to tell me
what I should do,” Martin
continued.
“Like Jiminy Cricket,” Billy
said with a grin.
“Who?”
“You know, the character
in the film, ‘Pinocchio’,” Billy
explained. “Jiminy Cricket
acts as Pinocchio’s
conscience.
“He tells Pinocchio off
when he’s done something
bad.”
“What are you talking
about?” Martin was
bewildered.
“Well,” Billy explained,
“this voice in your head is
actually your own thoughts,
your own conscience, if you
like.
“Because you know what
you should do. You just
haven’t admitted it yet.”
Martin gazed at his friend
with reluctant admiration.
“A psychologist as well as
a cleric,” he said. “Who
would have guessed you
had such hidden depths?”
“I’m right, though, aren’t
I?” Billy returned his gaze.
Martin nodded slowly.
“Possibly,” he admitted.
“So, do you want to tell
me what happened with
Bruce?” Billy asked. “I’ll
understand if you’d rather
not. I don’t want to pry.”
“No, it’s OK,” Martin said
and drained his glass. “Let’s
get a coffee and I’ll tell you
all about it.”
When they were settled
with coffee and mince pies,
124
Martin took a deep breath.
“I criticised Bruce’s
fiancée,” he began. “I said
some rather unpleasant
things about her.”
“Ah,” Billy said, stroking
his chin thoughtfully.
“Tricky.”
“You can say that again.”
Martin gave a rueful
grimace.
“I never liked her,” he
admitted. “She was
attractive all right – and she
was all lovey-dovey with
Bruce.
“But, I don’t know . . . It
all seemed a bit false.
“I never sensed any
genuine affection from her
towards Bruce. And there
was the money thing . . .”
“Ah,” Billy said again.
“Now we’re coming to it.”
“I felt things were moving
too fast,” Martin said.
“Elizabeth was the first
woman he’d been with since
his divorce.
“Yet no sooner was Bruce
introducing her to me than
they were engaged.
“Then he was talking
about selling his house and
moving in with her. I felt she
was making all the running.
“Because Bruce was a
good catch, you know. He’s
done well for himself.”
“So, what was ‘the money
thing’?” Billy prompted.
“I’m coming to that.”
Martin stirred his coffee.
“Elizabeth owned a dress
shop in town, selling
upmarket ladies’ fashions,
and it was struggling.
“I felt she was putting
pressure on Bruce to move
in with her and sell his
house – to release funds to
bail out her business.”
He sighed.
“I told him I thought he
was a lovestruck fool and
she was only after his
money,” Martin revealed.
“Ouch.” Billy winced. “I
bet that went down well.”
“He went ballistic,” Martin
said. “Said I was jealous and
mean-spirited.
“Then he told me to get
out of his house and never
come back. So I did.”
“Phew,” Billy said. “And
this was . . . ?”
Martin looked down.
“Nine or ten months ago,”
he said. “It really is too late
to resolve things.
“Well,” Billy said, “she was
his fiancée. He had to stand
up for her.”
“But how can I see him
again after what I said?”
Martin demanded. “And
how can I see her? They
must be married by now.”
“It won’t be easy,” Billy
agreed. “But, if you want to
see Bruce, I think you’ll
have to swallow your pride
and apologise, for his sake.
“She’s his wife, after all.
You’ll have to accept it.”
“That’s pretty much Jill’s
advice,” Martin said.
By the time he arrived
home, Martin had made up
his mind.
“It’s the right thing to do,
isn’t it?” he said aloud to
Jill’s photograph.
And, in his head, just as
before, he heard her voice.
“Open your heart, Martin,
and make your peace with
Bruce,” Jill said.
With a shaking hand, he
reached for his phone and
dialled the number.
* * * *
Bruce was already seated
at a secluded table in the
Wheatsheaf when Martin
arrived the following
evening.
On the table in front of
him sat two pints of beer.
“I took the liberty of
ordering for you,” Bruce
said. “I’m guessing this is
still your tipple.”
Martin smiled and raised
his glass to Bruce in
acknowledgement.
“Thanks. It’s good to see
you, Bruce,” he began. “I’m
sorry . . . for what I said.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Bruce
replied.
“It was none of my
business,” Martin added.
Bruce shrugged.
“You were just looking out
for me, as we’ve always
done for each other.”
“The truth is. you were
right. I was jealous of you
and Elizabeth,” Martin
stated.
“You were still grieving for
Jill,” Bruce countered
gently. “I should have
recognised that.”
“I was,” Martin agreed. “I
was wretched, it’s true, but
I couldn’t stand it that you
were happy.
“I hated that you were
happy, Bruce,” he repeated
forcefully. “What does that
say about me?”
“It says you are a human
being, Martin,” his brother
said. “We all have emotions
we’re not proud of.
“Neither one of us was
blameless in our row, but
we’re doing the grown-up
thing now and putting it
behind us.
“I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,
Bruce,” Martin said.
They looked at each other
and then both started to
speak at once.
“Go on.” Bruce deferred
to his brother.
“I was going to say, I’m
sorry I missed your
wedding,” Martin said.
“Wedding?” Bruce looked
confused.
“To Elizabeth,” Martin
explained. “Whatever my
feelings, I should have been
there.”
“Martin, I’m not married,”
Bruce said.
It was Martin’s turn to
look confused.
Bruce shook his head.
“You were right about
Elizabeth,” he said. “She
was after my money. I think
a part of me knew it all the
time.
“I just couldn’t bear to
admit the truth that my kid
brother was right and I was
wrong.
“Once she realised I
wasn’t going to cough up
the money, I didn’t see her
for dust.”
“I’m sorry,” Martin said.
“Truly I am.”
“Don’t be,” Bruce replied.
“You made me think twice
about a very dodgy
investment.
“You also reinforced my
doubts about Elizabeth.” He
sighed. “I was never happy
about selling my house to
prop up her business.
“I always intended to
leave it to Kirsty.
My daughter and
grandchildren are my main
priority.”
“So . . . you had the same
doubts as I did?” Martin
held his breath.
“Yep,” Bruce confirmed.
Martin sighed in relief.
Thank heavens for that.
His brother wasn’t as daft
as he had feared.
But then a thought struck
him.
“So why did you get so
angry?” he asked.
Bruce said nothing for a
long moment.
“The thing is, I really
wanted it to work,” he said.
“I wanted to be happy and
settled again.
“When you warned me
about Elizabeth . . . well, I
didn’t want to hear it.
“That’s why I was so
angry with you, Martin.
“You were forcing me to
face something I wasn’t
ready to face. In my heart I
knew you were right.”
“If only I’d kept my big
mouth shut,” Martin said.
“No, you were right to
speak up,” Bruce insisted.
“But it’s all in the past now.
“I wanted to ring you so
many times, Martin,” he
added. “It was my stupid
pride that stopped me.”
“Same here,” Martin
admitted. “We’re too alike,
the pair of us.”
“The other night,” Bruce
continued, “I saw this TV ad
that reminded me of us
when we were kids – two
small boys making –”
“A snowman,” Martin
interrupted. “I saw it, too.
They were magical times,
weren’t they?”
“And we’re still big kids at
heart.” Bruce laughed.
* * * *
It was late when Martin
arrived home.
The night was cold and
clear.
Frost glinted on the roads
and sparkled in trees and
hedges, transforming the
neighbourhood into
something magical.
For a moment he stood
gazing up into the sky.
Millions of stars twinkled
in the heavens, making him
feel part of something
wonderful.
Was it Jill’s presence he
could sense beside him?
He wasn’t sure.
He only knew that he felt
less alone, more at peace,
than he had for months.
“I’ve done it, Jill,” he said
aloud. “I’ve made things
right with Bruce.”
And there was the voice
again, soft and clear, in his
head.
“Happy Christmas,
Martin.”
“Happy Christmas, Jill,”
he said. ■

OUR
WEEKLY
SOAP
Will Mary find
a way to feel
festive with
Doreen around?
BY GLENDA YOUNG
C
HRISTMAS Eve
was Mary’s
favourite day of
the year.
She was
determined to enjoy it.
This year, however,
George’s difficult sister,
Doreen, and her husband,
Jack, had come to stay.
“The spare room’s ready
for you,” Mary said, as she
hugged Jack. “It’s good to
see you again.”
“Don’t I get a mention?”
Doreen huffed.
Mary opened her arms
wide to greet Doreen with
a warm hug but Doreen
marched into the hall.
Jack shook his head.
“She’ll never change,” he
whispered.
“I’m prepared to let her
behaviour wash over me,”
Mary said. “Life’s too short.
“I will offer nothing but
goodwill to all men, and
Doreen, in my home this
Christmas.”
Jack winked at Mary.
“You’re a good woman.
Now, where’s George?
“Has he gone to the pub
for a Christmas drink?
“If he has, I could join
him right now. It’d save me
taking off my coat.”
Mary laughed.
“George has gone into
town to collect the turkey
iStock.
for Christmas dinner.
Riverside
“Come through to the
kitchen and settle in while I
put the kettle on.
“Do you fancy a mince pie
to go with your cuppa?”
“That sounds wonderful,”
Jack replied.
Mary and Jack walked
into the kitchen to find
Doreen taking mugs from a
cupboard.
Mary noticed the kettle
was already switched on.
“Oh, you don’t need to
do that,” she said quickly.
“You’re my guest. Please,
let me look after you both.”
Doreen sank into a chair
at the kitchen table.
“I’m parched. I thought
you’d never offer us a
drink,” she declared. “Jack
wouldn’t stop for a tea
break on our drive here.”
Jack’s shoulders
slumped.
“You know the weather
forecast was bad.
“I told you I didn’t want
to get stuck in the snow.”
“You didn’t say anything
about snow.” Doreen
tutted.
“I did,” Jack replied.
Mary held up her hands.
“Please, let’s have no
arguments. It’s Christmas,”
she pleaded.
Jack shook his head then
walked from the room.
“Where do you think
you’re going? I hope you’re
not off to the pub,” Doreen
yelled.
“I’m going to take our
suitcase upstairs,” Jack
replied from the hall.
Mary heard Jack’s
footsteps climbing the
stairs.
She began making small
talk with Doreen, but her
sister-in-law wasn’t in the
mood for conversation.
Mary’s heart lifted when
she heard George arrive.
A huge parcel wrapped in
paper entered the kitchen.
Behind it was George.
“What on earth is that?
It’s huge!” Mary cried.
“It’s the turkey,” George
said, heaving it on to the
kitchen counter.
It was only then that he
saw his sister.
He gave her a kiss on her
cheek and Doreen batted
him away.
“Give over, George,” she
said sharply.
George gave a cheeky
smile.
“Where’s Jack?”
“He’s upstairs,” she
replied, then she looked
George up and down.
“You’ve put weight on. And
you need a haircut.
“Are you still wasting
your time growing
vegetables for that café?”
“Don’t let her get to you,”
Mary whispered.
She began to appraise
the turkey.
“This is the biggest
turkey I’ve ever seen.”
“Will it fit in your oven?”
Doreen asked.
“It’s the fridge I’m
worried about,” Mary
replied. “We’ll have to take
out some shelves to make
space.”
George scratched his
chin.
“It’s going to take a lot of
stuffing,” he said.
* * * *
On Christmas morning,
Mary rose early, excited
about spending the
morning with Susan, Dave
and her grandchildren.
From the spare room she
heard raised voices.
SOAP 125
It was dark when Mary
walked into the kitchen.
She knew the large
turkey would mean a long
cooking time.
She went to the fridge
and opened the door.
The fridge light blinded
her and she couldn’t see
the turkey at first.
She blinked the sleep
from her eyes.
However, the turkey still
wasn’t there.
She looked desperately
around the kitchen.
If there was no turkey,
there’d be no Christmas
dinner and she dreaded
hearing what Doreen would
have to say about that.
She didn’t know what to
do. Her phone rang on the
counter. Mary picked it up.
“Merry Christmas, Mum,”
Susan said.
“Merry Christmas, love.
You’ll never guess what’s
happened here.”
“The turkey’s here, Mum,
that’s why I’m ringing you
so early.
“Dad brought it over
after you’d gone to bed.
“He told me Auntie
Doreen and Uncle Jack
have argued from the
moment they arrived.
“Dave and I offered to
cook Christmas dinner.
“Mike and Anna are
coming, too – the turkey’s
big enough to feed us all.
“Doreen always lightens
up when she spends time
with the children.
“I hope you don’t mind
that we’ve changed plans.”
A weight felt as if it’d
lifted off Mary’s shoulders.
“Mind?” she replied. “I’m
absolutely delighted!”
More next week.
126

Unbearable
Adorable Cuteness
Pumpkin I enjoyed the short
story “Bear With Me” in
Look what popped your October magazine.
out of our pumpkin It reminded me of our
this year: our beautiful daughter, Katie, when
granddaughter Robyn! she was three years old.
Not sure if she knew She used to love to
what was going on, stand at the patio doors
but isn’t she just and wave to the dustmen,
adorable? who always waved back.
Mrs K.S., She is forty years old
Somerset. this year, and the story
brought back fond
memories of that time.
It certainly doesn’t

Friends
seem that long ago!

Between
Ms S.B.,
Peterborough.

Cosy Cottage
I am writing to thank
you for the advertisement
in your magazine for
Railway Cottages in
Louth, Lincolnshire.
My sister-in-law and
Write to us at Between Friends, “The People’s Friend”, myself decided on a
break there – I have read
2 Albert Square, Dundee DD1 1DD, or e-mail us at your magazine for years
betweenfriends@dcthomson.co.uk. and it is the best.
The owners, Kevin and
Debbie, are a lovely
couple and the cottage
we stayed in was
Star Letter wonderful.
We loved it so much
that we have booked
I am enclosing a
again for next year.
picture of one of the
Thank you so much!
books mentioned in a
Mrs L.M., Shropshire.
recent “The Farmer
And His Wife”, which
has survived since the
1940s.
Recipe Reveal
It must have been I have been reading
done at least 70 years “The People’s Friend” for
ago as I am now many years.
eighty-five years old, I was reading
and the book, which is “The Farmer And His
the 113th edition, Wife” talking about old
belonged to my recipe books, and
grandfather. realised I have one of my
Many thanks for a maternal grandmother’s.
lovely magazine. There are only two
recipes in there – one for
Mrs A.T.,
rice cake and one for
Peterborough.
cheesecake. This recipe
book is written between
1914 and 1915.
Unfortunately, my
Our Star Letter writer will receive a grandmother passed
wonderful gift from Mackays, whose jam is away when my mum was
made the authentic way in copper pans and hand stirred. only eleven years old, and
Consume as part of a balanced diet. Prize may vary slightly from picture.
she left behind seven
All other printed UK letters will win one of our children in total.
famous tea caddies and a pack of loose tea. Our friends My mum was next to
from overseas will receive an alternative prize. the youngest.
Mrs M.M., Cornwall.
Shutterstock.
YOUR LETTERS 127

Christmas Time
Christmas crackers, sparkling lights,
Excited children, sleepless nights,
Roasting turkeys, warm mulled wine,
Christmas carols, night divine.
Dazzling homes, faces jolly,
Berry wreaths, bright green holly.
Christmas star, wise men bringing
Precious gifts, angels singing.
Festive firelight, candles glowing,
Friends and family, silent snowing.
Christmas time, sparkling bright,
Peace on earth, O’ Holy Night.
By Karen Taylor.

A poem
just for
you!

Sew Cool
I have been an avid reader of “The
People’s Friend” since my dad bought
Sacks Of Joy
me a Singer sewing machine in the I made these Christmas
late ’50’s, because you always sacks which I saw in “The
featured a sewing or a knitting pattern People’s Friend”.
that was included with the magazine. When I saw them, I
On reading your 8,000th edition, I thought, “I’ve got to make
came across your 1972 edition in them”.
which you gave out a “Kitchen Do It I made them from odds
All” – which I still have and still use to of fabric and old curtains
this day: see photo – it certainly kept me
attached. amused over the cold
Still the best months.
magazine, full of I thought you might like
wonderful stories to see the finished and full
and I do so enjoy sacks all ready to deliver.
“The Farmer And The tags are all recycled
His Wife”. Christmas cards.
Keep up the Ms K.N., Staffordshire.
good work.
Ms M.K., Dundee.

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