The Twelve Nights of Christmas

By N. Beetham Stark

Come walk down a path to the past to a time when life was much different from what it is today. The Twelve Nights of Christmas has stories of life in England in the past when people faced different problems from those we know today. The stories are written for adults but are appropriate for children if they are told about the history of the times in which the stories are set. Read these stories to your family at Christmas so they can appreciate the bounty that we have today and become strong in the knowledge of the suffering that our ancestors endured that we may live as we do today. These stories are fiction, but are historically accurate for the time period in which they are set. At times they elicit the warm feelings that one gets from reading Charles Dickens.

• Language: English
• Publisher: N. Beetham Stark
• Release date: Dec 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9780984631605

N. Beetham Stark

Nellie Beetham Stark was born November 20, 1933, in Norwich, Connecticut to Theodore and Dorothy Pendleton Beetham. She attended the Norwich Free Academy and later Connecticut College in New London, CT before graduating with a MA and a Ph.D. degree in Botany (Ecology) from Duke University.Stark worked for the U.S. Forest Service as a botanist for six years and then joined the Desert Research Institute in Reno, Nevada where she worked on desert and forest ecology and later tropical nutrient cycling. She has consulted in many countries, working for some time in Russia, Australia and South America. She developed the theory that explains why tropical white sand soils cannot grow good food crops and described the decline processes of soils. She has also developed a science of surethology, or survival behavior which describes how humans must adapt to their environments if they hope to survive long term. She has 96 professional publications and has published in four languages.Her life long hobby has been English history, with emphasis on naval history. Her family came originally from Tristan Da Cunha in the South Atlantic in the early 1900’s. Her grandfather was a whale ship captain for a time which spurred her interest in naval history. She also paints pictures of sailing ships which she has used as covers for her historical novels. She has built several scale models of sailing ships and does extensive research on ships and naval history, traveling to England once yearly.Stark was awarded the Connecticut Medal by Connecticut College in 1986 and the Distinguished Native Daughter Award for South Eastern Connecticut in 1985. She was named outstanding Forestry Professor three times by the students of the University of Montana, School of Forestry.Today she writes historical novels, mostly set in England. She has published some 21 novels in the past twenty years, mostly on the internet. She lives on a farm in Oregon and raises hay and cows.Stark's two most popular book series are:Early Irish-English History1. The Twins of Torsh, 44 A.D. to 90 A.D.1. Rolf "The Red" MacCanna, 796-8462. An Irishman's Revenge, 1066-11124. Brothers 4, 1180-12165. Edward's Right Hand, 1272-13076. We Three Kings, 1377-1422The Napoleonic Wars at Sea (Benjamin Rundel)1. Humble Launching - A Story of a Little Boy Growing Up at Sea, 17872. Midshipman Rundel - The Wandering Midshipman, 17953. Mediterranean Madness - The Luckless Leftenant Rundel, 17974. The Adventures of Leftenant Rundel, 1797-17995. Forever Leftenant Rundel, 1800-18036. Captain Rundel I – Trafalgar and Beyond, 1803-18067. Captain Rundel II – Give Me a Fair Wind, 1806-18098. Captain Rundel III – Bend Me a Sail, 1810-18139. Admiral Rundel – 1814-1846

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THE TWELVE NIGHTS OF CHRISTMAS

by N. Beetham Stark

First published in 2009 as ‘Thirteen Days’ by Zulon, revised in 2012, Published on Smashwords and later on Amazon, 2013.

Published by Smashwords, Inc.

ISBN 978-0-9846316-0-5 0-9846316-0-7

Cover is by N. Beetham Stark, St. Michaels, UK

All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced without the permission of the author or author’s agent. Internet downloading is permitted with payment of the stated fee.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THESE STORIES ARE ORIGINAL AND FICTITIOUS BUT REPRESENT THE TYPES OF LIVES AND CHALLENGES THAT PEOPLE FACED IN AGES PAST IN ENGLAND. There is no effort to portray any known person or place, but merely to take the reader back in history so that the reader can appreciate what we have today.

History builds a bridge to the past and allows us to realize the types of challenges that our ancestors faced so we can better use the tools that we have today to solve the problems of our own times.

Dedication: This book is dedicated to Tomid, Tarsie and Picotso for their love and comfort.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Ch 1 The Undoing Of Marvin Measley

Ch 2 Annie’s Little Orphan

Ch 3 A Motley Christmas

Aunties Three - Introduction To The Next Three Stories

Ch 4 Three Unwise Men

Ch 5 Medi-evil Christmas

Ch 6 Ghouley’s Last Christmas

Ch 7 A Crew For Captain Barnes

Ch 8 The Day The World Ran Out of Stories

Ch 9 The First Irish Christmas Carol

Ch 10 Fox Boy

Ch 11 The Ring And The Sleeve

Ch 12 Waif

INTRODUCTION

Christmas is supposed to be a time of rejoicing and yet, many people are unhappy. The reasons are varied. Part of the problem is that it is the dead of winter and there is little daylight. The lack of light has a devastating psychological effect on some folks. Mother may be happy to see friends and relatives and to escape her routine for a few days, but she may have to cook and care for half a dozen squabbling relatives. But it is usually the Mom who has to find a parking place, choose and wrap the presents, hide the presents, clean the house, do all the cooking, put up with the relatives and children and clean up afterwards. Then there are all those wonderful, tempting calories floating about. Surely a little bite here and there will do no harm, until she climbs aboard the scales after Christmas.

Father may not show his stress until he starts glancing periodically at his wallet or check book, wondering if he will be able to hold on until the next pay check. There are usually rounds of parties with too much good food and drink. He may have trouble with calories too and entertaining at home, or ferrying tired children through an airport.

The children are supposed to have it all at Christmas, but there can be stress for them too. Why should there be any stress? After all, school is out, isn’t it? Inclement weather may keep them inside where boredom can creep up unnoticed and pounce on them when least expected. A youngster may be asked to give up his or her bedroom for some old relative. What if all their secrets are uncovered, all those special hiding places?

Many very young children form strong attachments to home at Christmas, and are distressed when they are dragged off to grandma’s or auntie’s house, away from familiar surroundings and their friends. Some children remember long boring car trips with frequent questions from the back seat, Are we there yet? Long plane flights to some alien place with hours of waiting in an airport, followed by a frantic dash for the plane, come to mind also.

Television is in a good position to soothe all of these stresses, but too often the producers are geared to business as usual, and we get a strong menu of, Bang, bang, shoot ’em up, watch ‘em die! One is lucky to see two good Christmas stories on the TV in a year. I started writing Christmas stories about twenty five years ago when I became distraught over the quality of TV. Here are twelve stories to ease the tensions of Christmas, stories with Christian values so that one can sit back, listen to the crackling of a fire in the fireplace and escape from our hectic world for a few minutes. Medieval peoples had many stresses as we do today, but they had fewer tools with which to solve their problems.

Come and walk down the path to the past to a time when Christmas was not always the celebration of the birth of the Christ Child. People in medieval times suffered many hardships and the birth of the Christ Chid was a much needed excuse to celebrate and live a more joyful life for a few days. These stories take the reader back to earlier less sacred times and melt away the commercialism of the present. They are written for adults but most children will enjoy them as well if you explain a bit of the history. Most are humorous, some tell of suffering during the Holy Season. Read them to your family during Christmas at night by the fire and enjoy the true beauty of the holy season. These stories are based on what is known of the lives of people living in medieval times and will help the reader appreciate the many blessings that we have today, blessings denied to our ancestors.

CH 1 - THE UNDOING OF MARVIN MEASLEY circa 1810, London

Put that table in Mrs. Smythe’s wagon, if you will Marvin. Marvin, where are you? He clapped his chubby hands impatiently. Marvin? He’s a good boy, you know. He’s been with me for oh... twenty-one years now. Just a slip of a lad when he came, said Mr. Grice to Mrs. Smythe.

Marvin stood by the door, looking at the huge table and then at his long, thin frame. He was tall as a pillar and skinny as a scare crow. His long homely face, reminded one of a horse with huge teeth and flat brown hair that parted in the middle, parts of which refused to lay down. One could not miss the frayed cuffs, worn button holes and threadbare pockets. How can I get that big table onto that wagon, he thought. It's bigger ‘n me and heavier too. But Marvin had learned many wondrous tricks over the years. He had moved many a heavy piece of furniture for Mr. Grice and what with levers, rollers and pulleys, he guessed he could do it. With a grimace, he set about his task with little enthusiasm.

When the table was loaded, Marvin came back to the counter of the rambling furniture store. Mr. Grice leaned against the counter, his gray hair sticking out from beneath his tall stovepipe hat and already dressed in his luxurious top coat of sleek black. His portly self looks mighty elegant, indeed, thought Marvin.

I’ll be going home early today, Marvin. It’s Christmas Eve and the Mrs., you know. I’ll see you Monday morning early. Have a fine Christmas, you and your family, said Mr. Grice.

A Merry Christmas to you too, sir. Marvin screwed up his face into a long, skinny grin, which he often did when he was not sure of himself. But, I know today is only Thursday an’ Christmas is tomorrow, Friday, what is usually pay day. Wonder if I might have my pay a day early, sir?

Mr. Grice made a casual wave of his hand saying, Oh, we’ll take care of that on Monday. Good night, Measley. Oh ... and don’t forget to put the till in the safe, put out the lanterns and lock the door when you leave.

Marvin thought, I bet he don’t want to start anything with this getting paid early stuff. Can’t spoil me now after all these years! Marvin watched Mr. Grice as he heaved his bulk up the creaking stairs to the elegant rooms that he shared with Mrs. Grice above the shop.

Marvin looked after him, mournfully, almost in tears. He must know that I have no money for Christmas. I've not a ha’penny in my pockets. He ran his hands into each pocket as if to reassure himself that he was truly broke. The pockets, turned inside out, yielded a few dust mice but not a single coin. Marvin rested his head on the counter, thinking hard. In that pose, he dearly resembled a hound dog badly in need of petting.

What am I to do? I can't go home empty handed on Christmas Eve! Annie expects something to cook for Christmas, even if it is but a chicken. The children so seldom have meat and they expect some present, however small, from their father. This is Christmas! He can’t do this to me! thought Marvin. He immersed himself in a mental purgatory of self-accusation and self-pity, but he knew that he must struggle to try to find a way to provide. I must provide ! I am the head of the family. Could I borrow from my cousin Ned? Not likely. He's always broke, what with six mouths to feed. Then there is my sister, Emily. No, she would only look down her long nose at me and deem me a total failure. She has always been the superior one, not a real friend. Never mind that she had married wealthy, she is little of a sister to me!

How he wanted some meat for the family at Christmas. It was about the only time that they had any meat. They lived on oats and peas and other vegetables, a mighty tiring fare. Now and then he could afford a few eggs, and the children loved them. But most of all he wanted some cloth for a new dress for Annie. Her's was so worn and patched that it could not be useful much longer. It was cold and she needed a warm, new dress. She was his wife and he would take the best care of her that he could. The little ones all needed things too, what with them growing, things never seemed to last long.

Just then the tiny bell by the door tinkled and a finely dressed lady entered the store. She looked about, seemingly in no hurry, looking at this, touching that. A faint aroma of perfume reached Marvin and made his nose wrinkle. The store has a fine collection of antiques, one of the best in London, thought Marvin. He lit another lamp to help her see, for the afternoon was fast growing dark with one of those cloying fogs that often hugged all London, blotting out the sun.

The lady finally came to Marvin, pointing as she spoke. I’ll take that silver tea service. Will you carry it to my carriage, please. She paid Marvin and he obediently carried the most expensive tea service to the carriage.

Then Marvin went back to his problem, but he could not even get knee deep into self pity before the bell rang again and another lady, not quite so elegantly dressed, came in and began to browse. She took a long time and it would be soon time to close. Finally, she picked up a pair of antique book ends and an extremely rare leather bound book. They dickered a bit, but in the end she paid Marvin the five golden guineas.

Two minutes to six, thought Marvin. Better wait. Mr. Grice will listen for the big bell on the clock tower to toll six and will then listen for the door bell to tinkle as I leave the store. Any other sequence of events will lead to trouble! So Marvin waited for what seemed like an eternity, mulling over in his mind what he could find for Christmas dinner. I could run to the chicken yard on the edge of town and steal a chicken, but that would hardly make a dinner for six. Besides, it is wrong to steal.

As Marvin stood there, lost in his thoughts, the big bell tolled mournfully, six times. The sound was hollow and doleful coming through the fog, almost muted yet piercing. Marvin turned and picked up the till as he had so many times before and opened the huge safe. Then it happened! He was holding the till with his left hand when, without any command from his brain, his right hand reached into the drawer and seized a handful of coins. In a wink of the eye, the coins were transferred to the pocket of his shabby great coat. It was as if Marvin was standing over there by the counter, watching all this happen, as if he were no part of it at all. But in just a few heartbeats, he had shoved the till into its usual place in the safe, slammed the door shut, snapped the huge lock, hidden the key, and turned to leave, extinguishing the lamps as he went. The door slammed behind him, so hasty was his exit. He wheeled around and locked the door with his key. Then he walked a few steps and stopped, his heart pounding like a huge hammer in his chest which heaved violently from his rapid breathing. Perspiration ran down his face, gathering in little droplets on his huge chin.

All that had taken less than two minutes. He had not a thought as to what he would do next. He had never taken as much as a ha’penny from Mr. Grice before. Now he had stolen a huge amount of money, or more accurately, his hand had taken the money for his mind seemed not to have any part of it. He could go back in and put the coins back in the till, but that would make noise and Mr. Grice listened for sounds after hours. More than once he had come down the stairs with his gun loaded, hoping to surprise some thief. I might get shot if I go back now!

Marvin stood and thought, mostly non constructive thoughts, but he began to see the shop lights blink and disappear in the dense fog. The shops are closing! If I am to get anything for Christmas I must move fast.

Marvin wheeled into action, his long legs propelling him rapidly to the butcher store and poulterer. Good, ‘e is still open, thought Marvin. There was no time to shop, so he grabbed the largest goose left hanging and called for bacon, eggs, suet and sausage. He watched the butcher stuff the eggs into the hollow body of the goose, For safe passage home, said the man, with a smile. Mr. Phillips brought the goods and wrapped them in newsprint. Marvin reached into his pocket and paid the man. Funny, but the coins felt hot to his hand, unpleasantly warm, he thought.

Now Marvin had to get to the green grocer, so, in spite of the fog, and frequently bumping into people with his huge bundle, he fairly ran to Mr. Biddle, the greengrocer. As he went, the coins in his right pocket seemed to thump almost painfully against his thigh, hot and heavy, he thought. The grocer was starting to close up, but Marvin shoved his big foot in the door.

I am not going to lose out now! Whatever happens, I am going to give my family the best Christmas ever!

He rattled off an order so fast that the grocer could hardly keep up. "Flour, spices, oranges, the best cheese, chocolate, ... and these he stuffed into the bundle that he carried. He reached into the pocket and paid the man, dropping the coins into the outstretched hand as if they were on fire.

Now he was off once again. The candy store was but a block away. His feet flew as the coins pounded in his pocket, hot as coals, it seemed. Marvin imagined that everyone was staring at him, but they couldn’t know. It was so dark in the fog that no one took much notice of this fellow moving towards the safety and comfort of home. Marvin stepped boldly into the street, not stopping to look. Suddenly a horse and carriage came reeling towards him out of the dense fog, but Marvin’s long legs stepped swiftly across the cobbles, did a hop, a dance and a jump and just barely escaped being hit by the careening horses. One woman cried out, thinking that he had been hit. With each step, the coins beat against his leg, reminding him of the awful deed that he had committed, thump, thump, thump !

The candy store would stay open a little later on Christmas Eve. Many folks would want to buy candy for their children. Several people were in the shop. Marvin went directly to the bin of chocolates and pointed to what he wanted. Twenty of these, he said. Again, the hand went into his pocket and brought forth a shiny hot penny.

Marvin wheeled and left as if stung by a bee. One more stop, he thought. He was focused now. He knew what he wanted, if only those cursed coins would stop burning! The mercer lived on another street some distance off. By now, Marvin’s package was huge and unwieldy. He could no longer run, but had to walk more slowly, feeling his way along, for he could barely see above the bundle. Mr. Henry was closing the door to his shop as Marvin came up. No you can’t, no... no ! said Marvin in a frantic voice, waving his one free hand. Of all the things he had wanted for Christmas, cloth for a new dress for Annie was at the top of the list. He pushed so forcefully ahead, shoving the little mercer back into his store, that the man thought that he was about to be robbed. He panicked, breathing rapidly, but finally Marvin convinced him to light a lamp. Marvin did not even put down his burden. His eyes scanned the six materials that were there by the counter. His bony finger shot out, There, that one, as he pointed to the cloth, a pretty piece, all flowers, yellow and red.

How much, sir, stammered the mercer, still not quite recovered from the fright that had gripped him when he thought he was about to be robbed.

'Nough for a fine dress, yes, that’ll do, said Marvin who was also out of breath from his frantic scramble.

Five yards should do, said the mercer as he measured and cut. He rolled the cloth and set it atop Marvin’s bundle. Marvin groped in his pocket for coins.

Now it was done. I haven’t spent too much, about what my pay would be, he thought. That gave him an idea. As he walked slowly and cautiously towards home now, he mulled over the idea. What if I spend only what my pay would be? Then on Monday before Mr. Grice could come into the store, I would replace the rest that I had stolen from the safe. When Mr. Grice paid me, I would put the pay all back in the till and all would be right! That's not a bad idea, thought Marvin. I have just borrowed my pay for a weekend! But that awful hot thump still taunted him, beating on his thigh.

Though he walked slowly, feeling the buildings with his elbow since he could see naught ahead of him for the fog and the high bundle, the coins still thumped in his great coat pocket, still terribly hot, he thought. Not much farther now. Almost home. Marvin longed for the tiny cottage that was their home. The fog had thickened more and everyone scrambled for some place of safety. He knew he had passed the 'Cock D’Or' , a pub, only by the smells and sounds of laughter and singing that came from within. He lived two blocks farther on and down a lane. If only I can find the lane in this fog!

Marvin continued on, thump, thump, louder than his heart and unceasing was the tattoo beat by those accursed coins. He longed to be free of his great coat. He was sweating profusely, even in the damp cold of the night.

There, that's my lane. No, it's one like it, just before mine. He walked slowly now, very tired. Then he found the lane and slumped up against the door of his cottage, number 3. The door was barely tall enough for him to get through. He had to stoop considerably to get in. But the door was closed and Marvin had no hand free to knock. He kicked the door with his foot, but Annie and the children within, ignored it, thinking that it might be one of the street rowdies begging for food. Marvin tried again, but to no avail. Then he leaned the package against the wall, partly holding it in one hand, and knocked loudly.

Annie opened the door, just a cautious crack at first and then she flung it wide, greeting him with an equally wide smile. She grabbed both of Marvin’s arms and led him to the kitchen table. There she eased the parcels out of his grip.

In fact, that was about all there was in the one room cottage, a big table and six chairs. There was a large fireplace with pots hanging about, all neatly scrubbed, a small chest in one corner, and a hutch that held their few dishes in the other corner. In the rear of the room was the bed where Marvin and Annie slept and above a ladder with worn rungs led to a half loft where three of the four children slept on straw.

Annie helped unload Marvin’s arms while the children gathered around in glee, grabbing at his great coat and hugging him. What would it have been like if I had come home empty handed? thought Marvin. He could imagine long faces and glum looks, and well he would have deserved them too. He reached into the bundle and felt for some chocolates. He gave each child one, Mary, the oldest, now about twelve, Abby, Tom and little Timas who was but a baby just able to crawl. Timas was named after his two grandfathers, Thomas and Timothy. Timas made an occasional uneasy foray into the upright world as he tried to walk. He slept beside his parents in the great bed. They were afraid he’d tumble from the loft.

He gave Annie the cloth and was delighted to see the gleam in her eyes as she ran her thin hands over the fine material. Marvin, this must have cost dearly, she said. It is so beautiful, much too fine for common folk.

It’s not good enough for you, my dear, he said as he leaned down to kiss her. Merry Christmas, my dear.

Marvin wheeled around, now frantic to get out of the great coat and away from those accursed hot coins. He hung it on the peg by the door and then turned, smiling. He felt like a different man now that the coat was off.

Dinner that night was the usual, oat meal, bread. But there was some wood for the fire and the family sat around the fire and sang Christmas carols until the roof of the tiny cottage seemed to lift clean off the walls from the great swelling of joyous sound from within.

The next morning Annie was up early. She prepared a fine breakfast. As Marvin dressed, he smelled coffee brewing and heard the sizzle of bacon and sausage in the pan. Coffee was a most rare treat, drunk in this household only at Christmas. There was a huge pan of eggs too and big slices of fresh, warm bread. The children were unable to stay in bed with the sounds and smells that drifted up to them. They stood by the fireplace, lined up like rooks on a fence and spoke softly, pointing with delight at the cooking food.

Mary helped set the table and the family soon sat down to a feast. Marvin asked the blessing, Dear Lord, We thank Thee for this fine feast. There was plenty for all. He passed plates to the children, heaping with savory meats and eggs.

After breakfast, Annie set about stuffing the goose. She made a fine orange sauce for it. When the bird was stuffed, she gave it to Marvin to take to the baker. He would roast the goose slowly for only about a penny. It was too hard to roast over their open fireplace and there was rarely enough wood available to get a hot fire going with coals sufficient to roast. She gave Marvin the goose to carry to Mr. Fry's.

Marvin eyed his great coat with suspicion. Surely those coins will be cooled down by now, he thought. I’ve spent a few of them an’ they should not be so heavy any more. He put on the coat, for it was a cold, foggy morning. He knew with his first steps that nothing had changed. The coins beat against his legs as they had the day before, and yes, they still felt hot, almost hot enough to burn, but not quite. He could not hide the coins in the small cottage, not with four children confined in so small a space, so he would have to make the best of it. He set off, goose under arm, walking swiftly, feeling the rhythmic pounding on his leg and that awful hot feeling. The heat seemed to rise and soon he was tugging at his collar to let some of the steam out. He was sweating profusely, which caught attention from passersby since it was an unusually cold morning.

On the way back from the bakers, Marvin came across some abandoned crates. Good fire wood, he thought. He picked up all he could carry and took it home for their fire. Wood was always hard to get in the city and coal cost money.

When Marvin returned, the family dressed in their patched best clothes and headed out for church. They joined the long, solemn procession of worshipers who headed towards the great spired church by the park.

In church, his family took the usual place. Marvin sat back, folded his hands to enjoy the sermon. Old Vicar Hobbs always told the story of the Nativity on Christmas, and Marvin never tired of hearing the story repeated. But it seems that Vicar Hobbs had tired of the Nativity. Instead of his usual sermon, today he preached a fiery tirade against the sin of theft. At first, Marvin thought that he would make just a few remarks about sin, but it soon became apparent that the old man was bent on a full hour or more of a booming sermon, filled with warnings of Hell and Damnation for he who would sin by theft. He emphasized each point by pounding his fist on the lectern and roared at his congregation, flinging righteous indignation in their faces. Marvin sat mesmerized, terrorized, his eyes staring straight ahead like lit signal lamps, back rigid. Surely he knows. He knows what I did, but how could he know? He certainly is talking about me? There, he looked straight at me with his boring eyes, prying clean through me into my innards!

With every thump of the Vicar’s fist, the coins seemed to leap in Marvin’s pocket, burning, making him wince. And there, there is Mrs. Wakely looking straight at me, accusingly. An’ Mrs. Wigs too, She can stare down anyone, thought Marvin.

Annie looked at him, whispering, You all right dear? You seem to be squirming.

No, no, I’m fine, just a bit uneasy with a full stomach, whispered Marvin, a bit too loudly.

Finally, they stood to sing a hymn and then the service was over. Marvin wheeled out of his pew and headed straight past everyone in the aisles, bent on reaching the door before anyone else did. He pushed past the Coxes and gave Amy Wilson a shove, not meaning to, mind you.

Now Marvin was out in the fresh air, although it was still foggy. He took a big breath and waited for Annie and the children to catch up, staying well away from the door so as not to have to shake hands with Vicar Hobbs.

Some minutes later when Annie reached him, she said, Whatever got into you in church, Marvin? You were worse than the little ones, what with the squirmin’ about. And then running out of the church at the end like a scared hare?

Told you, Annie. T’was just a bit of indigestion, he replied. They walked home, but Marvin was certain that everyone that they passed was looking at his great coat pocket, the one that held those accursed coins.

At home, Marvin brought out the oranges and gave each child two, a real treat. He gave them each candy as well. Annie had made a fine wool scarf for Marvin to keep his long skinny neck warm on the way to work. He was delighted with his gift and Annie said that she was already laying plans for the new dress that she would make.

The rest of the day was devoted to eating the fine goose dinner that Annie had prepared. The family sat down about four in the afternoon. Marvin had retrieved the goose from the bakers about three and then Annie had completed the baking. Mary set the table and the family sat down to a fine feast. They had mashed potatoes, squash, goose, dressing, gravy and a special Christmas bread that Annie had made. After the feast, Annie surprised the children with a huge steaming plum pudding with sauce.

The next day was Saturday and for once, the sun shone dully in the sky. After breakfast, Marvin told Annie that he would take the children out to Peak St. where there was always a fine ice slide. All the children come there to slide. One would run up a small mound and then run fast down hill, landing on the ice and sliding as far as possible. Before they left, Annie had called out, Be sure to watch Timas. Marvin had nodded his head obediently and they were off.

But when they arrived, the ice was rippled and bumpy and no one was there. The children looked forlorn and showed their disappointment. Then Marvin heard the sound of laughter in the distance. He looked serious for a second, then his big face lit up with a huge grin. They’re sliding on the pond instead, said Marvin to the children. Let’s go! His face alight with the joy of youth as his long legs struck out towards the pond.

So they went off to the pond, Timas perched on his father’s shoulders. The pond had been part of a small mill once, but now sat there abandoned and when the winter was cold enough, it froze, all except the Black Hole. There was a place near the center which had a warm flow near the surface. It left a small hole that never froze, but everybody knew about it. And as he walked the half mile to the pond, there was still that awful hot thump, thump, thump in his