An Unexpected Gift

 

Now, join me if you will, in thinking of the best place in the world, the place you’d like to be right NOW if a little bit of magic came your way and you could grab hold of its tail and be carried straight there. It might be a different country, for example, somewhere you’ve been on holiday or would like to visit because it looked good on a travel programme you saw a while ago. It might be somewhere closer to home, with people you haven’t seen for a while, or somewhere you’ve been unable to visit but has been a long-time favourite haunt. Or it might be something smaller but no less important to you, like a favourite chair, or a grassy tussock beneath a particularly magnificent tree. Or a stretch of deserted shoreline, a mountain peak, a bench sited on a gentle hillside. It might even be in a different time, the past or the future, for as we have all learned, time can bend and stretch and stop and start according to your circumstances and wishes. Anyway, you get the idea….have you chosen? Are you ready? Yes..?

….because that is where we are right now! In your favourite time and place. How lovely!

And now imagine this. We are sitting in a circle around a warm and cosy fire – you, me, the hens, the pheasant, the cat, the Phantomime and Father Christmas. There might be other people there too – your loved ones, both present and gone, or friends, colleagues, the people in whose company you are at your most cheerful and relaxed. Nice, isn’t it?

‘This is nice,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘It feels like the first time we’ve been able to sit down and relax in ages.’

‘Yes,’ says Mrs Slocombe, who has been on hot chocolate and crumpet duties. ‘This is what really matters, isn’t it? Being somewhere you feel at home, and with people you love.’

The other nod and agree, although Kenneth the Phantomime seems a little subdued.

‘What’s up with you, face ache?’ says Mrs Poo, nudging him with her elbow. ‘Can’t be having you  putting a dampener on this lovely evening. Come on, misery guts – eat your crumpet whilst it’s hot and see if you can crack a smile on that face of yours.’

Father Christmas chuckles. ‘I think I know why our friend is so glum,’ he says. ‘It’s all to do with an unkept promise I made.’

‘Well, I didn’t like to say so,’ says Kenneth the Phantomime.

Father Christmas holds up his furry gloved hands. (His hands aren’t furry – his gloves are furry. Just to make it clear for the pendants among you.)

‘No, no, you are absolutely right,’ he says. ‘I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep. Bambino, pass me the present sack, will you please?’

Bambino hands over the present sack which appears to be no smaller than when he and I set off with it on our great present delivery adventure.

‘Right!’ says Father Christmas, smiling broadly. ‘We may have successfully delivered presents to all the children in the world, but I do believe there are a few left in the bottom that belong to those who I could poke with a very short stick indeed!’

‘He isn’t going to poke us with a stick, is he?’ says Ptolemy Pheasant.

‘It’s a turn of phrase,’ reassure Mrs Pumphrey.

‘A short stick is a turn of phrase?’ says Ptolemy. ‘I’m confused…’

‘Oh shut up and kiss me, you fool!’ says Mrs Pumphrey, wrapping him in her capacious wings and giving him a peck on the beak, which is an extremely dangerous occupation in the world of birds.

Father Christmas is delving in the bottom of the present sack.

‘Now,’ he says. ‘What do I have here?’ And he reveals a large square parcel wrapped in shiny red paper and tied with a silver bow and sprig of holly. He reads the attached gift tag. ‘It’s for someone called Kenneth,’ he says. 

He passes it over to the Phantomime, whose face takes on the happy shine of an eight year old caught in the dilemma of wanting to be young enough to believe in the magic that is unfolding before him yet feeling, at the same time, that he should be old enough to regard this with a healthy dose of scepticism.

‘What is it?’ he says, giving the box a gentle shake.

‘Only one way to find out,’ says Father Christmas.

So Kenneth the Phantomime carefully peels back the shiny paper and lo and behold – reveals the ‘Shaun Cassidy Phono with Sing-a-long Mike’!

Oh, the joy that spreads through the Phantomime! It is like watching the glow of a bowl of Ready Brek spreading through a small, cold child wading through an eight feet deep snow drift with no shoes on their feet! The Phantomime is absolutely delighted, and he hugs Father Christmas in thanks.

‘Who’s next?’ says Father Christmas. ‘Mrs Pumphrey – for you, I believe?’

And he hands her a gift which turns out to be a set of hair irons and an eyelash curler. Mrs Slocombe receives a Spirograph Deluxe with extra fine liner pens, Mrs Poo a ‘My Little Mortal Combat’ outfit and spud gun, and Ptolemy Pheasant a whittling kit and sharpening stone for when he is down in the woods a-whittling.

Father Christmas turns to Mrs Miggins.

‘And what about you, my fine hen? What would you like for Christmas? You who never stops believing in faith, hope and magic?’

‘Oh, I don’t want anything,’ says Mrs Miggins, modestly. ‘I’m just glad everyone is safe and happy.’

‘Oh, come now,’ says Father Christmas, ‘there is one more present in the bottom of my sack. It must be for you….’

And he takes it out and hands it to Mrs Miggins. It is not wrapped, because living things should never be subject to being confined in paper and tape, nor festive boxes and bags for that matter. And, strictly speaking, it isn’t right to give living things as Christmas presents. But this is an unexpected and real-life turn of events that has to be included in the story this year.

‘Hello!’ says the living thing, holding out a paw to Mrs Miggins. ‘My name is Edith. I’ve come to stay, if that’s okay?’

And she twitches her cute rabbit nose and waggles her cute rabbit ears.

‘You’re a rabbit!’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘I’ve always wanted a rabbit as a friend. Rabbits seem such interesting and adventurous creatures.’

‘And I’ve always wanted to share a Manor house with a bunch of crazy chickens,’ says Edith the Rabbit. ‘What a fortuitous Christmas this is turning out to be!’

‘Indeed it is!’ says Miggins, and she and Edith go off to chat all things rabbit ‘n’ chicken.

Finally, Father Christmas looks at me. ‘What is your wish?’ he says.

‘I just want to go home,’ I say.