A Day of Angels

 

It is a Christmas Eve like no other. With the Manor now but a mere smudge of a memory on the landscape, the hens, Ptolemy, Bambino and Jack have all decamped to the bothy. Although several offers of hospitality have come from the village, everyone agrees they would rather stay on home ground.  

‘It’d be odd being elsewhere at Christmas,’ says Ptolemy.

‘And I reckon there’s enough supplies to make a good, if simple, Christmas dinner,’ says Mrs Slocombe, looking through the kitchen cupboard.

‘I’ll go into the village and buy some more provisions,’ says Jack. ‘It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.’

Everyone agrees that although it is a tad cramped in the bothy, there is no other place they want to be. And that’s all they need for this moment in time. To be together, to think about what has happened and what they are going to do next.

‘Bit of a turn up for the books, all that stuff with Kenneth the Phantomime, wasn’t it?’ says Bambino. ‘Who knew he could be so vociferous in his defence of us?’

‘I know,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘He was most impressive. Perhaps we should invite him to share Christmas Day with us? He must get a bit lonely down in the village. He doesn’t seem to have many friends.’

‘I’ll pop in and see him whilst I’m out shopping,’ says Jack. ‘Extend an invitation.’

‘I shall come with you,’ says Mrs Slocombe. ‘I don’t want you coming back with all sorts of weird food stuff. Like stollen, for example. Who ever thought THAT was a good idea?’

‘Says she who insists on roast badger every year,’ says Mrs Poo.

And they all laugh! Because that is what you do when life as you know it crumbles, or vanishes or goes up in smoke. You look to those around you, and they draw together and prop you up with love, laughs and kindness until you are ready to move forward again.

Later that evening, the spirit of Christmas is gathering in the bothy. The woodland is offering a sense of security.

‘I’ve always found there to be a certain comfort amongst the spirit of trees,’ says Jack Green. ‘Every time I’ve stepped into woodland, I’ve felt like it is looking after me. I think that’s what drew me here, to the bothy, in the first place.’

‘Not the Fray Bentos meat pies, then?’ says Ptolemy.

Jack laughs. ‘You’re a good friend, Ptolemy,’ he says. ‘You took me and looked after me when I felt I was all alone. That means the world to me.’

Beneath his feathers, Ptolemy can feel the heat of an embarrassed blush rising.

‘Any one of us would have done the same,’ says he.

‘Is Kenneth the Phantomime joining us for Christmas dinner?’ says Mrs Pumphrey, who is peeling potatoes ready for roasting and doesn’t want to fall short on numbers.

‘He said he might,’ says Mrs Slocombe,’ but remember – Lord Malarkey’s Roast Potato Rule states that you can never have too many. Keep peeling!’

The evening finishes with a selection of sandwiches, cheeses, crisps and Mrs Slocombe’s famous jaffa cake trifle, and the telling of ghost stories around the fire, in the traditional way of Victorian times.

‘Everything will be all right,’ says Mrs Miggins, as they all turn in for the night. ‘I know it will.

                            *                         *                               *                            *                                  *

Christmas morning. No gifts, but the gift of friendship and love. No decorations, but the holly and ivy from the woodlands. No television, but the entertainment of jokes and storytelling, and the joy of a brisk walk in the fresh air.

Returning from their walk, they find Kenneth the Phantomime sitting on the doorstep.

‘Morning,’ he says, looking uncertain. ‘I’ve come for Christmas dinner, if that’s all right? I mean, I can go if you’ve changed your minds…’

‘Nonsense!’ says Mrs Pumphrey, moving in for a huge, flouncy bosomed hug. ‘You are very welcome to join us. It’s a bit cramped at the table but the dinner will be superb and the company excellent!’

And she bundles the Phantomime into the bothy before he can change his mind.

Over a cup of tea and with the scent of dinner in the air, the atmosphere is warm and convivial.

‘Well, we might have lost the Manor,’ says Mrs Miggins, with only the slightest catch of emotion in her voice, ‘but we still have each other.’

‘Bit of a mess about the insurance, though,’ says Mrs Poo.

‘We are NOT selling the ground off to that developer,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘It’s the land that counts. Jack has taught us that. We can build on it again, even if it is only a little shed to start with.’

‘Much Malarkey Shed doesn’t have quite the same ring, though,’ says Ptolemy.

‘Er…can I says something?’ says Kenneth the Phantomime. He’s been fidgeting in his seat and is looking a bit embarrassed. ‘It’s just that I have a Christmas gift for you all.’

‘Oh,’ says Mrs Pumphrey. ‘That’s very kind but I’m afraid we have nothing to give you in return.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ says Kenneth. He stands up and looks to his right shoulder.

‘Go on,’ whispers Hugh. (Remember? The good guy? The other one, Donald, has been carted off – some allegations of incitement to riot or something.)

‘This,’ says Kenneth, handing an envelope to Mrs Miggins. ‘I want you to have this. It will help you get back on your feet.’

Mrs Miggins opens the envelope. And her eyes boggle about as far as a hen’s eyes can boggle without them popping out.

‘What?’ she says. ‘This is a cheque for £845,000. This can’t be right…’

‘It was your Viking doll,’ says the Phantomime. ‘Very rare. Very valuable. I sold it at auction. The money is yours. Take it. Please.’

Well! No one knows what to say! And then comes the tumult of thanks, the hugs, the tears, the relief, and the realisation that although things had changed in the most dramatic of ways, and everything seemed lost and bleak, good things will always happen to give hope for the future.

Later that evening, everyone agrees that today was the best Christmas Day they’d ever had.

Jack stands up and raises his glass. ‘I’d like to make a toast,’ he says, ‘to friendship and fortitude, and faith and hope. But mostly, to magic!’

‘To magic!’ comes the chorus.

‘And now, let’s predict what the New Year will bring,’ says Jack.

‘A new business!’ says Mrs Slocombe.

‘A new family member!’ says Mrs Pumphrey.

‘Travel and adventures!’ says Mrs Poo.

‘A monthly subscription to Fray Bentos meat pies?’ says Ptolemy, looking hopefully and pointedly at Jack.

‘New friendships!’ says Kenneth the Phantomime.

‘A new toy stick with feathers on the end!’ says Bambino.

They all turn to Mrs Miggins, who has been rather quiet as the day draws to an end.

‘Well Laetitia?’ says Mrs Pumphrey. ‘What’s your prediction for the new year?’

Mrs Miggins shrugs. ‘After the last few days, I really have no idea,’ she says. ‘But I do know that as long as we are in it together, it’s going to be grand!’

 

And so, from me – the Writer – to you, the dear Reader(s), here’s wishing you the Merriest of Christmases and as much Love, Light, Peace and Magic for the year ahead as you can stuff in a stocking or other Christmas gift receptacle of your choice!