christmas with the family - a story
Christmas with the Family
by James Sanderson
Early on Boxing Day morning, Mrs Jenkins, an elderly, childless widow, living at 43E Lewis Buildings, was found dead by a very shaken paper-boy on his deliveries. He had pushed the lady’s newspaper through her letter box and found the door to be open. There was just enough light for him to see her body lying on the floor behind it.
Death never takes a holiday.
Three days earlier: preparations are being made for Christmas at flat number 57B.
“Is Georgie still downstairs?” asked his mother, Doris.
“Yes, he’s out with his mates enjoying himself,” said Georgie’s older brother John, sitting in front of the fire and glad of the peace and quiet.
Downstairs were the grounds that cemented together five blocks of early twentieth century buildings that were built for the working-class poor. The dwellings were considered modern at the time as each flat had its own bath, which was situated in the kitchen under a heavy wooden surface that could be lifted up and down. A copper in the corner heated up the water which was transported by a bucket and poured into the bath. The flat also had its own toilet, access being gained through the kitchen onto the balcony. No problem in the summer months, but speed was of the essence during winter.
Two bedrooms, a front room and a passageway completed the home, which after the Clean Air Act of 1956 three years previously, meant that the front room was heated by a four-bar electric fire and not coal. As it was the only heating in the flat, unless you counted the gas oven in the kitchen, the front room and bedroom doors were kept closed at all times during the winter and a curtain hung at the entrance of the two bedrooms to keep the draft out.
Doris had lived in the buildings since she was a little girl of four. Her husband Jack lived in the flat beneath her and they had been childhood sweethearts so that when they married, it came as no surprise to anyone in the buildings. A round lady - she stood four-foot eleven inches high in her stockinged feet with Jack, her giant at five-foot six. Well, compared to her he was.
Looking out of the window of their top-floor flat, Doris rubbed the inside pane with the cuff of her thick cardigan and tutted. “Hasn’t snowed this heavy since I had him.”
“You speaking to me or yourself, mum?” asked John, who was born before the war. Dark and taller than his father, his mind was on marriage and sex. Joan was a nurse and was on the late shift again so he wouldn’t be seeing her until Christmas Eve, two days away. Bored, he picked up the Daily Mirror again and looked at the front page which included a picture of Elvis Presley, in his army uniform in Germany. It was snowing in the picture and John cynically wondered if Elvis had ever been called upon to do guard duty.
“Can’t see a thing,” Doris said. “He’ll be up eventually, all frozen fingers and chilblains.”
John stood up and looked in the mirror over the mantelpiece. I was his age once, he thought and I can hardly remember any good times. What with the war, the evacuations, rationing, austerity, eighteen months in a crap-paying job and then being shoved straight into the army. Where the hell did my childhood go? I should be down there with him.
“I can hear him shouting,” Doris said. “Can’t see him though.”
“The whole bloody buildings can hear him,” John laughed. “Nothing new there.”
“Hope your dad gets home soon, his dinner’s nearly ready. Wonder if he got the tree?”
“Probably taking shelter in a pub somewhere.” John kept a straight face.
“Don’t be rude, son. He works hard, your dad. Your wedding isn’t paying for itself.”
She paused and John thought, wait for it.
“Never mind all the travelling we’ve got to do.”
“Don’t go down there again, mum. It’s not my fault Joan comes from Carlisle. It wasn’t like I asked the Army to post me there.
Doris held her tongue. She had talked it over often enough with Jack. They had another six months to find the money and even with her working full-time it would still be hard. Never mind that none of our family or friends would be attending. Too far to go and they haven’t got that kind of money anyway. Twelve hours on a bloomin’ coach. She sighed. Wait ’til Georgie finds out; we won’t hear the last of it.
“Thanks for sorting out the box of Christmas decorations for me,” said Doris. “Do you like the new red and gold ones? They will look nice when they’re up. Going to help me later?”
John nodded. “What about the balloons? Want me to blow them up?”
“Yes, please, your puff is a lot stronger than mine.” Doris replied.
“Thought you’d say that.”
They both looked up at the sound of a key turning in the front door. “There’s your dad,” Doris said as she walked down the passage towards the door.
“God, it’s cold out,” said Jack, stamping his feet on the mat. “Glad I wore my galoshes.”
“I told you to take your cap. You never listen to me.”
“Thought I had it in my mac pocket,” Jack said as Doris helped him take it off. “Pass me a towel, my love”.
“Did you see Georgie?” asked Doris.
“What? Is he down there playing? In this weather?” Jack shook his head. “What did you let him do that for?”
“It’s Saturday, my wash day, in case you haven’t noticed the sheets drying in the kitchen,” said Doris, thinking again that once the wedding was over she would buy a herself a spin-drier, even if she had to pay for it by hire purchase. “Anyway,” she added, “he was getting under my feet.”
“He must be freezing, it’s bitter out there,” said Jack.
“No tree?” said Doris. “You’re leaving it late.”
Jack shook his head. “Too cold to hang around choosing. I’ll go down Chapel Street Market tomorrow and pick one up.” He put his slippers on, walked into the front room, not forgetting to shut the door after him, and sat in the second of the two old armchairs. “Sit back, son, it’s brass monkeys out there.” Jack sat forward and opened his hands as close as he could to the red-hot bars.
“I wouldn’t have gone to work today in this weather,” John said as he watched his father use the towel to dry his thinning hair and then rub his moustache hard as if melting snowflakes had had the temerity to take refuge in its thickness.
“That’s the difference between my generation and yours,” replied Jack. “I take a pride in my work. Anyway, people always want their dry cleaning, and if they go to the pub tonight in this weather, they’ll have to bring it back again next week. It always happens.”
“More money for your boss, then.” John couldn’t help himself from sniping.
“Don’t start, son. It’s my job and I’ve had it for twenty-odd years,” Jack retorted. “Think about it: your mum’s never had to worry about me being out of a job - ever.
John bit off his reply; he knew his dad could get a better job anywhere, but he hated change and his boss knew it. No point raking over old ground.
Meanwhile down in the grounds.
Georgie tightened the scarf tied under his chin and then adjusted his dad’s cap. Anything to keep warm. His wet, woollen gloves were soaking, his fingers were stinging and his nose constantly dripped. He was now at the Laycock Street back gate with his best mate, Albert. The first heavy snowfall in years had presented them with a magic they could not resist.
Buildings’ kids to the core, they spent every spare moment playing in the grounds whatever the weather. Knock-down Ginger, Action Stations, Four Sticks, All-man He with variations and all manner of ball games as long as the porters didn’t catch them. Ball games weren’t allowed in the buildings which seemed stupid to Georgie when you had football-mad kids in every block.
Their other mates were either playing elsewhere, or had given up and gone indoors. Outnumbered, Georgie and Albert were chucking snowballs at the kids from the buildings across the street. The snow was just starting to ease off when an open-topped lorry pulled into the kerb right in front of them. Pissed off, they stopped throwing because they couldn't take aim properly.
When the bloke got out of his cab, snowballs from the other side accidentally went off course, and he shouted at the boys. Not nastily; just, hold off lads, you might hurt an old man. So the boys called a truce and curious, Georgie and Albert walked over to him.
“Come and have a look,” the man said, as his pulled the tarpaulin back to reveal christmas trees in abundance.
“What? They gonna fall off the back of your lorry?” Albert, all bobble hat, scarves and his dad’s old army coat, laughed. “Needles will probably drop off as soon as we get ‘em home. Anyway, mate, we don't have any money.”
“What else you got in there?” asked Georgie, peering under the tarpaulin which was now laid across the back of the lorry behind the trees.
“Oh, you know, logs, coloured pine cones, mistletoe, holly; stuff like that,” said the man.
“Who are you pretending to be then,” asked Georgie, giving the bloke the once-over, “Father Christmas?”
“Could be,” he replied, smiling.
“Yeah,” said Albert, grinning,“and you’re giving christmas trees away for nothing.”
“Yeah,” Georgie added sarcastically, “but we’d rather you were giving away christmas presents, mister. That’d be much better. Got any of them?”
“Got to wait until Christmas morning for that, son,” he replied, “unless of course, come the day and you can’t sleep and wake up at three o’clock. Then it’d be all rustle, rustle, rustle, tearing the paper off your presents as quietly as you can, but still waking up your mum and dad, eh?”
“Nah, we’re too old for all that,” Albert was somewhat indignant. “Don’t do that anymore, do we Georgie?”
Georgie eyed the fella and then had to look away because he could've sworn the bloke knew what he was thinking. Waking up early and all that. Not this Christmas, he thought.
“How much?” Georgie said, jumping up and down on the spot, feeling the cold as he nodded toward the trees.
“Nothing” the man replied.
Georgie looked at Albert as if to say, oh yeah?
“Nothing?” said Albert.
“Yes,” the man replied. “Well, nearly nothing.”
Georgie laughed. “Here it comes, Albert. Nearly nothing at two bob a foot. So a four foot tree’s gonna cost us eight bob each, eh?”
The man, as wide as he was tall, shrugged. “Might’ve been that but I need a favour, so maybe we could do a trade-off.”
“What do you mean by a trade-off?” Albert asked. His breath steamed behind his scarf.
“Well,” the bloke said, “I got a couple of old ladies in your buildings that I help out occasionally and I promised them I’d get their groceries from the shop opposite the Union Chapel, but I’m so busy flogging these trees I haven’t got the time.”
“We’re listening,” Georgie said, his interest caught.
“Well, if you run the two errands for me, I’ll give you a tree each for free. Does that sound good? What do you say?”
“Oh yeah,” Georgie grinned, “we do the errands and you bugger off while we’re doing them.”
The bloke roared. “Thought you’d say that, so I’ve got an idea. I’ve got some deliveries across the road.” He nodded towards the buildings where some of the other kids were still hanging about. “That’ll take some time.” He took two pieces of paper out of a pocket in his huge coat and gave one to Georgie and one to Albert. Looking at Georgie, he said, “both these ladies live just there in E Block. You go to your one and tell her I sent you. She’ll give you a bag, a list and some money. While you do that I’ll put your trees on the pavement here. Albert waits with them until you come back and then you take his place while he does his little job. That way you’ve got the trees, someone’s looking after my lorry and my two old ladies have got their groceries.”
“I deliver to this lady on my new paper round,” Georgie said, looking at his piece of paper. “What do you think, Albert, shall we do it? Let’s make our minds up quickly cos I can’t feel my feet now; they’re so bloody cold I’m in danger of becoming a snowman.”
The man said, “is it a deal boys? Help the old ladies out - you can’t expect them to go out in this weather - and I’ll give you a tree each for your trouble.”
Georgie didn’t know whether his old man had brought a tree home from work, but even if he had, he reckoned he could easily flog this one. Can’t lose on this, he thought.
Both the boys finally nodded.
“It’s a deal,” said Georgie. “I’ll go first. Albert, help the gentleman get our two trees down off the lorry, would you?” Georgie grinned and Albert quickly caught on to his friend’s affected manner.
“Certainly, George. Off you go now and don’t be long about it. There are icicles forming about my nose, not to mention other parts of my body.”
Georgie then ran up to the flat, collected the money and didn’t stop running until he’d finished the errand. The old lady was nice, too. Gave him tuppence out of the change for going. George felt guilty taking it; her shopping wasn't heavy, hardly enough food in the bag to feed a sparrow. On impulse he asked her if she wanted any other errands run. Not today, she had replied, adding, perhaps after Christmas? And as she closed the door on him, a sadness washed over Georgie; something he just couldn’t explain. And going down the stairs he wondered how she was going to spend her Christmas Day. She looked very lonely.
“You all right, mate?” said Albert. “Any problems?”
“Nah. Nice lady,” Georgie answered. “Bloke doing his deliveries?”
“Yeah, took three trees with him and some holly,” Albert replied. “Good old bloke, ain’t he? Asked me what I was getting for Christmas and I said I didn’t know.” Albert stood thinking. “I’d love a record player, though. Hmm. Fat chance of that, eh?”
George shrugged. “Be as quick as you can, mate, I’m really starting to feel it.”
“I’m gone,” said Albert as he stepped through the back gate and loped down E Block to find his old lady. As Georgie watched him go, he thought, Albert doesn’t run, he just lengthens his stride.
“So, your name is George, then son?” The man was back and Georgie didn’t even hear the crunch of his boots in the snow.
“And I suppose yours is Santa,” replied Georgie, grinning.
“Possibly,” the bloke said, returning the grin. “Been called a lot of names in my time, but you can call me Nick if you like.”
“Pleased to meet you, Nick. And you already know my name.”
I did,” Nick replied. “But when you get to my age, you don’t always catch every word.” He paused. “So, how old are you, son?”
“Thirteen three weeks ago,” replied Georgie.
“And Albert?”
“Still twelve.”
“Only twelve? He looks older,” said Nick.
“And taller,” added Georgie, smiling.
“Go to school together?”
“Yep, same school, same year, but not the same class,” Georgie said looking at Nick’s lorry. “I take it you’re working up to Christmas. You sure that lorry will last?”
“It will and I am working right up ’til late on Christmas Eve,” Nick answered.
“Should have thought that people would’ve finished their shopping by then,” Georgie said.
“Some people always leave it until the last minute,” Nick replied. “It’s just the way they are.” He looked up at the sky as the snow finally stopped falling. “What do you want for Christmas, George? Any ideas?”
I have indeed, Georgie thought to himself, but there’s no point going on about it because I want a guitar and my mum and dad can’t afford it. The disappointment of getting a pillowcase full of tangerines, chocolate and games instead of one, was too much to take.
For a moment though; just one small moment, Georgie stopped thinking and stared at nothing. Be nice though; even an acoustic one. “Dream on," he softly told himself.
“Sorry?” said Nick.
“Eh, nothing. No, not really,” Georgie answered, looking away. “Don’t mind what I get.”
Nick nodded slowly and then tightened his belt across his old coat.
“Here he comes.” Georgie peered down Laycock Street. “Stand back, he doesn’t take prisoners.”
“Won’t be long,” Albert cried out as he passed.
“Amazing runner,” Nick said. “Is he always like that?”
“Only when he has to be,” replied Georgie.
Nick smiled and studied him as they waited the short while.
“Right, that’s that done, then,” puffed Albert, sliding to a halt. “Sweet lady, smelled of lavender like my old gran used to do.”
“Thanks, boys, I’m really grateful to you both,” said Nick putting the tailgate up and locking it. “Good deeds are always noticed.”
“See you next year then, Nick?” Albert laughed as they gathered up their trees.
“Oh, I doubt that, son,” Nick waved as he climbed into his cab, “but you never know, you never know.”
“See, I told you he was a nice bloke,” Albert said, as the lorry drove off. “We got ourselves a Christmas tree each, Georgie. Just for running a couple of errands. My mum will be pleased.”
“Did you talk to your old lady, Albert?”
“What do you mean? Just now?” Albert replied.
“Yeah, you know, about Christmas and all that.”
“She said she’s going to her daughter who lives in Kentish Town. Why do you ask?”
“Dunno,” Georgie replied. “It’s just that I got the feeling that my lady, Mrs Jenkins, is going to be on her own over Christmas and that doesn’t seem right, does it?”
“Hmmm, I know what you mean,” Albert mused, “but what can we do about it? Anyway, gotta go. See ya later, mate.”
Georgie’s return home.
“Where have you been, Georgie?” asked his mum, when he finally got home. “And where did you get that tree? You must be freezing. Look at you, your jeans are soaking. And you’re wearing your dad’s cap? Cor, don’t let him find out. Put it on the floor under his coat, he’ll think he dropped it. No, he won’t, it’s wet. I’ll have to put it in the oven for a while. Oh, son, look at you. Get a towel and dry your hair.”
“Where is he?” Georgie asked. “Having a kip? And John?”
Doris nodded, saying, “John’s inside. Get out of those clothes, put some dry ones on and go and sit in front of the fire. Your brother hasn’t moved from it all afternoon.” She stood the tree upright. “This is a nice-sized tree, son, where did you get it?”
“Long story, mum,” Georgie said. “I’ll tell you about it when you bring the tea in. No, on second thoughts I’ll wait until dad gets up so I won’t have to repeat myself.” He walked into the lounge and called back over his shoulder, “let me get my clothes, I’m freezing.”
“All right?” Johnny asked as Georgie rushed through the front room to their bedroom.
“Yeah, interesting afternoon. You?”
“Piss bored. No football, just bloody wrestling on the telly and the berks think it’s for real. Don’t know why I’m watching it.”
Later that day.
“Sounds like an interesting man,” Jack said as they sat round the kitchen table having their tea.
“Nice bloke,” Georgie said. “Think he thought he was Santa Clause. You know, the beard and the boots. Stuff like that.”
“Lovely tree,” said Doris, “so as far as I’m concerned, he can pretend to be whoever he wants.”
“This lady you saw, what was her name? Mrs Jenkins? You think she’s going to be on her own on Christmas Day? Do you want me to say anything to her?” asked Jack, directing the last question at Doris.
“What good would that do?” Doris said. “We’ve got all the family coming on Tuesday and we’ll have to bring in the kitchen table,” she tapped it to emphasise her point, “into the front room for the kids to eat on anyway.”
“No room at the Inn,” said John.
“Does that include me?” asked Georgie. “Sitting with my young cousins at this very table?”
“Fraid so, son,“ answered Jack. “I know it’s not fair, but we just don’t have enough room round the big table for everyone. Sorry.”
Georgie nodded, and tried in vain to ignore his brother’s grin because he knew John would be sitting at the big table with his girlfriend. “Perhaps Joan could make room for me and sit on Johnny’s lap,” he said. “He’d like that, squash his brussel sprouts for him.”
“Hey, you going to let him talk to me like that, dad?” Johnny bristled.
“You deserved it, I saw your face.” Jack paused long enough for what he was about to say, to sink in. “So enough - both of you.”
Epilogue.
On Christmas morning, Albert, who had slept right through the night, woke up to find a large, heavy present at the foot of his bed. Ripping off the paper he discovered that wishes do come true. It was a Dansette Record Player and alongside it was a flat, square present that could only be a long-playing record. Albert prayed it would be Buddy Holly and as he tore off the Christmas paper he couldn’t stop himself from shouting with happiness as the man’s face shone from the cover. Later, the neighbours prayed he’d change the record, while his father, in his Sunday-best, disappeared to the pub.
Georgie, who had also slept soundly through the night, woke up, turned over and gazed at his Christmas present, leaning upright against the wall opposite his bed. His face lit up and he laughed with joy - the same way all kids do when they get what they want for Christmas.
Boxing Day. Well, Boxing Day was going to be a different matter altogether.
The End
by James Sanderson
Early on Boxing Day morning, Mrs Jenkins, an elderly, childless widow, living at 43E Lewis Buildings, was found dead by a very shaken paper-boy on his deliveries. He had pushed the lady’s newspaper through her letter box and found the door to be open. There was just enough light for him to see her body lying on the floor behind it.
Death never takes a holiday.
Three days earlier: preparations are being made for Christmas at flat number 57B.
“Is Georgie still downstairs?” asked his mother, Doris.
“Yes, he’s out with his mates enjoying himself,” said Georgie’s older brother John, sitting in front of the fire and glad of the peace and quiet.
Downstairs were the grounds that cemented together five blocks of early twentieth century buildings that were built for the working-class poor. The dwellings were considered modern at the time as each flat had its own bath, which was situated in the kitchen under a heavy wooden surface that could be lifted up and down. A copper in the corner heated up the water which was transported by a bucket and poured into the bath. The flat also had its own toilet, access being gained through the kitchen onto the balcony. No problem in the summer months, but speed was of the essence during winter.
Two bedrooms, a front room and a passageway completed the home, which after the Clean Air Act of 1956 three years previously, meant that the front room was heated by a four-bar electric fire and not coal. As it was the only heating in the flat, unless you counted the gas oven in the kitchen, the front room and bedroom doors were kept closed at all times during the winter and a curtain hung at the entrance of the two bedrooms to keep the draft out.
Doris had lived in the buildings since she was a little girl of four. Her husband Jack lived in the flat beneath her and they had been childhood sweethearts so that when they married, it came as no surprise to anyone in the buildings. A round lady - she stood four-foot eleven inches high in her stockinged feet with Jack, her giant at five-foot six. Well, compared to her he was.
Looking out of the window of their top-floor flat, Doris rubbed the inside pane with the cuff of her thick cardigan and tutted. “Hasn’t snowed this heavy since I had him.”
“You speaking to me or yourself, mum?” asked John, who was born before the war. Dark and taller than his father, his mind was on marriage and sex. Joan was a nurse and was on the late shift again so he wouldn’t be seeing her until Christmas Eve, two days away. Bored, he picked up the Daily Mirror again and looked at the front page which included a picture of Elvis Presley, in his army uniform in Germany. It was snowing in the picture and John cynically wondered if Elvis had ever been called upon to do guard duty.
“Can’t see a thing,” Doris said. “He’ll be up eventually, all frozen fingers and chilblains.”
John stood up and looked in the mirror over the mantelpiece. I was his age once, he thought and I can hardly remember any good times. What with the war, the evacuations, rationing, austerity, eighteen months in a crap-paying job and then being shoved straight into the army. Where the hell did my childhood go? I should be down there with him.
“I can hear him shouting,” Doris said. “Can’t see him though.”
“The whole bloody buildings can hear him,” John laughed. “Nothing new there.”
“Hope your dad gets home soon, his dinner’s nearly ready. Wonder if he got the tree?”
“Probably taking shelter in a pub somewhere.” John kept a straight face.
“Don’t be rude, son. He works hard, your dad. Your wedding isn’t paying for itself.”
She paused and John thought, wait for it.
“Never mind all the travelling we’ve got to do.”
“Don’t go down there again, mum. It’s not my fault Joan comes from Carlisle. It wasn’t like I asked the Army to post me there.
Doris held her tongue. She had talked it over often enough with Jack. They had another six months to find the money and even with her working full-time it would still be hard. Never mind that none of our family or friends would be attending. Too far to go and they haven’t got that kind of money anyway. Twelve hours on a bloomin’ coach. She sighed. Wait ’til Georgie finds out; we won’t hear the last of it.
“Thanks for sorting out the box of Christmas decorations for me,” said Doris. “Do you like the new red and gold ones? They will look nice when they’re up. Going to help me later?”
John nodded. “What about the balloons? Want me to blow them up?”
“Yes, please, your puff is a lot stronger than mine.” Doris replied.
“Thought you’d say that.”
They both looked up at the sound of a key turning in the front door. “There’s your dad,” Doris said as she walked down the passage towards the door.
“God, it’s cold out,” said Jack, stamping his feet on the mat. “Glad I wore my galoshes.”
“I told you to take your cap. You never listen to me.”
“Thought I had it in my mac pocket,” Jack said as Doris helped him take it off. “Pass me a towel, my love”.
“Did you see Georgie?” asked Doris.
“What? Is he down there playing? In this weather?” Jack shook his head. “What did you let him do that for?”
“It’s Saturday, my wash day, in case you haven’t noticed the sheets drying in the kitchen,” said Doris, thinking again that once the wedding was over she would buy a herself a spin-drier, even if she had to pay for it by hire purchase. “Anyway,” she added, “he was getting under my feet.”
“He must be freezing, it’s bitter out there,” said Jack.
“No tree?” said Doris. “You’re leaving it late.”
Jack shook his head. “Too cold to hang around choosing. I’ll go down Chapel Street Market tomorrow and pick one up.” He put his slippers on, walked into the front room, not forgetting to shut the door after him, and sat in the second of the two old armchairs. “Sit back, son, it’s brass monkeys out there.” Jack sat forward and opened his hands as close as he could to the red-hot bars.
“I wouldn’t have gone to work today in this weather,” John said as he watched his father use the towel to dry his thinning hair and then rub his moustache hard as if melting snowflakes had had the temerity to take refuge in its thickness.
“That’s the difference between my generation and yours,” replied Jack. “I take a pride in my work. Anyway, people always want their dry cleaning, and if they go to the pub tonight in this weather, they’ll have to bring it back again next week. It always happens.”
“More money for your boss, then.” John couldn’t help himself from sniping.
“Don’t start, son. It’s my job and I’ve had it for twenty-odd years,” Jack retorted. “Think about it: your mum’s never had to worry about me being out of a job - ever.
John bit off his reply; he knew his dad could get a better job anywhere, but he hated change and his boss knew it. No point raking over old ground.
Meanwhile down in the grounds.
Georgie tightened the scarf tied under his chin and then adjusted his dad’s cap. Anything to keep warm. His wet, woollen gloves were soaking, his fingers were stinging and his nose constantly dripped. He was now at the Laycock Street back gate with his best mate, Albert. The first heavy snowfall in years had presented them with a magic they could not resist.
Buildings’ kids to the core, they spent every spare moment playing in the grounds whatever the weather. Knock-down Ginger, Action Stations, Four Sticks, All-man He with variations and all manner of ball games as long as the porters didn’t catch them. Ball games weren’t allowed in the buildings which seemed stupid to Georgie when you had football-mad kids in every block.
Their other mates were either playing elsewhere, or had given up and gone indoors. Outnumbered, Georgie and Albert were chucking snowballs at the kids from the buildings across the street. The snow was just starting to ease off when an open-topped lorry pulled into the kerb right in front of them. Pissed off, they stopped throwing because they couldn't take aim properly.
When the bloke got out of his cab, snowballs from the other side accidentally went off course, and he shouted at the boys. Not nastily; just, hold off lads, you might hurt an old man. So the boys called a truce and curious, Georgie and Albert walked over to him.
“Come and have a look,” the man said, as his pulled the tarpaulin back to reveal christmas trees in abundance.
“What? They gonna fall off the back of your lorry?” Albert, all bobble hat, scarves and his dad’s old army coat, laughed. “Needles will probably drop off as soon as we get ‘em home. Anyway, mate, we don't have any money.”
“What else you got in there?” asked Georgie, peering under the tarpaulin which was now laid across the back of the lorry behind the trees.
“Oh, you know, logs, coloured pine cones, mistletoe, holly; stuff like that,” said the man.
“Who are you pretending to be then,” asked Georgie, giving the bloke the once-over, “Father Christmas?”
“Could be,” he replied, smiling.
“Yeah,” said Albert, grinning,“and you’re giving christmas trees away for nothing.”
“Yeah,” Georgie added sarcastically, “but we’d rather you were giving away christmas presents, mister. That’d be much better. Got any of them?”
“Got to wait until Christmas morning for that, son,” he replied, “unless of course, come the day and you can’t sleep and wake up at three o’clock. Then it’d be all rustle, rustle, rustle, tearing the paper off your presents as quietly as you can, but still waking up your mum and dad, eh?”
“Nah, we’re too old for all that,” Albert was somewhat indignant. “Don’t do that anymore, do we Georgie?”
Georgie eyed the fella and then had to look away because he could've sworn the bloke knew what he was thinking. Waking up early and all that. Not this Christmas, he thought.
“How much?” Georgie said, jumping up and down on the spot, feeling the cold as he nodded toward the trees.
“Nothing” the man replied.
Georgie looked at Albert as if to say, oh yeah?
“Nothing?” said Albert.
“Yes,” the man replied. “Well, nearly nothing.”
Georgie laughed. “Here it comes, Albert. Nearly nothing at two bob a foot. So a four foot tree’s gonna cost us eight bob each, eh?”
The man, as wide as he was tall, shrugged. “Might’ve been that but I need a favour, so maybe we could do a trade-off.”
“What do you mean by a trade-off?” Albert asked. His breath steamed behind his scarf.
“Well,” the bloke said, “I got a couple of old ladies in your buildings that I help out occasionally and I promised them I’d get their groceries from the shop opposite the Union Chapel, but I’m so busy flogging these trees I haven’t got the time.”
“We’re listening,” Georgie said, his interest caught.
“Well, if you run the two errands for me, I’ll give you a tree each for free. Does that sound good? What do you say?”
“Oh yeah,” Georgie grinned, “we do the errands and you bugger off while we’re doing them.”
The bloke roared. “Thought you’d say that, so I’ve got an idea. I’ve got some deliveries across the road.” He nodded towards the buildings where some of the other kids were still hanging about. “That’ll take some time.” He took two pieces of paper out of a pocket in his huge coat and gave one to Georgie and one to Albert. Looking at Georgie, he said, “both these ladies live just there in E Block. You go to your one and tell her I sent you. She’ll give you a bag, a list and some money. While you do that I’ll put your trees on the pavement here. Albert waits with them until you come back and then you take his place while he does his little job. That way you’ve got the trees, someone’s looking after my lorry and my two old ladies have got their groceries.”
“I deliver to this lady on my new paper round,” Georgie said, looking at his piece of paper. “What do you think, Albert, shall we do it? Let’s make our minds up quickly cos I can’t feel my feet now; they’re so bloody cold I’m in danger of becoming a snowman.”
The man said, “is it a deal boys? Help the old ladies out - you can’t expect them to go out in this weather - and I’ll give you a tree each for your trouble.”
Georgie didn’t know whether his old man had brought a tree home from work, but even if he had, he reckoned he could easily flog this one. Can’t lose on this, he thought.
Both the boys finally nodded.
“It’s a deal,” said Georgie. “I’ll go first. Albert, help the gentleman get our two trees down off the lorry, would you?” Georgie grinned and Albert quickly caught on to his friend’s affected manner.
“Certainly, George. Off you go now and don’t be long about it. There are icicles forming about my nose, not to mention other parts of my body.”
Georgie then ran up to the flat, collected the money and didn’t stop running until he’d finished the errand. The old lady was nice, too. Gave him tuppence out of the change for going. George felt guilty taking it; her shopping wasn't heavy, hardly enough food in the bag to feed a sparrow. On impulse he asked her if she wanted any other errands run. Not today, she had replied, adding, perhaps after Christmas? And as she closed the door on him, a sadness washed over Georgie; something he just couldn’t explain. And going down the stairs he wondered how she was going to spend her Christmas Day. She looked very lonely.
“You all right, mate?” said Albert. “Any problems?”
“Nah. Nice lady,” Georgie answered. “Bloke doing his deliveries?”
“Yeah, took three trees with him and some holly,” Albert replied. “Good old bloke, ain’t he? Asked me what I was getting for Christmas and I said I didn’t know.” Albert stood thinking. “I’d love a record player, though. Hmm. Fat chance of that, eh?”
George shrugged. “Be as quick as you can, mate, I’m really starting to feel it.”
“I’m gone,” said Albert as he stepped through the back gate and loped down E Block to find his old lady. As Georgie watched him go, he thought, Albert doesn’t run, he just lengthens his stride.
“So, your name is George, then son?” The man was back and Georgie didn’t even hear the crunch of his boots in the snow.
“And I suppose yours is Santa,” replied Georgie, grinning.
“Possibly,” the bloke said, returning the grin. “Been called a lot of names in my time, but you can call me Nick if you like.”
“Pleased to meet you, Nick. And you already know my name.”
I did,” Nick replied. “But when you get to my age, you don’t always catch every word.” He paused. “So, how old are you, son?”
“Thirteen three weeks ago,” replied Georgie.
“And Albert?”
“Still twelve.”
“Only twelve? He looks older,” said Nick.
“And taller,” added Georgie, smiling.
“Go to school together?”
“Yep, same school, same year, but not the same class,” Georgie said looking at Nick’s lorry. “I take it you’re working up to Christmas. You sure that lorry will last?”
“It will and I am working right up ’til late on Christmas Eve,” Nick answered.
“Should have thought that people would’ve finished their shopping by then,” Georgie said.
“Some people always leave it until the last minute,” Nick replied. “It’s just the way they are.” He looked up at the sky as the snow finally stopped falling. “What do you want for Christmas, George? Any ideas?”
I have indeed, Georgie thought to himself, but there’s no point going on about it because I want a guitar and my mum and dad can’t afford it. The disappointment of getting a pillowcase full of tangerines, chocolate and games instead of one, was too much to take.
For a moment though; just one small moment, Georgie stopped thinking and stared at nothing. Be nice though; even an acoustic one. “Dream on," he softly told himself.
“Sorry?” said Nick.
“Eh, nothing. No, not really,” Georgie answered, looking away. “Don’t mind what I get.”
Nick nodded slowly and then tightened his belt across his old coat.
“Here he comes.” Georgie peered down Laycock Street. “Stand back, he doesn’t take prisoners.”
“Won’t be long,” Albert cried out as he passed.
“Amazing runner,” Nick said. “Is he always like that?”
“Only when he has to be,” replied Georgie.
Nick smiled and studied him as they waited the short while.
“Right, that’s that done, then,” puffed Albert, sliding to a halt. “Sweet lady, smelled of lavender like my old gran used to do.”
“Thanks, boys, I’m really grateful to you both,” said Nick putting the tailgate up and locking it. “Good deeds are always noticed.”
“See you next year then, Nick?” Albert laughed as they gathered up their trees.
“Oh, I doubt that, son,” Nick waved as he climbed into his cab, “but you never know, you never know.”
“See, I told you he was a nice bloke,” Albert said, as the lorry drove off. “We got ourselves a Christmas tree each, Georgie. Just for running a couple of errands. My mum will be pleased.”
“Did you talk to your old lady, Albert?”
“What do you mean? Just now?” Albert replied.
“Yeah, you know, about Christmas and all that.”
“She said she’s going to her daughter who lives in Kentish Town. Why do you ask?”
“Dunno,” Georgie replied. “It’s just that I got the feeling that my lady, Mrs Jenkins, is going to be on her own over Christmas and that doesn’t seem right, does it?”
“Hmmm, I know what you mean,” Albert mused, “but what can we do about it? Anyway, gotta go. See ya later, mate.”
Georgie’s return home.
“Where have you been, Georgie?” asked his mum, when he finally got home. “And where did you get that tree? You must be freezing. Look at you, your jeans are soaking. And you’re wearing your dad’s cap? Cor, don’t let him find out. Put it on the floor under his coat, he’ll think he dropped it. No, he won’t, it’s wet. I’ll have to put it in the oven for a while. Oh, son, look at you. Get a towel and dry your hair.”
“Where is he?” Georgie asked. “Having a kip? And John?”
Doris nodded, saying, “John’s inside. Get out of those clothes, put some dry ones on and go and sit in front of the fire. Your brother hasn’t moved from it all afternoon.” She stood the tree upright. “This is a nice-sized tree, son, where did you get it?”
“Long story, mum,” Georgie said. “I’ll tell you about it when you bring the tea in. No, on second thoughts I’ll wait until dad gets up so I won’t have to repeat myself.” He walked into the lounge and called back over his shoulder, “let me get my clothes, I’m freezing.”
“All right?” Johnny asked as Georgie rushed through the front room to their bedroom.
“Yeah, interesting afternoon. You?”
“Piss bored. No football, just bloody wrestling on the telly and the berks think it’s for real. Don’t know why I’m watching it.”
Later that day.
“Sounds like an interesting man,” Jack said as they sat round the kitchen table having their tea.
“Nice bloke,” Georgie said. “Think he thought he was Santa Clause. You know, the beard and the boots. Stuff like that.”
“Lovely tree,” said Doris, “so as far as I’m concerned, he can pretend to be whoever he wants.”
“This lady you saw, what was her name? Mrs Jenkins? You think she’s going to be on her own on Christmas Day? Do you want me to say anything to her?” asked Jack, directing the last question at Doris.
“What good would that do?” Doris said. “We’ve got all the family coming on Tuesday and we’ll have to bring in the kitchen table,” she tapped it to emphasise her point, “into the front room for the kids to eat on anyway.”
“No room at the Inn,” said John.
“Does that include me?” asked Georgie. “Sitting with my young cousins at this very table?”
“Fraid so, son,“ answered Jack. “I know it’s not fair, but we just don’t have enough room round the big table for everyone. Sorry.”
Georgie nodded, and tried in vain to ignore his brother’s grin because he knew John would be sitting at the big table with his girlfriend. “Perhaps Joan could make room for me and sit on Johnny’s lap,” he said. “He’d like that, squash his brussel sprouts for him.”
“Hey, you going to let him talk to me like that, dad?” Johnny bristled.
“You deserved it, I saw your face.” Jack paused long enough for what he was about to say, to sink in. “So enough - both of you.”
Epilogue.
On Christmas morning, Albert, who had slept right through the night, woke up to find a large, heavy present at the foot of his bed. Ripping off the paper he discovered that wishes do come true. It was a Dansette Record Player and alongside it was a flat, square present that could only be a long-playing record. Albert prayed it would be Buddy Holly and as he tore off the Christmas paper he couldn’t stop himself from shouting with happiness as the man’s face shone from the cover. Later, the neighbours prayed he’d change the record, while his father, in his Sunday-best, disappeared to the pub.
Georgie, who had also slept soundly through the night, woke up, turned over and gazed at his Christmas present, leaning upright against the wall opposite his bed. His face lit up and he laughed with joy - the same way all kids do when they get what they want for Christmas.
Boxing Day. Well, Boxing Day was going to be a different matter altogether.
The End