The Fruityman’s Pick of the Month - December 2015:
(from Dr. Shock and the University of Stump)
DOCTOR SHOCK SAYS MERRY CHRISTMAS
As I walk into the Flying Buttress I am pleased to see that Algy and Ginger have managed to secure our usual table in the corner. It is Christmas Eve and the pub is packed with people making merry on this most magical of nights. I bid them all a hearty wassail and join my friends.
“Thought you’d never get here,” says Ginger. “I’ve got you a drink.”
I shake the snow off my coat, sit down and take a sip of the whiskey.
“I was beginning to worry,” says Algy. She raises her glass. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” says Ginger.
I take another drink and then fill my pipe.
“You okay?” asks Algy.
“Sure, fine. I am jolly. ‘Tis the season for it. Sorry I was late. I went up Stump do some shopping, thought I’d walk back, what with the snow, so I’m coming past the park and I see this little girl sitting by the railings, crying. Any other day I’d cross the street to avoid the implications, but I’ve just been to see Santa Claus in Lewis’s so...”
“You didn’t did you?” says Algy.
“What?”
“Go and see Santa Claus?”
“Of course, I go every year, don’t you?”
She shakes her head and laughs. I sometimes forget she’s not Stump bornybred. One thing all us Stumpers know, Lewis’s Santa is the real one.
“D’you sit on his knee?” asks a giggling Algy.
“No, that would be silly. I just queue up, go in and offer him the compliments of the season.”
“And what do you ask for?”
“The usual, peace on earth, goodwill to all men.”
Algy explodes with laughter. Ginger joins in, so I light my pipe and wait for the merry gentlemen to give it a rest. I could tell her I also go to Midnight Mass every year, but she already thinks I’m daft. When they finish choking on their crisps I continue my tale.
“So I see this little girl crying and I go over to her and ask her what’s the matter. She’s all muffled up, scarf and hat and gloves, and she doesn’t look up when I talk to her. Just sits in the snow, sobbing. She says she’s lost Billy. Who’s Billy? Her dog. Slipped his leash and chased a cat into the park. I ask her if her parents know she’s out, she must live nearby so I reckon I’ll just take her home then her dad can go looking for the dog. She says they’re both at work, she wasn’t supposed to leave the house but it started snowing so she just wanted to take Billy for a walk. She won’t go back till she’s found him. The street lamps are on but it’s dark in the park. I don’t fancy wandering around in there shouting Billy. But stay out here stood next to a blarting little girl and get spotted by Christmas Elvis I’ll just be one more decoration on the big tree outside Stump Shoppy Centre. So I decide to let somebody else bring tidings of comfort and joy, I’ll get off wom, goo deck me ‘alls. Then she grabs my coat. I’ve got to help her find Billy. She’s crying louder now, almost in hysterics. I have to calm her down, so I make soothing noises, tell her to stand up, she’ll catch cold sitting in the snow. But she won’t move, hangs onto my coat and won’t let go. Then she starts talking. But I can’t make it out, just mumbles. I bend down a little but with her mouth in her scarf I still can’t hear, so I kneel down beside her. I make like Santa Claus, ask her what she wants for Christmas, but looking at her little gloved hands, pulling at the empty leash, tugging it this way and that, I reckon I don’t have to be sitting in Lewis’s elfin grot to guess the answer. I promise her I’ll find Billy and for the first time she looks up at me. This sweet angelic face, cheeks wet with tears, golden curls peeping out from under her woolly hat. Have you ever looked into a child’s eyes and seen the wisdom of the ages, felt a depth of experience you’ll never know?”
Ginger and Algy just stare at me, then simultaneously shake their heads.
“No, neither have I. Before she could tug that leash one more time I picked her up and slammed her body on the railings, pushing it down till the spikes poked through.”
I raise my glass and note the look of horror on Algy’s face.
“Bet the Midge Jackson. Merry Christmas.”
Alderman Edward R. Dunn
The Fruityman of 1911
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