By John Newton
Lubbecke, West Germany, December 1946
During those few weeks before Christmas a crushed people rise, determined to enjoy this first properly celebrated Festive Season since 1938. Although only aged eleven, the small English boy feels the melding of prehistoric Nordic rites and ancient Middle Eastern mysticism that form the enforced and gluttonous jollity of a properly run Teutonic Christmas.
Where does all this food come from? And all this drink? Beer, schnapps, wine and pear brandy by the carboy. And heavy dark-green fir trees, laden with a brilliance of coloured lights and tinsel and candles.
Invited to Festive celebrations by so many friendly German families and walking home stuffed with food and carrying presents, guiding his tipsy parents through crisp sparkling snow, he cannot understand six years terrible slaughter between such happy people. Instead of wrecking a continent, why didn’t they just meet once a year for a big party?
Malindi, Kenya Coast, December 1957
Wondering if life anywhere else could be better than in this stunning Colony, the young man relaxes at a beach hotel with a circle of new friends brought together by Christmas. Across silver sand and sparkling surf he watches triangular dhow sails skim the horizon, white and pure against the gentle blue sea.
He hears the mellow lunch gong chime. Indolent from a morning of surfing and flirting in hot East African sun, the group stirs. Strong tanned boys and delicious golden girls in bright bikinis stand, stretch and pad barefoot towards the dining room. He follows.
Whom to sit near? The slim blond with the smallest bikini? Or the chunky red head with a great smile and lots of character? Or should he wait for evening and the dinky little receptionist who’d promised much with her eyes and one fluttering touch as he passed by?
Someone newly out from England says, ‘How funny to have Christmas in the sun.’
Someone else says, ‘Why? What about the first Christmas?’
An English Village, December 1967
Hurrying halfway round the world, the international businessman reaches home in time for the first Christmas party. Though exhausted from travel and burdened by mid-life problems – demanding job; demanding mortgage; demanding children; demanding first wife – he determines to enjoy the evening.
It turns out to be the standard slow-dancing-in-a-darkened-room affair. Entwined couples glued together by dreamy music and the tantalising prospect of a little light adultery. Then home to the usual late-night recriminations.
An English Country Town, Early New Millennium
Christmas dinner done, the elderly gentleman sits in warm candle-lit quiet and studies his group of friends. Some slumped and dozing in soft chairs. Others murmuring tales of grandchildren and operations and aches and pains.
His mind wanders across the violent early years, passes through the difficult middle years and blesses good fortune for arriving safe, sound and healthy in these twilight years.
Across the room his calm and gracious second wife sits framed by candle-glow. She smiles and thirty years of delicately nurtured love passes between them.
Author Bio:
This slightly biological short story is one of my favourites among the 500 odd I have written. It sometimes brings tears to my eyes.
Contact Author:
Email: nbi.john@gmail.com
