Author's Note:
George's Elves is a story Written for lettyraincs for the Tumblr MM Secret Santa 2016.
This Christmas story is set in the Made Different retelling / AU, and is set in 1925.
Made Different was written to commemorate the WWI centenary, and explores the aftermath of the Great War through the eyes of Matthew, Mary, their friends (including some AU's) and family.
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"Would you believe that our little rascal is still awake?" Matthew chuckled, peeking through the door to George's room. It was after 11, and they had just arrived home to the Vicarage from the Christmas Eve festivities still in full swing at the Abbey.
"Oh, for goodness sakes!" Mary wasn't sure whether to be cross or amused. "He'll be too tired to enjoy tomorrow!"
"I doubt it," Matthew reached for her hands. "Weren't you exactly the same at that age?" he reminisced, thinking back to the hours that he had spent as a child willing himself to stay awake on Christmas Eves at his home in Manchester.
Mary gazed at him, his words reminding her of a particular snowy eve upon which Sybil and Edith had sneaked into her room and snuggled with her in bed. They had lain there and chattered excitedly, pausing every now and again to listen to the voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses and later the rousing carol singing that drifted up from the entertainment in the Great Hall below.
She squeezed Matthew's hands and recounted to him what had happened next on that night.
"One Christmas Eve, when we were still too young to attend the party, but too old to go to sleep whilst it was happening," she said, "it began to snow just as everyone went to go home. The departing guests got terribly excited, and some of the villagers began to sing, and then kept singing after they left! " Mary's eyes shone at the recollection.
"We ran to the window to watch from upstairs, and there, through the magic of the falling snow, was a line of bobbing lanterns and this lovely singing drifting back through the stillness. O holy night I think it was.
"We stood there, mesmerised, until we couldn't hear the singing anymore. By which time, of course, we were all shivering with cold!" she chuckled and shook her head. "It's my favourite Christmas memory."
Matthew smiled, captivated both by the story and the joyfulness of his wife as she retold it. "What a marvellous recollection," he remarked softly. "Of the wonderful Christmas Eve tradition that your Grandfather started during Queen Victoria's reign, and that your father is continuing!" He paused. "And I wonder what young George's memories will be of his Christmas Eves in the years to come?" As if on cue, there was a sudden cry from the bedroom.
"Papa! Papa!"
"Speak of the devil," Matthew chuckled.
"Oh dear," Mary's face was comical.
Flashing her a wry look, Matthew pushed open the door and went in. "Yes George," Matthew's voice was smooth as honey as he made his way through the gloom, Mary following.
"Papa," George was clearly pleased to see him. "When will it be the morning time?" a pair of wide eyes fixed hopefully on Matthew's.
"Still a very long time darling boy," Matthew answered, drawing his chair up close beside his son. "It's not even midnight!" he reached and tousled George's soft golden hair.
"Oh," George sounded disappointed. "I tried to count sheeps. But sheeps don't make me sleepy," he frowned. "And when Nanny and me looked for the Christmas star there were clouds," his bottom lip wobbled. "And Nanny wouldn't let me wait until the clouds went away," the lip wobbled a little more.
"Nannies need sleep too, darling," Mary smiled down at her round cheeked son with his big blue eyes: the spitting image of his father at the same age.
"They certainly do, and so do you little one," Matthew said gently but firmly. George looked a little downcast, and not wanting his son to feel sad on Christmas Eve, Matthew gave in to the wobbling bottom lip and lifted him out of bed onto his lap. "So what might help you sleep, George?" He kissed the top of his head. "Would you like a lullaby?"
"A story, Papa," he snuggled contentedly against Matthew, thoughts of sheep and non-existent stars instantly banished now he was safe in his father's arms.
"Papa read George a story. And Mama too! Sit Mama!" he pointed to the edge of the bed.
"What's the magic word George?" Mary asked, her tone gently reproving. "A boy can't forget the magic word, especially not at Christmas time!" but her lips twitched a little and she sat down obediently all the same.
"Please," George smiled unabashedly first at her, and then at his father. "Please Papa. Please Papa read me and Mama a story," he bounced a little on Matthew's knee. "Oh!" he gave a little gasp. "And Teddy!" he snatched the slightly dog-eared toy from the top of his pillow and arranged him carefully in his own lap. "Teddy too," he said with a satisfied tone.
Matthew switched on the lamp. Grimm's Fairy Tales was on the top of the pile on his son's bedside table: At five years old, George was madly in love with books whether it be reading them, which he did of his favourites over and over, or being read to by whomever was around and prepared to indulge him the pleasure.
"What would you like?" Matthew opened the beautifully illustrated volume to the contents page.
"The Elf story," the reply was immediate. "Because it's Christmas Papa," he said seriously.
"Of course," Matthew nodded. "We must have a Christmas story." And with a wink at his wife, he found the page for The Elves and the Shoemaker and began to read.
"A shoemaker, by no fault of his own, became so poor that at last he had nothing left but enough leather for one pair of shoes. So in the evening, he cut the leather into the shape of the shoes, and he left his work on the table to finish in the morning. He lay down quietly in his bed, and before he fell asleep he asked God to help him.
In the morning, just as he was about to sit down to work, he saw the two shoes standing quite finished on his table. He was astounded, and did not know what to make of it. He took the shoes in his hands to look at them more closely and he saw that they were so neatly made that there was not one bad stitch in them. It was just as if they were intended as a masterpiece."
"What's a masserpiece Papa?" George tugged on Matthew's arm.
"A masterpiece is something that has been made very well," Matthew replied. "So well that it stands out. A bit like Daisy's Christmas Cake."
"Oooh!" George smacked his lips together.
Mary sniggered. "An excellent example from your Papa. Even Mrs Patmore has had to agree it's the best in the county!" Matthew stifled a snort of laughter and then resumed.
"Soon after, a customer came in to the shop, and as the shoes pleased him so well, he paid more than the usual price. Now the shoemaker had enough money to buy leather for two pairs of shoes.
That night, he cut out the leather, and the next morning he was about to set to work with fresh hope for the future when he saw that the shoes were already made. There was no shortage of customers who wanted the shoes, and the shoemaker soon had enough to buy leather for four pairs of shoes.
The following morning he found the four pairs were made – and so it went on; any leather that he cut out in the evening was finished by the morning. Soon he was no longer poor, and he even became quite rich.
Now one evening, not long before Christmas, the man finished cutting out the leather as usual. This time he said to his wife: "Let's stay up tonight to see who it is that lends us this helping hand?"
The woman liked the idea, and lighted a candle. Then they hid themselves in a corner of the room behind some clothes, which were hanging up there, and watched.
When it was midnight, two little elves came into the room, both without any clothes on, and sat down by the shoemaker's table.
They took all the work which was cut out before them and began to stitch, sew, and hammer so skillfully and so quickly with their little fingers that the shoemaker could not turn away his eyes for astonishment. They did not stop until all was done and stood finished on the table, and then they ran quickly away.
The next morning the woman said: "The little men have made us rich, and we really must show that we are grateful for it. They run about so, but have nothing on, and must be cold. I'll tell you what I'll do: I will make them little shirts, coats, vests, and trousers, and knit both of them a pair of stockings. You can help too – make them two little pairs of shoes."
The man said: "I shall be very glad to do it." One night, when everything was ready, they laid their presents altogether on the table instead of the cut out work. Then they hid themselves to see what the little men would do.
At midnight they came bounding in, wanting to get to work at once, but as they did not find any leather cut out, but only the pretty little articles of clothing, they were at first puzzled – and then delighted. They quickly put them on, then stroking the beautiful clothes on their bodies they sang:
'Sind wir nicht Knaben glatt und fein?
Was sollen wir länger Schuster sein!'
"Which, George, means in English," Matthew explained:
Are we not boys, neat and fine?
No longer cobblers shall we be!"
"Papa, why they cobblers?" George frowned. "Granny Cora called Daisy's peach pudding 'cobbler.' Elf's aren't puddings!"
"Ah," Mary said knowingly. "Where Granny Cora grew up in America, they sometimes call fruit puddings 'cobblers', But 'cobbler' also means someone who makes shoes. Like the Elves in this story."
"Oh. Why would a pudding and a shoemaker have the same name?" George yawned, confused.
Matthew shrugged, deciding against a linguistics lesson this particular Christmas Eve. "Because the English language is funny sometimes," he said simply. George rubbed his eyes satisfied at this explanation, and Matthew continued.
"Then they hopped and danced about, jumping over chairs and benches.
At last they danced out of the doors. From that time on they came no more, but as long as the shoemaker lived, all went well with him, and all his business prospered."
As Matthew closed the book, he thought George must be asleep, he lay so still against him. But as he reached to place the book back on the bedside table, George opened his eyes and straightened up. "You and Mama are Elf's," he announced. "Just like in the story."
"We are?" Matthew stroked his son's head. "And just how might that be?"
"Molly said. And Tommy did too."
"Molly Pearson and Tommy Cooke?" Mary asked and George nodded.
"When Molly looked after me and Tommy after school. She read it to us."
"And who was the Shoemaker?" Mary asked mystified.
"Well, they didn't agree!" George frowned. "Molly said it was her Mam. And Tommy said it was his Dad. And then I said we could have TWO shoemakers and that made it all right."
"But what… how?" Matthew asked, interested.
"Oh Papa, don't you see?" George shook his head as if to say, "it's obvious isn't it?" Matthew stifled a laugh at his young son's all knowing expression. "Not quite. So how about you tell us George," he said expectantly.
"Well. Molly said a long time ago her Mam was poor like the Shoemaker. And Molly said they were all sad. But then they found you. Well she said you found her first. In a puddle Papa?" George looked at his father questioningly.
"That's another story George," Matthew chuckled. "But yes, I did rescue Molly from a puddle when she was hurt and we met Molly's Mam after that."
"Oh," said George. Still slightly confused, but satisfied for now, he continued. "Molly said you gave her Mam a 'sheen' – what's a 'sheen' Papa? She said the 'sheen' was like one pair of shoes. And now her Mam and her and Ryan aren't poor anymore! But what is a 'sheen'?" he asked again.
"I think she meant a sewing machine, George," Matthew explained. "Like the one at Granny Isobel's. Remember your sailor suit? Granny Isobel made that using her sewing machine.
"When Molly's Dad died in the big war, her Mam needed to find work. She wanted to sew clothes to sell to people. But a sewing machine costs a lot of money. We loaned her some money to buy one. And when people saw how nice the things she made were, they paid her well and other people started to come for their clothes too."
"Just like the Shoemaker!" George said excitedly.
"That's right."
"So you are an Elf," George said proudly, and he stared at his father for a minute. "You know what else Papa?" he said at last.
"What, little man?"
Molly said you are her favourite Elf in the whole wide world."
"She did, did she?" there was a catch in Matthew's voice. "How lovely of her to say that."
"You sad Papa?" George looked worried.
"Not sad, George. Well, not exactly. Perhaps sad AND happy," Matthew tried to smile, as he remembered the troubled little girl Molly who had captured his heart, and to whom he had been a father figure ever since: a girl who had now blossomed into a gracious and talented young woman.
George reached up and wrapped his arms around his father's neck. "Don't be sad Papa! You can be my favourite Elf too," he said seriously.
"And you are most definitely mine," Matthew said fervently, tightening his arms about his son. "Well you and Mama both," and this time it was Mary watching who felt a lump in her throat.
George, twisting round from his father's shoulder, reached his hand out.
"Mama Elf story now," he said yawning again.
"Yes, you tell us Mama's story George," Matthew murmured, sitting him back down in his lap to face Mary.
"Tommy said his Dad reads him the Elf story too. And when Tommy asked his Dad if knew any real life Elf's…"
"Elves," Mary corrected automatically.
"Elf – is's then," George didn't miss a beat, "his Dad told him "Lady Mary is my Elf" He paused and looked worried. "But Mama," George sounded uncertain, "Tommy and me aren't sure how you is an Elf though."
"What did Tommy's father say darling?" Mary asked gently.
"When Tommy asked, he said you gave him a chance.
"Mama, why would giving someone a chance mean you is an Elf?"
Mary's eyes pricked upon hearing what her loyal employee, Harry Cooke, had said. She lifted her hands up and then dropped them into her lap and looked to Matthew for help.
"Because, George," Matthew began softly. "Sometimes all it takes to help someone who is having a hard time is to give them a chance. And that's what your Mama did for Mr Cooke. She gave him a chance to be a working man, when he wasn't even sure himself if he could work again."
"Because the war stole his legs and arm." Matthew's words reminded George what Tommy had said.
"That's right," Matthew nodded. "And he was able to work. And very well."
"So the 'chance' was like a pair of shoes?" George asked still unsure, and Matthew nodded. George sat quietly for a moment, his fingers playing idly with one of Matthew's cufflinks. His parents waited, instinctively aware there was another question coming.
"But what do you get?" George asked eventually. "The Elf-is's in the story got clothes. But you have clothes!"
"Nothing," Mary ventured. "We don't need anything. We Elves get lots and lots of satisfaction from making other people happy. That's more than enough for us!"
"Oh," George looked slightly crestfallen. "But you are such good Elf-is's. Don't you deserve a present? Especially at Christmas!"
Mary pursed her lips and looked across at Matthew. "Should we?" she mouthed. Matthew thought for a moment, and then nodded, a smile playing at his lips.
"Actually George," Mary reached to pat her son's shoulder. "We have got something special this Christmas. Something very special indeed! And it's a present for you too."
George's eyes grew round. "For me too? What is it?" he demanded excitedly.
"Well," Matthew took a deep breath. "You know how you've been asking Mama for a brother or a sister?" George nodded, and his eyes widened in anticipation.
"Sometime next year you are going to get one! Your Mama is going to have a baby, George."
"Mama having a baby? Like Mrs Bates?" George breathed, touching his mother's abdomen in wonder.
"That's right. Like Mrs Bates did," Mary placed her hand over George's on her stomach. "Your brother or sister is right here, with us now."
"Ohhh," George breathed. "Mama," his eyes shone. "A baby brother or a sister for me? That I can play with?" he beamed at his parents, clearly elated at the prospect.
"Of course baby will be very little at first and just want to sleep all the time," Mary hastened to add.
"Like Elena before she liked to play peek-a-boo," George stated. Mary smiled. "Yes darling, just like the Bates's Elena. And just like her, it won't be too long after they are born that your little brother or sister will want to play games like that with you!"
"Oh Mama!" George's smile lit up his face and his blue eyes blinked disarmingly as he looked from her to his father and back again.
Something glittering near the window caught Mary's eye and she let out a little gasp.
"Matthew," she murmured. "Switch off the lamp, will you darling?"
As Matthew obliged, they heard the Grandfather clock in the hall beginning to chime. It was midnight. Christmas was now upon them.
"Look out of the window George," Mary's voice was hushed. "What do you see?"
"Ohhh!" George clapped his hands together. "It's the Christmas star Mama! Papa it's the Christmas star!" and scrambling off Matthew's lap he ran to the window and pushed his face up against the glass. Mary followed, opening the curtains more fully. She stood with her hand on her son's shoulder and they peered outside to the now completely clear and starlit night.
The Winter Circle blazed, Sirius dazzling in its brightness. Frosty grass glittered on the expanse of lawn before them. And as they stood there, mesmerised by the beauty of the scene, Mary felt her skin prickle: she was sure she heard carol singing in the distance.
O holy night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appear'd and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born;
O night divine, O night, O night Divine.
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Authors Notes:
The Elves and the Shoemaker by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm
The Christmas star George saw was probably Sirius: it is the brightest of a series of noticeable stars that together form The Winter Circle: an asterism seen most prominently in the Northern Hemisphere, during the months of December and January. Its stars also include Castor and Pollux.
Oh Holy Night (French: Cantique de Noël) composed by Adolphe Adam in 1847.
Christmas, and the ritual of decorating Christmas trees was popularised in Britain during Queen Victoria's reign.