The Martin Chronicles Part III: Last Christmas
Chapter 1: 'Twas the Day Before the Night Before Christmas
It was the 23rd of December and a winter chill had settled over Portwenn. The Ellinghams were walking down Roscarrock Hill toward the village centre. Martin, clad in his dark overcoat, pushed baby Mary along in her buggy, and Louisa, in her houndstooth check coat and loosely wrapped grey scarf, held James's hand. All around them festive lights and greenery were strung along the buildings and small decorated trees lined the narrow street.
Louisa smiled down at her son. He was such an earnest young boy, with his red tie tied neatly under his jacket, just like Daddy. He looked up at her, with his big pale blue-grey eyes peeking out from under the woollen hat that covered his blond hair.
"Is he really here?" James asked.
"Yes," she reassured him.
"Do you think he got my letter at the North Pole?"
"Of course he did."
"Daddy, did you write him a letter?"
Martin shook his head. "Uh no, I didn't, James."
They arrived at the Platt, where a large tree with lights and a sign post pointing to the North Pole were set up in the open area in front of the Mote Bar and Restaurant. Nearby was a large reindeer made of bundled sticks. James looked all around, wide-eyed.
"Oh look at that," Louisa exclaimed. "They did a wonderful job with the tree this year."
A chorale of festively dressed friends and neighbours were singing:
Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about,
Deep and crisp and even.
Al's Spice Express was parked nearby, with Morwenna Large fussing over a turkey strutting about in a pen beside it. Her husband Al was handing out hot drinks from the food truck window when he spied the Ellinghams. "Fancy guessing the weight of the turkey, Doc? ₤1, two guesses."
"No." Martin was typically monosyllabic.
"He's very friendly," said Morwenna. "Turns out turkeys have got a lot of personality."
"No, and make sure you wash your hands, they're filthy."
The chorale was still singing:
Yonder peasant who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?
"Has there always been Christmas?" James wondered.
"Yes," Louisa assured him. "Uh no," Martin corrected her.
"Well, not always always, but…" she agreed.
"It used to be called the winter solstice," Martin said, authoritatively, "but in the 4th Century Pope Julian chose the 25th of December for Christmas because he wanted to replace the pagan Saturnalia festival."
Janice Bone, clad in a white furry coat with a red scarf, spotted them. She waved to James with her purple gloved hand.
"Janice!" James ran to her.
Martin leaned in to get a look at a decorated food cart set up by a cheerful Caitlin Morgan. "Hello there, Sir Martin."
"It's Dr. Ellingham, I prefer that," he reminded her.
"Oh right, I forgot," she replied. "In any case, be careful Doc, another inch and you're under the mistletoe." She nodded up at the sprig of greenery hanging above the cart. "Anyone who wanted could lay a smacker on you!"
Sally Tishell, who just happened to be standing nearby, heard that and choked on her hot drink.
"What?" Martin was startled by her reaction. "Mrs. Tishell."
"I'm fine, just fine," Mrs. Tishell assured him. "So nice to see you here, Doc."
"How long has this food been outside?" Martin demanded.
"Only since this mornin'" Caitlin assured him.
"Hm. You should wear a hairnet," he said. "It's unhygienic."
"And a Happy Christmas to you too, Doc," Caitlin countered, but he had already stalked away.
To be continued…