A Christmas Cameron

by Benedict Arthur

  “Good Heaven!” said David, clasping his hands together, as he looked about him. “I was schooled in this place. I was a boy here!”

  The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to David’s sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long, forgotten!

  “Your lip is trembling,” said the Ghost. “And what is that upon your cheek?”

  David muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, “nothing, nothing”. He wiped his face and begged the Ghost to lead him where he would.

  “You recollect the way?” inquired the Spirit.

  “Remember it!” cried David with fervour; “I could walk it blindfold.”

  “Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!” observed the Ghost. “Let us go on.”

  They walked along the road, David recognising every gate, and post, and tree; until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its bridge, its church, and winding river. Further up the road David saw a group of men, dressed in the long black robes of schoolmasters. All these men were in great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were so full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it!

  “These are but shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “They have no consciousness of us.”

  The merry travellers came closer; and as they did, David recognised them and named every one. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them! Why did his heart leap up as they went past! Why was he filled with gladness when he heard them give each other Merry Christmas, as they entered the church that was already filled with schoolboys eager to start the carolling! What was merry Christmas to David? Out upon merry Christmas! What good had it ever done to him?

  “The church is full but the school is not quite deserted,” said the Ghost. “A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still.”

  David said he knew it. And he sobbed.

  They turned a corner towards the centre of town to see a small boy of no more than eight years come running down the slippery lane carrying a brown paper bag – a great smile spread across a face that was rosy and warm with exertion. As the boy passed by, David recognised his eager young self and took a sharp intake of breath. He watched as the boy hurtled past only to slip and fall a few yards further down the path, scattering the contents of his bag; numerous tiny bars of chocolate, all about the snow.

  Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards the young David with boys upon their backs. All these boys too were in great spirits, and shouted to each other. On seeing the boy face down in the snow, three of the boys, who were several years older than David, dismounted and proceeded to gather up the spilled chocolate and share it between themselves. One of them helped the Young David back onto his feet.

  “Oh no! Don’t eat that! It’s from the school!” cried the little David, his eyes beginning to fill with tears. He reached out to try and grab the chocolate out of their hands but was easily deflected.

  “Get back to your school now lad” one of the boys said “You’ll have plenty more there” he broke off a piece of chocolate in his mouth and began to chew. The young David became distraught and lunged out and grabbed the rest of the chocolate from the boy’s hand.

  The older boy smiled and placed his hand over little David’s face and pushed him back, sending him hurtling into the snow. Much amused, the older boys remounted their ponies and continued on their journey, happily munching on the remainder of the sweets as they went.

  The older David walked over to the boy lying in the snow. He was laid with his wet eyes staring at the sky; all hints of the former joy now drained from his face. Older David stood over the boy “Get up! Get up! Go after them!” he pleaded gesturing down the road. Snow began to silently fall on the young David’s face making him blink but he still did not move. The spirit placed its hand softly upon old David’s shoulder; “he cannot hear you” it said gently and with that, they were gone.

  --

  They went, the Ghost and David, across a dim hall, to a door at the back of a large old house. It opened before them, and disclosed a long, bare, melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain old wooden desks. At one of these, a lonely boy was sat near a feeble fire, his trousers and jacket wet with snow.

  Old David, upon seeing the sad face of his young self, felt as if a large hand had grasped him about the middle – a nervous fear that he had long since forgotten. From behind him came the sound of heavy footsteps. Both Davids turned their heads to see a huge woman dressed in a white tunic and grey cardigan, topped with a white nursemaid’s hat, ambling down the room towards them. She carried in her hand a clean, dry white nightshirt.

  “Here you go” she said handing the shirt to young David. “Out of those wet clothes now, and put your nightgown on. Get yourself warm.”

  “Yes Matron” said young David, his lower lip trembling, either from cold or fear.

  “So tell me then, what happened to all of the Christmas chocolates that I gave you to take to the church?” Matron asked.

  “I am sorry Matron” replied young David in a shaky voice. “They were stolen; honestly they were, by some older boys - from the village.”

  “I see” she replied. “And can such things be stolen from you, so easily, without your consent young Mr. Cameron?”

  “I tried to stop them, really I did!” protested the young David choking back tears. The Matron walked over to the young David and gathered him up in a motherly embrace. David buried his face in her soft, plump shoulder and began to sob in earnest.

  “Well” said the Matron in a gentle, kind tone, stroking the back of his head “Your story may be true but I do know that you are also a greedy, greedy little boy David. So you may have decided to eat all of the chocolates by yourself.”

  Young David raised his wet face from the Matron’s shoulder. Both he and the old David were wide eyed as they studied Matron’s face for any signs of anger – but there were none. Her gaze was completely benign. “No matron, no! Young David implored, shaking his head, “I cross my heart – they were stolen.”

  “Be that as it may, you have displayed either greediness or cowardice” said Matron with a sigh. “You know that in this school we allow our young men to display neither of these vices.”

  The young David continued to take deep gasping sobs as the matron turned him over and put him across her lap. After pulling up his nightshirt to reveal his bare legs she reached for the long wooden cane at the side of the fireplace and brought it down hard across his bare backside with a crack.

  Old David sat down upon the floor and wept to see his poor young self as he used to be.

  “You know” said David, “over and over she beat me, but she always had a kindly temperament about her, Matron. She barely ever even raised her voice. She always made me believe that those beatings were in my best interests.”

  “An iron fist in a velvet glove”, replied the Ghost. On hearing those words of his favourite guiding political aphorism, David shuddered.

  “A dangerous lesson for a child about how to treat the vulnerable, don’t you think?” said the ghost.

  David stared at the Matron’s face. As she raised the cane over and over, her countenance was one of almost complete calm. Only a slight furrow in the brow betrayed any kind of emotion. With some revulsion, David recognised the face as the exact same one that he had perfected for use when delivering his scathing public condemnations of the poor, the slackers, the addicts and others.

  David looked again at the face of his younger self. On seeing the pain and sorrow he cried out “poor boy!” and the shame of recognition fell upon the heart of David Cameron, softening the passage for his tears.

  “I wish,” David muttered, putting his hand in his pocket, and looking about him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: “but it’s too late now.”<
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  “What is the matter?” asked the Spirit.

  “Nothing,” said David. “Nothing. My Children were singing Christmas Carols last night. I should like to have seen them: that’s all.”

  The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved a hand: saying as it did so, “Let us see another Christmas!”

  --

  David’s former self grew somewhat larger at the words, and the room became smaller and darker. The walls shrunk, the windows cracked; fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling. Witnessing these events, astounding as they were left David dumbfounded.

  Young David was no longer bent across a lap but was instead, fast asleep, tucked up in a cosy bed. The boys’ bed was laid below a large window whose sill was covered in several inches of snow and whose glass was made white with a fresh wintry frost. Outside, the light from a waning moon still lit vast fields of fallen snow stretching out for as far as the eye could see and on the horizon a tiny ribbon of dawn light had begun to push upwards against the darkness.

  “My old room!” David exclaimed turning to the ghost. “Oh what a relief to return to this happy place, thank you!” He gazed around in happy recognition at the shelves heavy with books, and the posters of Pink Floyd and Alexander the Great hanging next to each other above his large wooden desk. The clock hanging above David’s bed read five o’clock.

  David’s reunion with his adolescent habitat was interrupted by the soft click of a turning latch, followed by the slow creak of the large wooden door at the bottom of his room being pushed open. Into the room crept a tall man with a head of thick, dark brown hair framing a great round forehead and a long straight nose not dissimilar to David’s own. The man was of slim build but appeared larger that night for being clad in a thick black duffle coat and heavy woollen jumper. He walked quietly into the room; his footsteps barely made a sound as they approached David’s bed, which was quite remarkable considering he was wearing a pair of heavy outdoor boots.

  “Dad” whispered the older David, trying to swallow the lump in his throat “Dear old Dad”.

  David’s father sat slowly on the edge of young David’s bed and placed a hand gently on the sleeping boys shoulder. “David”, he said quietly, “get up, it’s time.”

  David and the ghost followed as the young David now dressed in his winter clothes followed his father out of his old house and into the vast expanse of snow covered fields that lay to the east. There was just enough light for the young David to mark his father’s footsteps and they struck out at a bold pace so as to evade the wintery chill.

  They walked and walked for a great distance accompanied only by vast plains of snow covered silence. But in spite of the quiet, David’s thoughts were completely occupied with the remembrance of the feelings of that Christmas morning. He certainly recalled a great sense of excitement and anticipation at being out alone in the wild with his father but most of all he was filled with a long forgotten feeling of being very, very safe and under a loyal protection.

  Presently, the group arrived at the edge of a forest and in spite of there being no clear path forward, David’s father continued on, helping his young son over the fallen logs and pulling aside the tree branches that were heavy with fresh snow. By now, the light of dawn was filtering in beautiful split beams through the trees, causing the snow to sparkle and shimmer. Old David stopped for a moment and took in the stillness of the snow covered forest. A red breasted robin settled on a branch very nearby, oblivious to his presence and shook a dusting of snow from its feathers. “Do you know how the Robin got its red breast?” asked the ghost. David shook his head without taking his eyes of the bird. “It was burnt whilst carrying water to the souls in purgatory”. David watched the bird fly away and on that Christmas morning he once again felt his cold eyes glisten and his heart was kindled with a long forgotten feeling.

  Eventually, the forest ended at a large clearing at the centre of which stood an exceptionally large Yew tree, almost thirty metres high. The early morning sun was directly behind the tree so that its rays were split in a thousand directions; like a bursting star. David’s father had timed their arrival perfectly.

  The Ghost stopped at the edge of the clearing, and asked David if he knew the place.

  “I know it” said David. “I had thought it long forgotten.”

  The group made their way towards the Yew tree stopping at an old tree stump about twenty metres away. David’s father cleared the snow off the stump and spread a red tartan blanket over the surface. Sitting down, he gestured for his son to join him. Young David sat down as his father removed a tall silver thermos flask and two mugs from his bag. He unscrewed the top of the flask and the two of them were enveloped in wisps of coffee flavoured steam. David’s father handed him a cup of the sweet, milky drink.

  “Are you warm enough David?” his father enquired.

  “Yes thanks” replied David’s young self, cupping his hands around his mug and taking as sip of his drink.

  “What do you think of this place?” his father continued.

  “It’s nice” said David nodding slowly.

  “Tell me what you see David”

  The young David looked around the clearing for a few moments “Well the main thing is that tree” he eventually replied “It’s pretty massive”.

  “It is” agreed his father. “What type of tree is it?”

  “I, I’m afraid don’t know Dad.”

  “It’s a Taxus Baccata – a European Ewe tree. This one is a true giant, you’ll not find one larger anywhere in the world” He paused for a moment as the young David gazed at the tree. “This is our family tree David.”

  “Our family tree?”

  “Yes - it was planted here by our ancestors more than a thousand years ago and now it represents the strength of our lineage David.”

  “Wow” said David’s young self, staring at the tree.

  “Come” said his father. He got up and led the young David over to the tree.

  The two of them stood under the canopy created by the lower branches. David’s father slapped the great trunk of the tree with his open hand. “Do you see David, where this tree gets its great strength and authority? It is from the roots. They plunge deep and wide into the flesh of this great land – just like our family.”

  Young David looked at the ground around his feet and the undulations of the great roots, nodding with recognition.

  “But do you see David how the ground around your feet is bare?” continued his father. “Do you know why that is?”

  David shook his head.

  “For a tree like this to be so strong David, it has to feed and it has to be without competition. Do you know how it fulfills both these requirements?”

  David shook his head again.

  “Poison David, the leaves of the tree contain poison. When they fall, they kill whatever they touch. Once the plants and animals are dead, they form the soil and the tree can feed.”

  As the word poison fell from his father’s lips a furrow of distress spread across Young David’s brow. He looked up at his father wide-eyed.

  “Don’t look so worried, David” said his father. Remember that the roots pay a return too, they hold the soil together. Even to be part of the soil is a good thing- do you understand?”

  “I think so”

  David’s father squatted in front of his son and grasped both of his gloved hands. “Listen my boy. You are very, very special. You are destined for great things. You come from a line of kings -true kings, not just in title but men of true power. Blood and sacrifice and an understanding of power, have made our family great. You can’t ever forget the foundations of our strength David – everyone has their role to play – and you must do whatever it takes to protect yourself and those like you. The hardest job for you one day might be to convince those people who will become your soil that their role is in their best interests – and that it is the best they can hope for.”

  “Ok Dad”

  The two of them walked back ov
er to the tree stump and sat back down again. David’s father removed the glove from his right hand and reached into the inside pocket of his coat. His hand emerged clutching a small black velvet box which he handed to David. “Here” he said. “This is for you, so that you never forget.”

  David took the box from his father and opened it, revealing a bright gold pocket watch laid upon a small white satin cushion. “Turn it over” instructed his father.

  David turned the watch over. The back was studded with tiny green emeralds. Upon closer examination the emeralds could be seen to be part of the foliage of a tree that had been intricately engraved on the back. “`I had it made especially for you” said David’s father.