In England, a lot of the items and activities that we associate with Christmas have nothing to do with the birth of Christ at all. Yule is the traditional name for celebrations lasting twelve days that took place around the 25th of December and these gave us many of the ideas we now associate with the festivities. The Yule log, for example, was a large log that was kept burning for the whole twelve days and then put away safely to be re-kindled the following year. That’s where we get the Yule log confection from. (The French have the same idea—their buche de Noel is an extremely fattening creation stuffed with cream, chocolate and other calorie-laden goodies. As though they didn’t eat enough over the festive season!)
The holly and the ivy, as plants which flower all the year through, were often placed together as symbols of male and female fertility and mistletoe, an important plant for the Druids, can trace its use at this time of year back to Celtic times, although nobody can remember why!
And of course Christianity was quick to exploit the idea of the Twelve Days of Christmas, which was the length of the traditional Yuletide activities, choosing to place Saint Matthew’s arrival of the Wise Men on the 6th January and calling it the Epiphany, from the Greek verb “to appear”. If I may make reference to our cross-Channel neighbours again, they celebrate the full twelve days in great gastronomic style. I know of people who have gone over to France for the celebrations and had to return early to protect their liver! They end the festivities there on 6th January, la fete des Rois, with the consumption of a flat, and, in truth, not particularly tasty cake called la galette des Rois. This contains a bean or some little trinket and whoever alights upon it in their piece of cake is crowned King or Queen for the day and has the rest of the family entirely at their beck and call. This is similar to the ancient tradition we used to have in this country, in the good old days when Christmas puddings were home-made and not bought at the supermarket two days before Christmas, of placing sixpences, plastic rings and other such gifts in the pudding to be found by the lucky diners, to symbolise wealth, marriage and other desirable things—as long as you didn’t break a tooth in the meantime!
The Romans decorated pine trees with candles at this time of year, although it is generally acknowledged that the modern idea of Christmas trees was introduced by Prince Albert in the 1840s. Having a decorated tree in the house or on public display certainly adds to the festive atmosphere, in my humble opinion. Anyone who does not observe this tradition for anything other than religious reasons is a right misery-guts, I think! Beth’s mother has one in her house, but then she did have seven unruly children to pacify.
Some countries, such as China and Japan, do not recognise Christmas at all. Others, particularly those where the Orthodox Church is dominant, recognise the birth of Christ as being on the 6th January. One or two countries, notably Holland, open their presents on 6th December, which is the feast of Saint Nicholas, generally acknowledged as the precursor to the modern Father Christmas. Our other name for the jolly, be-whiskered old gentleman is, after all, Santa Claus, which is a corruption of the name Saint Nicholas. The Germans open their presents on Christmas Eve, as does our own royal family—but they’re German anyway!
Of course, across most of the world now, Christmas has assumed a social and commercial importance that far outweighs its religious significance. And at least it’s not a movable feast, unlike Hanukkah, or Ramadan, or Easter. The dating of Easter—don’t get me started on that! For true believers, however, Christmas remains, along with Easter, one of the two most important dates of the Christian calendar and is celebrated accordingly by those who accept these things. For the rest of us, as ever was, it’s just an excuse to let our hair down, forget the mid-winter blues and have a bloody good time!
43
Theeth spent the next few days recovering, growing stronger and more articulate almost by the hour. Eventually, Beth and Gareth decided he had recuperated sufficiently for them to return to London and then move on to Liverpool. By now it was Thursday 20 December. They decided to go via Gareth’s home town and leave the cars there, then get a train down to London. Of course, Megan and Darren had wasted no time in passing on descriptions of the new love in Gareth’s life to the gossip-mongers in the village, perhaps best summed up by two assertions from Darren that she was a “gorgeous bird” and a “right little cracker”!
Gareth had rung ahead to announce their arrival and by the time their two cars had been garaged and the young couple had made their way to The Gnome’s Head, a welcoming committee had formed. All the crowd from the funeral were there, among numerous others, even old Mr Noel himself, who was keen for a progress report, or at least so he claimed. So the good old Gnome’s Head was fuller than might have been expected when our heroes arrived.
Gareth was rather taken aback by the assembled folk and Beth nearly turned tail and walked out again but they managed to retain their composure and strode up to the lounge bar.
Dai Beavon was heard to mutter in a loud stage-whisper: “You were right, Darren, bach. A real stunner!” Rhiannon kicked him savagely under the table. Beth blushed furiously but Gareth had by now embarked on a round of introductions. John and Bernice, John Evans and Sarah were warm and genuine in their greeting of the new arrival in their midst. Rhiannon was, perhaps understandably, a little more reticent in her welcome. Was she going to be swept out of Gareth’s existence, Gareth who she remembered holding as a tiny baby, and who she had coaxed and mollycoddled through the last seven years whenever she had had the chance? Gareth, whose white shirt she had ironed so carefully for his grandfather’s funeral? Beth knew the score—women have an intuition for this sort of thing, after all—and honoured the older woman with the most bewitchingly seraphic smile she could muster. It worked. Rhiannon was putty in her hands after that!
“What happened then, Gareth?” Noel Lyttle rattled inquisitively at Gareth, as soon as everyone had acquired suitably refreshing beverages and Megan had circulated a tray of Bernice’s delicious home-cooked mince pies.
“Are we amongst friends?” Gareth wondered nervously. He did not want to give too many secrets away.
“It’s quite safe,” the old lawyer responded. “John and Sarah are Foxes now and Megan and Darren are being brought up to speed, albeit reluctantly.” He smiled fondly at his grandson, who had taken up his now-customary position of having just the bar between himself and Megan. Ah, young love… . !
“Well, I’m not sure how much you all know, but there was a pretty serious confrontation between gnomes and goblins and, basically, we won. Theeth was badly hurt but is recuperating well, thank goodness. Pierre Poivre was more seriously injured and we don’t know if he’ll recover. His two confederates, Breakers, they’re called, apparently, were… . adequately disposed of, shall we say.”
“You would rather not elaborate on that score, I take it,” said Mr. Lyttle shrewdly.
“I think it would be better if I didn’t”, Gareth replied quietly and made it clear he had nothing further to say on the matter.”
“What happens now, then, Gareth boy?” This from John P.
“Well, Beth and I are going to live in London for a while, based at my flat in Limehouse. We’ll both be giving up our regular jobs for the moment. It seems that Beth’s younger sister, Gwyneth might also be a Custodian and we’re hoping she might come down and live with us too.”
“We’ll have to move if that happens,” Beth pointed out practically.
“We’ll worry about that as and when. In the meantime, Merry Christmas everybody. Here’s to further Fox success. Oh, and by the way, Theeth is definitely a gnome! It’s strange at first but it’s amazing how quickly you get used to the idea. Gnomes have great intelligence and carry themselves with a tremendous sense of dignity.”
“And what will you do about the house here?” Rhiannon, of course.
“We’ll try to come up as often as we can. I’ll certainly be keeping it o
n, if that’s what you’re worried about. Too many memories here, good and bad, for me to just walk away from them. And Beth has family in Liverpool, so we’ll aim to get away from London as often as possible. I’m sure it will make a refreshing change.”
“Yes, like Gareth, I’ve inherited a large house too,” Beth added quietly. My family are living in it and they will look after it for me. It will be nice to pop back now and then, though.”
The conversation developed on to more general topics and the convivial atmosphere was soon set fair for a good few hours.
“About that message, Gareth. Did you ever work out what it meant?” Noel Lyttle’s advancing years did not stop him from being as curious as ever. “It didn’t make any sense to me at all.”
“Well, yes, you see, it was an anagram and… .”
“You’re from a large family, I hear, Beth” said Sarah, sympathetically. “I’ve got four brothers and sisters myself, so I know what it’s like… .”
“I don’t mind if I do,” Dai happily handed his pint glass over to the landlord of The Gnome’s Head for replenishment. “I think it’s going to be a good Christmas this year, boyo… .”
Rhiannon sat quietly in the corner in tranquil meditation. She had hoped Gareth would find himself a nice girl at some stage. She just hadn’t expected it to happen quite so soon! Still she was obviously totally right for him, so… .
In a rare peaceful moment, John Phillips pondered the name of the establishment he had run with such love and care for nigh on thirty years. Gnomes existed, eh? Perhaps there was something in the myth after all. Might be worth doing some research on the Internet, then. Wouldn’t it be great to discover some interesting old character from years back who just might fit the description? It could be a real money-spinner and potential new customers were in short supply right now—without giving away too many secrets, of course.
Merry Christmas to all at The Gnome’s Head!
44
By mid-afternoon, they were ready to move on. They still had some travelling to do if they were to get to London at a reasonable hour. Darren, that perpetual reluctant non-drinker, had volunteered to drive them to Shrewsbury, his grandfather having decided to make a night of it and stay at the Gnome. That was no problem—it meant that Darren got to stay there too, and we all know what that entails. And he could have a drink when he got back to the village. Megan decided to come for the ride anyway and keep her swain company on the way home.
Beth was pleased with the way things had gone. If the truth be known, she had felt some trepidation at thought of meeting Gareth’s tightly-knit group of friends. She had realised from bits and pieces he had told her how fiercely loyal they were to him. How would they take to this non-Welsh outsider butting in to claim the heart of their hero?
She need not have worried. It was clear to everyone immediately that they were totally right for each other. And Beth’s own winning personality, ice-melting smile and gentle Scouse accent made her an instant hit with everyone who met her, not forgetting—especially for the chaps—that she was a right cracker! Soon it would be Gareth’s turn to run the gauntlet. There was still the formidable Ruth to be conquered! Gentile, not even a Liverpudlian, there was no guarantee that he would be warmly welcomed. There was the comfort of knowing that Gwyneth would be on his side, as long as he didn’t bite her head off again. Of the other sister, Fran, he knew nothing except that she was even better-looking than Beth. A couple of photos of her that he had seen did not really do her justice. He would find out for himself soon enough. As for the large and threatening clan of brothers, he could only wait and hope for the best.
The weather was starting to turn unpleasant again as they headed back up the A487 once more, this time aiming for England. Gusts of wind and squalls of icy rain did their best to make driving conditions as disagreeable as possible. They had a smooth enough journey, though, eagerly pointing out the spot just outside Machynlleth where they had had their first coming together, and with Megan doing most of the talking after that, Beth chipping in with pithy and pertinent comments and the lads grunting agreement as infrequently as they could get away with. They made good time to Shropshire and said their farewells. Again they were lucky with the trains and arrived at Euston a few minutes past eight in the evening, after a peaceful and uneventful journey, unlike their last railway adventure. Beth knew, having had a good nose round last time she was there, that there was no food at all worth mentioning in Gareth’s otherwise magnificent if rather shabby abode. Fortunately, the M&S food shop at Euston was still open and they were able to stock up with ample provisions and a rather nice bottle of Cotes du Rhone. Beth paid this time, if for no other reason than to show she was quite capable of pulling her weight, and Gareth made no attempt to stop her. Laden with bags and shopping, the pair of them staggered to the taxi-rank and headed to Limehouse for a second time. It was raining very heavily now and a fair gale was blowing.
Water from the Thames was being slapped quite solidly against the bank in front of Gareth’s building when they arrived and they were glad to be able to make a rapid escape into the old warehouse. The only lift in the establishment was broken, much to Gareth’s annoyance. “I pay a hefty enough annual service charge for that not to happen—and it’s not the first time, either,” he grumbled in typical Gareth fashion. They plodded up the stairs instead, piled through the front door of the flat and thankfully deposited their various bags and packages onto the floor. Gareth had the central heating on straight away and in no time at all, the whole atmosphere was snug and cosy. Wolenger, their constant companion in all their travels, was restored to his position of authority and vigilance in the middle of the lounge window-sill. They did not bother to draw the curtains. They were not overlooked and they had but one lamp on, giving off only enough light for them to be able to see what they were doing. Besides, it was lovely to watch the river and to see and hear the rain lashing down outside, knowing they were safe and sound inside.
They demolished their pre-cooked Marks’ meals, had some fruit and coffee and set to work on their red wine. They were beautifully comfortable and happy, totally content and absorbed in each other’s company. Would it always be like this? Beth knew that it would not be—they had experienced unpleasant events already and there would be more to come, she knew, particularly if they were to throw their lot in with Theeth and his companions. Still, she could not prevent herself from hoping that confrontations like the one just experienced were to be very much the exception rather than the rule.
The old gnome had had one last chat with them before they had left. “We are in a powerful position at the moment,” he observed. “The new Prime Minister has made a strong start and we can only hope that continues. However, all is not well in the financial world and I am reliably informed that there will be problems with banks world-wide in the near future, if only the politicians could see it. The stability in our environment which we have fought so hard to maintain could soon be under threat once again. PP will be doing all they can to re-establish parity as soon as possible. We must guard against the likelihood of their doing something unpleasant in an attempt to strike back at us. I believe the word or initials METH will play a key role in the early part of 2008.”
Beth was surprised at this. “Meth?” she said. “Isn’t that a bad word? Is that how we should be looking at it?”
“No, no. Without the s, this is a good word, and remember that it could also be M.E.T.H, initials or an acronym of some kind. If these letters do cross your path, I hope you will be ready to respond to them.”
The young lovers were so comfortable that they were almost reluctant to get up to go to bed. They did eventually fall off the settee on which they had been entwined. Beth no longer had any qualms about sharing the bed that had seemed so uninviting on her last visit. She knew she belonged here now, with Gareth, and for as long as they both wanted.
Once settled, they lost no t
ime in christening the bed in the appropriate manner and, for once, Beth had no trouble in falling asleep first. Gareth soon followed.
The rain continued to teem and the wind howled and snarled angrily at the old roof. One particularly violent gust woke Gareth up with a start. For a moment, he could not remember where he was. It had been such a long time since he had last slept here that he temporarily lost his bearings. He looked at his watch: 03:10. Was that a dream, all those gnomes and goblins and bad people? Yes, must have been. And that ravishing girl, was she a figment of his imagination too? Then he was suddenly conscious of a sinuously beautiful naked leg wrapped round his. There was a sleepily contented “Mmmmm” as he turned towards Beth. It all came back to him now. The elvish creatures were real, he had killed two men but joy of joys, Beth was real too. That knocked everything else into a cocked hat. It was going to be a good Christmas, young master Gareth. He kissed his beloved tenderly on the lips and got a dozy half-hearted response. Then he got up to answer a call of nature and get a drink of water from the kitchen. He switched the radio on while he was there. The rousing strains of the last movement of Brahms’ second piano concerto bounced back at him.
“The cycle of life goes on,” he thought as he wandered back through the lounge. On the window-sill Wolenger continued to glow reassuringly. Anyone passing by on land or water who caught a glimpse of the friendly green light would be able to look up and know that as long as the little owl was emitting his verdant signal, all was well with the world.
45
At about the same time, the P&O ship Pride of Portsmouth, one of the newer, smaller members of the cross-channel fleet, was docking in the port of Calais after a storm-tossed journey from Dover. The vessel had taken a fairly violent buffeting during the crossing. Many of the passengers had been unpleasantly seasick throughout the voyage and were only too happy to stagger green-gilled to their vehicles. Perhaps that extra Christmas rum and coke had not been a good idea after all! There were a number of brave foot passengers, who tottered and tumbled their way down the slippery gangway and on to terra comparatively firma. Among these, a shuffling and totally muffled diminutive figure slipped unnoticed towards the trains standing waiting at the platforms. He boarded the Paris train and skulked along the carriages until he found a corner seat right at the back of the last coach and settled into it. Twenty minutes later, after much grumbling and moaning of unhappy but relieved passengers struggling with their cumbersome luggage to find the seats allegedly allocated to them, the big locomotive shuddered into action and started juddering out on its three-hour journey to the metropolis, with its long train of dimly-lit carriages snaking sinuously behind it. The rain continued to tumble in epic cascades outside but the leviathan ploughed on regardless. Gradually, the lights of the seaport were left behind and all was dark in the countryside, only the lights gleaming from within the monster cavalcade making a feeble effort to pierce the Stygian gloom. After about fifteen minutes, the small figure under the big winter coat in the corner seat felt safe and secure enough to venture a look outside the rain-streaked window. He scrutinised the surroundings for a long minute or two and only then did Pierre Poivre allow himself a slow smile and a long satisfied sigh. He sank back into the sanctuary of his seat. He was back in France, he would soon be with friends, he was ready to resume battle again!
The Anagram Page 23
