Christmas With the Chrystals Other Stories

by Noel Streatfeild

  Standing unseen, looking into the kitchen, Mrs Cornelius forgot the angry things she had meant to say. In the window was the little tree, nothing like so grand as the one in the hall, but bright with lights. All round it stood her family, with Miss Smith and the Chrystals. They were singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’, old Hans’ voice booming as the king.

  Bring me flesh and bring me wine,

  Bring me pine-logs hither;

  Thou and I will see him dine,

  When we bear them thither.

  Everybody sang the next lines, and then Gardiner’s shrill treble rang out:

  Sire, the night is darker now,

  And the wind blows stronger,

  Fails my heart, I know not how

  I can go no longer.

  It was as if Mrs Cornelius’s heart had been made of ice, and now suddenly the ice was melting. She was not cross, she was envious. She wanted more than she had wanted anything for years to feel she could join that party round the tree, and not by her mere presence spoil the beauty of the evening for everybody else. She meant to go back to the drawing-room, and would have gone, but as she moved, a board creaked and, just as Mrs Cornelius had feared, the carol-singing faltered. But Rosa and Ted were not having that.

  ‘Madam!’ Rosa said, making room for her.

  ‘Come on, Madam,’ Ted added.

  Mrs Cornelius came on and found herself singing words she had forgotten she had ever known.

  Therefore, Christian men, be sure,

  Wealth or rank possessing,

  Ye who now will bless the poor,

  Shall yourselves find blessing.

  Ballet Shoes

  When Noel Streatfeild wrote Ballet Shoes she had no idea how popular it was to become. Here she introduces the story to children who may not have read it, and this is followed by an extract in which the three Fossil sisters are encouraged to save up for their futures.

  2. An Introduction to Ballet Shoes

  People like me who write books often get letters from strangers. The letters are of all types, but by far the largest are written by people who want to know what happens next to some characters in a book in whom they have become interested. The real answer is nothing happens next. An author has planned what his or her book is about and when they reach the end that, as far as they are concerned, is the finish. Of course this does not apply to authors who write serials: they can write perhaps as many as six books about the same characters.

  Of all the books I have written none has brought in as many requests for a sequel as a book I wrote called Ballet Shoes. For those of you who have not read it, the story is about three babies who were adopted by an old man who collected fossils. His name was Great Uncle Matthew or G.U.M. for short.

  Great Uncle Matthew had a great-niece who lived with him in a house in the Cromwell Road, London. She was called Sylvia, and she and her old nurse, called Nana, together with a cook and a housemaid called Clara, ran the house for Gum. This, in his fossil-collecting days, was quite a job, for he travelled a lot and brought back hundreds of fossils, some very large which he parked all over the house. In fact the house would have been full of fossils and nothing else if it had not been for Nana, who now and then would make Sylvia tell her uncle that not another fossil came into the house until a large number had gone out. Gum hated parting with a fossil, but when Nana got firm he had to. Then workmen would arrive with crates and in time there would be a notice in The Times saying that Professor Matthew Brown had given another generous gift of fossils to a museum.

  One year poor Gum, when fossil-hunting on a mountain, had a terrible fall, as a result of which he lost a leg. That put an end to his fossil-hunting for good but not to his travels, for he decided to see the world by sea. That is how the first baby came to the house. Gum’s ship struck an iceberg and all the passengers had to take to the boats. One of the boats overturned and everybody was drowned except a baby found cooing in a life belt. Gum, used to collecting things, picked up the baby, wrapped her in his coat and, when they were rescued, took her to the Cromwell Road.

  The baby was christened Pauline after St Paul who, you remember, had also been rescued from the sea. Gum argued a bit because he wanted her called after a famous fossil, but Nana said:

  ‘Babies in my nurseries, sir, never have had outlandish names, and they’re not starting now. Miss Sylvia has chosen a nice sensible name, and called after a blessed saint, and no other name is going to be used, if you’ll forgive me speaking plain, sir.’

  A year later Gum turned up with a second baby. He had found this one in a hospital where he had gone to have urgent treatment for his leg. There he made friends with a poor young Russian whose wife had died giving birth when her baby was born. To Gum it was a matter of course, when the young Russian also died, that he should adopt the baby.

  ‘We have a baby at home that I have adopted,’ he said. ‘We shall have another.’

  The new baby was called Petrova. Nana accepted her quite calmly.

  ‘Very nice for Pauline to have a companion,’ then she added: ‘Let’s hope this one has brains, for it’s easy to see who’s going to be Miss Plain in my nursery.’

  But to Gum she spoke very firmly.

  ‘Now, sir – two babies in the nursery is right and proper, and such as the best homes have a right to expect, but two is enough. Bring one more and I give notice.’

  Probably it was fear of what Nana would say that made Gum send the third and last baby by district messenger. She arrived in a basket and with her came a note and a little pair of ballet shoes. Gum said in the note that he was sorry not to bring the baby himself, but he was off on a friend’s yacht to visit some strange island. He was expecting to be away for some years. He had arranged for the bank to see Sylvia had all the money she needed for five years. About the baby he said that her mother was a dancer and her name was Posy, to which he added: ‘Unfortunate but true.’

  About four months later a parcel arrived addressed to ‘The Little Fossils’. In it were three necklaces – a turquoise one for Pauline, a string of tiny seed pearls for Petrova and a string of coral for Posy.

  ‘Well,’ said Nana, ‘I expect that’s the last of him we shall hear for some time.’

  She was quite right.

  Gum did not come back in five years, so the bank stopped paying Sylvia money. To help out she took in boarders: two Doctors of Literature, a Mr and Mrs Simpson from Malaya and a Miss Theo Dane who taught dancing at The Children’s Academy of Dancing and Stage Training.

  It was these boarders who changed the children’s lives. Theo Dane got them into the theatrical school where she taught. Mr Simpson encouraged Petrova in her love of engines and the Doctors of Literature gave the children lessons. Still Gum didn’t come home and often money was very tight, so as soon as Pauline and Petrova were old enough they became professional child actors. Posy, who was the dancer of the family, did not appear professionally, for she was not old enough when the book finished.

  FROM

  Ballet Shoes

  3. Independence at Fourteen

  ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ was a success. It had been hoped in producing it late in September that it would run until the theatre put on a Christmas production. It did better than that: it ran over Christmas with matinées every day. Pauline and Petrova got two pounds a week each as fairies; for the extra matinées they got an eighth of their two pounds, so that they got five shillings extra for each matinée, which brought their salaries up to three pounds a week. They had been putting one pound into the post office, sending four shillings to the Academy, giving ten shillings to Sylvia for the house, which left six shillings a week for clothes and pocket money, which was not much, with all the clothes they needed, and they very seldom got any pocket money, and never more than a penny or twopence. Their extra matinée money came as a surprise; it was in their pay envelopes, and they were not expecting it. A whole pound more; it seemed immense wealth. Naturally two shillings of it went to the Academy; but that
would still leave eighteen.

  ‘Do you think, Nana,’ Pauline asked, ‘that if we gave Garnie another ten shillings, and you had five for our clothes we could have the extra for spending; that’s six shillings between us, which would be two shillings a week each?’

  Nana shook her head.

  ‘I doubt it, dear, with all that’s needed for you. What do you want two shillings for?’

  Pauline fingered her pay envelope. She hesitated to tell Nana her secret ambition, in case she was told it could not be.

  ‘It’s theatres,’ she explained at last. ‘I never go to any. I want to see the good people act. I’d like to go to a matinée every week, when I’m not working. I could if I saved up all my two shillings.’

  ‘Theatres!’ Petrova looked disgusted. ‘What a waste of good money! If I had two shillings a week, I’d buy books and books and books.’

  ‘And what books!’ Pauline remarked bitterly, as both she and Posy disliked Petrova’s idea of a library. ‘All dull things about engines.’

  ‘Well, there’s no need to quarrel about what you’d do with two shillings,’ Nana put in, ‘for you won’t get it; and if you don’t hurry, you won’t be out of the theatre on time, and that’ll get me into trouble with the stage manager, and him with the London County Council, and you’ll find yourselves without a job, and then nobody will get two shillings.’

  The discussion of the extra pound was brought up at breakfast the next morning. Sylvia, in a way, took Pauline’s side; but she insisted that the ten shillings they had planned for the house must go into the post office.

  Pauline gave an angry jab at her porridge.

  ‘But that’s mean, you know you’ve got to have the ten shillings, or we couldn’t take the two shillings; it’s only pretending we could have it if you say that, because you know we wouldn’t take it.’

  Sylvia took a piece of toast.

  ‘There is just one rule that I won’t break, and that is that half what you earn goes into the post office.’

  ‘It didn’t when I earned two pounds ten shillings,’ Pauline argued. ‘Only one pound went into the post office, and you had fifteen shillings, and ten shillings bought clothes.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Sylvia agreed. ‘I told Nana that she could have ten shillings for your clothes that once, but I didn’t like it; I was quite ashamed of your savings book, when we took it down to the County Hall.’

  Pauline was red with temper.

  ‘Oh, well, if you’re going to care what they think.’

  ‘I do,’ Sylvia said quietly. ‘But I care still more that you have a nice lot saved for when you are grown-up. Now don’t let’s argue any more about that pound, or we shall all be sorry you are earning it. Ten shillings of it will go into your savings, two shillings to the Academy, five towards your clothes, and two shillings pocket money for each of you.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have the five shillings instead of our clothes, Garnie?’ Petrova suggested.

  Sylvia sighed.

  ‘That would be nice; but you want clothes so badly. Nana says that you all need shoes, and Pauline’s got to have a coat. Up till Christmas all she’s had is two pounds fourteen from each of you, and when you grow so fast, that goes a very little way. She told me yesterday “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” would have to run for months to buy all you need.’

  Pauline pushed back her porridge bowl.

  ‘I’m not putting any more in the post office.’

  Sylvia, Petrova, and Posy stared at her.

  ‘A child,’ Posy recited, ‘has-to-put-at-least-one-third-of-its-earnings-in-the-savings-bank, or-as-much-more-as-may-be-directed-by-its-parents-or-guardian. This-is-the-law. I learnt that in French with Madame Moulin, I forget what the French was, but that was what it meant in English.’

  Pauline looked braver than she felt.

  ‘It’s quite right. That is the law; but I’m not a child. I’ve just had my fourteenth birthday. The law lets me work; I don’t need a licence, and I can do what I like with my own money.’

  ‘Pauline!’ Petrova was shocked. ‘You wouldn’t be so mean as to take it all.’

  ‘You are a fool.’ Pauline looked scornful. ‘You know I wouldn’t. But I was thinking in bed last night; here we are, never any money, Garnie always worried, and we never have any clothes. If the money that I always have to put in the post office is spent on the house and us, we’ll have enough. All I want is the two shillings a week for ourselves. I know it sounds a lot, but theatres are expensive – even the gallery.’

  Petrova looked at Sylvia.

  ‘It is a good idea, Garnie. She needn’t put any more in the post office, need she?’

  ‘I think it’s a very good plan,’ Posy agreed. ‘If I have two shillings I shall save it till next summer and go and see the ballet at Covent Garden. I could go often for that.’

  Sylvia looked at them all in a worried way.

  ‘Do get it into your heads that nobody wants to stop you having two shillings to spend. I have always thought it a shame that Pauline had so little for herself when she worked so hard, and now the same applies to you, Petrova. But it must not come out of the half you save. You give me plenty for the house, I can manage.’

  ‘I shall put nothing more into the post office – at least, not until Gum comes home,’ Pauline said firmly. ‘And what’s more, if we need it, I’ll take out what I’ve saved.’

  Petrova and Posy looked at her with a mixture of admiration and shocked amazement. If there was anything that was sacred in the family, it was the savings books. The walk to the post office on Saturday mornings was more sure to happen than church on Sunday. Sometimes Nana, after an anxious evening patching and darning, would sigh as she saw the notes swallowed over the post-office counter; but when Petrova one day described the post office as ‘that nasty office eating my money’ she had been furious.

  ‘Right’s right, dear, and it’s no good questioning it, and don’t let me hear you at it again.’

  Now here was Pauline saying she would put nothing more into her book. That she was fourteen and could do as she liked.

  Sylvia got up.

  ‘I shall talk to Nana; she’s certain to make you see sense, Pauline. The London County Council don’t mean that because they give up watching you that they expect me to as well. I’ve got to take more trouble, if possible.’

  Sylvia sent for Nana to come down and talk to her, and as well the two doctors, as they had educated Pauline, and Theo because she taught her dancing. She would have liked to have asked Mrs Simpson’s advice too, but she could not think of any excuse. As soon as they all arrived she told them about the money argument and asked what they thought. To her great surprise they agreed with Pauline; but all for different reasons. Theo, who was just dashing off to the Academy, gave her views first. She said that she thought it was important that Petrova should save all she could, as she saw no future for her in the theatre; but that in Pauline’s case she showed signs that her gifts as an actress were not those of a precocious child, her work was improving, as incidentally were her looks; she thought with any luck she should be so successful as not to need her savings.

  Doctor Jakes and Doctor Smith did not believe in too much saving. They both believed that with more money in the house there would be a chance for the girls to develop their tastes; it would certainly be good for Pauline to be able to go to the theatre now and then. Nana said that she had been feeling in her bones lately there was a change coming. Pauline was getting very independent, and that if it took the form of wanting to help more, she thought she should be given a chance.

  Sylvia thanked them, and when they had gone she called Pauline, and told her that she was to have her way.

  ‘Though you know, darling, I’m going to feel dreadful living on you like that.’

  Pauline took far more pleasure in her salary now that most of it did not vanish into the post office. It was with dismay that two or three weeks later she heard that the notice was to go up the following Friday. S
ure enough when they arrived for the performance on the next Friday there was the notice on the green baize board in the passage. Petrova made a face at it, for although the extra matinées had stopped after three weeks, and they now only had them on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Pauline was still giving them a shilling, but if the play came off shillings were bound to end. Pauline did not seem much depressed about the notice when it was actually up, but rather excited instead. When they went down for their first entrance, Petrova wanted to know if anything nice had happened. She whispered because they were on the side of the stage.

  ‘Not yet,’ Pauline whispered back. ‘I’ll tell you on the way home.’

  The matron frowned at them.

  ‘Don’t talk in the wings, Pauline and Petrova.’

  In the tube that night Pauline dragged at Petrova by the hand and pulled her into one of the seats for two. The one opposite was full, so Nana had to sit some way off, and could not hear what they said. Pauline spoke quickly as she was excited.

  ‘That man that plays Oberon.’

  Petrova nodded.

  ‘Donald Houghton?’

  ‘Yes, him. Well, he’s putting on “Richard the Third” as soon as this comes off.’ She looked at Petrova as if expecting signs of intelligence, but Petrova gave none. ‘Don’t you know your “Richard the Third”?’

  Pauline sighed at Petrova’s short memory.

  ‘You know I don’t; you only did it because it was in the test examination you did for your school certificate. What about him doing it?’

  ‘The Princes in the Tower are in it.’

  ‘Us?’

  Pauline nodded.

  ‘I don’t see why not. I thought we’d ask him.’