Our newly formed writing group decided we should write a short story about Christmas. This is mine. It’s a bit cheesy and could do with some editing but here is the first draft.
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Henry was scared. It was cold and dark and he could hear the booming planes flying overhead. He huddled in closer to his mother’s side and tried hard to pull the last bit of her coat around him. Still dressed in the blue striped pyjamas his aunt had made him, he wished that his mother had let him put some proper clothes on before they left the house. She’d managed to pull a jumper over his head before giving him his coat to put on.
“Come on, come on,” she yelled. “We’ve got to go. Put your boots on quick.”
They ran out of the house, the sirens singing in the frosty air, and headed for the underground station. People were pouring down the entrance steps and Henry almost let go of his mother’s hand. He didn’t like it when the sirens went off. He knew that he would be pulled along by his mother and made to sit in the noisy underground with hundreds of others. But this time was different, because this time it was Christmas Eve.
As Henry tried to get comfy on the hard concrete ground he thought of his stocking hanging on the fireplace. He’d tried so hard to be a good boy all year. His mother had needed him to be and although he missed his father so much, he knew that he was being brave overseas. He wondered what Father Christmas would bring him; he didn’t care, anything would give him the biggest smile on Christmas morning.
A woman came round and started talking to Henry’s mother. She had a trolley with her and Henry could see the steam coming from the watering can shaped teapot that sat on top. Oh, how he wished to feel it’s warmth on his skin.
Suddenly the sound of a German aircraft rumbled directly overhead. It was so loud that Henry had to put his hands over his ears to buffer the noise. The underground went silent as everyone held their breath, silently praying that it would pass over and fly on. But the silence was short lived and was quickly filled with shrieks and gasps of terror as the whistling bomb was dropped not far from the entrance to the underground.
The bombardment near Aldwych station continued for several hours and as each plane flew overhead the crowds grew silent once more waiting for that one deathly bomb that may end their lives. Eventually the groan of the planes began to soften and the whistling was no more. The sirens resonated through the night sky marking the all clear and gradually families, men, women and children began their ascent out to the ground level.
As Henry and his mother emerged from the dark passageway the true horror engulfed their every sense. The ringing of bells from the fire engines and ambulances filled their ears. The heat from the fires that raged all around warmed their skin. The smell was unbearable, burning rubble, metal and bodies killed by the Nazis.
Henry’s mother silently pulled her son close to her and quickly marched him home. She wanted things to be normal, she wanted her son to be sheltered from this scene. But it was not to be. The house was gone, just a pile of bricks and dust remained in its place. It was all gone.
As the two of them stood there staring at the space that was once their safe haven, unable to believe that their lives had been destroyed, a group of neighbours gathered around them. Mrs Adams, from number 11, put her arm on Henry’s shoulder and grabbed his mother’s hand tight. The gathering stood there in silence for what seemed like eternity just trying to make sense of the situation. A tear ran down Henry’s cheek as he thought of his stocking buried underneath all that rubble but he knew he had to be brave and fought back the tears that wanted to follow.
Eventually Mrs Adams gestured for the homeless family to follow her and she lead them to her home. She was one of the lucky ones with a home to go to.
“Please come in,” Mrs Adams said sweetly. “Let me make you some tea. I will light the fire and we can all get warm.”
Henry and his mother sat down at the table in the small family room whilst their host poked and prodded at the contents of the fireplace. After a few minutes the room began to heat up and the kettle was boiling on the stove. Henry began to feel warm, safe and very sleepy and couldn’t fight the yawns back any longer.
“You can both stay here until you get yourselves sorted,” Mrs Adams whispered softly as she handed Henry a steaming cup of tea. “I’m afraid I can only offer you the front room with a settee to sleep on but it’s comfortable and it’s warm.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Henry’s mother humbly replied. “Henry really should be in bed. He will be so tired tomorrow.”
“Are you excited about Father Christmas coming, young man?” Mrs Adams excitedly asked.
Henry looked at his mother and then at his neighbour and gave a sad smile. “He won’t know where I am and my stocking is gone.”
“Oh, Father Christmas is very clever, he always knows where all the boys and girls are.” Mrs Adams smiled brightly back.
“Come on Henry. Finish your tea and we’ll put you to bed.” His mother was keen to change the subject. She knew she couldn’t get him anything by morning and she felt so helpless not being able to give her son the one thing he wanted.
Mrs Adams laid out some blankets on the settee for Henry and his mother carried him to his make-shift bed. She gave him a big, loving cuddle full of sadness and despair. He tried not to notice but he gave her a kiss on her cheek to let her know it was okay.
Henry tried to sleep but he could hear his mother and Mrs Adams talking in the next room. His mother had finally let go and was sobbing uncontrollably. He could hear her muffled words asking what she was going to do and how was she going to provide for her son. Mrs Adams tried to console her and Henry could hear her sweet, gentle voice soothing his mother’s protests.
Some time in the early hours of the morning Henry finally gave in and fell asleep. He tossed and turned dreaming of the loud noises and the bright lights of the raid that occurred during the night. He also dreamt of his stocking buried deep under the remnants of his home. He knew Father Christmas wouldn’t know where to put his present and he knew Christmas day was not going to happen.
He eventually woke from his broken sleep and realised the light had risen though the dark sky. He looked around the room for his mother but she was no where to be seen. There was just a neat pile of sheets sitting on the arm chair in the corner.
Henry put his feet to the floor and stretched. He gradually rose from the settee and headed for the door that lead to the family room. He opened it slowly, hearing the creaking hinges as he did. On the other side stood a grinning Mrs Adams holding a large cup of tea.
“Morning!” she exclaimed happily. “Merry Christmas Henry.”
“Merry Christmas,” his mother smiled from her position at the table.
Henry looked around the room. There were paper chains hanging from every corner, sprigs of holly filling the top of the sideboard and there was a full table of food just waiting for them to tuck in. The fire was burning brightly keeping them warm and from the mantle hung a single red sock filled with nobly gifts. Henry looked up at Mrs Adams and across to his mother in amazement.
“He found you Henry,” his mother explained. “The stocking is for you.”
Henry beamed and continued to look at the two women in bewilderment. His mother nodded to reassure him it was true and he ran to fireplace. He excitedly grabbed the stocking and jumped up to the table. He pulled out the gifts one by one in such a hurry that his mother thought he would break one of them. An orange wrapped in paper, a few homemade sweets and a small wooden car. Henry couldn’t believe it. He had never seen such a beautiful toy car before and he thought to himself that he must be a very special boy to receive such a gift.
“Merry Christmas!” he yelled, laughing.
