//[[index|Index to pages]]// ======SANTAS LITTLE HELPER====== {{:cwc:fnimg048-300x217.jpg?382x276}} //(A short story by Jenny Lemm)// Penelope Hargreaves, Poppy to her family, was a mischievous child.  A kind-hearted, sweet-natured, intelligent child, yet an inveterate mischief maker. Sometimes naughty, but never malicious, her pranks were invariably aimed at her twin siblings, Alice and Bernard. The twins were eight years older than Poppy and regarded her with a mixture of ill concealed exasperation, irritation, resignation, and just a smattering of filial fondness.  They took great pains to avoid their bothersome little sister, and she spent much of her time playing alone in the overgrown garden of their little tithe cottage, but though she was alone she was never lonely, for in her solitude she had found many friends there. Her dearest friend was Toby Twinkle who lived in the  gnarly little tree which grew outside her bedroom window.  Alice and Bernard scoffed and mocked and insisted Toby was just a squirrel whose friendship she had invented because she had no real friends.  But she did have friends, many of them and Toby Twinkle was her very favourite. There was Sidney, the knock-kneed spider, who lived in the lavatory at the bottom of the garden.  Unlike most of her friends, Sidney did not hide from the rest of the family, and invariably scuttled out to investigate whenever Alice visited the lavatory, making her scream with horror, much to Poppy’s delight, and once reducing her to tears when she found the sheets of newspaper which hung from a convenient nail enmeshed in a fine web which she couldn’t bring herself to touch.  Mrs. Hargreaves had once caught her peeing in the bushes rather than venture into the spiders lair and though she pleaded for the spider to be squashed, or at least evicted, Poppy’s fondness for him ensured his safekeeping within the confines of the lavatory. But unlike Sydney, most of Poppy’s friends remained hidden, revealing themselves only to her, and she alone was constantly aware of their comforting presence.  She knew that if ever she needed a friend they were there.  She was often aware of eyes peering at her from dark corners, from cracks in the ceiling or knot-holes in the floorboards, from among the weeds and brambles in the overgrown garden, and from the holes and burrows in the banks of the merry little stream which tumbled and gurgled through the meadow at the back of the house. Not sinister, hostile eyes, for these were her friends and Toby Twinkle was their leader.  Poppy loved them all, but Toby was her collaborator in making mischief and they planned many escapades together. When Poppy learned to sew it was Toby who suggested she should sew the sleeves of Bernards jacket closed.  Their father roared with laughter as Bernard tried in vain to push his hands through the sleeves, getting red faced and grumpy and swearing revenge.  And Toby had grinned with delight and nodded encouragement to her when she carefully wrapped a worm in her hankie and hid it in her pocket.  He leapt and cavorted from branch to branch when she confided to him that she had put it in one of Alices clean socks, and they had both rolled in the grass with glee when they heard her strident scream as she dressed for school the next morning. Toby and his gang had listened sympathetically as she tearfully described the den which Bernard and Alice had built in the hollow by the stream and which she wasn’t allowed to play in.  There was even a sign pinned on the door ‘No kids allowed, grown-ups only’ and which Alice had pointed out to her with elevated eyebrows only a grown-up could possess.  But Toby had a solution which he whispered to her in her dreams as he so often did, and he leapt and cavorted with joy the next day as he watched her carefully build a dam in the narrow stream, diverting the water into the hollow where the twins and their friends were playing house.  .  He winked conspiratorially as they both sat in the tree and watched the water gradually creep into the little hollow and form a huge puddle which gradually deepened, until the ‘grown ups’ burst from the flooded den and broke the dam, releasing the flood waters and restoring the stream to its natural course.  But the damage had been done, the hollow was flooded and it took many days for the ground to absorb the deep water, by which time the novelty of the den had begun to pale and it was soon abandoned. “Toby said it would be fun.”  She admitted shamefacedly when, having helped Mum make toffee apples for Bonfire Night, she had substituted an onion for one of the apples, waiting gleefully for it to harden, then watched with barely concealed delight as Bernard had bitten into it.  She knew he would pick that one, it was so much bigger than the rest.  Mum indulgently explained away his gluttony as ‘a growing boys appetite’ but Poppy knew that he was just plain greedy. “I think Toby was probably right!”  Chortled Dad, as he laughed till he cried.  “Sounds like a lad after my own heart.” “Don’t encourage her.”  Mum muttered with a repressive frown, and meanwhile Bernard cried copious tears, though whether they were genuine tears or onion tears no-one could really tell, but he swore revenge on both Amy and Toby. He daren’t do anything to his little sister, but he hounded Toby with his catapult at every opportunity before Mum saw him and soundly slapped his legs until they were red and stinging.  The offending catapult was confiscated and never seen again and the Hargreaves household was once more restored to an uneasy peace, though Bernard could often be heard muttering about ‘that devil of a squirrel’ though never within earshot of his parents. “Santa isn’t real you know.”  Alice smirked nastily as she delivered the devastating news one afternoon just before Christmas.  “He’s just made up, just pretend.”  She insisted smugly.  “Isn’t he Bernard?”  She turned to her twin and he grinned nastily as he nodded his agreement.  Poppy was writing a letter to Santa Claus.  Somehow she had realised too late that her hands were dirty and the paper was dotted with grubby fingerprints before she had even begun writing.  However, her writing was neat and meticulous so she thought he might overlook the grimy paper.  Her spelling left a little to be desired, but she was blissfully unaware of this short-coming. “He is real!”  Poppy disputed hotly.  “He is!  Everyone knows he’s real!” “Name one person who’s ever actually seen him.”  Demanded Bernard unpleasantly, warming to Alice’s theme.  “No-one has ever really seen him!” he sneered. “Toby Twinkle has!”  Poppy retorted.  “Toby is one of Santa’s little helpers!”  She added archly.  “Of course he is Poppy.”  Affirmed Mum, who had overheard the exchange and who silenced the twins with one of her looks.  A repressive look would usually do the trick, and it did on this occasion, though occasionally if they were very, very mean a stinging slap to their bare legs would be called for, resulting in a bright red mark  the sight of which filled Poppy first with glee, followed quickly by shame and guilt.  Though Alice and Bernard were often mean and cruel Poppy loved them dearly and didn’t like to see them cry, which was strange as they both seemed to take a perverse delight in making her cry! “When children get older,”  Mum explained patiently,  “they stop believing in magic, and by the time they get to twelve they can’t see Santa Claus any more.”  Poppy was aghast!  “I’d better stay awake to see him on Christmas Eve!”  She thought in a panic.  “If children over twelve can’t see him, I only have six chances and then it will be too late!” Alice and Bernard might pretend they didn’t believe in Santa Claus, but they were as excited as Poppy when they hung their stockings from the mantle-piece on Christmas Eve.  It was going to be a strange Christmas without Dad.  They sang Christmas carols and decorated the tree just like they always did, but it wasn’t the same now Dad wasn’t there.  Mum said he’d joined the navy and he was a sailor on a ship somewhere, and the children were to especially mention him in their prayers.  It wasn’t just their Dad, all the Dads in the village had gone away, though no-one bothered to explain why or where, or how long for. Grown ups lived in a curious world. Poppy didn’t really want to ever become one.  She supposed Alice and Bernard must be nearly grown up and she felt unaccountably sad for them.  The prospect of growing up made her anxious, even though it was Christmas, but the thought of Toby Twinkle helping Santa Claus drove out her anxiety. The bedroom was bitterly cold and strangely bright when Poppy awoke.  She rubbed her sleep encrusted eyes and blinked in the unaccustomed light of early morning.  The skin of her face was numb with cold, but the rest of her body was warm and she tucked her hands hastily back beneath the blankets and snuggled deeper until her cheeks and nose were covered. The blankets on her bed were ragged and threadbare, but there were many of them and the warm weight was coaxing her back to sleep.  But sleep wouldn’t come, she was too excited.  It was Christmas morning and she suddenly realised why her bedroom was so bright.  She had crept out of bed during the night and removed the blackout curtain to watch for Santa Claus.  She hadn’t seen him, nor had she heard his bells and she felt a crush of disappointment that once more she had slunk back into bed.  Every year she made a solemn promise to herself that she would stay by the window all night until he came to her house, but it was always too cold and the warmth of her bed inevitably seduced her into breaking her  promise.  Another chance wasted!  Never mind, there was a stocking waiting to be opened, and next year she would definitely see him. It was too early to get up.  She listened for sounds from the kitchen but all was silent.  She couldn’t get up till Mum had lit the range and put the porridge on.  And until the gas lamps were lit it would be too dark in the little kitchen to see what was in her  stocking. She crept from the warmth of her bed and slipping her feet into the wool and cardboard slippers Mum had knitted for her birthday, she stood at the window.  She could see Toby Twinkle, though his image was blurred by the magical forest of leaves and ferns which her friend Jack Frost had painted on the inside of the glass as a Christmas surprise for her. Toby was scampering about in the branches of the little tree which almost touched the glass of her bedroom window.  She could see the winter sun on his bright, furry legs as he played.  “Merry Christmas Toby, did you see Santa Claus last night?” Mrs. Hargreaves heard the question as she made her way downstairs to make breakfast, and smiled fondly to herself.  She had laughed delightedly last night when she had seen the extra sock hanging from the mantle-piece, the label neatly printed in Poppy’s childish hand and pinned to the toe ‘Toby Twinkle – Satans Little Helper’ ---- Authored by: writeradmin; Last updated: 2018-09-24T12:56:54(UTC)