M
The Promise
um shivered as she poked her head around the front door, which had been left ajar. “Don’t let the dog go through the gate! And don’t go on the ice on the river. And let Conrad have a go on the sledge, do you hear?” “Alright!” cried Mickey, who waved without looking back, fearing that he might have to go back to have his cap or coat adjusted. But this time he escaped. With relief he closed the gate behind him, and the children could at last head off for the hill on the first day of the winter holidays. Flora pulled the sledge. The way took the children across the stone bridge over the river. “Look at the mallards!” cried Conrad on reaching the bridge. Mickey and Flora ran to the parapet to look down. They excitedly stretched their necks towards the reeds but couldn’t see a single wild duck. “There’s nothing there,” Mickey waved dismissively and quickly jumped on the sledge. He gave a push with his feet and whistled down the slope to the bottom of the bridge. “Wait for us!” cried his brother and sister, and carefully ran after him on the slippery snow-covered road but, by the time they caught up with the sledge, it was empty. To make sure that their brother would not sneak off with the sledge again, Conrad and Flora flopped down on it, and waited there for Mickey to return. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. Does it hurt a lot?” they suddenly heard from the reeds. Mickey soon emerged without his scarf around his neck. “Look what I’ve got!” he said, showing the bundle he was clutching to his tummy. The children excitedly peeped in the folds of the scarf. A small, frightened bird anxiously returned their gaze. It had a rufous belly, the colour of an autumn leaf, and its back was bright blue like a clear sky. “Wow! It’s a kingfisher! It’s beautiful! What happened to it?” “I don’t know,” said Mickey, “but it’s very weak. It can’t fly or stand up.” “Poor thing, I expect you miss your mother. And you must be hungry,” Flora said stroking its head. Then she suddenly continued: “Let’s take it to Frank. He’s looked after an injured stork and a raven, and they recovered, remember?” Flora sat on the sledge and carefully took the sick bird onto her lap. “Quick! Let’s go!” she exclaimed. Mickey and Conrad quickly put the rope of the sledge around their waists and began to run through the deep soft snow. Frank, that is to say Francis Heath the forestry engineer, lived in the nearby forester’s house. Viking, his hunting dog, started to bark loudly when he noticed the newcomers passing through the gate. Flora tenderly cuddled the bird and went towards the door. Viking jumped curiously around her. “Don’t worry. He won’t hurt you,” she whispered to the bird. She went up the stairs and knocked on the door. The children waited anxiously. Even Viking stopped jumping in case a miracle happened and his master came out although he had seen him hitch the horse to the sleigh and head off into the forest in the morning. Flora cautiously tried the handle but the door was locked. They looked at one another in disappointment.
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“Look over there!” cried Mickey pointing towards the fence where the tracks of the runners of the sleigh were visible in the snow. “He’s gone out,” he continued. “Let’s follow him!” The others went after him. “Won’t we get lost?” asked Conrad hesitantly after they had gone into the forest. “If you’re scared, you can go back,” Mickey snapped angrily. “I’m not scared,” stamped Conrad. The forest was silent. Mickey and Flora pulled the sledge and now Conrad rested, holding the bird in his lap. They kept on following the tracks. After a while the blue sky became overcast with large dark clouds. Big flakes of snow began to fall and before long a new layer covered everything. The marks left by the horse-drawn sleigh became fainter and fainter and finally disappeared under the blanket of snow. “We’re lost,” Flora eventually announced. Mickey turned up the collar of his coat against the cold. Their young brother tucked his numb legs underneath himself on the sledge sniffing. “Don’t cry. We’ll think of something,” Flora comforted him and took the sick bird. “Frank! Frank!” Mickey cried at the top of his voice. But there was no answer. He crouched next to the others on the sledge downheartedly. They wished they were at home… with Mum next to the warm stove, waiting for Christmas. How were they going to get back? They knew that now they had to stick together. Flora adjusted Mickey’s cap and Mickey put his arm around Conrad’s shoulder to keep him warm. Dusk began to fall when in the distance they heard a dog barking. The children looked at each other hopefully. “That’s Viking barking!” Mickey cried with joy. The familiar yowling came closer and closer, and then Frank appeared in the sleigh. Viking ran ahead, searching this way and that, his nose sniffing the cold snow. “Mickey, Flora, Conrad! Here you are at last!” laughed the forester when he caught up with them. “Frank! Frank!” the children ran towards him. “How did you know where we were?” “I didn’t know. Viking led me here. When I got home, he wouldn’t leave me alone until I turned round and set off again. He brought me to you. Well done, Viking, good dog,” he praised the proudly panting hound. “Come on. Let’s go home. It’ll be dark soon and I’m sure your mother will be wondering where you are.” The shivering children climbed onto the seat of the sleigh and huddled together. Frank put a warm blanket over them. “And the kingfisher? Will you show it to me?” Frank asked after hearing the children’s story. “Here it is in my scarf,” said Mickey presenting the bundle. “Can you make it better?” “I hope so. It’ll be my Christmas present to you. But never go into the forest without an adult again.” Mickey, Flora and Conrad nodded in silence. When they got home, one thing was for sure: they had kept all the promises made going out of the gate.
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G
My Secret Diary
regory and Ida lived opposite each other. On one of the days leading up to Christmas, the boy’s parents went out. They smiled mysteriously and only said: “We’ve got something to do in town but we’ll be back soon.” “Can I go across the road to Ida’s?” “Yes, go across to Ida’s,” they nodded in agreement and off they went. Although the sun was shining, the cold air had made Gregory’s nose red on the way across. Ida opened the door. “Come in quickly. Look what I’ve found!” she said instead of saying hello. In a flash she was climbing onto a chair and then onto a table from where she could just reach a suitcase. She pulled an old notebook out of it. Even its cover showed its age. She passed it to Gregory. “It’s got MY SECRET DIARY written on it.” The boy took it with wide eyes. “Whose can it be?” he whispered and looked around, just in case the person it belonged to was listening. “Maybe it belonged to a princess. I don’t know. Look there’s a photo at the beginning.” Gregory carefully opened the book. A girl a bit like Ida stared at him from the yellowed photograph. She was holding a tabby kitten in her lap. Beneath it “Little Wonder” was written in neat joined-up writing. “Little Wonder? Who can that be? The princess?” Gregory guessed. “No, of course not! Turn the page!” Ida climbed down from the table and Gregory sat down in the armchair next to the stove, and began to read aloud: “Monday, 21st December When I got up today and looked out the window, wonderful fluffy snowflakes were falling. I got dressed and went out into the garden to build a snowman. I couldn’t find a carrot, so I used a long icicle for his nose. Now he looks like Pinocchio, but I like it. If the sun comes out and it starts to melt, it will look like a dreadfully runny nose.” Ida and Gregory burst out laughing. “A snowman with a runny nose! So a snowman catches a cold when it’s sunny? That’s good! Wait, I’ll read on…” “Tuesday, 22nd December Dear Diary, Today I’m very sad. You know that in a few days’ time it’ll be Christmas. That’s not the matter, but Mum says that the flood in the autumn caused such a lot of damage in the village that this year Santa’s helping to put that right first, so we shouldn’t expect much in the way of presents. Well, I just don’t believe it! Every day I say how much I’m looking forward to Christmas and I do try to be good. Of course, that’s not always so easy. Today, for instance, by accident I put salt in Auntie Ellen’s cocoa. Not on purpose – it was by accident and I know Santa believes me.”
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“Yuck! Salty cocoa. Poor princess! She must have been told off for this,” chuckled the children. Gregory started to mimic the imagined Auntie Ellen and Ida played the princess asking her diary for forgiveness. When they tired of the play acting, they fell silent and then continued to read. “Wednesday, 23th December Today our neighbour Mr Jones came over. It didn’t feel at all like Christmas was coming! They talked about beams, damaged outhouses and wet walls. Mum wrung her hands anxiously and Dad wrote lots of figures on squared paper. Then they started all over again. I don’t know how big the stupid flood was because I was sent to stay with my godmother but I do know that it’s over now. OK. I’ll write another letter to Santa. I don’t mind if he doesn’t bring a sewing machine but I think I deserve a wrist watch. You agree, don’t you, dear Diary?” Gregory looked at Ida holding his breath, turned the page and read on: “Thursday, 24th December Dear Diary, I’m too excited to write to you now but I promise to tell you everything tomorrow.” Beside this brief entry was a splendid drawing of a Christmas star with rows of angels dressed in ball gowns next to it. “Friday, 25th December Merry Christmas. Now I can tell you what happened this morning when we gathered round the Christmas tree. The tree seemed smaller this year, but I was lucky to have one at all because everyone older than me asked for a beam instead this year. I looked around for my present. There were a few small gifts under the branches of the tree. Although I was very disappointed I didn’t want anyone to notice. Trying to fight back the tears, I unwrapped my Christmas present, an embroidered handkerchief with a lace edge. It was very pretty, but where was my sewing machine or my wrist watch? I felt I needed some fresh air, so I ran to the door and opened it... ‘Yes, I knew it! I knew it!’ I cried in delight. Although I didn’t ask for a pussy, there was one lying on the doorstep. My Little Wonder looked up at me and said ‘Miao, miao.’ No one knew whose it was and how it got there, just me. Mum and Dad squatted beside the pussy. ‘Thank you,’ they whispered.” Gregory and Ida carried on reading but then the door opened and in came Ida’s mother. “Well, you were so quiet that I thought you must have dropped off. What have you found? Let me see.” Gregory closed the diary and slowly handed it over. “MY SECRET DIARY. That was your great grandmother’s. I used to read it a lot when I was a girl. There are some lovely stories in it, aren’t there?” “This was my great grandmother’s diary? I thought it belonged to a princess,” Ida’s heart sank. “But I like it all the same,” she added. The next day Ida found an empty notebook. She took out some coloured pencils and wrote on the cover “Ida’s Diary”. And perhaps someone is now reading her story…
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A
Mr Donald’s Garden
long time ago, when angels plaited from golden straw decorated Christmas trees, a strange old man lived in a faraway village. He was called Mr Donald and looked like any other old person in the area. He walked carefully and had a hunch. He always wore the same coat both in the winter and in the summer. He neither greeted nor spoke to anyone except for the shopkeeper, and even to him he only mumbled: “The usual.” A roll, some curds and whey, and a handful of small nails. That was the usual. He bought the same thing every day. “What are you going to do with all these nails, Mr Donald?” the villagers asked him. “I’m building a city,” he grumbled in reply and walked through the curious village folk without saying anything more. The children playing in the street often followed him and mocked him from a safe distance. “Hey Donald, do you eat nails? Hey Donald, do you eat nails?” And all the while they would laugh loudly at him until the old man turned the corner and disappeared from sight. The grown-ups did not have a better opinion of the mysterious old man either. “Who knows? Perhaps one day we’ll find out why he needs so many nails, but by then it might be too late.” “Don’t be silly. He wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone a person,” the more sensibly minded people would say. One winter’s day two young lads were sliding on the frozen pond not far from old Mr Donald’s house at the end of the village. Each had a stick in his hand and they were hitting a snowball that had frozen solid across the ice. “Wait! Watch this!” cried the shorter boy, who was called Paul, as he came to a sudden halt. He aimed and gave the ice ball such a thwack that it rocketed across the ice so fast they could hardly see it as it disappeared into the reeds at the edge of the pond. “Great! Now we can go and look for it,” his mate Willy whinged. He ran forward and then slid on the ice, doing so again and again until he had almost reached the reeds. Paul went after him using his stick to steady himself, but not sliding so far with his shorter legs. And that was perhaps lucky for him. As Willy got close to the reeds, the ice beneath him broke. First it simply cracked like an eggshell and then the solid sheet gave way and in its place there was freezing water. In an instant Willy was up to his waist in the middle. His body became numb from the chilly embrace of his soaking clothes. He tried to climb out but every time he leant on the ice another piece broke off the edge and he slipped back into the water growing weaker and weaker. “Paul! Help!” In desperation Paul threw himself on his belly like the hero in his favourite novel who always survives and tried to crawl towards Willy. However, the ice began to crack beneath him as well. “It’s not going to work. I don’t dare come any further,” he thought but plucking up all his courage he crawled on. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks.
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“Stop! Stay there! You! Grab hold of this tightly and don’t let go,” cried an anxious man’s voice from the reeds. Willy and Paul turned their heads at the same time. “Mr Donald!” whispered Paul. The old man had a rope in his hand, which he threw towards them. Willy caught one end and took a firm grip. Mr Donald knelt down on the edge of the pond and pulled with all his might. He dragged the boy out onto the ice. Willy lay on his belly completely soaked through. “Hold on to his leg!” Paul, who was watching still lying on his stomach, obediently took hold of Willy’s leg. The rope moved again and like the carriages of a train they slid together towards the safety of the shore. When he had heaved the frozen lads ashore, Mr Donald took off his coat and wrapped it around them. “Come on,” was all he said and he set off. The shivering boys silently followed him to his house. His garden gate was wide open, as if someone had run out the house in a great hurry. Paul and Willy had a lump in their throat as they went in. “He’ll surely lock us up and no one will ever know what happened to us. And I thought he was rescuing us,” the thought ran through Paul’s head. That, however, did not happen. Soon they were sitting in dry, if rather big, clothes, in Mr Donald’s warm room. They looked at each other feeling a bit uneasy. The old man was making tea behind the closed kitchen door. “Look over there!” Willy suddenly cried. He pointed through the window with his finger. The huge garden was full of bare fruit trees. They were like Christmas trees, but instead of decorations colourful bird tables and birdhouses hung on them and instead of porcelain birds tits, blackbirds, sparrows, thrushes, finches, and many other kinds were feeding on them. It was like something out of a storybook. “Wow! So many birds! And so many bird tables – at least a thousand.” “Ah! Two thousand!” The boys were fixed to the window and didn’t even notice Mr Donald come in with steaming mugs of tea. “Do you like them?” Willy and Paul nodded. “Of course.” “Come on then!” Mr Donald put the tea down and headed for the door. The boys looked at each other. They couldn’t help feeling slightly ill at ease with the strange old man. But their curiosity got the better of them. They went along a narrow corridor and stopped in front of an old door. Mr Donald opened it and entered, and the boys followed. In the middle of the room was a workbench with tools on it. On the walls bird tables big and small painted in different colours hung. “These aren’t finished yet,” he said pointing to them. “I’d just completed this one when I saw through the window what happened to you on the lake. This will be the eighty-ninth,” he said holding one up. In that moment Paul and Willy realised why Mr Donald bought a handful of nails every day. He was indeed building a city. A city for birds. Who would have ever guessed? From that day on everything changed. Mr Donald became more and more popular in the village. The children no longer mocked him and the grown-ups thought of him with grateful respect for saving the boys.
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