The Christmas Star: A Festive Story Collection by Ibbotson Eva

Author:Ibbotson, Eva [Ibbotson, Eva]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Childrens
ISBN: 9781509820474
Amazon: B01FXII9Q0
Goodreads: 73451891
Publisher: Macmillan Children's Books
Published: 1968-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

I don’t know if everyone is the same as I am about Christmas roses. Maybe it’s the legend of how they originated, springing out of the snow the night that Jesus was born, or maybe it’s just them: all those pale, uncoloured petals and delicate green veins. Anyway, I find Christmas roses somewhat moving and it must have been the same with Tina, because she took them and immediately burst into tears.

Needless to say this had a devastating effect on Andy, who turned pale, put an arm round her and said he promised never to bring her Christmas roses again only would she please stop crying. So Tina said it wasn’t the Christmas roses but being properly engaged to a Finn and being in an awful muddle, and Andy was just taking his arm away and looking stricken when the bell rang again and it was the Finn.

‘Wife!’ said the Finn happily, grabbing Tina by the arm. ‘Wife! Yes!’

And: ‘Yes! Yes! Here I haf come!’ said a lusty voice from behind him and out stepped a big blonde, long-haired girl, beaming all over her face. ‘You haf said I can come for the Christmas Feeding, yes? That is the English Hospitality! Thank you. Yesterday I haf flowed here in the aeroplane. How good you haf been to my Niki!’ said Mrs Nefzelius.

If anyone tells you that Scandinavians are cold, don’t listen to them. Mrs Nefzelius kissed me and kissed Tina and kissed Andy. She kissed Mother and Rickie and would have kissed Dad only he got away, and when the three Malawians came, she kissed them. We had a terrifically gay Christmas Dinner and afterwards we lit the Advent ring and Mrs Niki pounced on it and put it on her head, flaming candles and all, which is what they do in Finland, like the Germans stand under a plum tree waiting for dogs to bark, and the Malawians nodded happily and said, ‘Very English is this Christmas. Very English.’ And I know you will not be surprised to hear that at this point the telephone rang and it was the police sergeant to say he was extremely sorry but an old lady who’d been laid up with pneumonia had claimed my purse.

‘That poor, silly plum-tree woman,’ said Tina later, ‘didn’t she mess it all up!’

We’d got to the best bit of Christmas: the bit where everyone except the family has gone home (only Andy stayed; I guess he’s going to be the family) and you’ve put a handful of pine needles on the fire to scent the room, and everyone’s relaxed and peaceful.

Father said that was hardly surprising. The only effect fortune telling had ever had, he said, was on the minds of credulous idiots like ourselves. There could never be any practical effects, he said, because it was all bunkum from beginning to end.

Mother said she hoped so. She hoped so very much. And then, at last, she told us what the plum-tree lady had foretold for her.

‘Of course I didn’t believe it at first,’ she said.

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