The Christmas Elves

Hi. Darcy here. Jackson is preoccupied with something else so you've got me. That works well as I've a slightly unusual tale to tell. I have my own opinions about it but I'll refrain from sharing them; see what you think.

It all started when I heard that Santa's Grotto would be open in time for the Christmas Holiday. This is the place that my cousin Alonso told us about last year. It was under construction then, a sort of distribution centre for a group known as the Santa Society. Lionel Grand's brother - Lennox Murr-Grand - was in charge of this new Mellowdene branch. Well, before the doors opened, Lennox contacted me so that it could get some publicity in my newspaper. My daughter Una heard about it and announced that she would also attend on behalf of the school newsletter. Why not? 

 

We walked along the expanded defile into the foothills and at our destination we were welcomed into a foyer area by Lennox and his son Lawrence. Other than ourselves, there was only Cheery Snowdrift present, preparing to take out a delivery. As for our hosts, the lions were dressed in their festive clothes as per usual. 

"Good merriment, Darcy," said Lennox. "And Una, isn't it?"

Una nodded. "That's me, yes. I'm here to ask questions..."

I interrupted her. "In good time, Una. There's no rush." I scanned our surroundings, noting the ice effect on the walls, the sparkly decorations and an artificial tree.  "Looking good, Lennox."

"It will look even better when we use the snow generators that Paul Polaris set up for us outside. It all adds to the Christmas atmosphere."

"I heard the whole Christmas thing was a human invention," said Una.

 

Trust my daughter. I still need to reign her in at times. "Una! That is inappropriate when we are guests here!" 

Lennox and Lawrence both chuckled.

 

"I'm sorry," Una faltered.

"No, no," said Lennox. "You may be right, Una. And it's refreshing to know that there are some people around here who believe that humans exist. You're in the minority in this region. As for Christmas, it may have its origins within human myths, but it embodies our Sylvanian way. Family values. Thinking of one another. Doing things for each other, whether that be by providing thoughtful gifts for those near and far - or by kind deeds."

 

"And it's nice," said Lawrence.

"No arguments here," I said. "You probably know there are some here who think Mellowdene's Snow Queen is purely a fairy tale - but all appreciate the underlying meaning. Myth or not, it embodies our Sylvanian way, as you call it."

"I like to think it's real," said Una, "but you're right, dad. I know the Snow Queen isn't familiar to the rest of Sylvania, so I shouldn't judge stories about Santa Claus." She smiled at Lennox. "Why not tell us about your Grotto, Mister Murr-Grand? And about Santa."

 

"That's why you're here," Lennox said, moving towards a door at the back of the foyer area. "If you'd like to follow us..."

 

 

o 0 O 0 o

The guided tour was as pleasant as I'd hoped. There was an area where young children could see Santa - represented by Lennox (he showed us where he would sit when talking to the young children) - but we were also shown beyond. 

 

There was a workshop where Jolly and Elm Snowdrift were busy sorting out stocking-fillers. Egbert Highbranch was about to leave after delivering some toys he had made. He paused to greet us then went on his way.

 

The surprise was within the distribution centre where Christmas gifts were processed. In there we saw a group of young Sylvanians in fairy-like dress, assisting Tamara & Tomas Grimalkin and Lennox's step-children, Claudia and Caesar Murr-Grand.

"Who are these little cuties? I asked.

"Our Christmas elves," said Lawrence.

 

Una stared at the lion cub and his solemn face broke into laughter. His father smiled.

"Lawrence is teasing. They're our children," said Lennox. "Leona and I adopted them. They were entranced by the concept of Christmas and we agreed that we could provide them with a family. That's partly why we took so long to finish the grotto. We had to build a living area. We couldn't live permanently in Leonard's home. With Lawrence, me, Leona and her two - we were already taking up a lot of room. Adding seven more children forced our paws to move."

"But where did they come from?" I asked. 

 

"No one is sure. They turned up at one of the other grottoes and they couldn't explain how they got there. Sylvanian Children's Services were called but they were having difficulty finding somewhere where they could stay together - which was what the children wanted above anything else. We volunteered to take them, yet it took some discussion before SCS were completely happy."

"Is that because there is such a variety of young critters?"

"That was the main issue. Some thought that they should have a connection to their birth race, but that seemed at odds with them all staying together. My wife offered a solution." 

"That they can have two families," Lawrence added.

"In effect," acknowledged Lennox. "They would live with us all together as one family, but each would have a second family to whom they could go for advice on their critter-specific needs. Almost an aunt/uncle relationship. "

"It's almost sorted," said Lawrence. "Hey, let them say hello to you." Before anyone could respond he turned and called to the seven youngsters. "Elf roll call!"

 

They stopped any tasks they were doing and ran towards the young lion, laughing.

"I'm Marriott!" said the small elephant.

"His second family are the Bubblebrooks," said Lawrence.

"Pumpkin here," said the small raccoon, smiling widely.

"Mulberry," said Lawrence.

"Canberra," said the small koala, "and I'm an Outback."

"And I am Brooke," said the kitten.

"One of the Keats' families."

The young deer said, "Emmy," in a shy voice.

Lennox leaned towards her. "And mummy Leona is sorting out your second family, isn't she? Probably the Buckleys."

Emmy nodded.

"I might be a Wildwood," said the small brown rabbit, "and I'm called Hickory."

"And that just leaves our bouncy little mouse," said Lennox, referring to the seventh 'elf' who was hopping from leg to leg. "Leona's looking into that, too."

"I'm Clip," trilled the little mouse.

Una's eyes shone and I could almost read her mind.."Clip?" she said. "My little brother's called Clop."

"Fancy that," said Lennox with a straight face.

 

"Dad...," wheedled Una, "Clip and Clop? It would be a great example of Christmas spirit."

 

"We can't do anything without consulting your mother and the rest of the family," I said, trying to ease her excitement.

"I do hope that you don't think that's why we invited you here," said Lennox. "They love living with us and we don't want them to leave..."

"But you'd be happier having a family where Clip could visit and discuss mouse things if need be," said Una, addressing Lennox but pointedly looking at me.

 

"We'd all be one enormous extended elf family," said Lawrence.

 

"Well," I said, "it's something to think about."

 

 

o 0 O 0 o

It emerged that Lawrence's stepmother, Leona Murr-Grand, had already spoken with my wife Bridget about Clip and she had thought about it. Another family member, albeit part-time, seemed to her a welcome idea. Going by Una's reaction, the children would like it. Something to investigate, definitely. Of course, Clip would need to be happy with the arrangement and the way he smiled at Una hinted that wouldn't be a problem. 

 

Me? I wasn't against the idea; in fact, it was growing on me. I admit it would be nice for Clop to have someone nearer his own age to play with. It was also an intriguing idea - being part of Lennox Murr-Grand's extensive 'elf' family!

 

 

As I said: an unusual tale. Now. Have you an idea where these Christmas elves came from? I have a suspicion but... no, I won't say. Previous stories might offer an explanation. I'll leave you to ponder.

Darcy signing off.

 

o 0 O 0 o

    

 

The Field Trip

It's that time of year again! For newer readers, I'm talking about our annual spring festival - The Melting. After last year's health issues, I'm pleased to say that Bear Banger and the Bunny Boys reformed to do a modest set of six or seven numbers. And I hear all went very well. Yes, you heard me correctly. Unlike my contributions for the last couple of years, I wasn't directly involved. I wrote out a rough score for Mack Periwinkle - since the band wanted to include a new number, but that was it.

 

Cecile took the children - their missing the chocolate bunny hunt was not an option - but Chris Snow-Warren and I had to go to see producer Grant Foxworth about the Sylvan River musical. After all this time, the cast has been finalised and they are busy with rehearsals, and Grant wanted us to hear their initial efforts. Reasonable, and after our suggestions and tweaks I think it could be good. The famous baritone Corbet Mulligan was not in the cast, despite his initial interest, although we were given his contact details. I think he might want us to write a song (or songs) for him. 

 

Grant gives Corbet Mulligan's contact details to Chris

So, all in all, a productive meeting. But I had some making up to do for not accompanying Cecile to the Melting. 

"We look forward to our family time at the Melting," said Cecile. "We need to do something else together."

 

Beverley was listening, as is becoming a habit.

"Don't forget there's a field trip in a few days," she said, almost an offhand remark.

I switched my attention to my daughter, seemingly engrossed in her reading.

"What field trip?" I asked.

"Good idea," said Cecile. "We can do that."

Beverley looked up. "No, I meant I can't do a family thing whilst I'm on the school field trip."

"Ah," said Cecile. "That's right. Silly mummy. Never mind - we'll have more time to plan something nice."

I looked at them both. "Is no one going to tell me about this field trip? Why don't I know about it?"

"You were away with Uncle Chris when I learned about it," said Beverley. "You know that they've been doing some work on the canal near Catsholme? Well, the school has arranged for us to see the result. We get a day to see the new mini docks at work."

"Oh, right," I said. 

I didn't mean to sound dismissive. It was merely because - years ago - I'd also been on a field trip to look at the canal, and it resurrected some memories of my school days.

 

 

o 0 O 0 o

Workers from both Mellowdene and the hill cats - now settled in their new community of Catsholme - had been working for years to build a canal, starting with the shallow watercourse known as The Ditch. And now it was open. There was as yet only one canal boat, but both villages were proud of their combined achievement. It was only natural that the school wanted their children to witness the result of such a successful collaboration. 

Whilst the work had been in progress, the children were told it might be dangerous for them to visit. Once deemed safe, a series of field trips were arranged.

I went on one of these. 

My school chum Clarence Snow-Warren was quite excited. "I hear that the boat will allow more regular deliveries of some stuff. Frasier's dad will get cocoa beans more often. You know what that means?"

I grinned, and together we said, "More chocolate!"

"That's great," I added, "I wonder where they get it from?"

"Don't care," said Clarence. 

I shifted my chair to face him.

 

"Maybe it comes from the north coast going down Acorn Valley," I pondered.

"Still don't care."

I got up and punched his arm. "This is supposed to be an educational trip. You should care, Clary."

He stood, solemnly faced me - and blew a raspberry.

 

 

We looked at each other and then burst out laughing. 

A shadow fell over us. We looked up to see our teacher, Dermot Buckley. He pursed his lips.

"I see you're both engaged in serious schoolwork, boys," he said, "but I'll have to separate you because I need you for some important tasks."

Clary wasn't sure what to expect - and I supposed I was a touch wary too. We'd expected to visit the canal as a pair, exchange notes and discuss what we saw, all in preparation for the inevitable follow-up lesson. I had hoped the separation was temporary.

It wasn't. 

 

"Master Snow-Warren will assist me, taking notes when I speak to the foreman in charge of the final construction."

 

 

Clary sneaked a look at me and curled his lip.

 

"And you, Master Butterglove, will accompany our new pupil on the trip." Mister Buckley ushered forward a small mouse who had been examining a notebook left open on a nearby desk.

 

 
"Because he was learning his family business, he was in the 'apprentice class', but his parents now think he should move across to our main classes to get a broader academic education."

The mouse looked at me. "Hi. My idea, actually. My dad agrees I can learn the rest of the business later. I'm called Darcy."

 

Mister Buckley looked a little taken aback. He obviously didn't expect the newcomer to be so forthright. "Yes," he said. "Most interesting. Well, Master Fielding, this is Jackson Butterglove. You should stay with him for the duration of the field trip. He will look after you." He fixed me with a stare. "That's right, isn't it, Master Butterglove?"

 

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now, Master Snow-Warren, if you will come with me..."

Darcy Fielding moved to my side as we watched my teacher walk off with my school chum. Before they went out of sight, Clary looked over his shoulder and pulled a face at me.

"Wow," said the young mouse. "Is he always like that?"

 

I smiled. "Yeah. But he's a good teacher."

"So I would hope."

o 0 O 0 o

Darcy proved an interesting companion. He confirmed my suspicion that he was part of the Fielding family that ran the village newspaper. It soon became clear he was ideally suited for that business, exhibiting an enquiring mind. It also became clear that he was not prepared to take things at face value.

We had reached the area where the canal officially terminated - although Darcy pointed out that the Ditch actually continued with run-off water disappearing underground.

"Do you see?" he said. "There will be areas along the length of the canal where they can regulate the water level if it gets too low. They'll tap into the lakes up in the mountains. But they still need to ensure it won't flood in really bad weather. There'll be a pumping station somewhere to control the run-off."

 

I stared at him. "How do you know all this?"

"Research. I'm going to be a good newspaper man one day."

"When did you get a chance to research all this?"

"Ah, I'm not a swot, if that's what you're thinking. I went with my dad when he was talking to the construction managers. Work experience, he called it."

 

"I think that you might find that useful when we have our follow-up lesson. You're bound to do well."

    
He looked towards the other children spread out in a column along the canal bank, then returned his attention to me.

 

 

"If they expect to learn much purely by looking at the pretty canal boat, they might be disappointed." He checked no-one was watching us. "Come on."

"Where?"

"To learn more about this canal."

 

He started to move off. I briefly debated what to do, then remembered Mister Buckley's words... stay with him for the duration of the field trip ... He will look after you...

I hurried after him.

 

o 0 O 0 o

 There was indeed a pumping station. A small building with stone blocks at each corner, wooden planks connecting them. A sturdy door, propped open. Darcy beckoned me to look at a sign on the door. It said Van Dyke.

I nodded. "Ebb's dad runs the Waterworks. It looks as though you're right."

Darcy nodded. "Can't see a pipe from the canal though. They must have buried it. Probably be visible inside the station. I'll check."

"Do you think we should?"

"Well I am. You can wait if you want."

Again, Mister Buckley's words... stay with him...

I followed.

 

 

Darcy was right again. A pipe emerged from the ground and led to a mechanism of dials, levers, cylinders, valves and who knows what. The curious mouse went to examine a large dial.

 

"What does it do?" I asked.

Darcy laughed. "How should I know? Hydraulic stuff. I'm not a plumber. But I think it proves they've considered village safety. We can write about that."

It was then we heard voices, outside.

 

"We shouldn't be here," I whispered.

"They're probably just passing," Darcy whispered in response. 

"This shouldn't be open with those children about," said a gruff voice. 

The door slammed shut, a lock clicked, and footsteps faded.

Darcy regarded me. "You remember when you asked if I thought we should come in here?"

"Yes."

"I've revised my opinion."

 

o 0 O 0 o

I understand we were locked in there for less than an hour but it seemed longer to me. Darcy didn't panic, and surprisingly neither did I - probably due to my companion's apparent lack of concern. He told me about his previous class and asked me about his new class, wanting information about his new classmates and the teachers. And we didn't just sit and talk. Darcy thought it might be useful to draw the machinery whilst we chatted.

 

"A good reporter should always carry a notepad and pencil in his pocket," he said.

 

When we were discovered, we expected to be berated for "running off", but it didn't work out that way. It seemed Mister Buckley felt guilty for losing us.

"Are you sure you're both unhurt?" he repeated.

Darcy rewarded our teacher with a big smile. "We're quite well, sir. This pumping station was most educational. And Master Butterglove looked after me, just as you asked."

o 0 O 0 o

The memories shifted, and I thought of Brendan's fictional story where he sneaked into Van Dyke's Waterworks. I wondered if Cecile had mentioned my experience to him, nudging his imagination. Possibly, but there were more pressing concerns. My daughter.

"Beverley?"

"Hmm?"

"When you go on your field trip to the mini docks, you won't go off without your teachers, will you?"

 

 

"Course not, daddy."

Cecile fixed me with a knowing look, a hint of a smile on her perfect lips. Not a word was spoken.

 

o 0 O 0 o