Finley and the Critsberg Oktoberfest

Merlin and I had called in at the Bear Pit Club to have a snack and a mug of the club's citrus shandy. Part of the appeal of these visits is to see if the landlord, Finley Osbourne, has any new tall tales to entertain us.

On this occasion, vibrating lips from a noisy sigh suggested Finley had something else on his mind.

 

"Problem, Finn?" I asked.

"Uhuh. Oktoberfest," he said, clearly unhappy.

Bertram Bamboo, drinking nearby, overheard.

"We're getting an Oktoberfest?" he said, hope bordering on excitement.

 

"Not us," said Finley. 

Bertram's shoulders slumped. "Aw, shame. Good ales, Charlie Furbanks with his hot dog van, pretzels from Appleblossom’s bakery... It would've been good."

 

"No Bertie, it's being held at Critsberg."

"Not too far then," said the panda. "I'll have a word with Charlie and see if he's going. Maybe he can give me a lift."

  

Bertam thinks...

 

Bertram thinks further...

 

Where is Critsberg?. Well, if one were to cross Mellowdene bridge and take the road towards JollyOakFields, about halfway there you would pass an area of sparse woodland on your left bordering a country lane. This leads to the small village that is Critsberg. A few years ago the inhabitants decided to try and raise the profile of their village, holding a few events ostensibly to attract newcomers to join their population. An Oktoberfest was probably one such event.

Why would this be a problem to Finley? I asked him.

"It's to do with Mellowdene Day approaching. Did you know it's five years since the last formal celebration?"

"Is it? Oh, I suppose it is. It was the time Newton did a little presentation about how Mellowdene got its irrigation."

"Yes. Well, I had it in mind it was only four years ago. I only realised my error this morning, that I would need to arrange a beer tent and a large supply of ales."

Merlin nodded sagely. "The Oktoberfest would give you supply problems."

"Spot on. I contacted Marcus Tan at the brewery but the organisers at Critsberg have reserved all his extra stock. I've got my regular order for the Bear Pit but by all accounts Marcus won't be able to add sufficient ale to his stock before Mellowdene Day."

"That's unfortunate."

"I've only got myself to blame. Marcus gets a finite amount of hops from his wife's family. The Huntingdons grow a decent sized crop but they can only harvest a certain amount."

"So what are you going to do if the brewery can't help you with enough ale?"

"Look further afield, I suppose."

"Does it have to be ale?" asked Merlin. "Horace Honeybear might help you produce mead. The sea cats should have access to grog. Tanner Blackberry might have enough apples for cider."

"Potcheen," said Bertram. "Get some potatoes."

Finley inclined his head, presumably considering this. "Marcus is making a delivery today. I could ask him if he could do that."

 

An accented voice cut through. "Oi could do what, Finn?"

Marcus Tan had entered the room. Finley summarised our conversation and Marcus shook his head.

"T'would be nice, " - he pronounced the word as 'noyss' - "but the equipment is different. Oi'd need stills to make potcheen. Sorry, Finn. It's a shame, though. My Oktoberfest contact really wanted more variety than the beers oi makes."

"Really?" commented Merlin.

"'Tis roight. It'd help you, Finn, if oi could've obloiged 'em. You could've had half of the beers oi've reserved for 'em."

Merlin glanced at me before rejoining the conversation. "Chunglewood," he said.

We all turned to look at him and he went on to answer our unasked question.

"Because they brew their own drink from a mix of vegetables and other edible plants. Owen Quiller calls it whoopsuckle juice..."

"Good name," said Bertram.

"I suppose so. Owen had a flask of the stuff and he have me a little to sample. It was... very pleasant. Anyway, Owen told me they make a lot more than they can consume. The surplus alcohol is used for heaters and other equipment they need to power. Still drinkable nonetheless." 

"What are you thinking, Merle?" I prompted.

"If we could ask them to trade their excess whoopsuckle juice for some equipment that wouldn't need the alcohol to run..."

Marcus nodded. "...and, provoided it's decent, oi can replace maybe half of the Oktoberfest beer with this other stuff. It would help you too, Finn." 

"We'd need to give it a good taste test," said Bertram.

We all looked at him and he had the good grace to laugh. "Well, I'm an aficionado of fine beverages." 

Nodding slowly, Marcus turned towards Finley. "Speaking of foin beverages, Bevan Acaster is waiting in the wagon outsoid. Are we okay to unload the barrels?"

 

"You are, pal," said Finley. "The store room's unlocked."

"Roight. We'll get on."

With that, Mellowdene's much appreciated brewer made his exit to join Bevan.

 

 

Our thoughts returned to the promise of whoopsuckle juice.  

I wondered how the trade might be approached. "I'd recommend having a word with John Silk to see how best to do business with the Chunglewood people."

"I agree," said Merlin. "Jackson's been there and I've had extensive discussions with Owen. Although it might be only be a one-off deal, you'd want to make a good impression so that other trading opportunities are looked upon favourably."  

"Excellent point," mused Finley, "And if all goes well it would make my contribution to Mellowdene Day more of an Oktoberfest."

"Novemberfest," said a voice. It was George Mulberry. He had been sipping his ale, quietly paying attention to the conversation. 

He smiled at our confusion, adding, "'Cause Mellowdene Day is in November."

A fair point.

o 0 O 0 o

o 0 O 0 o

  

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