Story Calendar Day 1 - Western Isles Community Campfire

 

2022 has been Scotland's Year of Stories, and I've had a glorious year working with people all across Scotland to record, tell and share stories. As the year draws to a close, I thought a nice way to celebrate and share this, would be with a Story Calendar, sharing some of the digital stories, comics and books I've been involved with this year, alongside a few winter fictions of my own.

Each day I will also share an image from the Santa's Little Werewolves Christmas Comic Countdown Calendar, with art from Katherine Hemmings - so you're getting a story bonanza! If that somehow still isn't enough, you can also enjoy Magic Torch Comics 2022 Comic Calendar over on the rapidly collapsing twitter - The Christmas Martian, a cheery tale of alien technology and Victorian Class War.

On the blog, today's first story, is a selection of tales collected on the Western Isles during the Scottish Book Trust's Community Campfire. For one week, I stayed in a pod on North Uist, spending every day wandering around being told the most glorious stories - it was genuinely one of the best working weeks of my life. Here's a taste of some of the stories I was privileged to hear...

Superpower Christmas

With the help of a wisecracking, steampunk robot, two accidental superheroes discover that they have inherited some amazing, if unusual, abilities. Computer whiz Megan can fly (mostly sleep-flying, but she's working on it) while her best friend Cam can (in theory) transform into any animal, but mostly ends up as a were-hamster. Together they must protect the source of their ancestral powers from a wannabe evil mastermind and his gang of industrial transformer robots who've disguised themselves as modern art installations on their Greenock estate. It isn't easy to balance school and epic super-battles, not to mention finding time to search for other super-talents and train with their Mr Miyagi-esque were-tiger coach. Can Megan and Cam beat the bad guy, defeat his robot transformers and become the superheroes they were born to be?

In early drafts of The Superpower Project, I tried a couple of different ways of having a chapter set around Christmas time. Ultimately, both got chopped during editing because they didn't really fit. As a festive treat, I thought I would share a bit from one of them.

If you haven't read The Superpower Project, this is exactly the sort of action-packed malarkey you can expect to find on every page of this ideal Christmas stocking filler! You can read the first few chapters for free on the Discover Kelpies website. And if you remain unconvinced, why not read these lovely reviews on Toppsta.


In this 'deleted scene', Megan and Cam have been asked to rescue someone called Wilf from the top floor of an abandoned hi-flat which is being demolished during the Christmas holidays...
  
The hi-flats stood on a steep hill overlooking the river. There were dozens of blacked out windows, randomly smashed, like row upon row of bad, broken teeth. The buildings were fenced off, and due to the demolition, there were police cars stationed at either end of the street.
‘I'm not sure how we are getting in John,’ said Megan. 'Looks pretty busy down there.’
‘I know a way around the back and under the hill,’ said John. 'You two can get inside and quickly fly up the stairs.’
‘Can't we just take the lift?’ asked Cam.
‘All the power's off. Wilf will likely be up on the thirteenth floor,’ said John. ‘It's been quiet up there for years. That’s his favourite place.’
‘All thirteen floors?' said Cam. ‘This is a nightmare.’
‘Suppose he won’t come with us,’ said Megan.
‘He will, he’s not stupid, just tell him I sent you.’
‘You're not coming?’
‘No, TJ and I are going to wait nearby, just in case we need to try and slow down the demolition.’
‘How,’ said Cam, ‘are you guys suddenly bomb disposal experts?’
‘There will be some wires,’ said TJ. ‘We will just pull out the wires.’
Megan and Cam stared at them both, unimpressed.
‘Well it will be a little more scientific than that,’ said John, trying to reassure them.
‘You said we would pull out all the wires,’ said TJ.
‘Yes,’ said John. ‘But obviously we’ll pull out the wires to stop it exploding. Not the wires to start it exploding.’
‘How will we know which is which?’ asked TJ. ‘Will there be labels?’
‘Y’know what? Let’s go,’ said Megan. ‘Before this plan gets any worse.’

The stairway was covered in rubbish and rubble, here and there, bits of old cable poked out from the walls. Megan dodged and weaved her way ever upwards, round and round, in and out. All the way to the thirteenth floor. She stepped out from the stairwell into the corridor and set frog Cam down on the floor.
‘I'm really dizzy,’ he said as he turned back into himself. ‘That was like the waltzers. Only worse.'
‘Wilf!' shouted Megan. 'Wilf are you here?’
There was nothing but the darkness, and the distant rattle of wind against broken windows.
‘There's an open door over there,’ said Cam, pointing. ‘All the others are boarded up.’
The two of them walked slowly towards the door.
‘Wilf? Is there anyone called Wilf here?’
There was no reply. They stopped outside the door.
‘Okay,' said Cam. ‘Hands up if you think we should go in to the pitch black room on the thirteenth floor of the abandoned building?’
‘Suppose he's hurt,’ whispered Megan.
‘Suppose we get hurt,’ said Cam.
‘Let's just be ready,’ said Megan. ‘We can do stuff like this remember?’
Together, they walked into the tiny hallway inside the front door. Another door stood directly in front of them, hanging off at the hinge. Megan pushed at the broken door and it squealed open. The room was empty, except for an old mattress under the window. On the mattress, was a cat.
‘Wilf?’
The cat miaowed and wandered over to Cam, rubbing itself against his legs.
‘Wilf's a cat?’ said Megan.
‘Makes sense,’ said Cam, ‘I suppose. Let's grab him and go.’
As they made their way back out to the stairwell, there was a massive bang, then a metallic crunch. Both of them thought exactly the same thing at the same time, ‘The building's getting blown up early!’
Megan opened the door to the stairway, and they began to run down the steps. Something was blocking their escape route. Something made of shining black metal, forcing its way up the narrow stairway, bending wires and cracking walls as it came.
‘Resilience!’ said Cam. ‘Why is Resilience here?’
‘Who cares! He’s hardly here to help is he? Back upstairs!’
Scarcely moments ahead of the lumbering robot, Megan and Cam burst back onto the thirteenth floor.
‘Okay...okay....good news? Building isn't exploding yet, it's just Resilience. Bad news? Resilience is here.’
Megan was holding onto Wilf, who seemed to be taking all of this in his stride. ‘What do we do Cam? I could fly us out the window?’
‘You can’t fly down the outside, someone might see,’ said Cam. ‘There’s a webcam filming the demolition.’
‘Well what then?'
The banging and scraping from the stairs suggested Resilience had almost squeezed his way to the top.
‘Got it,' said Cam, ‘we go down the lift shaft!’
‘Down a lift shaft? Won’t it be all jaggy wires?’
‘So be sure not to hit the jaggy bits,’ said Cam. ‘Seriously. You could end up with tetanus or something. My mum made me get an injection. Fly steady.’
Megan glowered at him, ‘Yes. Well that will be much easier now, I’m sure.’
Cam had already kicked the plan into action, and having turned into a gorilla, he was pulling the rusted lift doors apart with his massive arms.
As Resilience smashed through the stair door, Cam once again shrunk down into a frog, and Megan scooped him up and popped him in her pocket. Holding tight to Wilf she jumped down into the dark of the lift shaft, swooping down towards the basement level.
Above she could hear Resilience banging towards the opened lift door. She looked up to see him peering down, perhaps deciding whether or not to jump.
If he jumps down, thought Megan, he will totally squish us, there's no way we could move in time.
The robot began climbing down the lift shaft towards them. They were now at the bottom, and Cam had once again hopped out of Megan's pocket, and turned gorilla to force the other lift door open. This one was much stiffer however, and with so many changes, Cam's strength was weakening. Resilience kept climbing.
‘Cam quick! Please!’ said Megan.
Suddenly, the door was torn open from the other side. TJ stood, holding the broken door and a handful of wires, ‘I do not think these were the right wires,’ said the robot, ‘I think we should hurry.’
Megan, Cam and TJ tumbled out of the concrete shaft and down the thorny hillside as the first of the explosions went off. On the hill above, the hi flat gracefully collapsed in on itself, in a huge mushroom cloud of dust and rubble. The nearby streetlights flickered and popped. In every window, the glow of Christmas lights disappeared. The town was suddenly dark, and totally without power.
‘There really should have been a label on the wires,’ said TJ.
The Superpower Project is available to buy online...

The Wild Hunt

This is the start of a festive tale I've been working on, featuring a variety of Scottish, Nordic and Icelandic Christmas characters and traditions...uhm...I haven't actually finished it though. So for now, it's just a bit from a thing...

1 - The Clanging Chimes of Doom

Clarence had been trouble from that first Christmas morning. Kyle's dad had got him from the cat rescue as a last minute surprise. Clarence had burst out of a big pile of Christmas wrapping paper looking all cute and tiny and Kyle's little sister Holly was so excited she had just burst into tears. Within five minutes, Clarence had peed on Kyle's playstation, knocked over the tree and smashed a scented candle, briefly setting fire to the advent calendar until dad doused the flames by chucking Kyle's hot chocolate over it. Everyone laughed about how they would have to get used to having a cat around the house, but not Kyle - he knew then.

That was almost three years ago, and since then, Kyle had got used to the ear piercing early morning shriek which meant that Clarence had left them another 'present' downstairs; voles, bats, frogs...they had seen it all. In one particularly epic battle, the catflap had snapped right off the door as Clarence had charged through it with a huge angry crow. The crow had flown into the toilet and it just sat there all day - glaring, flapping and cawing. Everyone held it in for as long as possible and just when they all thought they might have to move house rather than deal with the crow, the RSPCA turned up and took it away. Somehow, Kyle still ended up last in the queue for the toilet, so the whole thing annoyed him more than everyone else.

This morning's shriek seemed more shrill than usual, but that was possibly because Kyle had a thumping sore head. He had been off school with the cold for two days already and he didn't much fancy trudging back through the snow to go back today. There was going to be more Christmas Party social dancing rehearsal. Who rehearses for a party, thought Kyle, practicing fun in case you get it wrong. Mental. Although, he supposed he should be grateful that Mrs Nickneven was allowing any fun in her school at all - even carefully organised fun.

Kyle sat up in bed a little too quickly and white spots floated in front of his eyes like little sickly snowflakes.

"What's he brought in this time mum?" shouted Holly as she bounced down the stairs.

"Oh I can't even tell," wailed Mum. "A robin maybe? Don't come down here just yet love. It's like a horror movie. Honestly, that cat needs to go."

She always says that, thought Kyle, but he's still here.

"Oh Kyle come and get these please will you?" shouted Mum. "Dad's already away and you know I can't face it."

"But I'm not well!" said Kyle.

"Exactly," said Mum. "So you probably can't feel any worse."

Kyle shuffled out of bed and wobbled woozily downstairs, holding on to the bannister.

"A robin. Seriously?" he said "Very Christmassy. Maybe we're supposed to hang it off the tree..."

Mum was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, looking the other way, "Thank you sweetheart," she said, giving him a kiss, a dustpan and a binbag, "I'll make you some porridge."

Through half closed, still blurry eyes, Kyle looked around for Clarence's horrible Christmas gift. There really wasn't much there - no feathers at all in fact. There was a lot of glitter, and rather strangely, a little green Santa hat with a bell, but that was all.

"Mum there's nothing here," said Kyle. "I think he's just broken a tree decoration, or knocked something off the shelf again."

"Are you kidding?" shouted Mum from safely inside the kitchen. "There's...stuff...everywhere. Just sort it out please."

"Fine," muttered Kyle, brushing up the glitter and some torn cloth. "At least it's not another squirrel."

It was the kind of classic sick day when Mum didn't even ask if Kyle felt well enough to go to school, she just sent him straight back to bed after breakfast.

"I need to nip to the shops for ten minutes though," said Mum. "I want to get some disinfectant to properly clean up downstairs. Will you be okay?"

"Fine Mum," said Kyle, "I'll just try to get back to sleep."

He didn't even hear Mum lock the door...

...Kyle woke with a start.

Bells. He could hear bells.

He sat up and waggled his finger in his ear. The bells kept ringing.

Kyle blinked and rubbed his eyes, slowly the bedroom flickered into focus. And that's when he saw it.

There was an elf standing at the bottom of his bed. Rosy cheeks, curly shoes, cute nose - the works. An elf. An elf who was angrily jangling the bell on her little green pointy hat.

"Your stupid cat killed me," said the elf. "Now what are you going to do about it?"

Here's Bjork singing a song about one of the characters in the story, Jolakotinn, the terrifying and merciless Yule Cat...

The Wonderful Worlds of Alice

The Wonderful Worlds of Alice - Alice and the Time Pirate
artwork by Mhairi M Robertson

"Ah!' said the Time Pirate, "If I keep drilling, then I'm sure to remember when I buried my treasure eventually."
"But yesterday is now completely full of holes,' said Alice, 'and bits of next week keep tumbling in."


The Wonderful Worlds of Alice is a range of gifts celebrating the 150th Anniversary of Alice's first adventure, by imagining what other strange worlds she may have visited.

The adventures were devised by myself and Mhairi M Robertson - we have sent Alice off elsewhere before, including a trip to A Wonderland Wedding and a wander through A Winter Wonderland.

The Wonderful Worlds of Alice gifts are produced by Inverclyde based social enterprise Newark Enterprises, and available to purchase from The Dutch Gable House shop in Greenock.

Check out more products on their Facebook page...

The Christmas Spiders

Christmas Spider from The Spider Lady

Not so long ago, and not so far from here, there was a little cottage right at the edge of a forest. In the cottage lived a widow and her two young children. The widow had lost her husband some years back – he went off to the war and never returned, but before he left, he and the children planted a pine cone from the forest in a pot by the door, and he told them he would be back to help them decorate it when it had grown into a tree. The tree grew sure enough, and the children grew, and Christmas drew near, but the widow knew her husband would not be returning home.

It had been a hard winter, and there was little money, but as she watched the children skip off to bed talking excitedly about how they would decorate the tree the next day, the widow thought of a way to try and make the sad little tree a little more special for them. Taking her old yellow dress, which had faded these last few years, she cut out a cloth star, and put it at the top of the tree. Then she went to bed, hoping that the children would be happy to see it in the morning. All three of them huddled in together against the cold.

And as they slept, the spiders crept out from all the dark places in the house. The little family were always kind to spiders, never chasing them out of the house, or brushing away their webs before they had eaten. The spiders saw the little tree, and the cloth star, and they decided to help decorate the tree too. They worked all through the night, spinning and weaving their webs across the tree. Then they scuttled back into the rafters and corners to sleep until morning.

It so happened that St Nicholas passed by the cottage in the forest. He saw the little tree with the tattered cloth star, and he saw how the spiders had tried to help by covering the branches in their dusty grey webs, and he decided to help the family and their spiders out too.

St Nicholas took an old leather pouch from the pocket of his greatcoat, and from it, took out gold and silver sand which he sprinkled all across the tree. And the webs turned to strands of silver and glittered like a morning frost and the cloth star turned to gold.

The little family and the spiders woke that Christmas morning to a tree that sparkled bright enough to light the room. And with all the silver and gold, the little family never wanted for anything again, though they always took care to leave a window open for spiders in the autumn, and let them stay all through the winter.



This is my take on a traditional Ukranian folktale. There are lots of different versions, sometimes it's Jesus who visits, not St Nicholas, sometimes, no one visits at all, they are just magic spiders who spin gold. You will be delighted to know, that you can indeed purchase that now “must have” item for your Christmas Tree, a Christmas Spider, from a variety of Etsy shops.

To be clear though, here is a real Christmas Spider below, if you see one of these in your house, don't annoy it. They bite.

Read more of my Winter Folktales here

Shocking Chillers

Earlier this year I contributed a text story to the smashing small press horror comic Hallowscream. Myself and Andy Lee have a strip in the Scary Christmas Special as well. The first two pages are below, you can read the rest this December via The Theatre of Terror.

It's based on a story I recorded a few Christmases ago. The strip will also appear in a slightly different format in next year's Tales of the Oak comic...

Here is Bjork's version of a traditional winter song about the Jolasveinar...




And quite frankly any excuse for my family tale of terrifying winter fun from last year...Santa's Little Werewolves....





I've been sharing festive and winter stories all month here and on the Tales of the Oak blog. It's my favourite time of year for writing and telling stories. But I'm actually supposed to be maybe possibly moving house this week, just in time for Christmas, and I've honestly run out of steam. Here's a well intentioned selection of links in place of anything else new this year, just in case yer still in the mood, and feel like gorging on wintery folktales, fables and festive fear.

Alice's Winter Wonderland Christmas

A tale of unease featuring Master Mariner Para Handy

A Christmas message from Councillor Harry Macarthur

Another comic strip of festive terror The Green Oak Trees

A lost chapter from Wind in the Willows in which badger and mole talk Mithraic worship.

Midwinter fables featuring robber wives, christmas present quests and scary rabbits.

My thoughts on the ancient practice of trying to ruin Christmas for everyone in Midwinterfestivusmas

Or if you'd rather not be bothered with all that sort of nonsense, here instead is a specially selected wee Christmas playlist of alternative classics. I picked them just for you.

Feliz navidad.
xx

Alice In A Winter Wonderland

Wassail! By Mhairi M Robertson

 

On November 26 1862, Charles Dodgson sent a copy of his handwritten manuscript Alice's Adventures Under Ground to Alice Liddel as a Christmas present. Dodgson famously made up the story while on a boating trip with the Liddel sisters. A revised version of the manuscript was eventually self published as Alice in Wonderland in 1865.

Since then there have been Manchester based steampunk sequels, mythology building comic versions, controversial adult retellings, crazy crossovers with other classic novels and a dodgy 3-D movie.

This is my contribution...Alice's Winter Wonderland, a wee bit from a Christmas Story I wrote for Sharon as a Christmas gift a few years back, which has Alice wandering through Wonderland exploring the folklore and traditions of the 12 Days of Christmas. I keep footering with it, and at some point myself and Mhairi hope to release a complete illustrated version. Fingers crossed. Mhairi and I also created a series of unusual adventures for Alice in The Wonderful Worlds of Alice.


Alice's Winter Wonderland - Ten Pipers Piping

As Alice stepped back over the hill back onto the snowy path, she could see to her dismay that she was right back where she had started, and no nearer the Ministers House at all.

“I’m beginning to forget what it is I am to recite this evening. I know it was something to do with Christmas.” thought Alice to herself, “I had better keep practicing.”

As she walked she sang to herself.

“Angels we have heard can’t fly,  

Are now travelling on trains,

So the Doctor’s coming by,

For to salve their aches and pains.”
 

Alice was sure this was not quite right, but just as she was about to start over, she realised she was again standing by the fruit tree in the town square, with the little Green Village down the hill on the left and the little Red Village she had just returned from, down the hill on the right.

“Back again?” said The Partridge, “You really ought to listen to your elders and betters.”

“Why should I listen to you?” said Alice. “You sent me off in completely the wrong direction the last time we spoke.”

The Partridge sniffed haughtily, in a way which reminded Alice of her Great Aunt Matilda.

“It’s hardly my fault that you cannot follow instructions. What a dim girl you are.”

The Partridge even sounded like her Great Aunt Matilda.

“And what a rude bird YOU are.”

Alice turned on her heel and marched down towards the little Green Village, only just remembering how much trouble she had found herself in when she tried this approach with Great Aunt Matilda.

“That’s the wrong way.” trilled The Partridge “They’re all mad that way.”

“Well it’s too late to stop now.” thought Alice to herself, “I’ll look even more foolish if I turn around and go back. Besides which, I have already tried going the other way.”

As she drew nearer to the Green Village, she could hear a fantastic din, the little street was full of people of all shapes and sorts, each carrying a different musical instrument, and clearly playing their own tune. 

Alice was most pleased to notice that at the head of the band was her friend The White Knight, he seemed to be having some difficulty with a drum. It being the type of day it was, Alice was not at all surprised to see The Mad Hatter helping The White Knight secure the drum straps around his armour.

“Hello sir!” said Alice “May I ask what this noise is all about?”

“We are the Town Band.” announced The White Knight rather importantly in the incorrect tense “We go from house to house, singing songs and warming ourselves by the winter fire. Or rather, we would do, if we could just all start at the same time.”

Alice looked at the long line of people in the band.

“By the time I’ve started, and word gets carried all the way down to the people at the back, I’m already on a different song.”

“Does the drum not help to keep everyone in time?” asked Alice, who knew a little of how music was supposed to work.

“It should my dear.” said The White Knight, “I brought this drum all the way from eastern climes. Sadly however, I left the sound behind.”

“Don’t be silly. You can’t leave a noise behind.” said Alice.

“Of course you can, I know of at least three gentlemen who are able to throw their voice. One threw it so far than it got lost and could not come back.”

While Alice stopped for a moment to consider this, The Mad Hatter explained further, “It’s all true. So now there’s a street in Constantinople where all day a drum beats without a drum.”

“It is most annoying for those nearby.” said The White Knight “For they have no way of stopping it.”

Alice could see from the sad look on his face that The White Knight was quite serious. 

“Perhaps,” Alice ventured, “You aren’t playing it entirely right. I’ve had quite a number of piano lessons, I may be able to help.”

Here, Alice felt it was not important to mention that her last piano lesson had ended with her Music Mistress sobbing.

“Now,” said Alice with some authority “Where is the drumstick.”

“I gave it to a passing Badger in exchange for an excellent chutney recipe.” said The White Knight.

“What use would a Badger have for a drumstick?” asked Alice.

“I believe he wished to use it to beat eggs. Or chimney sweeps. At any rate, I didn’t need it if the drum wasn’t making a noise. I am not even that fond of chutney, but it did seem like the correct thing to do in the circumstances.”

All the while Alice had been talking to The White Knight, she had been politely trying not to notice The Mad Hatter unsuccessfully attempting to untangle himself from what looked like a sack full of sticks, but as ever, her curiosity finally got the better of her manners.

“Excuse me please, What are those?” asked Alice.

“These are my Regicidal Bagpipes.” said The Mad Hatter, beaming with pride. “They are over four hundred years old.”

“Really?” said Alice, very impressed. “That’s very old indeed.”

“Yes. Though sadly, I have had to replace both the bag and the pipes several times owing to their increased age.”

“Well then they aren’t old bagpipes at all!” said Alice. “They are completely new bagpipes.”

“Which part? They still sound old.” said The Mad Hatter, “Now, would you like to hear our song?” 

If truth be told, Alice was already tiring slightly of people insisting on singing songs at her, but it seemed to be the only way that she might get someone from the band to help her on her way. “Besides,” she thought “perhaps this song will be one I know.”

“Is everyone ready?” asked The Hatter “Excepting of course, those who are not? Let us sing ‘Here we come a-waffling’.”

Here we come a-waffling,

Among the streets serene.

Here we come a wobbling,

We haven’t got a bean.

Our waffle cup is made,

Of the old Tulgey tree,

And we prefer to see it filled,

With finest Earl Grey tea.

Bring us out a table,

And spread it with green cheeses.

Bring us out some cinnamon,

To spare our festive sneezes.

God bless the master of this house,

And all his cats and dogs,

For you we come a-waffling,

And dance with finest clogs.

The company concluded with a little dance, and gave themselves a rather impolite and ill deserved round of applause.

“Well,” said Alice, trying very hard to think of what to say “That was nice.”

“Precisely!” said The White Knight, “But sadly the folk of this village do not entirely agree with you. We have decided therefore to make an expedition over to The Red Village instead. I know of a Piemaker there who will be very pleased to welcome us.”

“If it is The Piemaker I have just met in The Red Village, that is very unlikely.” Alice thought to herself, but she did not want to upset The White Knight.

“I wonder if one of you might be able to help me.” said Alice, who now felt it was appropriate to ask for assistance since she had been so kind about The Town Band’s performance. “I’m looking for The Ministers House, I have a recital to give there this evening.”

“What is the house number?” asked The Mad Hatter.

“You know, I’m not sure.” said Alice. “Seven I think. Or twenty-three.”

“Then he must be a Prime Minister.” declared The Mad Hatter, before continuing to wrestle with his bagpipes.

“The Lords and Ladies would know best where to find a Prime Minister.” said The White Knight. “They are all dancing down by the forest. Come along and I’ll show you.”

Alice and the White Knight walked off through the snow towards the forest as the band marched off out of time, on their expedition to The Red Village.

Lewis Carroll frequently parodied contemporary poems, the nonsense above is more popularly known as "Here We Come A Wassailing", sung by winter wassailers looking for a warm drink by the fire. Similarly, Alice is not quite remembering "Angels We Have Heard On High". But as I'm fond of saying...if ye have to explain it...

I do enjoy scribbling a bit of Christmas fan fiction, here's some lost pages from Wind in the Willows.

Here's Blur's version of The Wassailing Song




And, while we're doing Christmas specials...here's The Two Ronnies 'Alice in a Winter Wonderland'...

Santa's Little Werewolves

Wee bit of festive fun. Just finished it this week.
A Christmas card from me and my wee family.

Merry Christmas!

A Bit of The Moon!

This was the first Christmas poem I wrote for my children. It accompanied a genuine purchase of lunar property. I believe land is now also available on Mars, assuming of course you are prepared to take it by force from the martians. Anyway, I still have all the documentation, and am assuming that this land purchase is legally binding and therefore when we eventually move into terraforming we'll be quids in. Check out some cool Christmas in Space photoshoppings here..


What should I get you for Christmas?

A new rattle? A carved silver spoon?

Never mind a new toy, you’re a lucky wee boy

I got you a bit of the moon!

I could’ve got you a big woolly mammoth

Or a hunting hat made from raccoon.

But there’ll be no fur for you young sir

I’ve got you a bit of the moon.

I could’ve got you a trip on a pirate ship

On the second last fortnight in June.

But no treasure yet, no parrots for pets,

See I’ve got you a bit of the moon.

How about a Tibetan safari?

In a marvellous hot air balloon?

But we’ll see yeti later, Kung Fu monks can just wait,

Cos I’ve got you a bit of the moon!

And maybe one day, you’ll fly away

To the sea of tranquillity.

You’ll build a wee home inside of a dome

And we’ll fly up to your house for tea.

Now When The Wine Is Drawn

(suggested by The Wind In The Willows)

It was bitterly cold that winter, and by mid-November, Toad had resolved to quit the riverbank for sunnier climes and so left to visit a cousin in Constantinople. The Rat and the Mole were sad to see him leave, however, autumns hot-air ballooning fiasco had thinned their tempers and a little less Toad was perhaps not too terrible a thing.

Of course no Toad also meant no Christmas feast at Toad Hall. At first Mole and Rat intended to spend Christmas at Rat’s home on the Riverbank, but the river had risen, then frozen solid and so Badger had kindly invited them to enjoy advent and yuletide at his home within The Wild Wood.

Badger’s winter provisions and wine cellar were legendary and for all his fire and thunder, everyone in the Wild Wood knew that he made sure there was enough to go around in the lean years.

So it was then, that just a few days before Christmas, Mole, Rat and Badger were sat by the fireside exchanging stories and songs. Badger had just finished an exciting tale of his father’s exploits during the Crimean War and now it was Rat’s turn.

“Well I have been dabbling with one or two poems, but I’ve nothing that’s actually finished…nothing ready for sharing…”

“Nonsense Ratty.” Said Mole “We’d love to hear whatever you’ve got written…ready or not!”

“Oh all right then.”agreed Rat “But you must remember…you asked for it…”

Rat removed the little leather notepad he always carried in his satchel, and cleared his throat to read.

“To move as the landscape

Balance and bob on the wash

Of the new, forever

Eroding the old.

There is nothing but stone

Left standing still,

And that, silent and alone.

Those old shadows will fall

For as long as the sun rises;

Temple silhouettes, broken stones

Burned forever against the dawn.”

“Bravo Rat!” said Mole “Though it seems sad somehow.”

“Yes it does rather.” said Rat “Especially now I come to read it aloud. Ah well…there’s time yet to change it.”

The three friends sat and drank a while longer, laughing and reminiscing about Toad’s passions across the preceding year and speculating on what would be next. All too soon it seemed time to retire to bed.

It was not so very much later that Mole awoke to hear a scuffling sound. The noise had not wakened him, rather it was the glow of a light. An underground creature such as the Mole was used to that special darkness which can only be experienced beneath the earth in the dead of winter. Someone must have left a candle burning in the study. Mole decided to go and extinguish it but as he opened the door of Badger’s guest bedroom, he could see that there was no candle burning. Rather, it was Badger wandering off down one of the many passages which wound in and out of his home; the light from his lantern cast dancing shadows against the tunnel walls. Where could he be going at this hour? For a moment, Mole was in a dilemma, with his desire to be a polite house guest getting in the way of his natural curiosity. As Badger turned the furthest corner of the tunnel and the glow of his lantern began to diminish, Mole decided to risk the displeasure of his host and scurried after him.

Badger wandered further into the labyrinth of chambers and passageways than Mole had ever been before. He walked at such speed, that few times, Mole would turn a corner and find the chamber before him empty and dark. Momentarily panicked, the Mole would have to use his nose to keep track of his wise friend.

Just as it seemed that he could walk no further, Mole wandered round a bend and found Badger’s lantern hanging from the wall. This chamber seemed less grand than many of the others they had passed through – some of those had been filled with old and broken statues, long faded mosaics barely visible upon the walls. Here though, was more like a little cave. There was one carving on the far wall and in front of that, a little stone table at which Badger was currently busying himself.

It was only now that Mole could see that Badger had carried with him a knapsack which was now being carefully unfolded. From it he took two plates, two goblets, a bottle of wine and a selection of food. A picnic in a cave? Very curious.

As Badger continued to set his queer table, Mole again tried to examine the detail of the carving. It was a man slaying a bull, but there seemed to be other beasts as well, Mole leaned forward, squinting…and clattered his head against Badgers’s lantern. Badger turned immediately.

“Who’s this?” he growled “Show yourself!”

Mole stepped cautiously into the light.

“Sorry Badger. It’s Mole. I wondered where you were off to so late…I….I didn’t mean to intrude.”

For a moment, Badger was silent, then he smiled in his gruff manner, and Mole knew all was well.

“Not at all Mole…it’s been a long time since anyone joined me for this meal.”

Badger gestured to his table, now set for a small feast.

“Badger…I must ask…” began Mole.

“Why a feast in a cave in the middle of the night?” smiled Badger.

“Well…yes. I mean…not that it doesn’t look wonderful…”

Badger sat down upon the stone floor and motioned for Mole to do the same.

“Mole, many years ago now, when I was still a boy, my father brought me to this cave, on this same night in the middle of winter. We enjoyed the first of many feasts, just as he and his father had, and his fathers father. A tradition going all the way back to when these great underground halls were still a city.”

Mole looked at the carved relief.

“And is it somehow connected to this chap and the eh…poor bull?”

Badger chuckled.

“Let’s have a toast Mole.”

Badger opened the wine and filled both goblets. He passed one to Mole and held the other aloft.

“Sol Invictus!”

“Sol Invictus?”

“Yes Mole. The coming in of the light. This here, is Mithras” Badger pointed to the stone relief. “The men who once dwelled in this ancient city used to celebrate in his honour with a midwinter feast.”

Mole smiled.

“Well that sounds like a jolly way to remember anyone.”

“Indeed Mole. Indeed. All animals, man and beast must struggle against the winter and fight on into the springtime, counting ourselves lucky if we do. We feast and dance and sing to keep ourselves warm and the silent darkness at bay. Old Mithras here is a winter Sun King, giving hope that the sun will return and that all the life and greenery will be born once again. He wasn’t the first, nor the last, but my father taught me to remember him…and so I do. And in those moments Mole, I remember him too. I remember him too.”

For a time Badger sat silently, smiling, then he roused and bade Mole tuck into the feast, which Mole did, more out of  a sense of ceremony and propriety than actual hunger.

When they were finished, Badger took a moment to recite some latin verse, which Mole enjoyed immensely, and then he stood, and once again raised his goblet.

“To Osiris! And Belwe! Attis, Prydeni, Mithras! And many more. Sol Invictus Mole…the winter days grow longer and we are each morn now closer to Spring.”

“Sol Invictus!” cried Mole, quite taken with the occasion.

The two friends drank to the Sun King, while outside the snow and ice covered The Wild Wood. Finally, Badger solemnly packed everything away, and together they walked back through the tunnels, already feeling warmer than the season would suggest.

Historical Note

Kipling celebrated Mithras as the God of Roman Soldiers in his Song To Mithras

Many people believe there to be a connection between the Nativity and the story of the birth of Mithras.

Many other people believe this to be absolute nonsense.

The wonderful Arthur Rackham picture above hangs happily in my living room. It's my favourite.