Christmas 1642

(draft)

As the King’s Court prepared for the Christmas Celebrations, his soldiers were sent out to the neighbouring towns and villages around Oxford to form a defensive ring in case of attack.  They huddled close, occupying themselves with little more than trying to keep warm, as their breath plumed in white clouds, mingling with the wood smoke that hung low over their encampments. They waited in the bone chilling cold, day after day, for an enemy that would probably never come. Most reckoned that the Roundhead army was just as harassed, weather beaten and starved as they were.

Captain Snowden sat on a tree stump, wiggling his hands over a low fire, trying to get the blood flowing to his fingertips. He would have given anything at that moment to be able to turn on his heels and head home, just as Tom Jenkins had done earlier that day. They were only two miles from Oxford, so Snowden saw no reason for Tom to stay, freezing to death like the rest of them, when a blazing fire and warm bed awaited him there. It was Christmas Day and it was the least he could do.

As they waved him off, Snowden could see that Tom was grateful for the pass to see his family but his gratitude was also tinged with guilt for leaving his friends behind in such miserable circumstances.  For a while after he left, they all sat in impenetrable silence watching the red hot fire angrily consume one stick after another. Then, one by one they wandered off in search of more

.

With fresh wood haphazardly dropped in a pile a few feet from the fire, they all sat back down again to warm their hands and watch as Daniel Parker rummaged through his rucksack finally emerging with a small pamphlet.  He starred at it, puzzled, as if he wondered how it got there. He shrugged, then opened it and began to read silently.  His face slowly twisted into a frown.

Will leaned in. “What does it say, Daniel?”

“Parliament wants to ban Christmas,” Parker announced, closing the pamphlet and laying it in his lap. “They say that Christmas should be for fasting and prayer and not feasting. ‘It’s a wasteful celebration that threatens Christian beliefs’.  Have you ever heard such nonsense?”

“The people would not let that happen. Surely they will take to the streets to let Parliament know that they aren’t going to give up Christmas?” Will said, astonished.  “May I see it?

Parker handed the pamphlet to him and quickly stuffed his hands back into his pockets.

“It says that a person can’t even attend mass on Christmas day,” Will continued. “Not only that, but they want to ban Easter as well.”

John Harvey raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to see the roundheads try and take a big greasy goose leg out of the King’s hand at his Christmas feast.”

The mention of roasted goose must have reminded Holmes of something and he stood abruptly, halting the conversation as they all turned to look. But instead of walking away, he stayed where he was and began stamping his feet, to beat some life back into them.

“The King has goose and what do we have? Frostbite and a bit of dried meat.” Holmes said, eventually. “How is it fair that we freeze so that he can eat his fill and go to sleep in his warm bed?”

Snowden looked up at the grey sky above them and tossed another stick on the fire. It wasn’t fair and no one could reason that it was. Snowden felt a wave of resentment wash over him because it seemed that they all must freeze and starve so that His Majesty would not.

 

Will turned the pamphlet over and over in his hands, looking thoughtfully at it. “I wonder what my Ma is doing right now.” He paused. “She’s probably telling my brother to keep his hands off the brandy. Thomas always tried to drink the brandy when Ma needed it for the Christmas pudding. I’m not that keen on brandy myself. Too sweet, I prefer Ale. But right now, I’d drink anything that would make me warm.”

“Goose is very nice but we would have duck and mutton too. The whole house would smell of roasted meat. Oh and mince pies.  That’s what I miss, mince pies,” Holmes added wistfully.

“Did you ever have a wife, Sir?” Will asked, rather innocently.

“Aye, I had a wife. A wife and a daughter.” Holmes answered, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly, at odds with the hard line of his jaw and weathered skin. “They died from flu while I was away fighting someone else’s war. It was a long time ago.  So long that I can’t even recall their faces anymore.”  He closed his eyes for a brief moment and rubbed his hands through his greying beard before sitting back down letting his face harden over.

Will opened his mouth, as if to speak, and then closed it tightly, glancing down at the pamphlet in his hands.  It was the first time Holmes had ever spoken of anything other than soldiering. Holmes starred off into the distance, not looking as though he expected any kind of response. The truth was, no one knew exactly how to respond and the silence that followed took on weight until Parker cleared his throat.

“What about you Captain? What kind of Christmas would you be having if we weren’t stuck out here?”  Parker asked as all eyes turned to wait for their Captain’s answer. He’d been their Captain since Nottingham and they still knew very little about him other than he was from Wales. Snowden meant to keep it that way. He did not want to advertise that was the great nephew of the Earl of Worcester. He wanted to be treated just like everyone else.

“The usual things… Meat ‘n’ pies.  Singing and Dancing. Going to Mass. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Snowden shrugged.  “I should go see to the horses.”

Snowden looked back at his men, their heads drooping, huddled into themselves and rocking back and forth, doing anything to keep warm. Despite the cold, for just a few short moments they were all talking, sharing cherished memories of home and family, in an effort to take their minds off the dismal day.

Snowden walked a short distance to the horse shelter. The cold seemed to seep through the soles of his boots as they crunched over the frost covered ground. The pale light from behind the clouds made the trees sparkle like diamonds, just as they always did on Christmas day hunts at Raglan Castle. Back then, he didn’t mind the cold so much because at the end of the day there would be feasting and a considerable amount of drinking too.  Although excessive drinking was heavily frowned upon, the secret celebrations began after the Earl went to bed. Snowden and his friends would drink and gamble the night away often staggering to their rooms in the wee hours of the morning, that’s if they made it that far. On the following day when they managed to stumble out of bed, they were given a steaming cup of Mistress Blackstone’s vile hangover concoction and treated to a disapproving stare from the lady herself.  It all seemed like a lifetime ago.

Snowden used the tip of his sword to break up a thin layer of ice that had formed on the watering trough. The horses seemed happy enough huddled close together in the shelter.  Xanthos separated himself from the others and came over to Snowden.  He tossed his head several times with his breath billowing like fog in the freezing air. Snowden patted his neck and nuzzled his face before turning back toward the camp.

Copyright Luanne Uttley