Are you sitting comfortably? - Writing for Children

Are you sitting comfortably?

Then I’ll begin.

Once upon a time, as the leaves turned from green to brown, eleven intrepid writers met in a small room not far from the sea. Outside the nights were dark and stormy; the wind howled and the rain came down in torrents. But inside the writers worked hard. They talked and wrote and read and laughed a lot. Gradually, their stories grew within them. Christmas came and went and in the frosty sunshine of the New Year, the fledgling stories were brought into the room. The writers talked and wrote and read and laughed some more. The stories grew and changed. Finally, as the first snowdrops emerged, the hard work was over. The stories were ready. We wanted to share them, so we put them in this book.

We hope you enjoy reading them.

Julie Everton

CHOCCY LOO-LAH

When little ones will not sit and eat
But scream or pout and stamp their feet
There’s a cheeky troll who winks and smiles
He tantalises every child

Oh Choccy Loo-Lah!
Oh Choccy Loo-Lah!
Oh Choccy-Noccy-Woccy Loo-Loo-Lah!

He laughs aloud as he expands
Around the house on sticky hands
He melts in pockets and runs down chins
There’s just no way of stopping him

Oh Choccy Loo-Lah!
Oh Choccy Loo-Lah!
Oh Choccy-Noccy-Woccy Loo-Loo-Lah!

He smudges pillows and pastes the bed
To the daintiest tresses of the prettiest head
He’s rich, he’s yummy, he’s oh so sweet
To eyes and tummies he’s such a treat

Oh Choccy Loo-Lah!
Oh Choccy Loo-Lah!
Oh Choccy-Noccy-Woccy Loo-Loo-Lah!

Never forgotten once he’s been seen
He’s artful, wily, cunning and keen
He hides in buttons, in chips and drops
You can’t escape old chocolate chops

Oh Choccy Loo-Lah!
Oh Choccy Loo-Lah!
Oh Choccy-Noccy-Woccy Loo-Loo-Lah!

Richard Taylor

ELINDA’S BIRTHDAY PARTY

One morning a letter arrived for Emily. She was very excited. She wondered who could have written to her.
“It’s an invitation” said her mother “to Belinda’s birthday party. How nice!”

Belinda was a girl in Emily’s class at school. She was noisy and ran around a lot. Emily was scared of her.

“I don’t want to go,” said Emily.
“Why not?’ asked her mother.
But Emily could not tell her mother that she was scared.

Emily’s mother knew that she was shy. She guessed that Emily was afraid to go to the party. But she thought that Emily might enjoy herself if she went.

“There will be games” said her mum.
But Emily was scared that she wouldn’t understand the games.

“There will be lots of other boys and girls there”
But Emily was scared that she wouldn’t know anyone and would feel left out.

“There will be cake” said her mum.
Emily really liked cake, but she was still scared.

“Alright” said her mum. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
Emily was glad.

That Saturday Emily’s mother took her shopping for a new dress.
“Just in case” she said.
Emily tried on a pink dress with a big blue sash.
“That’s nice!” said Emily’s mum.
But Emily didn’t think so.

Emily tried on a yellow dress with big white polka dots.
“That’s nice” said her mum.
But Emily didn’t think so.

Emily tried on dress after dress, but she didn’t like any of them. Then finally at the back of the shop Emily saw a red dress.
Red was her favourite colour.
It was the most beautiful dress that Emily had ever seen.

Emily tried it on.
“That’s nice” said her mum “You look very grown-up”.
Emily looked at herself in the mirror and smiled.
She felt very grown-up.
“We’ll buy it”
Emily’s mother told the shop assistant.

On their way home Emily and her mother went into a toy shop.
There were all sorts of toys. Emily ran straight to the dolls.
“Would you like a doll?” asked her mother.

Emily picked out a doll with a red dress.
“Could I have that one, please?” she asked.
“Yes” said her mum. “And shall we get this one too?”
She picked up a doll in a disco outfit.
“Just in case” she said, with a wink.

When they got home Emily’s mother put her new dress into a box and tied it with a big red ribbon. She put it on top of Emily’s wardrobe.
“It might as well stay there for now” said her mum.

All week Emily looked at the box.
She really wanted to wear her new dress.
“It’s a shame you don’t have somewhere to wear your new dress” said her mum.
“Yes” sighed Emily.

By the end of the week Emily couldn’t wait any longer.
She took the dress out of its box and put it on.
It was beautiful.

Emily’s mother poked her head around the door. “Why don’t you go to Belinda’s party?’ she suggested.
“You could show off your new dress.”

Emily looked at herself in the mirror.
“Okay” she said
“I will go to the party.

That Saturday was Belinda’s party. Emily was very nervous about going.
“Come on Emily!” called her mother from downstairs. “It’s time to go to the party”
Emily came downstairs in her new dress with her new doll.
“Ooh! Emily, you look beautiful!” said her mother.

Emily’s mother drove her to Belinda’s house.
“I wrapped up a gift for you to give to Belinda” said her mother.
She handed Emily a box covered with bright paper and lots of ribbon.
“Thanks mum” said Emily.

They rang the doorbell. Emily was so nervous she wanted to run away. But before she could, Belinda’s mother opened the door.
“Come in. Come I” she said, and bustled Emily into the house.

“Hello Emily!” said Belinda cheerfully.
“Hello” said Emily “Happy Birthday”
And she handed Belinda the present.
“Thanks” said Belinda as she tore the wrapping paper off the box.

“Oh Emily!” said Belinda, when she saw the disco doll.
“She’s beautiful”
“Yes” said Emily “She’s just like mine”
She showed Belinda her new doll.
“They must be friends!” exclaimed Belinda
“Come on!” and she rushed off.

Emily was nervous but she followed Belinda.
“They can get ready to go to a party!” said Belinda.
“Yes,” replied Emily “Mine is wearing a red dress, because it’s her favourite colour.”
And they played happily together until…

“Time for games!” shouted Belinda’s mother. “Oranges and Lemons.”
“Oh,” said Emily “I don’t know how to play that”
“It’s easy,” said Belinda “Do you want to be my partner?”
“Yes,” said Emily.

There were lots of games that Emily didn’t know. But Belinda was good at explaining the rules.

They had so much fun that the afternoon flew by. And somehow Emily forgot to be scared.

Clare Milling

“I took this class to complete a story that I started five years ago. It’s still not finished but a lot of other stories emerged instead.”

CUTHBERT CLANG

If you need things that Whizz or Bang
Just give a shout for Cuthbert Clang
If you want things that Fizz and Pop
Cuthbert Clang’s got lots

Here he comes
Whizz-Bang!
There he goes
Cling-Clang!

Ping-Pong!
Ding-Dong!

Flip-Flop!
Plip-Plop!

Tip-Tap!
Ratta-Tat!

Tick-Tick!
Bzzzzzzz!

Richard Taylor

A BASKET FOR MOSES

As Spring unfurled in the garden, Moses began to notice changes happening in his home.

“You must get used to sleeping on your own,” explained Mummy as she showed Moses his new bed.

Moses thought how strange it was that Mummy’s tummy grew bigger and more uncomfortable to sit on every day.

Every evening Daddy spent hours painting a mural on the wall, while Mummy built a little wooden bed. Daddy got cross and told Moses to get off the ladder.

Moses ran away and hid in his favourite spot in the garden.

Gradually the days grew long and hot. Mummy and Daddy finished building and painting. They were tired and excited. Moses wondered what they were waiting for.

Moses couldn’t sleep at night. He sat alone all day under the apple tree. His eyes felt sore and scratchy. Growls of worry rumbled in his tummy and wouldn’t let him eat.

Then, late one night, Moses heard a creak on the stairs. Daddy popped his head round the door. “Moses, ” he said gently “I’m taking Mummy to the hospital Auntie Helen will keep an eye on you.”

Moses curled himself up into a ball and covered his ears.

“Wake up Moses! Breakfast time!” called Auntie Helen. She put a bowl of crunchy biscuits and some milk in front of him. “Today is a very special day,” she whispered, stroking Moses’ head.

Moses heard a key turning and the front door opening. Suddenly, Mummy and Daddy were standing in the doorway.
They were holding a big, frilly basket.

Moses could hear little snuffling noises coming from the basket.

“Look Moses,” said Mummy as she bent to pick him up, “Here is somebody we’d like you to meet.” Moses tipped his nose over the edge of the basket and saw…

A BEAUTIFUL BABY!

Jessica Holliday

“I live in a little house near the park with my baby, his daddy, and our wild cat Moses.”

HERBERT KNOCKER

Here’s Herbert Knocker
He’s a shocker

He loves to dig beneath
The gums of little children
Who forget to brush their teeth

He’ll make them ache
He’ll make them swell

And there’s not a shred of doubt
If Herbert Knocker comes to call
He’ll make your teeth pop out!

POP-POP-POP

Richard Taylor

STELLA’S STAR

Stella lived in a house by the sea with her mum and her dog, Solomon. Sometimes, Stella’s dad lived there too.

Stella’s dad was special, he was a sailor and spent many months at sea, sailing his boat.

She missed her dad, but when he came home, he always brought her a special gift which she kept in her very own Treasure Chest.

Today, Stella’s dad was coming home. She was so excited and happy. She couldn’t wait for the doorbell to ring. She stood at the window and looked and looked, but her dad did not arrive.

“Come on Stella, lets take Solomon for a walk on the beach, said her mum”.
“No, said Stella, I’m waiting for dad, he might think we are gone”.

Just then the telephone rang. Stella heard her mum talking quietly, then silence. Stella looked at her mum anxiously.

Stella, I’m so sorry, dad will not be coming home just yet, there is a storm at sea and ……..

Stella didn’t hear anymore. She ran to her room and threw herself onto her bed, and cried and cried. Solomon whimpered beside her.
“Its not fair, she sobbed, he promised me, he promised!” Soon her pillow and Solomon were soaked in tears.

Later her mum knocked at the door. She hugged Stella and wiped her tears.
“Remember what you do when you are sad?” said her mum.
Stella nodded, “I look inside my Treasure Chest”.

Together they looked inside the Treasure Chest; there was the pink seashell where the singing mermaids lived, a doll from China and a funny glass bottle with sand in it that she had won at the fairground.

Then Stella saw something sparkling in the corner, what could it be. It was her beautiful crystal star, one of dad’s special gifts.

“Hold it up to the light,” said her mum.
Soon the room was filled with all the colours of the rainbow; red blue and pink.
Stella smiled.

That night, Stella hung the star from her window. As she lay in bed, she watched twinkling in the moonlight.
She closed her sleepy eyes and whispered, “Starlight, Starbright guide my dad home tonight”.

Stella was no longer sad. She knew that when the wind stopped blowing and the sea went to sleep, her dad would come home, bringing something special for her Treasure Chest.

“Sleep tight little star” whispered her mum.

Terri Mc Ivor

“Childhood memories of endless sunny days collecting seashells on the beach, and my love of the sea, inspired me to write this story.”

THE CURLY-HEADED WILK

I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know, don’t you know
I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know
I can wolf a Shepherd’s Pie
Wight before his bloomin’ eye
I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know

I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know, don’t you know
I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know
I’m the only living soul
Can pwise a toad out of his hole
I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know

I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know, don’t you know
I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know
For four and twenty bob
I dine on pheasant, gwouse and squab
I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know

I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know, don’t you know
I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know
Evwy Fwiday wiv Lord Cwichton
I eat Dover Sole in Bwighton
I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know

When they’re feeling wahva plumptious and weplete
And they cannot face anuvvah fing to eat
People wonder even so
Where the twimmings seem to go
It’s the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know

I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know, don’t you know
I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know
Wiv me silver spoon and wifle
I can bag a shewwy twifle
I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk don’t you know

Yes, I’m the Curly-Headed Wilk
Don’t you know!

Richard Taylor

THE STRANGER

Eric trudged along, eyes down. Don’t talk to strangers! His mum had warned. Talk to strangers? There was no-one on the street. It was interesting the way his Mum tried to scare him.

Don’t talk to strangers
Don’t eat sweets that
you find on the floor.
Don’t be rude
to teachers
Don’t stay out after dark
Don’t forget to clean
your teeth
Don’t leave your
bedroom like that
Don’t eat with your
mouth open.

He hadn’t realised the time but it was beginning to grow dark.

Don’t stay out after dark!
Actually Eric didn’t like the dark. The dark was scary.
Shadows loomed out at him ……..
Monsters of the night sky.
Eric felt the fear creep into his bones.
RUN his head urged. So he did. He ran and ran.
He could feel the wind whistling by.

“Yeash and where are you going little boy?”
Eric gasped… he had… he had… run … straight into old man monster.
He was looking straight at it.
A dark clanking monster with long white scary hair.

A nose with warts, dripping with green slime. His skin was in folds, yellow and creased. Breath hot like fire and rotting teeth. His saliva was dripping like a snail trail, and his hands looked like claws.
Could it be, could it be ……..

“Yeash little boy your Mum will be worried about you being out so late”

Eric took a deep breath and the hammering in his heart slowed down.

“Do I know you?” Eric dared to ask.

But it was weird because the monster no longer looked like a monster but an old man. In fact, his eyes just looked crinkly and kind. His mouth was lifted in a smile. The slime seemed to have gone.

Then Eric looked, really looked.

It was Grandad!

Eric and Grandad walked back to Eric’s home all fear gone. The street looked magical in the yellow glow.

“Grandad?”
“Yes Eric?”
“Don’t stay out after dark!”

Jane Beck

POOEY LOUIS

Watch out when he wafts by
Mouldy cheese and bogey pie
He sleeps in all sorts of stuff
Old kippers and belly-button fluff

Pooey Louis
Phew what a guy!

Pooey Louis
He smells so high

Pooey Louis
he likes anything that rots

Pooey Louis
Won’t you sniff my socks!

Richard Taylor

STRETCH

Along way away in a clothes factory on the other side of town, workers were busy making a pair of trousers called Stretch — so named because he was an incredibly stretchy pair of trousers.

Stretch had always dreamt of being worn by someone rich and famous — a pop star; an actor; a superhero. He wanted everyone to see how special he was.

Soon the day came to leave the factory. Stretch waited excitedly as he was folded neatly and piled on top of a large wooden box full of other trousers. “I’ll be the first in the shop!” exclaimed Stretch from the top of the pile.

The huge lorry drove the trousers along long motorways, around and around roundabouts and through narrow, winding country lanes. The box of trousers rocked and wobbled from side to side. “I think I’m going to be sick!” wailed Stretch.

Suddenly the lorry screeched to a stop. The box of trousers was thrown up in the air, crashing against the door, which flung open. Stretch flew through the air and landed with a splash in a muddy puddle in the middle of the lane. Then he heard a very strange sound.

“Baaaaaaabaaaaa”
A crowd of noisy, woolly sheep came charging towards him followed by a big, red-faced farmer and his dog.
“Help!” cried Stretch. But it was too late. The lorry started up its engine and drove off, leaving poor Stretch squashed and alone in the mud.
“Oh, I’ll never be special now” sobbed Stretch.

Suddenly Stretch felt a hand grab him.
“Well, well” said the farmer to his sheep dog, “these will be perfect for Scraggy.” And with that he stuffed Stretch into his bag.
“I wonder who Scraggy is” thought Stretch, excited again.
Back at the farm the farmer pulled Stretch out of the bag and gave him to… a scarecrow!

Three long days passed and three scary nights. Stretch was cold and dirty. He tried to talk to Scraggy the Scarecrow but Scraggy simply stood and stared at the fields.

“Oh, I’ll never be special now” sighed Stretch. Just then, Stretch heard footsteps running towards him. It was a young boy — an extremely dirty young boy whose trousers were torn to pieces. “Mr Scarecrow” asked the boy, “could I borrow your trousers? I was playing in the woods and jumping over bushes and tree trunks but my trousers were too tight and I tore them and now my mum is going to be really angry.” Scraggy simply stood and stared.

The boy swapped his ripped trousers for Stretch and ran home, racing over fields, running through the woods, clambering over bushes, ducking under bridges, wading through streams and heaving himself over a tall iron fence — things that would have ripped and torn any normal trousers to shreds. But Stretch was so incredibly stretchy that the boy arrived home with not one single rip nor one single tear, just in time for tea.

“Oh Jack!” sighed the boy’s mother “what messy trousers!” and with that she threw Stretch straight in to the washing machine.
Stretch was spun around and around. “Help!” he cried to the cat “I think I’m going to be sick!” But the cat simply licked his paws and purred.

That night Jack didn’t wear his pyjamas to bed. He wore Stretch. “Thank you for saving me today” he whispered. “You’re my favourite pair of trousers ever.”
Stretch smiled. He felt like the most special pair of trousers in the whole world. And it wasn’t because of a pop star or a superhero but because of a boy called Jack.

And when Jack grew too big to wear him anymore, Stretch became John’s favourite trousers, then Jacob’s then Jeremy’s then Joshua’s then Joanne’s, then Justin’s then Jane’s and then Jason’s — who is still wearing them to this very day.

Rebecca Powell

Oojah-Majoojah

Oojah-Majoojah lived in a jamjar
Oojah-Majoojah wasn’t very big
Oojah-Majoojah was caught by a nightjar
But Oojah-Majoojah didn’t care a fig

The silly old nightjar
Left his beak ajar
So Oojah-Majoojah
Just jumped out

Now Oojah-Majoojah is back in his jamjar
And Oojah-Majoojah is as happy as a trout

Richard Taylor

SYDNEY SPIDER TRIES TO STAND ON HIS HEAD

Ridiculous! Muttered Sydney, “I’m supposed to stand on my head! What a silly thing to ask a spider to do. Where will I put my fragile feelers? Will my body come crashing down on top of me? How can I play with my friends if I’m upside down? Is upside-down talking the same as right-way-up talking?

Oh dear, I didn’t mean to break Solomon’s web. We were only playing Blind Man’s Buff. I didn’t see it. It wasn’t there last night, Solomon Spider build the biggest and best web he has ever spun in all his life. He built it right across where we always play.

He says he will eat me up if I ever do that again. This time he ordered me to stand on my head, for a very long time.

The question is, puzzled Sydney, can a spider stand on his head and walk? If I cannot walk, I cannot move and if I cannot move I cannot do anything. What is the use of having eight legs, if all my legs are no good. I might just as well be a worm with no legs at all.

Then he thought of something else. If I were a boy or a girl, I would only have two legs. What a catastrophe! All spiders know that brains are stored in legs and you cannot be very clever if you only have two legs. Thank goodness I am a spider.

Why can’t I solve this problem. I am a spider, and spiders are clever. I know what I’ll do, I’ll wait until no one is looking, then I’ll have a try.

He did not wait long. There was no one there. He slowly put his head on the ground. He gingerly raised one leg, then two, both back legs were in the air. Then he raised another and another. He was only standing on four legs. He felt very unsteady. How was he going to stay like this for a very long time?

Could he manage to lift any more legs without toppling over? His body felt very heavy. What would it be like when no legs were on the ground? He took another leg off and with a supreme effort he removed the sixth. I shall never play and close my eyes again, he vowed silently.

I do not think I shall be able to stand on my head, he thought miserably, Oh dear, Solomon is such an important spider. If I don’t do it, I shall never have any peace.

Sydney was just about to take his last two legs off the ground when someone started to laugh.

This was the last straw. Sydney fell over! He climbed onto his eight legs and looked up. It was Solomon!
“I’ve been watching you” he chuckled. “You tried so hard to stand on your head. I have decided to let you off, so long as you promise never to break my web again.”

“Oh yes, I do” promised the grateful Sydney, “Neither yours nor anyone else’s!”

Shirley Cullen

“I think that children are the most important people on this earth because they hold our future.”

THE WHIRLIGIG DANCE

I love it when Daddy comes home from work. He hangs up his jacket and calls out, ‘All aboard the Whirligig!’ I run down the hallway and jump into his arms. We spin and bounce in front of the mirror, laughing out loud.

At 7 o’clock Daddy whispers, ‘Last one into their pyjamas is a numbskull!’ and we race upstairs. I always beat him – but then he turns into the Tickle Monster. ‘Uh oh!’

When school started in September, we stopped doing the Whirligig Dance. Daddy came home and gave me a hug instead. ‘I have to talk to Mummy tonight, Charlie.’

After my bedtime story, I asked Daddy why Mummy was crying. He stroked my hair. ‘It’s been a long day Charlie – Mummies get tired easily when they’re expecting new babies.’

I woke up in the night and went to Mummy and Daddy’s room. Daddy opened one eye. ‘Can’t you sleep little bear?’ I shook my head and climbed in beside him.

In the morning Daddy put a photo of our summer holiday on the fridge. ‘It used to be on my desk at the office Charlie,’ he said. He smelt of cigarette smoke.

Daddy picked up my book bag. ‘I’ve got a few days off work Charlie, we can walk to school together.’ He held my hand all the way to the school gate, but I managed to let go in case anyone saw.

A few days later we stopped racing upstairs too. ‘I need to write some letters tonight Charlie. We can post them on the way to school.’ I said, ‘OK then,’ and he gave me a goodnight kiss.

In the morning I asked Daddy if he’d been crying. He said, ‘No, I’m just tired Charlie.’ I asked if he was sad, because he didn’t smile much. He said, ‘Yes, I suppose I am a bit.’

I asked why. He sat me on his knee. ‘I’ve been made redundant Charlie.’

I asked what redundant was. Daddy put his arms round me. ‘It’s when there’s not enough work at the office Charlie – I’ve got to find a new job.’ I didn’t say anything; I just ate my cereal.

Daddy sighed. ‘Can I borrow some of your pocket money to pay the Milkman today Charlie? I promise to give it back.’ I said, ‘OK’ and fetched my piggybank.

Daddy made my lunchbox. He mixed tuna and mayonnaise, but put it in brown bread. I said, ‘I have Salami in brown bread and Tuna in white bread.’ He shouted, ‘We can’t afford to waste good food Charlie.’ I cried.

He quickly made another sandwich and cut the crust off for me. We kicked some leaves on the way to school, but we didn’t say much. He remembered to let my hand go before we got to the car park.

I waved across the playground and Daddy pretended to walk away like baby Daisy from next door. She holds her hands up in the air for balance like an Orang-utan. He’s mad.

On the way home Daddy said, ‘We were in such a rush this morning Charlie that we forgot to post my letters,’ and he lifted me up so that I could reach the letterbox.

He put me down again and held both my hands. ‘We might not have enough money for presents this Christmas Charlie.’ I hugged him. ‘You can borrow some more of mine if you want to.’

Last night, the telephone rang and Daddy answered it. I hung over the banister and asked who it was. ‘Mr. Parker wants to see me about a new job first thing tomorrow Charlie.’

It was snowing so Daddy drove me to school this morning. He looked really smart in his suit and he’d shaved. I said, ‘Mummy told me to wish you Good Luck.’ He smiled.

This afternoon, Daddy was waiting for me at the school gate. He scooped me up and did the Whirligig Dance right in front of all my friends. The mums all cheered. He’s bonkers.

We had Chinese take-away at teatime. Daddy said we had to celebrate because he doesn’t need to wear a tie for his new job. I love Chinese. Daddy lets me pick the shrimps out of his special fried rice.

I just beat Daddy upstairs again – I expect he’ll turn into the Tickle Monster any minute.

Richard Taylor

“The course was great fun. It balanced the tough challenges of individual project work with some memorable group exercises, helping to pave the way from ‘I think I can’ to ‘I thought I could.’ Thankyou QueenSpark Books!”

THE SUNBRELLA

The train floor grew steadily slushier as the increasing crowd of Christmas shoppers shook fresh-fallen snowflakes from their weary boots. Waiting for the doors to close, an old man and a young girl gazed out of the window, mesmerised by the steady flashing of the festive lights strung along the inside of the station roof.

“Got all the shopping in then?” asked the old gent conversationally.

“Oh just about.” The girl turned to him with a smile. “Just a book for my Mum now.”

“I didn’t think we’d be getting any snow this year.” “I know!” The girl’s face lit as though she’d just seen an old and long-awaited friend walking towards her. Memories of passed winters filled her mind: snowball fights with her mates in the street; building the biggest snowman in the whole world ever with her brother and sister; being bundled into warm dry clothes afterwards and Dad bringing hot cocoa. “But I don’t think it looks like it’s going to stick.”

“No!” The man’s tone was suddenly abrupt, his face darkening. “Don’t flippin’ want it to, either!” Treacherous pavements and chilblains were what snow meant for this long-sufferer. Weighing up whether he should risk another broken hip walking to the corner shop for milk, or try and get used to black tea; the numbness of fingers and toes becoming unbearable; woollen gloves and socks soggily clinging the coldness against his skin.

Across the aisle, a woman with hair the colour of conkers and sea-green eyes was pretending not to listen. She sighed to herself. She had put this one off long enough.

Mother Nature tapped her fingers on the mantelpiece. Her auburn curls trembled with exasperation and her eyes went from sea-green to sapphire. “Don’t give me that, ‘not my responsibility’ rubbish, Santa.” She was becoming cross with the little bearded, pot-bellied man, puffing away complacently on his pipe while elves scurried around stoking the fire and re-filling his brandy.

“But honestly, my dear,” Santa exhaled a long stream of smoke-rings and snuggled deeper into his rocking chair. “I have my job to do and you have yours. It’s really best not to get the two confused, don’t you think?”

“I have come a long way to sort this out. SOME of us may well stay tucked up at home for 364 days of the year, but SOME of us have responsibilities all year round.” Her flowing, sky blue skirt swished impatiently as she turned on her heel.

“Oh look,” Mother Nature sighed and flopped back onto the sofa. “I know you want people to enjoy winter as much as I do. If you’d heard those two poor souls on that train, and seen the looks on their faces; I mean, I just don’t know what to do for the best.” She bit her lip and furrowed her brow. “Every year I have this same dilemma: a white Christmas, or a safe Christmas? So many people love the glistening frosts,” her ageless face melted into a faraway look, as she happily remembered the fond things people had mentioned about snow.

“The twinkle of snowflakes under the streetlights; the soft hush that falls when the world vanishes under a great white blanket; the crunch underfoot on Christmas Day walks in the woods . . . not to mention pouring sugar on it and eating it. But then, there’s always the down-side.” Her face snapped back to here-and-now, and she turned a sarcastic expression on Santa. “Not everyone has magic reindeer to rely upon for transport in their twilight years, you know.” The firelight added an extra flash to her eyes.

She was determined to try and find a solution this year. “What we need is some gadget that makes snow for people who want it. Gadgetry is most definitely your department, not mine. And,” she added, leaning forward decisively, “as for ‘not getting the two confused’; well, I’ve never heard such rubbish. Our areas are always overlapping. People love using gadgets to overcome the elements — and that, might I add, is something that you’ve relied on heavily in some of your more unimaginative moments. Who hasn’t had the odd woolly hat, umbrella or even a sunbed under the Christmas Tree?”

Santa sighed and put down his brandy glass. He didn’t like these precious days before the big rush to be taken up with unexpected visitors and complicated demands.

He could simply say that safety was more important than silly pleasures, and suggest that she do away with snow altogether; but then he had to admit, he quite liked snow, himself. A white background and the odd flurry of snowflakes added a certain something to his general costume. The sleigh never did appear so dramatic landing on a bare rooftop. And snow did help to disguise those rusty bits along the runners. He put down his pipe and looked across the fireplace at Mother Nature.

“I see your problem, old girl.” Mother Nature winced. She hated being called ‘Old Girl’. He continued, “but we’ve left it a bit late now, don’t you think? We could work on something for next year …”

She turned her timeless gaze on him. Santa shifted nervously. In her swirling eyes stars flickered, comets flared and all the world’s fires and earthquakes pulsated warningly. When she spoke, Santa was uncomfortably reminded of glaciers scraping over iced oceans. “Don’t test my patience, little man”, she breathed quietly. He shuddered. The last time he’d heard those word, in that tone, freak hailstorms and lightning had made his Christmas Eve outing one he’d never forget.

“NEXT!” Santa called wearily. He and Mother Nature sat at the table in the Invention Room. The workshops had been buzzing for three days with the challenge at hand: how to make snow for only people who want snow, letting everyone else remain warm and dry. All morning teams of elves had been demonstrating their latest creations and ideas, but so far nothing had fit the bill.

Three elves in red waistcoats bustled in excitedly, pushing a large box in front of them. They stood before the table and coughed nervously, shuffling and giggling to each other.

“Come on, come on — let’s see it,” Santa huffed. Mother Nature folded her hands patiently in her lap, and tried to look enthusiastic.

“Well sir,” the first elf began. “We’ve got … er … snow-bombs!” He opened the box and took out several baseball-sized objects. The second elf took one and got ready to demonstrate, as the other two muttered and sniggered.

“They work like … well, like THIS!”

And with that, the three of them erupted into hysterics, flinging the balls all around the room. Where they hit, they exploded into a shower of snowflakes, settling in piles on the chairs, spattering over the windows and melting wetly down the back of each other’s necks. The Invention Room became lost in a blizzard, until Santa bellowed through the giddy shrieks: “WHEN YOU’VE QUITE FINISHED!”

As the snow settled and began to vanish, the elves composed themselves and breathlessly started explaining.

“It’s real snow,” the first elf gasped, “but packaged small and…”

“… convenient,” another chipped in, “easy to carry around, so whatever the weather, kids’ll have …”

“A bit of snow to play with!” the last finished. They all nodded decisively. Santa raised an eyebrow and turned to Mother Nature.

“I must say,” she began carefully. “It really wasn’t quite what I had in mind. Snow’s not just for chucking around. The snow-bombs don’t make enough snow to cover even one treetop,”

“… mmm, or to crunch underfoot,” one elf added.

“… or to pour sugar on and eat,” another agreed.

As the last traces of snow disappeared from the Invention Room floor, the elves filed out disappointedly.
“And anyway,” Mother Nature added, turning to Santa, “like I said earlier, plenty of people like enjoying snow peacefully.”

Santa agreed. They’d seen a Snow Blaster — an enormous machine that could freeze gallons of water and churn out enough snow to cover a garden. It had made a horrendous noise like a lorry driving over a cattle-grid, and the whole room shook. They’d seen Ice Lasers — like water pistols, but firing snow and icicles — which made a high, screeching sound like a dentist’s drill. His ears were ringing.

He pressed a button on the table, and spoke into a microphone. His voice boomed out into the corridor outside the Invention Room, startling all the excited elves queuing: “We don’t want any more snowy variations on guns, bombs or grenades: nothing that blasts, shoots, explodes, bangs, whizzes, kerblams, or otherwise threatens to turn my Invention Room into a wintry war-zone . . . Thank You Very Much!” With disappointed tuts and whines, the elves all stomped back along the corridor, dragging their toys dejectedly.

Back by the fireplace, Santa and Mother Nature sipped hot chocolate. It was dusk, and the bluish light made the snow-laden slopes glow in front of the lilac sky.

“It does look so beautiful,” Mother Nature sighed. Santa was thoughtfully watching the brown bubbles popping on the edge of his mug. “Hard to imagine people detesting it so much”, he agreed.

“Oh, but they don’t! I think most people like all the glistening and twinkling. They just don’t like the slippering and shivering.”

Suddenly there was a tremendous crash in the doorway, accompanied by a flurry of paper and glitter. The twinkling, fluttering mass began to settle on the floor, around a red-faced elf with eager eyes and a flustered expression, gasping for breath.

“Oh! Oh! I’ve been looking for you everywhere”. He scrambled to his feet. “I haven’t had time to make a prototype yet, but the plans are all here. I thought we could go over to the Invention Room and I’ll explain all about it. What it is …”

Santa held up his hand for silence. “Thank you, Spink — that’ll do.”

“BUT …!”

“No ‘buts’! The last time I allowed you in the Invention Room it took a week to redecorate after the explosion. The poor reindeer have never quite recovered from it, and the carpet still smells funny. I’ve told you, Spink; you haven’t got an inventing mind. But you’ve got other talents – why not stick to what you’re good at?”
Spink sighed and gazed at the bells on his shoes. “Yes, Sir. I know that’s what everybody thinks — but if I could just have another chance – ”

“No Spink! You’ve had a second chance and a third chance and a fourth chance!” Santa softened his tone.

“Tell you what, why don’t you come with me tomorrow. There’s a Christmas party at a school, and we need someone to take pictures. How about it?” He smiled kindly at the disappointed elf. “You can be Santa’s Official Photographer.”

Spink felt tears pricking his eyes, but he tried to be brave. Going out with Santa and meeting children was something not many elves ever got the chance to do. He managed to look pleased and nodded.

“There’s a good little elf.” Santa helped Spink pick up the papers, and patted him on the head as he turned to leave.

Spink stood and looked out at the sunset. He couldn’t face going back to the workshops yet — the other elves had told him not to bother Santa, and he would feel stupid. As he gazed towards the purple sky, he heard the conversation drifting out through the doorway. “It’s not just about chucking it around,” Mother Nature was saying, with a slurp of her chocolate. “It’s about … big deep footprints … and snow-angels … and that magical white blanket covering the hillsides.” “Well I don’t see how you’re going to get that without a good old-fashioned snowing. Out of the sky and onto the ground,” Santa declared.

“But it still doesn’t seem fair that people who don’t want to get cold and wet, or even injured, have to be housebound while everyone else is having fun.” Spink frowned to himself. It seemed to him that this whole problem was being approached the wrong way round. He chewed his lip thoughtfully as he trudged back to the workshops.

“SMILE!” Spink called cheerfully, over the wailing. Santa grinned on a chair in front of him, while a very small, sticky-faced child with a snotty nose sat on his lap and howled.

“There now, hush hush,” Santa took out an enormous blue hanky and wiped the boy’s face. “What’s all the fuss about?”

“I DON’T WANT A PHOTO!” he bawled, shaking his head and eyeing Spink’s camera suspiciously through his tears. “Oh dear dear — it’s nothing to worry about. Don’t you want a lovely picture to remind you of the day you met Santa?”

“NO!” The boy wriggled and tried to make a run for it.

Suddenly something above Spink’s shoulder caught his eye, and he stopped crying and stared. On either side, Spink had tall lights shining down onto Santa, and behind one of them was a special white umbrella, making the light even brighter.

The boy pointed shakily, his sobs fading, and said, “Why’s that umbrella there?”

“What a silly question,” Santa said, “Why does anyone have an umbrella — in case it rains, silly!”

“But we’re inside,” the boy pointed out.

Santa pulled a puzzled face, pretending to be confused. Just as the boy giggled, Spink clicked the camera, and with a bright flash the photo was done.

Next was an older, grumpy-looking girl who plonked herself on Santa’s lap with her arms folded.

“Oh dear dear — that’s no face to have on your lovely Christmas photo!”

The girl turned and frowned crossly at Santa. He was surprised to see that behind the scowl, she was in fact trying not to cry.

“SHE is always being horrible to me. She KNEW I was going to ask you for that car — that’s the only reason she told you she wanted it”. She pointed accusingly after her older sister, who was running round proudly waving the shiny red car Santa had given her earlier. As she reached her waiting friends, she turned and smirked nastily. The younger girl growled. “She’s awful, you know — she takes my pudding off me every dinner time, and Mum doesn’t even be-LIEVE me.” Santa shook his head and tutted.

“And she makes fun of me whenever she has friends round …”

Spink lowered his camera patiently. He swung his legs from his high photographer’s stool, and gazed around. Leaning back, he peered around the umbrella to see all the bustling party activities. The brightly decorated
school hall was full of excited children playing games, having their faces painted and showing off their toys. Spink watched the fun, but his mind wandered. He desperately wanted to invent something useful. He was enjoying his trip out with Santa, even though he had to behave very sensible and grown-up, so people wouldn’t realise he was a real elf. And he loved taking pictures of happy people and beautiful – maybe one day he would be a famous photographer! But if only he could prove himself just once.

With a sigh, he turned back under the umbrella. Santa was still trying to cheer the girl up.

“Oh dear, dear. There must be something else you’d like.” She shook her head firmly.

“There is another car. Exactly the same but yellow.”

“Nope. Don’t want it.”

… and the doors open. The doors don’t open on that red car, you know.”

The girl tipped her head on one side and began to look interested.

“AND once the doors are open, you can reach in, and move the front seats backwards and forwards, and even wiggle the steering wheel. And. . .”

“Yes?”

.. there’s a secret compartment in the boot to hide things in!”

“Brilliant!” she cheered, nearly falling off Santa’s knee. Happily clutching the yellow car, she grinned at Spink and the camera flashed.

As the afternoon wore on, the lights above Spink grew very warm. He would have liked to take his hat off, but it wasn’t allowed; pointy elf-ears had to stay covered at all times. He was glad when the day was over, and he could come out from under the hot umbrella. But as he folded it away and wrapped it carefully in its special cover, Spink began to have an idea.

“No, not like a hairdryer!” Spink was becoming impatient. “I said bright and warm, not windy!” He felt sure the other elves were just being stubborn and not really listening to his idea.

“It’s got to be something like weak sunshine. Look, I’ve brought you all here because you’re clever with lights and heaters and stuff like that. I’m no good at this sort of thing. I know what I want, I just don’t know how to make it happen.”

Prizley twirled her wispy yellow hair around her fingers. She usually spent a lot of time on gardening inventions. “We make special lamps for indoor greenhouses,” she suggested, “but where would you get the power from?”

“Well I was thinking, if it’s sunshine we want, why not use sunshine?”

Sprillo, a freckle-faced elf with spiky hair and thick glasses, suddenly looked interested.

“You mean,” He straightened up and scratched his head, “a solar panel sort of thing? Hmmmm …. yesssss … it could work.”

The other elves began to mutter with interest. Spink smiled — finally he seemed to be getting somewhere.

Mother Nature and Santa were having a final fireside meeting. The afternoon sky was a solid pale grey, with thick, fat snowflakes falling in silent lumps.

“I’m sorry Old Girl. I admit I wasn’t totally behind the idea at first, but I came round to it — really I did. As soon as this year’s rush is over, I’ll get my best elves onto it.”

“Oh, I know you did your best. At least we’ve made a start.” She was disappointed, but what could be done? Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and still no solution. She rose to leave, and stood for a moment watching the heavy snow drifting by the window. Three shadowy figures carrying large white umbrellas began to emerge through the greyness. She was about to turn from the window when she realised that there was something very odd about the umbrellas. They seemed to be .. . sort of . . . glowing. Spink, Sprillo and Prizley were surrounded by pale golden light, falling from the edges of their umbrellas right down to their shoes. By the time they reached the door, with warm hands and dry feet, Santa and Mother Nature were brimming with excitement and bursting with questions.

Spink proudly showed off his creation.

“The Sunbrella!” He tipped the gleaming white umbrella upside down, showing small lamps inside. “It’s just hot enough to keep you a bit warm,” Prizley explained, “Like … how did you put it Spink? — ‘Like a bright afternoon on a mild December day’ ”

“But how does it work?” Mother Nature was delighted and intrigued.

“Time-released solar power,” Sprillo told her, beaming.

“You have to, well, charge it up, you see. By leaving it outside in the daylight. 100% renewably resourced, energy-efficient and environmentally friendly.” Spink wasn’t exactly sure what all that meant, but Mother Nature seemed extremely pleased with it: “THAT’s what I like to hear! Well done — all of you, well DONE!” Her eyes glowed turquoise and her chestnut curls bounced as she scooped them all up, planting noisy kisses on their heads. Snatching Spink’s Sunbrella, she grabbed Santa and whirled him around in a dance. Everyone laughed so much that their bellies started to ache. Mid-spin, the pair skidded, and laughed harder than ever as they collapsed on the ground.

“I think,” Santa gasped, wiping tears from his eyes, “this here Sunbrella needs an extra little something!”

Resting on a park bench, an old man was enjoying the view from under his Sunbrella. Suddenly a snowball flew at the back of his shoulder, dusting his overcoat like icing sugar. He chuckled as he brushed it away.

“Sorry!”

Three children were running up the hill towards him: a boy and girl busy scuffling and laughing while another girl strode ahead.

“It’s these two — can’t take ’em anywhere,” she said, then, recognising him, she smiled and added, “Merry Christmas.”

“And to you.” He remembered her from the crowded train a few days ago. “Did you manage to get that book for your Mum?”

“Yeah — just at the last minute. Isn’t it great — we haven’t had snow like this in years…” She broke off suddenly, recalling their conversation. She felt almost guilty for enjoying herself so much, but to her surprise, he was agreeing.

“Never thought I’d look forward to a wintertime walk! This Sunbrella thing — it’s marvellous.”

“Yeah — I think they’re great. Sunshine all year round!”

“And mine came with this here attachment.” It was like a walking stick, with a sturdy grip and a cluster of strange spikes on the bottom. “Never seen anything like it. It’s wonderful for when the pavement’s a bit slippery. Just helps to stay steady.”

A woman with chestnut hair wrapped in a rose-red scarf strolled along the path. At her side, a small fellow with a flushed face and a woolly hat held a camera, and eagerly snapped whatever wintry park views caught his eye: the ice-blue sky behind spiky black branches; holly berries peeking brightly through dollops of snow; child-sized footprints leading off towards the swings.

“Lovely day!” the old man called, with a nod.

“Yes,” she replied, her emerald eyes twinkling.

“Turned out nice again.”

Mary Stephenson

“I joined this group so I could watch other people write stories. I never meant to do it myself, but somehow they tricked me into it ……..”