A Toyland Christmas Carol (Part 1)

Chapter 1.

Bramley was dead, dead as a door nail. Barry Bramble knew he was dead, for they had been business partners for I don't know how many years. Bramble, as he was commonly known throughout the blackened winter streets of Smallvania, was the sole mourner at Bramley's funeral. It is very important to note, dear reader, that Bramley, the dark brown hedgehog Sylvanian who wore purple velvet dungarees, was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or else nothing wonderful will come of the story I am about to relate.

Bramble never painted out Bramley's name on the shop sign. There is stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door: Bramble and Bramley. The firm was known as Bramble and Bramley. Barry Bramble would answer to the name of Mr Bramble only, and didn't care much for his first name, Barry.

External heat and cold had little influence on Bramble. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew threw the windows of Emily's room through the open streets of Toyland was bitterer than he, no falling cotton wool snow more intent on its purpose. Bramble was uninterested in such things as the falling snow of Christmastime however.

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with happy looks, 'My dear Bramble, how are you? When will you come to see me?', not even the friendliest faces such as Marissa and Ducky. No beggars would ask him to bestow any spare Smallvanian shillings he might have. Even the pets of Toyland seemed to know when they sensed Bramble coming, as they would cower and tug their owners away into doorways. But what did Bramble care? He liked the other toys to keep their distance.

Once upon a time - of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve - old Bramble sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal, and he could hear the toys wheezing up and down the streets outside trying their best to keep warm in the cold. The Lego Fairy's clock had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already. It had not been light all day, and even Emily turning on her ceiling light did not seem to help. Candles flared in the windows of neighbouring offices, in between the drooping, dingy darkness.

The door of Bramble's counting-house, where he counted his money and his profits, was open so that he could keep an eye on his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond was copying letters. Bramble had a very small fire, but the clerk's was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. Bramble wouldn't allow the clerk to replenish his fire, as Bramble kept the coal-box in his own room. The clerk was left trying in vain to warm his hands on the candle.

'Waww a merry Christmas to you! God save you!' cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Bramble's godson, who had burst in after finishing his duties as postman.

'Bah!' said Bramble. 'Humbug!'

Ryan's face was in a handsome glow, his blue eyes sparkling. 'Christmas a humbug, Barry!' said he. 'You don't mean that I am sure?'

'I do, I'm not even kidding!' said Bramble. 'Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough, on those postman's wages.'

'Waww then,' returned the godson gaily. 'What right have you to be so miserable? You're rich enough.'

Bramble, having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, 'Bah!' again, and followed it up with 'Humbug!'.

'Waww don't be cross, uncle.' said the nephew.

'What else can I be,'when I live in a Toyland full of fools such as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon Merry Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer? If I could work my will,' said Bramble angrily, 'every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart! He should!'

'Barry!' pleaded Ryan.

'Godson!' returned the businessman, sternly. 'Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine. What good has Christmas ever done you?'

'There are many things from which I have derived good, by which I have not profited money, I dare say,' said Ryan. 'Christmas among the rest. Waww I have always thought Christmas time, when it has come around, as a good time; a king, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time, the only time I know if, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by on consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and this of people below them as if they really were fellow men, not another race of creatures. And therefore, Barry, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good, and I say God bless it!'

The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded his paw hands. Becoming immediately sensible and aware of Bramble's angry look, he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frail spark for ever.

'Don't be angry, Barry!' said the godson. 'Come done with his tomorrow.'

Bramble's temper was rising.

'I want nothign from you; I ask nothing of you, why can't we be friends?'

'Good afternoon,' said Bramble.

'We have never had a single argument, yet I am sorry to find you so resolute! A Merry Christmas, Barry!'

'Good afternoon,' repearted Bramble.

'And a Happy New Year!'

'Good afternoon!' said Bramble one last, emphatic time.

Ryan left the room without an angry word, stopping at the outer door to greet the clerk, who, as cold as he was, was warmer than Bramble, returning his greetings cordially.

Just that moment, the bell on the door rung, and in came bounding a tall girl with hazlenut hair. 'Hello!' she said in a strange accent, it might have been American. 'Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr Bramley?'

'Mr Bramley has been dead for seven years. Dead seven years ago this very night!'

'I am pleased to meet you then, kind Mr Bramble. At this time of year is it desirable that we make some provision for the poor and the destitute, who suffer lack of basic warmth and homes this Christmas', said the girl.

'A few of us are looking to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We chose this time as Christmas is a time of giving! How much would you like to donate?'

'Nothing!' said Bramble. 'I wish to be left alone. I don't make myself merry at Christmas and I can't afford to make lazy people merry! These people are none of my business!'

(17)

To be continued...