Just William Stories: William's Christmas Eve, Part 1 Of 2

In part one of another great story by Richmal Crompton, William isn't looking forward to his Christmas party, as his mother has (out of politeness) insisted that he invite several people he doesn't like. Feeling sorry for a young girl he meets in the street whose father is in prison, William begins to hatch a plan. Will next door's Joan help him carry it out?

Please feel free to search the William playlist (search under my name) for more stories about his adventures.

And for yet more humorous writing, please check out Ted the Shed, also available on Free Tracks.

Transcript

Hello there,

It's Mandy here.

Thanks for joining me tonight.

Well,

We're coming up to that time of year,

So I thought you might like to hear another Just William story from Richmald Crompton about William's Christmas Eve,

And that's what this story is called.

But before I go ahead,

Please make yourself really comfortable,

Settling down into your chair or your bed,

Relaxing your hands,

Loosening those shoulders,

And softening your jaw.

That's great.

So if you're ready,

Then I shall begin.

William's Christmas Eve.

It was Christmas.

The air was full of excitement and secrecy.

William,

Whose old-time faith in notes to Father Christmas sent up the chimney,

Had died a natural death as the result of bitter experience,

Had thoughtfully presented each of his friends and relations with a list of his immediate requirements.

Things I Want for Christmas by William.

One,

A bicycle.

Two,

A Grammy phone.

Three,

A pony.

Four,

A snake.

Five,

A monkey.

Six,

A bugle.

Seven,

A trumpet.

Eight,

A lot of sweets.

Nine,

A lot of books.

He had a vague and not unfounded misgiving that his family would begin at the Christmas eve.

He wasn't surprised,

Therefore,

When he saw his father come home rather later than usual,

Carrying a parcel of books under his arm.

A few days afterwards,

William announced casually at breakfast,

Well,

I only hope no one gives me the great chief or the pirate ship or the land of danger for Christmas.

His father jumped.

Why,

He said sharply.

Just because I've read them,

That's all,

Explained William with a bland look of innocence.

The glance that Mr Brown threw at his offspring was not altogether devoid of suspicion,

But he said nothing.

He set off after breakfast with the same parcel of books under his arm and returned with another.

This time,

However,

He didn't put them in the library cupboard and William searched in vain.

The question of Christmas festivities loomed large upon the social horizon.

Robert and Ethel can have their party on the day before Christmas Eve,

Decided Mrs Brown,

And then William can have his on Christmas Eve.

William surveyed his elder brother and sister gloomily.

Yes,

And just eat up what they've left,

He said with bitterness.

I know.

Mrs Brown changed the subject hastily.

Now,

Let's see who we'll have for your party,

She said,

Taking out pencil and paper.

You say who you'd like and I'll make a list.

Ginger and Douglas and Henry and Joan,

Said William promptly.

Yes,

Who else?

I'd like the milkman.

You can't have the milkman,

William.

Don't be so foolish.

Well,

I'd like to have Fisty Green.

He can whistle with his fingers in his mouth.

He's a butcher's boy,

William.

You can't have him.

Well,

Who can I have?

Johnny Brant.

I don't like him.

But you must invite him.

He asked you to his.

Well,

I didn't want to go,

Said William irritably.

You made me.

But if he asks you to his,

You must ask him back.

You don't want me to invite folks I don't want,

William said in the voice of one goaded against his will into exasperation.

You must invite people who invite you,

Said Mrs.

Brown firmly.

That's what we always do in parties.

Then they've got to invite you again and it goes on and on and on,

Argued William.

Where's the sense of it?

I don't like Johnny Brent and he don't like me.

And if we go on inviting each other and our mothers go on making us go,

It'll go on and on and on.

Where's the sense of it?

I only want to know where's the sense of it?

His logic was unanswerable.

Well,

Anyway,

William said his mother,

I'll draw up the list.

You can go and play.

William walked away,

Frowning with his hands in his pockets.

Where's the sense in it?

He muttered as he went.

He began to wend his way towards the spot where he and Douglas and Ginger and Henry met daily in order to while away the hours of the Christmas holidays.

As William walked down the back street,

Which led by a short cut to their meeting place,

He unconsciously assumed an arrogant strut,

Suggestive of some warrior prince surrounded by his gallant braves.

Garn!

Swank!

He turned with a dark scowl on the doorsteps at a little girl gazing up at him with blue eyes beneath a tousled mop of auburn hair.

William's eye travelled sternly from her titan curls to her bare feet.

He assumed a threatening attitude and scowled fiercely.

You better not say that again,

He said darkly.

Why not,

She said with a jeering laugh.

Well,

You'd just better not,

He said with a still more ferocious scowl.

What did you do,

She persisted.

He considered for a moment in silence.

Then you'd see what I'd do,

He said ominously.

Garn!

Swank!

She repeated.

Now do it,

Go on do it.

I'll let you off this time,

He said judicially.

Garn!

Softie!

You can't do anything you can't.

You're a softie.

I could cut your head off and leave you hanging on a tree,

I could,

He said and I will too if you go on calling me names.

Softie!

Swank!

Now cut my head off,

Go on.

He looked down at her mocking blue eyes.

You're jolly lucky I don't start on you,

He said.

Folks I do start on,

Soon get sorry,

I can tell you.

What do you do to them?

He changed the subject abruptly.

What's your name?

He said.

Sheila,

What's yours?

William.

I'll tell you something if you'll come and sit down by me.

What will you tell me?

Something I bet you don't know.

I bet I do.

Well come here and I'll tell you.

He advanced towards her suspiciously.

Through the open door he could see a bed in a corner of the dark dirty room and a woman's white face upon the pillow.

Oh come on,

Said the little girl impatiently.

He came on and sat down beside her.

Well,

He said condescendingly,

I bet I knew all the time.

No you didn't.

Do you know,

She sank her voice in a confidential whisper,

There's a chap called Father Christmas.

What comes down chimneys,

Christmas Eve and leaves presents in people's houses.

He gave a scornful laugh.

Huh,

That rot.

You don't believe that rot,

Do you?

Rot,

She repeated indignantly.

Why,

It's true,

True as true.

A boy told me what had hanged his stocking up by the chimney and in the morning it was full of things and they was just the things what he'd wrote on a bit of paper and thrown up the chimney to this here Christmas chap.

Only kids believe that rot,

Persisted William.

I left off believing it years and years ago.

Her face grew pink with the effort of convincing him.

But the boy told me,

The boy what got things from this here chap what comes down chimneys and I've wrote what I want and sent it up the chimney.

Don't you think I'll get it?

William looked down at her.

Her blue eyes,

Big with apprehension,

Were fixed on him.

Her little rosy lips were parted.

William's heart softened.

I don't know,

He said doubtfully.

You might,

I suppose.

What do you want for Christmas?

You won't tell if I tell you?

No.

Not to no one?

No.

Say,

Cross me throat.

William complied with much interest and stored up the phrase for future use.

Well,

She sank her voice very low and spoken to his ear.

Dad's coming out Christmas Eve.

She leant back and watched him,

Anxious to see the effect of this stupendous piece of news.

Her face expressed pride and delight.

William's merely bewilderment.

Coming out,

He repeated.

Coming out of where?

Her expression changed to one of scorn.

Prison,

Of course.

Silly.

William was half offended,

Half thrilled.

Well,

I couldn't know it was prison,

Could I?

How could I know it was prison without being told?

It might have been out of anything.

What,

In hushed curiosity and awe,

What was he in prison for?

Stealing.

Her pride was unmistakable.

William looked at her in disapproval.

Stealing's wicked,

He said virtuously.

Huh,

She jeered.

You can't steal.

You're too soft.

Softy,

You can't steal.

Without being copped first go,

You can't.

I could,

He said indignantly.

And anyway,

He got copped,

Didn't he?

Or he'd not have been in prison.

So there.

He didn't get copped first go.

It was just a sort of mistake,

He said.

He said it wouldn't happen again.

He's a jolly good stealer.

The cops said he was,

And they ought to know.

Well,

Said William,

Changing the conversation.

What do you want for Christmas?

I wrote it on a bit of paper and sent it up the chimney,

She said confidingly.

I said I didn't want no toys,

Nor sweeties,

Nor nothing.

I said I only wanted a nice supper for dad when he comes out Christmas Eve.

We ain't got much money,

Me and mother,

And we can't get him much of a spread.

But if this here Christmas chap sends one for him,

It'll be fine.

Her eyes were dreamy with ecstasy.

William stirred uneasily on his seat.

I told you it was rot,

He said.

There isn't any father Christmas.

It's just an old tale folks tell you when you're a kid and you find out it's not true.

He won't send no supper just because he isn't anything.

He's just nothing,

Just an old tale.

Oh shut up!

William turned sharply at the sound of the shrill voice from the bed within the room.

Let the kid have a bit of pleasure looking forward to it,

Can't you?

It's little enough she has anyway.

William arose with dignity.

All right,

He said.

Goodbye.

He strolled away down the street.

Softy!

It was a malicious,

Sweet little voice.

Swank!

William flushed but forbore to turn round.

That evening he met the little girl from next door in the road outside her house.

Hello Joan!

Hello William!

In these blue eyes there was no malice or mockery.

To Joan,

William was a godlike hero.

His very wickedness partook of the divine.

Would you,

Would you like to come and make a snowman in our garden,

William?

She said tentatively.

William knit his brows.

I don't know,

He said ungraciously.

I was just kind of thinking.

She looked at him silently,

Hoping that he would deign to tell her his thoughts,

But not daring to ask.

Joan held no modern views on the subject of the equality of the sexes.

Do you remember that old tale about Father Christmas,

Joan?

He said at last.

She nodded.

Well,

Suppose you wanted something very bad and you believed that old tale and sent a bit of paper up the chimney about what you wanted very bad and then you never got it.

You'd feel kind of rotten,

Wouldn't you?

She nodded again.

I did one time,

She said.

I sent a lovely list up the chimney and I never told anyone about it and I got lots of things for Christmas but not one of the things I'd written for.

Did you feel awful rotten?

Yes,

I did.

Awful.

I say,

Joan,

Importantly,

I've got a secret.

Do tell me,

William,

She pleaded.

Can't.

It's a cross my throat secret.

She was mystified and impressed.

How lovely,

William.

Is it something you're going to do?

He considered.

It might be,

He said.

I'd love to help.

She fixed adoring blue eyes upon him.

Well,

I'll see,

Said the Lord of Creation.

I say,

Joan,

You coming to my party?

Oh,

Yes.

Well,

There's an awful lot coming.

Johnny Brent and all that lot.

I'm jolly well not looking forward to it,

I can tell you.

Oh,

I'm so sorry.

Why did you ask them,

William?

William laughed bitterly.

Why did I invite them?

He said.

I don't invite people to my parties.

They do that.

In William's vocabulary,

They always signified his immediate family circle.

William had a strong imagination.

When an idea took hold upon his mind,

It was almost impossible for him to let it go.

He was quite accustomed to Joan's adoring homage.

The scornful mockery of his auburn-haired friend was something quite new,

And in some strange fashion,

It intrigued and fascinated him.

Mentally,

He recalled her excited little face,

Flushed with eagerness as she described the expected spread.

Mentally also,

He conceived a vivid picture of the long wait on Christmas Eve,

The slowly fading hope,

The final bitter disappointment.

While engaging in furious snowball fights with Ginger,

Douglas and Henry,

While annoying peaceful passers-by with well-aimed snow missiles,

While bruising himself and most of his family black and blue on long and glassy slides along the garden paths,

While purloining his family's clothes to adorn various unshapely snowmen,

While walking across all the ice,

Preferably cracked,

In the neighbourhood and being several times narrowly rescued from a watery grave,

While following all these light holiday pursuits,

The picture of the little auburn-haired girl's disappointment was ever vividly present in his mind.

To be continued.

Reviews

Hi Mandy! Thank you for this delightful story! William is a cleverer scallywag and no doubt skeeming. And he is so right for not wanting to invite those who he doesn’t like… “what’s the point?” 😁

Nice to hear a William story! The mischievous little boy who is always up to something. 🙂🤭❤️. Thanks Mandy❤️. I hope you’re well❤️🙂

William never disappoints, does he? 😅Another delightful “Oh William, really?” tale. Thanks, Mandy! 🙏❤️