The Vicar Of Bray

In good King Charles's golden days,
When loyalty no harm meant;
A furious High-Church man I was,
And so I gain'd preferment.
Unto my flock I daily preach'd,
Kings are by God appointed,
And damn'd are those who dare resist,
Or touch the Lord's anointed.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!

When Royal James possess'd the crown,
And popery grew in fashion;
The penal law I houted down,
And read the declaration:
The Church of Rome, I found would fit,
Full well my constitution,
And I had been a Jesuit,
But for the Revolution.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!

When William our deliverer came,
To heal the nation's grievance,
I turned the cat in pan again,
And swore to him allegiance:
Old principles I did revoke,
Set conscience at a distance,
Passive obedience is a joke,
A jest is non-resistance.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!

When glorious Anne became our queen
The Church of England's glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a Tory:
Occasional conformists base,
I damn'd, and moderation,
And thought the Church in danger was,
From such prevarication.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!

When George in pudding time came o'er,
And moderate men looked big, sir,
My principles I chang'd once more,
And so became a Whig, sir:
And thus preferment I procur'd,
From our faith's great defender,
And almost every day abjur'd
The Pope, and the Pretender.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!

The illustrious House of Hanover,
And Protestant succession,
To these I lustily will swear,
Whilst they can keep possession:
For in my faith, and loyalty,
I never once will falter,
George, my lawful king shall be,
Except the times should alter.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!

ANONYMOUS

Patterns




I walk down the garden paths,
And all the daffodils
Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.
I walk down the patterned garden-paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
With my powdered hair and jewelled fan,
I too am a rare
Pattern. As I wander down
The garden paths.
My dress is richly figured,
And the train
Makes a pink and silver stain
On the gravel, and the thrift
Of the borders.
Just a plate of current fashion,
Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.
Not a softness anywhere about me,
Only whalebone and brocade.
And I sink on a seat in the shade
Of a lime tree. For my passion
Wars against the stiff brocade.
The daffodils and squills
Flutter in the breeze
As they please.
And I weep;
For the lime-tree is in blossom
And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.
And the plashing of waterdrops
In the marble fountain
Comes down the garden-paths.
The dripping never stops.
Underneath my stiffened gown
Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,
A basin in the midst of hedges grown
So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding,
But she guesses he is near,
And the sliding of the water
Seems the stroking of a dear
Hand upon her.
What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!
I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.
All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.
I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths,
And he would stumble after,
Bewildered by my laughter.
I should see the sun flashing from his sword-hilt and the buckles
on his shoes.
I would choose
To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,
A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover,
Till he caught me in the shade,
And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,
Aching, melting, unafraid.
With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops,
And the plopping of the waterdrops,
All about us in the open afternoon --
I am very like to swoon
With the weight of this brocade,
For the sun sifts through the shade.
Underneath the fallen blossom
In my bosom,
Is a letter I have hid.
It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.
"Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell
Died in action Thursday se'nnight."
As I read it in the white, morning sunlight,
The letters squirmed like snakes.
"Any answer, Madam," said my footman.
"No," I told him.
"See that the messenger takes some refreshment.
No, no answer."
And I walked into the garden,
Up and down the patterned paths,
In my stiff, correct brocade.
The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,
Each one.
I stood upright too,
Held rigid to the pattern
By the stiffness of my gown.
Up and down I walked,
Up and down.
In a month he would have been my husband.
In a month, here, underneath this lime,
We would have broke the pattern;
He for me, and I for him,
He as Colonel, I as Lady,
On this shady seat.
He had a whim
That sunlight carried blessing.
And I answered, "It shall be as you have said."
Now he is dead.
In Summer and in Winter I shall walk
Up and down
The patterned garden-paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
The squills and daffodils
Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.
I shall go
Up and down,
In my gown.
Gorgeously arrayed,
Boned and stayed.
And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace
By each button, hook, and lace.
For the man who should loose me is dead,
Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,
In a pattern called a war.
Christ! What are patterns for?

Amy Lowell

The Ballad Of Blasphemous Bill


I took a contract to bury the body of blasphemous Bill MacKie,
Whenever, wherever or whatsoever the manner of death he die--
Whether he die in the light o' day or under the peak-faced moon;
In cabin or dance-hall, camp or dive, mucklucks or patent shoon;
On velvet tundra or virgin peak, by glacier, drift or draw;
In muskeg hollow or canyon gloom, by avalanche, fang or claw;
By battle, murder or sudden wealth, by pestilence, hooch or lead--
I swore on the Book I would follow and look till I found my tombless dead.

For Bill was a dainty kind of cuss, and his mind was mighty sot
On a dinky patch with flowers and grass in a civilized bone-yard lot.
And where he died or how he died, it didn't matter a damn
So long as he had a grave with frills and a tombstone "epigram".
So I promised him, and he paid the price in good cheechako coin
(Which the same I blowed in that very night down in the Tenderloin).
Then I painted a three-foot slab of pine: "Here lies poor Bill MacKie",
And I hung it up on my cabin wall and I waited for Bill to die.

Years passed away, and at last one day came a squaw with a story strange,
Of a long-deserted line of traps 'way back of the Bighorn range;
Of a little hut by the great divide, and a white man stiff and still,
Lying there by his lonesome self, and I figured it must be Bill.
So I thought of the contract I'd made with him, and I took down from the shelf
The swell black box with the silver plate he'd picked out for hisself;
And I packed it full of grub and "hooch", and I slung it on the sleigh;
Then I harnessed up my team of dogs and was off at dawn of day.

You know what it's like in the Yukon wild when it's sixty-nine below;
When the ice-worms wriggle their purple heads through the crust of the pale blue snow;
When the pine-trees crack like little guns in the silence of the wood,
And the icicles hang down like tusks under the parka hood;
When the stove-pipe smoke breaks sudden off, and the sky is weirdly lit,
And the careless feel of a bit of steel burns like a red-hot spit;
When the mercury is a frozen ball, and the frost-fiend stalks to kill--
Well, it was just like that that day when I set out to look for Bill.

Oh, the awful hush that seemed to crush me down on every hand,
As I blundered blind with a trail to find through that blank and bitter land;
Half dazed, half crazed in the winter wild, with its grim heart-breaking woes,
And the ruthless strife for a grip on life that only the sourdough knows!
North by the compass, North I pressed; river and peak and plain
Passed like a dream I slept to lose and I waked to dream again.

River and plain and mighty peak--and who could stand unawed?
As their summits blazed, he could stand undazed at the foot of the throne of God.
North, aye, North, through a land accurst, shunned by the scouring brutes,
And all I heard was my own harsh word and the whine of the malamutes,
Till at last I came to a cabin squat, built in the side of a hill,
And I burst in the door, and there on the floor, frozen to death, lay Bill.

Ice, white ice, like a winding-sheet, sheathing each smoke-grimed wall;
Ice on the stove-pipe, ice on the bed, ice gleaming over all;
Sparkling ice on the dead man's chest, glittering ice in his hair,
Ice on his fingers, ice in his heart, ice in his glassy stare;
Hard as a log and trussed like a frog, with his arms and legs outspread.
I gazed at the coffin I'd brought for him, and I gazed at the gruesome dead,
And at last I spoke: "Bill liked his joke; but still, goldarn his eyes,
A man had ought to consider his mates in the way he goes and dies."

Have you ever stood in an Arctic hut in the shadow of the Pole,
With a little coffin six by three and a grief you can't control?
Have you ever sat by a frozen corpse that looks at you with a grin,
And that seems to say: "You may try all day, but you'll never jam me in"?
I'm not a man of the quitting kind, but I never felt so blue
As I sat there gazing at that stiff and studying what I'd do.
Then I rose and I kicked off the husky dogs that were nosing round about,
And I lit a roaring fire in the stove, and I started to thaw Bill out.

Well, I thawed and thawed for thirteen days, but it didn't seem no good;
His arms and legs stuck out like pegs, as if they was made of wood.
Till at last I said: "It ain't no use--he's froze too hard to thaw;
He's obstinate, and he won't lie straight, so I guess I got to--saw."
So I sawed off poor Bill's arms and legs, and I laid him snug and straight
In the little coffin he picked hisself, with the dinky silver plate;
And I came nigh near to shedding a tear as I nailed him safely down;
Then I stowed him away in my Yukon sleigh, and I started back to town.

So I buried him as the contract was in a narrow grave and deep,
And there he's waiting the Great Clean-up, when the Judgment sluice-heads sweep;
And I smoke my pipe and I meditate in the light of the Midnight Sun,
And sometimes I wonder if they was, the awful things I done.
And as I sit and the parson talks, expounding of the Law,
I often think of poor old Bill--and how hard he was to saw.


by Robert William Service

The Rings


Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.


J R R Tolkien

The Ballad of the King's Jest


When spring-time flushes the desert grass,
Our kafilas wind through the Khyber Pass.
Lean are the camels but fat the frails,
Light are the purses but heavy the bales,
As the snowbound trade of the North comes down
To the market-square of Peshawur town.

In a turquoise twilight, crisp and chill,
A kafila camped at the foot of the hill.
Then blue smoke-haze of the cooking rose,
And tent-peg answered to hammer-nose;
And the picketed ponies, shag and wild,
Strained at their ropes as the feed was piled;
And the bubbling camels beside the load
Sprawled for a furlong adown the road;
And the Persian pussy-cats, brought for sale,
Spat at the dogs from the camel-bale;
And the tribesmen bellowed to hasten the food;
And the camp-fires twinkled by Fort Jumrood;
And there fled on the wings of the gathering dusk
A savour of camels and carpets and musk,
A murmur of voices, a reek of smoke,
To tell us the trade of the Khyber woke.

The lid of the flesh-pot chattered high,
The knives were whetted and -- then came I
To Mahbub Ali the muleteer,
Patching his bridles and counting his gear,
Crammed with the gossip of half a year.
But Mahbub Ali the kindly said,
"Better is speech when the belly is fed."
So we plunged the hand to the mid-wrist deep
In a cinnamon stew of the fat-tailed sheep,
And he who never hath tasted the food,
By Allah! he knoweth not bad from good.

We cleansed our beards of the mutton-grease,
We lay on the mats and were filled with peace,
And the talk slid north, and the talk slid south,
With the sliding puffs from the hookah-mouth.
Four things greater than all things are, --
Women and Horses and Power and War.
We spake of them all, but the last the most,
For I sought a word of a Russian post,
Of a shifty promise, an unsheathed sword
And a gray-coat guard on the Helmund ford.
Then Mahbub Ali lowered his eyes
In the fashion of one who is weaving lies.
Quoth he: "Of the Russians who can say?
When the night is gathering all is gray.
But we look that the gloom of the night shall die
In the morning flush of a blood-red sky.
Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise
To warn a King of his enemies?
We know what Heaven or Hell may bring,
But no man knoweth the mind of the King.
That unsought counsel is cursed of God
Attesteth the story of Wali Dad.

"His sire was leaky of tongue and pen,
His dam was a clucking Khuttuck hen;
And the colt bred close to the vice of each,
For he carried the curse of an unstanched speech.
Therewith madness -- so that he sought
The favour of kings at the Kabul court;
And travelled, in hope of honour, far
To the line where the gray-coat squadrons are.
There have I journeyed too -- but I
Saw naught, said naught, and -- did not die!
He harked to rumour, and snatched at a breath
Of `this one knoweth' and `that one saith', --
Legends that ran from mouth to mouth
Of a gray-coat coming, and sack of the South.
These have I also heard -- they pass
With each new spring and the winter grass.

"Hot-foot southward, forgotten of God,
Back to the city ran Wali Dad,
Even to Kabul -- in full durbar
The King held talk with his Chief in War.
Into the press of the crowd he broke,
And what he had heard of the coming spoke.

"Then Gholam Hyder, the Red Chief, smiled,
As a mother might on a babbling child;
But those who would laugh restrained their breath,
When the face of the King showed dark as death.
Evil it is in full durbar
To cry to a ruler of gathering war!
Slowly he led to a peach-tree small,
That grew by a cleft of the city wall.
And he said to the boy: `They shall praise thy zeal
So long as the red spurt follows the steel.
And the Russ is upon us even now?
Great is thy prudence -- await them, thou.
Watch from the tree. Thou art young and strong,
Surely thy vigil is not for long.
The Russ is upon us, thy clamour ran?
Surely an hour shall bring their van.
Wait and watch. When the host is near,
Shout aloud that my men may hear.'

"Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise
To warn a King of his enemies?
A guard was set that he might not flee --
A score of bayonets ringed the tree.
The peach-bloom fell in showers of snow,
When he shook at his death as he looked below.
By the power of God, who alone is great,
Till the seventh day he fought with his fate.
Then madness took him, and men declare
He mowed in the branches as ape and bear,
And last as a sloth, ere his body failed,
And he hung as a bat in the forks, and wailed,
And sleep the cord of his hands untied,
And he fell, and was caught on the points and died.

"Heart of my heart, is it meet or wise
To warn a King of his enemies?
We know what Heaven or Hell may bring,
But no man knoweth the mind of the King.
Of the gray-coat coming who can say?
When the night is gathering all is gray.
Two things greater than all things are,
The first is Love, and the second War.
And since we know not how War may prove,
Heart of my heart, let us talk of Love!"


by Rudyard Kipling

Quotes

The important fact of the present time is not the struggle between capitalism and socialism but the struggle between industrial civilization and humanity.


Bertrand Russell

Quotes

In a time of drastic change, it is the learners who inherit the future. The learned usually find themselves equipped to live in a world that no longer exists.

--Eric Hoffer

Uphill


Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow, dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.

by Christina Rossetti

The Lady of Shallot


PART I

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower'd Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."

PART II

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving thro' a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed:
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

PART III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

PART IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seër in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance--
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right--
The leaves upon her falling light--
Thro' the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross'd themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."


Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Our Story - as much of it that can be told that is... (Part six)

Chapter Three


The Soothing Balm of Christmas - And Another House Guest.

As the disappointment of the election faded and the campaign posters were taken down the Animeaux looked to the future to rid themselves of the hangover of defeat, and found much to their delight, that Christmas was on its way.

Zita had been shopping for presents for several months, as Craig and the Animeaux were very difficult people, so to speak, to buy presents for. Not only that, she had been huddling over her hot sewing machine for weeks and weeks concocting up presents for the rest of the family down south and making winter jackets for Haemish-Mór, Dugal, Beauregard and some of the more persistent TeddyBears and both Dragons.

Mac had sent the Rhinosasaurises a catalogue for do-it-your-self goose down attire, like the one Zita put together for him the year before.

Now Callum and Haemish wanted one just like that one; except for a different hood and different pockets and a new lining with perhaps, a built-in holster, in a different colour for each of them of course.

Naturally all the Animeaux were soon well into the true spirit of Christmas, and were pouring over catalogues by the hour. Not that they could afford much, the election had sorely drained their meager resources. Also they were; shall we say ‘A wee bit canny with their resources’- it was Dugal’s Highland influence thought Craig. Zita said, “They are as mean with a penny as they are with a pound.”

All this aside, they were not entirely without resources, Beauregard received some money from his relatives in Savannah and Haemish had his Mossad pension. The Colonel had all his funds tied up in Imperial Russian bonds, which he was certain would soon be redeemed.. He had ordered several catalogues on single malt Scotch in anticipation of this.

Aside from these rather tenuous riches, the Animeaux were moderately broke most of the time, which was just as well as they had no real understanding of cash flow or the ridiculous fluctuations of the Royal Rhinosasauris currency - silver champagne corks. If it were not for the income from his AT&T patents, Callum would have had a difficult time even paying the tuition for medical school.

In addition to the general confusion generated by the Christmas convolutions, Zita had damaged her hand and had to have it put in a special splint. Callum had offered to operate, but fortunately he had not got to the surgery part of the Royal Rhinosasauris Medical School’s Doctor by Mail program. Actually he had only just finished the part where you learn to look very knowledgeable while writing out prescriptions. There were always little pieces of practice prescriptions littering the back room where he sat at the desk, in front of the mirror doing his homework.

As you might expect all of them had been very busy well before the advent of Christmas had dawned on everyone. A week or so before, Craig and Zita and lot of their people friends went out to the farm at Dalkeith to chop down their own Christmas trees. They all had a very good time, though one of the young nieces broke through the ice and fell into the small stream that crossed the farm by the Dunvagan side road. She rushed back to the farm house and ran around in some rather unbecoming underwear while trying to find some warm clothing.

Zita had told all the Animeaux about these proceedings while they were decorating the Christmas tree and arranging all their stockings on the mantle piece. This gave BT-McG and Beauregard the excuse to endlessly thumb trough all the Q-O Pigs copies of Vogue and ELLE, doing research to help with the shopping. Zita was vaguely amused until she saw what they had ordered; and the price.

She said that “it” was unlikely to either protect that young lady from icy water or failing that, keep her warm. The three of them naturally disagreed, saying it was silk and everyone knew that silk kept you warm and it was black to retain the heat.

Zita responded “Why yes - and the closest the owner of this, will ever get to icy water will be in a crystal glass, mixed with some expensive scotch.” Beauregard agreed, and Zita realized that somehow she had lost this round to the Animeaux but could not quite see how.

But it was Christmas and what could be done?

Planning The Christmas Expedition

The Nova had been complaining about the stiffness of it’s joints in the morning cold; so as a Christmas treat they pooled their resources and bought it an electric heater for its oil. This seemed to make it feel much better on those frigid days when Craig had to take Haemish, Callum, BT-McG and Miss Tanya skiing.

He had a terrible time - on the way up he had to listen to them talk endlessly about wax and edges, on the way home he had to listen as they described how they did this or that or the other so much better now that they had trendier bindings or shorter skis, or springier poles.

Or better imaginations he thought to himself.

After several weeks of this, Craig made a deal, he would not object if Miss. Tanya used her Volvo wagon to transport them to and from the various ski hills, nor would he ask them to be home at a reasonable hour as long as they were careful and didn’t race the chubby little German cars that seemed to spontaneously generate around ski resorts. Haemish had promised they would be very careful, and this time they seemed to be taking his advice seriously. He noticed that when ever they went out Callum, at least, took his well cared-for 9mm Parabellum with him; just in case.

As it had been decided to spend Christmas at Craig’s sister’s house in Toronto, as this was a five hours drive away he had a long chat with the Nova and they both felt that it was up to the excursion, as long as they took the time to look at the scenery and stop for coffee and doughnuts, so that it could catch its breath.

One night, as they were watching television, BT-McG slid down from the book shelf and sat on the headboard. After a while he said “We’esse been talk’n about somet’ing. All of us. Y’know us over here”, he said swinging his arm in the prevailing direction of the bookcase, “We t’ought it would be great idea t’spend Christmas all with each other.”

“He means they all want to go to Toronto with you for Christmas.”, called out one of the Queen’s Own Pig Irregulars, who quickly retreated to the very back of the shelf.

Haemish-Mór stomped to the edge, leaned over and said “Well, you know that Callum, Beauregard, BT-McG and I are very fond of each others company, and if we can ever get BT-McG to speak properly, we might even understand most of his conversations. We thought that it would be alright to ask if it would be possible for us to accompany you to Toronto for Christmas?” he leaned lower and whispered, “It will also be Beauregard’s first Christmas away from his family so if we were all off on an adventure it might take his mind off it and he would not feel so abandoned.”

Callum said “We will all be very good and polite and I won’t offer to do open heart surgery on anyone, and we won’t let Beauregard bring his sword, just to be on the safe side.”

Craig was about to say “We’ll think about it” when he saw the looks of Pre-Christmas delight and expectation on all their faces and thought “what the hell”.

“Sure you can all come. What about all the TBears, the Q-O Pigs, Colonel Dugal and the Dragons?”

The Big White TeddyBear who doesn’t talk much said “We all would like to stay here and have the house to ourselves. It’s been a while since we could just lie around without someone wanting to do this or go there or try that or watch this..... We want to laze about for the whole time you are away, that is if you don’t mind.”

“Mind” said Zita, “That’s his favorite thing to do..... and don’t be giving him any ideas or none of us will see Christmas in Toronto.”


The Fuss Over Christmas Shopping

It was not that they had a lot of shopping to do, it was just that all the people they gave gifts to were very particular and the gifts had to be conjured up and searched out, so many expeditions were mounted roaming from one end of the City to the other. Zita usually packed a lunch as Craig tended to meander a bit on these voyages - and she had to beg and say rude things before he would stop at the chip wagons for her.

A week before they were to leave for Toronto they had still not finished the Christmas shopping. The Animeaux had asked both of them to assist in finding a suitable gift for the other. They were very particular, this and their chronic lack of funds made shopping with them difficult.

Beauregard and BT-McG wanted to give Zita some underwear, not as skimpy as the one they ordered for the chilled niece, but flattering all the same. BT-McG had cut numerous pages from the fashion magazines with the styles he approved of, Beauregard did not care so long as it was black and expensive.

Craig had to bring home numerous pairs “on approval”. The two of them were far too shy to accompany him to the lingerie section of Holt Renfrew’s.

All the other Animeaux had pooled their funds and asked Craig to find some nice leather luggage for Zita. This presented a problem; they only had 7 dollars and forty-seven cents in total. But since it was all in small change, and Animeaux are not really very big and the pile of quarters seemed quite substantial to them.

Craig tried to explain that Gucci steamer trunks were very expensive, and well, not really in fashion this decade, what with the invention of the aeroplane and all.

Callum unfortunately had a solution. In his correspondence school curriculum there was a section on accounting and health care, and basing his opinions on this he felt that Craig could write a cheque for the trunk, and if there was not enough money in their account he could add a couple of zeros to the amount. Since a zero was not worth anything this would most adroitly solve the problem.

Craig suddenly understood why the health care costs of the province had got so badly askew, but no amount of explanation seemed to sway them. Finally it was easier to give in and pay the difference himself. So he ordered a large leather haversack from a catalogue. This was a popular choice - after he explained that they could all fit in it and accompany them on picnics.

Zita was suffering the same problem. The Animeaux had all decided that Craig should have an electric train, with mountains, lighted crossings, water tanks and a whole lot of bridges. They had found a 1958 Harrods’s catalogue and discovered the one they wanted, a Lionel steam engine set - in CPR colours - for six pounds even. They changed all their money into pennies, added some sand and had six and a quarter pounds. More then enough they said, including freight charges.

As you can imagine this posed a major diplomatic dilemma for Zita.

She took the TeddyBear with the GreenFeet and his heathen friend, the TeddyBear with the Red Toque out to the antique stores with her. Her friend George, who collected pianos, model trains and foreign cars of questionable reliability, had given her the name of several stores where old Lionel trains could be acquired - for a price.

The two TeddyBears were aghast! Used toy trains costing more than perfectly wonderful, well trained, well dressed and loquacious TeddyBears. What was the world coming to?

The TeddyBear with the GreenFeet wanted to go directly to Mass, he was so upset; he finally settled for a pint of Guinness, and a plate of chips and vinegar, (well, perhaps it was two pints if the truth is very important).

When they got home and broke the news to the rest of them, there was a long silence, broken by the Big White TeddyBear, “Serves us right for letting the subscription to the Financial Times expire I suppose. Well I guess we must get all the magazines out again and find something less dear. Though what that could be I really have no idea.”

They were quite disturbed by this turn of events. They knew that no one in the house expected big or expensive presents, but it was extremely nice to find something that a friend wanted, and be able to surprise them with it. And all the Animeaux loved surprises. Zita said that she would think about this problem and see if there were any nifty things that Craig would like.

Later that night one of the Queens Own Pig Irregulars snuck down stairs and told Zita that the TeddyBears were afraid that their presents were not going to be as nice as the presents that Craig and Zita had got for them; and they were very afraid of being embarrassed.

Both Craig and Zita appreciated that the Animeaux, being just a bit different from them, tended to be very sensitive about doing the RIGHT THING, and not being thought of as too different. With this in mind, Zita sat down at the dining room table with Lance-Bombardier Pig and amidst pots of tea and hot chocolate they went over a series of possibilities that they all could afford and would be appropriate as a gift.

Together they decided to get him a chocolate train set. Both had decided that this was not only more economical, but the very thought of Craig having more stuff to collect appalled Zita. While the very idea that he might set it up in the bedroom, where it would probably run through the Q-O Pig’s Sergeant’s Mess caused certain misgivings on both their parts. They agreed that this, all in all was by far the better choice. It was decided that she and BT-McG would go to his favourite gourmet chocolate emporium on the Seventh Line Perth later that week.

Lance-Bombardier Pig looked up over his cup of hot chocolate and said that this seemed such a good idea, but perhaps, if there was a small problem in the price, that is, if it was very dear, not to tell the TeddyBears and the Q-O Pigs would cash in some of their Paris municipal bonds, to make up the difference. They had had a vote and it was to make up for the unfortunate occurrences when the Bears first moved in.

Zita was quite touched, though she said that she doubted that the difference would be so great as to require such drastic remedies. But she was sure that the TeddyBears would be very honoured that they would offer.

“Oh dear - they mus’ent know that we offered, that would spoil it!”

“Jesus, Mary and Holy St. Joseph, save us from silly pride; you are becoming almost as bad as People.” said Zita, regretting it immediately as she saw the look of horror on L.B. Pig.

“Well to be sure you’re not nearly as bad as people and certainly better then Craig”

He smiled and thanked her for all the help and then slurped down the last of his drink and put several handfuls of the Ritz cheese crackers in his athletic bag - for ‘laters’. The Silver Dragon flew up the stairs to make sure everyone was asleep before LBP snuck back upstairs.

The Dragon had to come back right away as the other Dragon and Dugal were installing spiked feet on the speakers and needed his help. The Dragons tilted the speaker back and Dugal and Craig positioned the feet. Dugal had assured Craig that all the British Hi-fi magazines had proved that this would ‘clean up the bass and improve the imaging to an astonishing degree.’

He agreed he would be astonished all right, but since he was having the old Citation power amplifier rejuvenated with new Dutch wires and German bits and pieces he thought discretion was the better part of valour, especially since Zita was still down stairs and might hear.

When he decided to have the amplifier renewed, he told her that this act was a philosophical stance - and it should please her greatly. The fact that he was prepared to expend energy, time and money to invigorate an old friend should make her feel very secure, as he was obviously not likely to replace her when she started to show signs of wear and tear. He had ducked at this point and they had not mentioned it since.

They had just finished the feet on the second speaker and were tugging on the speaker cable up when Zita came in, “Finished yet Dugal? “

The dragons were still heaving on the cable so she bent down to give them a hand, “I know, I know and I sympathize but what can be done? They are both convinced that it all makes a difference, and as a hobby its marginally cheaper then jade collecting or having sailing boats, and it certainly keeps them from getting into more serious trouble.”

Since the speaker cable was the size of a small hose all three had to give a good tug before it came free.

She looked over to Dugal and Craig, who were waiting for their soldering iron to heat up and said “This is quite silly and I am taking the Dragoons for a walk, or what ever, so we can look in everybody’s windows and see how they have decorated their homes for Christmas.” At this announcement the Dragons went looking for the wing de-icer and their down flight jackets.