THE BIRDS AND THE BAUBLES
A large leather armchair sits by the window of 27 Kingswood Road, the warm mahogany brown of the fabric is not as bright as it once was and an imprint is permanently moulded into the seat cushion – symbols of the many years spent completing crosswords from this very spot. Jim sits there quietly as the snow falls gently outside, creating the perfect backdrop for the twinkling Christmas lights lining the walls and windows of almost every other house on the street.
“Isn’t it beautiful Dorothy?” he sighs as he looks over to the photo frame on the mantelpiece “you always did love Christmas. It’s just not the same without you.” It’s been 8 months since Dorothy passed and Jim’s only company each day has been the birds nesting on the trees outside his window. But in the cold of winter even they do not visit anymore, save for the occasional robin.
As Jim steps out of the front door into the crisp, fresh snow the cold air hits him like a truck. He and Dorothy would always go for a walk on Christmas Eve and Jim isn’t going to let the snow stop him this year. He adjusts his coat, pulls his scarf up over his nose to shield it from the cold and carefully makes his way up the road.
It seems as though the entire neighbourhood is out playing in the snow. Children speed past him on sledges and snowballs fly from one side of the road to the other as kids take cover behind the bare trees.
“Merry Christmas Mr Rogers!” says a little voice from behind him. Jim looks around to see Jenny and Tom Piper wrapped up in puffer jackets and bobble hats lying flat in the snow making snow angels in their front garden. “Do you want to make snow angels with us?” asks Tom with a smile.
“Me? Thank you very much for the offer Tom but I don’t think that’s a very good idea at my age, I’ll never get back up again!” replies Jim.
Mrs Piper appears at the front door to check on the kids in the snow. “Merry Christmas Mrs Piper” says Jim happily.
“And you Mr Rogers. Hope you have a lovely day tomorrow. Are you cooking Christmas dinner for the family?” asks Mrs Piper.
“Oh, it’s just me and the radio tomorrow my dear. Dorothy and I never had any children but hopefully that little robin will come to visit.” Jenny and Tom sit upright with furrowed brows, how can anyone spend Christmas alone? “Anyway, you all have a fantastic day tomorrow and I hope that Santa brings you kids something nice” he says with a wink before carrying on slowly up the road. Jenny and Tom look at each other knowingly and dash inside.
The next morning Jim awakes just like any other day. As he pulls on his dressing gown and slippers his thoughts turn to the children of the neighbourhood waking up filled with excitement and joy as they hurriedly open their stockings from Santa. Though they were perfectly happy in each other’s company, it’s this time of year that Jim and Dorothy would always somewhat wish that they had had children to share the festivities with.
Something feels different as Jim makes his way downstairs, something he can’t quite place. He clatters about in the kitchen making his usual breakfast of porridge smothered with brown sugar, and a warm mug of earl grey tea. He carefully carries them through to the lounge, sets them down on the side table next to his armchair and turns on the radio. Turning to sit in his favourite chair by the window, he realises what it is that feels so different, the thing he couldn’t put his finger on. He can’t believe his eyes as he stares out the window onto his snow-covered front garden. Hundreds of colourful baubles hang from the bare branches of his tree and it seems somehow as though every bird from the neighbourhood has come to visit. Jim hadn’t even registered the happy chirping of the birds as he went about making his breakfast, it was the last thing he expected to hear. His eyes are teary as he moves closer to the window, almost pressing his nose to the glass. He notices that each bauble has a hole cut out of the side and they are filled with birdseed.
“Oh Dorothy, it’s a Christmas miracle. Looks like I’m not alone after all” he whispers to himself. Out of the corner of his eye Jim spots two mischievous-looking children peaking over the fence. He smiles and gently shakes his head; of course it would be the neighbour children, who else could it be? Pulling his dressing gown tight, Jim opens the front door and steps out onto his porch.
“I know you’re there kids. Come on, out you come” he shouts happily. Tom and Jenny from next-door jump out from behind the fence, smiles stretch across their faces from ear to ear.
“Merry Christmas Mr Rogers!” they exclaim in unison.
“Did you kids do this for me?” Jim asks, it was more of a rhetorical question really but he just couldn’t believe these children could be so kind.
“Of course we did Mr Rogers. We didn’t want you to be alone on Christmas and we know how much you love the birds” replies Jenny.
“Mum says you have to come and spend Christmas with us too and she won’t take no for an answer” says Tom excitedly. Jim feels completely overwhelmed with the kindness of this family and tears of happiness roll gently down his cheeks.
“You tell your mum that nothing would make me happier than to spend Christmas with your family” Jim says with a croak from holding back his tears.
Jenny and Tom look at each other with a smile and run through the garden, they throw their arms around Jim – almost knocking him over in the process.
“Come on now kids, my porridge and my nose are getting cold,” Jim says with a chuckle “you two run back inside and I’ll see you later.”
The kids nod enthusiastically and bound back through the garden and into their house. Jim steps back inside with a smile firmly plastered on his lips. He picks up the photo of Dorothy from the mantelpiece and kisses it gently.
“Merry Christmas my love.” He holds the photo frame close to his chest for a moment before placing it back down and sitting in his armchair by the window. He sips on his tea and watches the birds fuss about the baubles in the garden. “Merry Christmas indeed” Jim says to himself, realising he’s maybe not quite as alone as he thought.
