A rather unusual Christmas story
A comic’s life with John Ryan
I DON’T care what anyone says Christmas is a special time when
we can all look back and think of times past.
On Christmas morning several years ago we stood at 10.30 Mass feeling
a bit woozy and a little bit the worse-for-wear after a very heavy night.
The service had just begun when our Chris suddenly jumped up with a look
of horror on his face.
I urged him to sit down as Mrs Edwards was looking. She would tell me
mother and we would get a slap when we got home.
“We have to go,” he loudly whispered to me. “That bloke
is still in the cupboard!”
I felt my heart sink as the memory of the night before came crashing back
and I remembered the stranger held captive in our bedroom. Who knows if
he was alive or what mood he would be in when we got back.
We ran home as quickly as we could and hoped it was not too late. It had
all began seven hours earlier when we came out of the nightclub after
a raucous evening and headed for home. A dozen of us danced along singing
and generally making merry.
Our Chris was desperately trying to persuade Joanne to give him a kiss
beneath some mistletoe but she wasn’t interested. Even half-drunk
she could see it was only a handful of grass.
I danced along with Noel, my new singing pal. I had never met him before;
he only arrived that afternoon from New York and was en-route to Coventry
for Christmas Day. He seemed a pleasant sort of bloke and knew all the
words to Nellie The Elephant which at the time was hugely impressive.
Eventually only the three of us remained singing away in the rain. He
suddenly stopped and shouted: “Where is Andy?”
He had lost the mate he was staying with. There were no mobile phones
in those days and as it was 3am. It was too late to ring anyway. Well
seeing as it was the season of goodwill and he was called Noel, which
we figured was a sign, our Chris said he could just as well come and stay
with us.
He was a bit reluctant as we had just met but we convinced him. He had
been travelling all day and was glad for the little bed we made in the
only space we had in our room. It was only when he blacked out and I jokingly
said: “What if he gets up and murders us in the night?” that
our Chris decided to secure him. We tied the cupboard handles up and went
to sleep.
It seemed a good idea at the time. We were woken five minutes before Mass
by my dad and sprinted across the road to church, forgetting all about
our ‘hostage’. This all flashed through my mind as we ran
out of the church and snuck in to the house. Not a sound emerged from
behind the bedroom door. We peeked in and saw nothing, the cupboard doors
were still held together. Houdini would have struggled to get out of there.
“What if he is dead?” said I half joking. Now under normal
circumstances, having a corpse in your own bedroom would be frowned upon
but on Christmas Day in our house me mammy would lose the head altogether.
The idea of having policemen marching through the place horrified us.
Although we would be glad of the help in devouring the food.
“Ah go on officer have a Brussel sprout before you arrest those
two eejits”.
Our Chris listened against the door. “I hear nothing!” he
said.
“If he is dead, he will still be dead after dinner!” I said
trying to sound rational.
Our Chris was having none of it: “Go down and get a stick in case
he goes mental!”
He thought that if yer man was angry and attacked us we should be prepared.
“So if he isn’t dead, we will kill him!”
I was confused. There was no way mammy would be happy about that. It is
one thing to accidentally have a dead body in your room but to have one
you deliberately killed, no way would we get away with it!
“Maybe we dreamt it.” I knew I was clutching at straws. How
could we both have had the same dream? So we slowly untied the doors and
there he was sound asleep, covered in sweat, squashed into the cupboard.
Maybe it was the fresh air or maybe it was the light. Whatever it was
the sight of the two of us armed and staring at him woke him and he sat
bolt upright. He checked his pockets and grabbed at his shoes.
“Morning,” said our Chris.
Noel smiled and thanked us continually for our kindness for the next half-hour
during which time he was plied with tea and toast.
“I will never forget your kindness,” he said when he left.
A couple of weeks later we met up with Andy again and asked him how his
mate was.
“I don’t know anyone called Noel,” he said looking confused.
We asked the rest of the mob and no-one had ever met or heard of him.
To this day we don’t know who he was and he never crossed our paths
again. As the saying goes: ‘No act of kindness, however small, is
ever wasted.’
I am sure he never forgot us and I wonder when he wakes up on Christmas
morning does he ever remember the night he met two fellow travellers who
took him home and locked him up. Christmas is a time not just for friends
but also for strangers. If you should meet one be sure and be hospitable
and don’t forget to untie them in the morning. The strangest things
happen at Christmas and that’s what makes it so special.
Merry Christmas.
| 