and actually found some brandy for the sauce …’
‘She’s ever so nice,’ Joy said sleepily. ‘Only she’ll have to bring perishin’ Dilly. They say chicken bones can kill dogs if they crunch them up … if I was to slip one or two under the table …’
‘You wouldn’t,’ Gillian said confidently. ‘I know she’s snappy and smelly, but it would be murder and I know you wouldn’t do that, nor me neither. Besides, I dare say Dilly’s company for Mrs Clarke when we aren’t around.’
‘Mmm, hmm,’ Joy droned. ‘Goo’night, Gillian. Sleep dreams.’
Gillian chuckled. ‘It’ll be morning before you know it,’ she said before she followed her sister’s example, and slept.
‘Dinner’s on the table! Come along, Grandma, Uncle Perce!’ Joy’s shrill voice reached the two adults sitting in the parlour, placidly listening to the wireless and occasionally commenting on the good smells coming from the kitchen. ‘Mrs Clarke’s just putting the vegetables out and Daddy’s carving the bird … oh, the bread sauce is still on the back of the stove, but come through anyway.’
Everyone obeyed with alacrity and very soon the chicken was carved, the vegetables, bread sauce and gravy were served, and Alex was holding up the wishbone. ‘Who wants to see if they can win themselves a Christmas wish?’ he demanded. ‘Shall we say the two youngest may have a tug of war over this?’ He turned to his daughters. ‘Can you remember how to treat a wishbone?’ he asked. ‘You’re only allowed to use one of your little fingers … hook it into the wishbone like this … and the one who gets the larger piece may have a Christmas wish.’
‘We’re too old for baby games …’ Gillian was beginning, when Joy interrupted, giving her sister a meaning look. Nothing pleases Grandma more than to see us quarrelling or behaving badly, the look said. So come on, twin, play the game for Daddy’s sake if nothing else.
‘Why not? When we were at the Dodmans’, it was whoever got the silver threepenny bit in the pudding who had the wish,’ she said. ‘Come on, Gilly, be a sport!’
‘Well, if you ask me …’ Gillian began, then saw her grandmother about to give tongue and changed her mind. ‘All right; give me a hold of it,’ she said. ‘And then let’s eat, ’cos it strikes me a Christmas dinner shouldn’t be allowed to go cold!’
Grandma nodded grimly and picked up her knife and fork in a very businesslike manner whilst the girls tugged at the slender wishbone until it broke, Gillian crowing victoriously as she displayed the larger piece, quite forgetting that she had thought the ritual babyish a few minutes before. ‘Go on, then, have your wish,’ Joy said, smiling at her twin’s triumph. She picked up her knife and fork and began to eat. ‘And if I find the silver threepenny bit in my pudding …’
‘… you’ll choke on it,’ Gillian said, laughing. ‘Then when we’ve finished our dinner you and I will wash up and clear away and the oldies can have a snooze in front of the parlour fire. And then we’ll open our presents!’
‘I refuse to be counted as an oldie,’ Mrs Clarke said, winking at Alex. ‘So I’ll give a hand with the washing-up whilst you two young ’uns put away. Then we’ll lay the table for tea with the crackers your aunt and uncle brought and bring out the Christmas cake, and after that we’ll talk about opening presents.’
There was a groan from her youngest listeners, but Alex said placidly that good things would always wait, and got to his feet. ‘And this evening, after the twins have gone to bed, we’ll have roast chestnuts and a little glass of something hot,’ he said. ‘Go on, girls, start clearing away. And don’t let Dilly get a whiff of the chicken bones; I believe they’re bad for dogs!’
‘It was the best Christmas ever,’ Gillian said sleepily as the twins climbed into their beds and snuggled down, for it was a bitterly cold night. ‘Even
‘She’s ever so nice,’ Joy said sleepily. ‘Only she’ll have to bring perishin’ Dilly. They say chicken bones can kill dogs if they crunch them up … if I was to slip one or two under the table …’
‘You wouldn’t,’ Gillian said confidently. ‘I know she’s snappy and smelly, but it would be murder and I know you wouldn’t do that, nor me neither. Besides, I dare say Dilly’s company for Mrs Clarke when we aren’t around.’
‘Mmm, hmm,’ Joy droned. ‘Goo’night, Gillian. Sleep dreams.’
Gillian chuckled. ‘It’ll be morning before you know it,’ she said before she followed her sister’s example, and slept.
‘Dinner’s on the table! Come along, Grandma, Uncle Perce!’ Joy’s shrill voice reached the two adults sitting in the parlour, placidly listening to the wireless and occasionally commenting on the good smells coming from the kitchen. ‘Mrs Clarke’s just putting the vegetables out and Daddy’s carving the bird … oh, the bread sauce is still on the back of the stove, but come through anyway.’
Everyone obeyed with alacrity and very soon the chicken was carved, the vegetables, bread sauce and gravy were served, and Alex was holding up the wishbone. ‘Who wants to see if they can win themselves a Christmas wish?’ he demanded. ‘Shall we say the two youngest may have a tug of war over this?’ He turned to his daughters. ‘Can you remember how to treat a wishbone?’ he asked. ‘You’re only allowed to use one of your little fingers … hook it into the wishbone like this … and the one who gets the larger piece may have a Christmas wish.’
‘We’re too old for baby games …’ Gillian was beginning, when Joy interrupted, giving her sister a meaning look. Nothing pleases Grandma more than to see us quarrelling or behaving badly, the look said. So come on, twin, play the game for Daddy’s sake if nothing else.
‘Why not? When we were at the Dodmans’, it was whoever got the silver threepenny bit in the pudding who had the wish,’ she said. ‘Come on, Gilly, be a sport!’
‘Well, if you ask me …’ Gillian began, then saw her grandmother about to give tongue and changed her mind. ‘All right; give me a hold of it,’ she said. ‘And then let’s eat, ’cos it strikes me a Christmas dinner shouldn’t be allowed to go cold!’
Grandma nodded grimly and picked up her knife and fork in a very businesslike manner whilst the girls tugged at the slender wishbone until it broke, Gillian crowing victoriously as she displayed the larger piece, quite forgetting that she had thought the ritual babyish a few minutes before. ‘Go on, then, have your wish,’ Joy said, smiling at her twin’s triumph. She picked up her knife and fork and began to eat. ‘And if I find the silver threepenny bit in my pudding …’
‘… you’ll choke on it,’ Gillian said, laughing. ‘Then when we’ve finished our dinner you and I will wash up and clear away and the oldies can have a snooze in front of the parlour fire. And then we’ll open our presents!’
‘I refuse to be counted as an oldie,’ Mrs Clarke said, winking at Alex. ‘So I’ll give a hand with the washing-up whilst you two young ’uns put away. Then we’ll lay the table for tea with the crackers your aunt and uncle brought and bring out the Christmas cake, and after that we’ll talk about opening presents.’
There was a groan from her youngest listeners, but Alex said placidly that good things would always wait, and got to his feet. ‘And this evening, after the twins have gone to bed, we’ll have roast chestnuts and a little glass of something hot,’ he said. ‘Go on, girls, start clearing away. And don’t let Dilly get a whiff of the chicken bones; I believe they’re bad for dogs!’
‘It was the best Christmas ever,’ Gillian said sleepily as the twins climbed into their beds and snuggled down, for it was a bitterly cold night. ‘Even
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