more Island Chirstmas
Mr. Todd prided himself on being a fact collector. For example, a century ago the Ladies Aid had given out wool to be spun and knit into mittens for sale to raise funds for building the little white church on the hill. Mr. Todd knew all about the felted double mittens the fishermen had used back then. People here still seemed a little old fashioned and more than a little provincial. Mr. Todd thought that was quaint.
And for another example, there was Mr. Melville, the wiry old sexton of the church. Mr. Meville's grandfather had been the very man who gathered the Island crew to man the first America's Cup challenge for the wealthy yachtsmen a hundred and some years ago. Back then, every March when it came time for Town Meeting, the men who were looking for work aboard the yachts showed up to sign on as master, captain, or able-bodied crew. Mr. Todd didn't sail, but he thought that was a colorful Island fact, in a nicely nautical sort of way.
Mr. Melville was a man of great dignity. He had very smart white mustachios. But he was really far too old to be the sexton for a church. Mr. Todd thought this job for someone who fixed things around the church and who rang the bell to call everyone to church might be just the job for himself. Mr. Melville could retire.
It was Christmas Eve afternoon, almost time to get ready for the big service. Everybody on the Island - churchgoers or not - usually came. When Mr. Todd opened the church door, he noticed with some surprise that no one was there yet. Then he saw something even more surprising. There were pails and pans lined all up the aisle and sitting in the pews. Right where old Mrs. X always sat, a stream of water was drip drip dripping, down from the ceiling, into the biggest yellow plastic basin.
Mr. Todd climbed the stairs to the choir loft and looked out across the ceiling. Sure enough, water was leaking through everywhere. He climbed up still more stairs to the belfry and looked out over the church roof. Sure enough, he could see where some shingles had blown off the roof in the big storm last night. Nor'easter the folks here called it, just like they say in old books.
Aha, thought Mr. Todd. This is my chance to be a hero. I will climb out onto the roof and slip a patch onto that space. In the corner of the belfry he had spotted a stack of shingles, along with cans of paint and a coil of rope.
Mr. Todd tucked a shingle in his back pocket, and, taking a length of the bell rope hanging there, he knotted it around his middle. He smiled as he stepped out onto the roof, for he could see the red sun setting into the harbor, where there were still a few lobster boats at anchor. The little fishing village looked just like a Christmas card with its nice little white houses all lighted up in bright colors for the holidays.
Mr. Todd knelt down by the hole in the roof and neatly slid a new shingle under the old ones that bordered the wound. The dark roof was very wet and cold and slippery. Mr. Todd felt himself starting to slide, every so slowly, down, down, and then, he just kept on going, all the way down the roof, and ever so gently over the edge.
The bell rope around his middle fetched up, and there he hung just above the tall church window. And not only did he hang, he shouted, and he rang. Mr. Todd squirmed and flailed and rang the church bell with every wiggle.
Willie Bridges, a lobsterman, had just come to church to light the rigging in the masts of the Ship of Zion. For as long as he could remember, folks had used this model ship on Christmas Eve. The size of pretty good dory, it was part of the service. The Ship of Zion was always full of gifts. No one was ever left out.
When Willie heard "Help, help," from the sky, he looked up, and there was Mr. Todd hanging like an angel just above the church window. "Well, gory, boy, you're in a fix," he said.
And then Willie, too, climbed up to the choir loft and on up to the belfry. He leaned out and looked down. He could see the rope go over the roof but he could not see Mr. Todd.
Willie was very strong from hauling all those lobster traps for so many years. He took off his jacket, rolled his shirt sleeves up over his bulging biceps and pulled the rope with dangling Mr. Todd up, inch by inch, until he heard "Ouch! Stop!"� Willie stopped hauling.
Mr. Melville who had just come running to see who was ringing his church bell appeared just beside Willie in the belfry. Mr. Melville's father had rung this bell, and his father before him, so Mr. Melville felt quite proprietary about his bell.
"Willie, stop," Mr. Melville said. "You're about to scrape that feller off like a barnacle on a bottle. You can't haul him up over the edge of the roof without a davit."
Like many of the fishermen, Willie had a crane-like device for hauling in his lobster traps. This davit-like arm leaned out over the water from the side of his boat. Davits are what hold life boats on board large ships. When Mr. Todd heard that word associated with life boats, he was not sure whether things were getting better, or worse.
"But I can't just throw the feller back like a short lobster," he heard Willie say.
"And you can't let him down close enough to the ground to just let him drop either. I'd say he's about at the end of his rope as it is."
My rope, that is, thought Mr. Melville to himself. Mr. Melville was always most particular about keeping things in his command ship shape, and he found this disarray most distressing. Then, he had a good idea.
Mr. Melville had spent most of his life aboard one ship or another, so he set to work, knowing just what to do now for the man overboard.
Outside, the children were arriving to get ready for the pageant. "Isn't that Mr. Todd up there?" asked little Lucy. "Is he going to be in the pageant? Is he a star or an angel? " Lucy's mother would have laughed if it had not been such a serious matter. Mr. Todd looked like a sausage hanging up there.
Then, as they watched with the crowd which had gathered in the church parking lot, an odd but familiar contraption clattered down over the church roof shingles. Mr. Melville had improvised a block and tackle rig and what was called a Boatswain's Chair. Everybody on the ground knew you said it "bosun" and they knew it was the rope-and-plank seat arrangement that sailors used when they had to work aloft. Up a mast or up a steeple, it was all the same. In fact Willie had used it last summer to paint the church's steeple.
"Climb aboard, there, mate," called Willie up to Mr. Todd, the human Christmas ornament.
Mr. Todd managed to pull first one leg and then the other aboard the plank. From above he heard the shouted question, "Ready about?" and, in a moment of inspiration, Mr. Todd called back, "Hard a'lee".
As the rope slid through the large wooden pulley letting Mr. Todd slowly sink lower and lower, he congratulated himself for all his reading on nautical niceties. He also had the grace to congratulate Willie and Mr. Melville when all three met up on terra firma.
Mr. Todd seemed only a little tender, sore actually, amidships, but otherwise none the worse for wear. However, he was suddenly engulfed by a high tide of embarrassment. How could he possibly show his face inside the little church?
But everyone else seemed in a perfectly good mood. They were more interested in celebrating than in commenting on anyone's shortcomings. After all, he had fixed their leaky roof, Mr. Todd thought to himself as he settled himself in a pew.
The children acted out the story of a teen-aged unwed mother who was not welcomed into any of the hotels in town. Her child was born in the stable out back, and was sure to be different all his life. His first visitors were Persons From Away, far away. They came in several skin colors, speaking strange languages, and wearing odd clothes.
Mr. Todd watched as one child after another went up to receive a present from the hold of the good Ship of Zion, the large model schooner with twinkling rigging. It was then he noticed that the masts seemed to be listing at different angles. If he were in charge here, he would see that that got fixed. Just because it was old was no excuse
When Willie came up to the front of the church with a guitar, Mr. Todd stood with everyone else. People smiled at each other and at him. When the others, one by one, went up front to receive a tea candle nestled in what was surely a lobster butter cup, Mr. Todd joined the shuffling procession. Soon all the church lights went out, leaving only the Zion's star-twinkling masts, and the ring of candles held by the circle of people.
They sang Silent Night in German, as it had originally been composed. Some say an Austrian choir director had found himself late for service and been forced to improvise with his guitar. Mr. Todd could sympathize. Mr. Todd looked around the community of faces illuminated by the candles and listened to the sweet, familiar sounds. Maybe things did not really need as much fixing as he had thought.
On the way out, Mr. Todd wished little Lucy a Merry Christmas. He could see that the child was quite excited, and he wondered if she would sleep at all that night. The little girl looked up at him and confided that her mother had told her that Mr. Todd was not, after all, an angel.
"But that's alright," the child added, "I am sure you are a star."
Mr. Todd winced. "I'm afraid not," he said somewhat stiffly. Lucy's mother and the folks around all smiled. Mr. Todd realized they were not laughing at him. They all still wore the candlelight look. Maybe he had found a home port after all.
And for another example, there was Mr. Melville, the wiry old sexton of the church. Mr. Meville's grandfather had been the very man who gathered the Island crew to man the first America's Cup challenge for the wealthy yachtsmen a hundred and some years ago. Back then, every March when it came time for Town Meeting, the men who were looking for work aboard the yachts showed up to sign on as master, captain, or able-bodied crew. Mr. Todd didn't sail, but he thought that was a colorful Island fact, in a nicely nautical sort of way.
Mr. Melville was a man of great dignity. He had very smart white mustachios. But he was really far too old to be the sexton for a church. Mr. Todd thought this job for someone who fixed things around the church and who rang the bell to call everyone to church might be just the job for himself. Mr. Melville could retire.
It was Christmas Eve afternoon, almost time to get ready for the big service. Everybody on the Island - churchgoers or not - usually came. When Mr. Todd opened the church door, he noticed with some surprise that no one was there yet. Then he saw something even more surprising. There were pails and pans lined all up the aisle and sitting in the pews. Right where old Mrs. X always sat, a stream of water was drip drip dripping, down from the ceiling, into the biggest yellow plastic basin.
Mr. Todd climbed the stairs to the choir loft and looked out across the ceiling. Sure enough, water was leaking through everywhere. He climbed up still more stairs to the belfry and looked out over the church roof. Sure enough, he could see where some shingles had blown off the roof in the big storm last night. Nor'easter the folks here called it, just like they say in old books.
Aha, thought Mr. Todd. This is my chance to be a hero. I will climb out onto the roof and slip a patch onto that space. In the corner of the belfry he had spotted a stack of shingles, along with cans of paint and a coil of rope.
Mr. Todd tucked a shingle in his back pocket, and, taking a length of the bell rope hanging there, he knotted it around his middle. He smiled as he stepped out onto the roof, for he could see the red sun setting into the harbor, where there were still a few lobster boats at anchor. The little fishing village looked just like a Christmas card with its nice little white houses all lighted up in bright colors for the holidays.
Mr. Todd knelt down by the hole in the roof and neatly slid a new shingle under the old ones that bordered the wound. The dark roof was very wet and cold and slippery. Mr. Todd felt himself starting to slide, every so slowly, down, down, and then, he just kept on going, all the way down the roof, and ever so gently over the edge.
The bell rope around his middle fetched up, and there he hung just above the tall church window. And not only did he hang, he shouted, and he rang. Mr. Todd squirmed and flailed and rang the church bell with every wiggle.
Willie Bridges, a lobsterman, had just come to church to light the rigging in the masts of the Ship of Zion. For as long as he could remember, folks had used this model ship on Christmas Eve. The size of pretty good dory, it was part of the service. The Ship of Zion was always full of gifts. No one was ever left out.
When Willie heard "Help, help," from the sky, he looked up, and there was Mr. Todd hanging like an angel just above the church window. "Well, gory, boy, you're in a fix," he said.
And then Willie, too, climbed up to the choir loft and on up to the belfry. He leaned out and looked down. He could see the rope go over the roof but he could not see Mr. Todd.
Willie was very strong from hauling all those lobster traps for so many years. He took off his jacket, rolled his shirt sleeves up over his bulging biceps and pulled the rope with dangling Mr. Todd up, inch by inch, until he heard "Ouch! Stop!"� Willie stopped hauling.
Mr. Melville who had just come running to see who was ringing his church bell appeared just beside Willie in the belfry. Mr. Melville's father had rung this bell, and his father before him, so Mr. Melville felt quite proprietary about his bell.
"Willie, stop," Mr. Melville said. "You're about to scrape that feller off like a barnacle on a bottle. You can't haul him up over the edge of the roof without a davit."
Like many of the fishermen, Willie had a crane-like device for hauling in his lobster traps. This davit-like arm leaned out over the water from the side of his boat. Davits are what hold life boats on board large ships. When Mr. Todd heard that word associated with life boats, he was not sure whether things were getting better, or worse.
"But I can't just throw the feller back like a short lobster," he heard Willie say.
"And you can't let him down close enough to the ground to just let him drop either. I'd say he's about at the end of his rope as it is."
My rope, that is, thought Mr. Melville to himself. Mr. Melville was always most particular about keeping things in his command ship shape, and he found this disarray most distressing. Then, he had a good idea.
Mr. Melville had spent most of his life aboard one ship or another, so he set to work, knowing just what to do now for the man overboard.
Outside, the children were arriving to get ready for the pageant. "Isn't that Mr. Todd up there?" asked little Lucy. "Is he going to be in the pageant? Is he a star or an angel? " Lucy's mother would have laughed if it had not been such a serious matter. Mr. Todd looked like a sausage hanging up there.
Then, as they watched with the crowd which had gathered in the church parking lot, an odd but familiar contraption clattered down over the church roof shingles. Mr. Melville had improvised a block and tackle rig and what was called a Boatswain's Chair. Everybody on the ground knew you said it "bosun" and they knew it was the rope-and-plank seat arrangement that sailors used when they had to work aloft. Up a mast or up a steeple, it was all the same. In fact Willie had used it last summer to paint the church's steeple.
"Climb aboard, there, mate," called Willie up to Mr. Todd, the human Christmas ornament.
Mr. Todd managed to pull first one leg and then the other aboard the plank. From above he heard the shouted question, "Ready about?" and, in a moment of inspiration, Mr. Todd called back, "Hard a'lee".
As the rope slid through the large wooden pulley letting Mr. Todd slowly sink lower and lower, he congratulated himself for all his reading on nautical niceties. He also had the grace to congratulate Willie and Mr. Melville when all three met up on terra firma.
Mr. Todd seemed only a little tender, sore actually, amidships, but otherwise none the worse for wear. However, he was suddenly engulfed by a high tide of embarrassment. How could he possibly show his face inside the little church?
But everyone else seemed in a perfectly good mood. They were more interested in celebrating than in commenting on anyone's shortcomings. After all, he had fixed their leaky roof, Mr. Todd thought to himself as he settled himself in a pew.
The children acted out the story of a teen-aged unwed mother who was not welcomed into any of the hotels in town. Her child was born in the stable out back, and was sure to be different all his life. His first visitors were Persons From Away, far away. They came in several skin colors, speaking strange languages, and wearing odd clothes.
Mr. Todd watched as one child after another went up to receive a present from the hold of the good Ship of Zion, the large model schooner with twinkling rigging. It was then he noticed that the masts seemed to be listing at different angles. If he were in charge here, he would see that that got fixed. Just because it was old was no excuse
When Willie came up to the front of the church with a guitar, Mr. Todd stood with everyone else. People smiled at each other and at him. When the others, one by one, went up front to receive a tea candle nestled in what was surely a lobster butter cup, Mr. Todd joined the shuffling procession. Soon all the church lights went out, leaving only the Zion's star-twinkling masts, and the ring of candles held by the circle of people.
They sang Silent Night in German, as it had originally been composed. Some say an Austrian choir director had found himself late for service and been forced to improvise with his guitar. Mr. Todd could sympathize. Mr. Todd looked around the community of faces illuminated by the candles and listened to the sweet, familiar sounds. Maybe things did not really need as much fixing as he had thought.
On the way out, Mr. Todd wished little Lucy a Merry Christmas. He could see that the child was quite excited, and he wondered if she would sleep at all that night. The little girl looked up at him and confided that her mother had told her that Mr. Todd was not, after all, an angel.
"But that's alright," the child added, "I am sure you are a star."
Mr. Todd winced. "I'm afraid not," he said somewhat stiffly. Lucy's mother and the folks around all smiled. Mr. Todd realized they were not laughing at him. They all still wore the candlelight look. Maybe he had found a home port after all.
