Chapter 36
‘Where the hell is Tim?’ said Roo with not a little impatience. They were all gathered in the lounge, ready for the talent competition. Tim had told them he wouldn’t be long and he’d been ages.
Vincent was just about to go and hunt him down when they heard the crash of a door as if an elephant was barging through the train.
‘I think he’s on his way,’ said Elizabeth, cupping her hand around her ear.
‘HO HO HO.’
Tim burst into the carriage in full Santa regalia, carrying a black sack over his shoulder.
He looked enormous, taller, wider as if he had swelled into his costume, which was perfect, from the big stompy fur-trimmed boots to the heavy black belt with the polished brass buckle, to the tip-tilted hat with the pom-pom.
‘My goodness, Tim, you really are him.’ Jane’s jaw dropped.
She’d taken the children to see a lovely Santa once in a nearby mansion with flush-red cheeks and a thick white beard that he’d encouraged the boys to pull.
He bellowed with laughter at their surprised faces when they did and found it attached.
But Tim made even him pale into insignificance. He looked more real than the real deal.
‘Right, Santa, park your red bum please and we will begin,’ said Roo, stealing another look at him.
The sight, or even the mention, of Santa usually stirred all sorts of sad things up inside her but here, now, he was part of the bonkers context, an integral part of their group, and she smiled at him.
It must have been lovely for Fleur to have such a daddy.
You didn’t have to see someone every day for them to know they loved you. She hoped she’d got that across to him.
Roo clicked into duty mode, consulted the pad in her hand with her notes on it and opened her arms wide to signify the show was about to start.
‘I bid you welcome to the Yorkshire Belle grand talent show.’ Everyone clapped. ‘I have a carefully chosen running order. So first, I think we should kick off with a bang. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Santa Tim.’
Another round of applause. Tim got to his feet and reached in his black sack, pulling out his own notepad.
‘I’m glad you put me first, Roo, because not only would I like to set a most excellent standard but also I’ll round things off at the end if no one minds with another slot because, you see, I have so many talents I didn’t know which one to pick. Anyway, moving swiftly on…’
He took a pair of half-moon gold spectacles from his pocket and popped them on before opening his book.
‘A History of Bells by Tim Grant. I found a very fascinating book in the library on board and I thought I’d share what I learned, starting with the fact that all the carriages on this train are named after bells.
So from the back of the train: Maria Gloriosa, cast in 1497, is considered the most beautiful bell in Europe.
A huge bell it is too, standing two metres tall.
Or, to put it in perspective, the height of four Roos. ’
‘Oh, very funny, Santa,’ said Roo, though she liked this playful jolly Tim and she was rather proud she’d helped to winkle him out of his unhappy shell.
‘Then we come to the Lutine bell which hangs in an insurance institution in London as a symbol of their honourable business practices.’
‘Insurance and honourable in the same sentence?’ Frank bellowed but he was rightly shushed by the others.
‘ “Old Tom” is not named after Mr Ingleton’s cat as some thought,’ Tim continued.
‘It was the forerunner to Big Ben in Westminster. And I’m sure we’ve all heard of the Liberty Bell, which is the symbol of American independence.
It was made by a British firm, shipped over but it cracked when it was first rung. ’
‘Like Vince then, he’s a cracked bell.’ Roo grinned and Vincent narrowed his eyes at her.
‘I’ll come back to “Uglich”, because I want to leave on a high,’ said Tim then, slightly worried his bell info wasn’t as fascinating to the others as he’d found it to be.
He’d edited his speech down substantially, too, as the stories behind the bells were so interesting, if somewhat heavy on detail.
‘ “Sigismund”. Named after the king of Poland, and at thirteen tonnes needs twelve bell-ringers to swing it. Or two Franks.’
Frank crunched up his arms to show off his biceps.
‘The Mingun bell, at ninety tonnes, was once the biggest bell in the world. And it doesn’t have a clapper but is struck.
And you’ll find it in what used to be Burma.
The Yongle bell is now in a bell museum in Beijing but it was cast in the Ming dynasty and named after the emperor Yongle, the ruler who built the Forbidden City. ’
‘Yongle is right up there with Ewerin as a name,’ said Vincent to Roo. ‘Ruby Yongle also sounds like something you’d go to the docs with.’
‘I hate to tell you all that the name is correctly pronounced Yong-luh. It doesn’t rhyme with dongle,’ said Jane with a chortle.
‘Bugger, that’s knackered my joke then. Anyway, carry on, Tim.’
‘Pummerin is in Vienna. The great Dhammazedi was believed to be the biggest bell ever cast, weighing as heavy as twenty-five double decker buses. It was stolen to melt down and make cannons, put on a raft across a Burmese river… and I bet you can’t guess what happened next.’
Tim waited, Vincent delivered. ‘They dropped a clanger?’
‘Oh, very good, Vince.’ Frank gave him a round of applause for that.
‘I want to hear about “Uglich”,’ said Grace.
Tim grinned. He wanted to tell them about it, though they’d think he’d been at the cooking sherry.
‘Let me take you all back to sixteenth-century Russia. Ivan the Terrible dies, leaving behind two sons, neither of which are suitable to rule in Daddy’s footsteps.
One liked praying and the other was only three.
So Ivan was forced to appoint a man called Boris Godunov as regent to the older son and the baby and his mother were exiled to…
Uglich. When the boy was eight, he was found dead with his throat slit.
Was there skullduggery afoot?’ Tim was relishing telling this; he’d been excited about this part of his speech, knowing it would wake them all up if he’d sent them into a coma.
‘The boy’s supporters rallied and summoned an uprising by ringing…
the great bell of Uglich. Godunov squashed it but he was furious… at the bell.
‘Now, bells, in the Russian Orthodox faith, were believed to have souls. And since only the living can have souls, a bell was considered human. They thought of them as prominent members of society. They gave them human names. So Godunov decided to punish the bell for having the nerve to call rebels to arms. He had it dragged into the city square where a blacksmith ripped out its tongue – by which I mean the clapper. He had the ears cut off – the part on the top where the bell was hung from – and then he had it flogged.’ He added with relish: ‘To death.’
‘No way,’ said Vincent.
‘Yes way. Then he exiled it to Siberia. All the rioters who hadn’t been executed had to carry it there, fourteen hundred miles – it took them a year. Three hundred years later the bell was pardoned and it was brought home, where you’ll find it today.’
Jane turned to Henry. ‘If even bells can be pardoned, then that must bring you hope.’
‘Why are trains sometimes called ‘belle’ then, like this one, Tim?’ asked Grace. ‘Northern Belle, Brighton Belle, Bournemouth Belle. I mean, I know it’s spelt differently, but is there a connection?’
‘Because it comes from the notion they are beautiful, classy. But the word serves a double purpose because we associate the sound of bells with trains, different spelling of course but same pronunciation. The old steam locomotives relied heavily on bells as signals. Part of their code system, if you like. Trains and bells, a beautiful partnership. And that concludes my lecture.’ And he bowed and they gave him a hearty clap.
‘Tim, that was brilliant,’ said Roo, taking his place in front to do her compere bit. ‘You’ve set the bar high, but I’m sure our next contestant will limbo under it very well to a great depth. Everyone – I give you… Vincent.’
Vincent stood up with a piece of paper shivering in his hand, telling of his nerves.
‘Right, be kind,’ he said, ‘I love a good joke me and so I thought that I would treat you to some jokes what I’ve made up. So… Christmas jokes, by Vincent Diamond. Feel free to chuck tomatoes if you so wish but preferably ones that come attached to the top of a pizza.’ He read out the first one.
‘What do you call five snowwomen who form a pop group?’
He looked up to see if anyone could guess. No one could.
‘The Ice Girls.’
He was rewarded with laughing groans.
‘What happened to Santa when he was naughty at school? He got candy-caned.’
More groans.
‘I started off with my best ones,’ Vincent said, mock-affronted.
He certainly did that. But he made everyone chuckle and he went back to his seat with applause that was every bit as warm as the response to Tim’s act.
‘Thank you, Vincent,’ said Roo, taking her place in front of them all at the end.
‘Now it’s my turn. I thought I’d give you all an example of my poetical leanings and you can judge for yourself if I should be on a stage.
So, I have written about what a pensioner might want for Christmas.
Jane, please do not hate me.’ She cleared her throat and began.
‘The things I want for Christmas
Have changed with every year
I used to want some jewellery
Posh shoes, designer gear
But as I’ve aged the things I wanted most
I don’t no more
I’m not interested in Jimmy Choos
Chanel, La Croix, Dior
All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth
Once that would have made me content
Now I need a full set of the bleeders
With extra Fixodent
Santa, take my crows’ feet
Whip away my wrinkles please
Let me wake up with a navel
That isn’t level with my knees
Can you take some of this cellulite
And turn it back to muscle