The Christmas Light of the Great White North

Somewhere in Canada, December 1975

PROLOGUE

Who's your real-life hero?

Who is the real-life man or woman you'd most like to be or to emulate? Millionaires, Royals, absolute dictators, film and singing stars, super-secret agents with a licence to kill and the Pope are not included...

Phil Danté's personal hero was John Goddard; the man who when he was fifteen years old wrote down a list of one hundred and twenty-seven goals he wanted to accomplish and went out and did them, though he didn't go to the Moon, nor did he appear in a Tarzan film. Phil didn't make out a list, but he aimed to accomplish several childhood dreams. Two of them were to live through a New England autumn Halloween and a winter White Christmas that were impossible in his native Australia.

Where else was there to go where a White Christmas was guaranteed but Canada? As a bonus, he was legally allowed to work there, courtesy of his British passport.

Phil loved considering himself British, for he felt like he was in a club with a lot of fascinating branches, united by and presided over by his Queen.

I

The American autumn had been wonderful, so far, the Canadian winter was miserable.

To play the Game of Life, most people must have paid employment. There were jobs you wanted to do and jobs you had to do. With the former you either loved the work or you loved the money. With the latter you put up with the work to get enough money to get you to a job that you really wanted to do. Phil wanted professional soldiering, but his mentor Major 'Hellfire Hugh' Williams and his Old Boy Network didn't have anything going after they finished their jungle bashing in Guatemala. The proceeds of that work paid for Phil's North American Odyssey.

His commercial investigation and retail experience in England led him to be currently employed from November until the end of the Christmas Season as a store detective and assistant loss prevention manager in a traditional department store in Ontario. It wasn't dissimilar to the Sydney department stores of his youth and the English department stores where he had trained to be a retail executive. That career went bung due to his attempting to prosecute the kleptomaniac son-in-law of one of the higher ups of the chain of stores he was employed by. His sacking led him to enter the world of mercenary soldiering that his Vietnam war service had groomed him for.

He felt an affinity with the misfits and otherwise unemployable characters who found economic survival with holiday work. They all had tales to tell and didn't take things too seriously. Such was Al the American, who he first met in the employee's tearoom.

'What do you usually do, Al?'

'I'm a hobo.'

'You're a bit better dressed than a tramp.'

'Hobo. Not tramp.'

'What's the difference?'

'A hobo travels around to work, a tramp travels around to not work. A bum doesn't travel around and doesn't work.'

'Every day's a new day of school with you, Al.'

Al's accent was not only different from the Canadians, but it was also louder. However, none of his other fellow employees seemed remotely interesting, unlike the eccentric English department store employees. The Canadians resembled seals waiting to be clubbed to death on an ice floe...Phil was far from the madding crowd...

Al's collection of stories were nearly all about himself. Phil believed Al didn't want a friend, he wanted an audience; for Al was a real-life Scheherazade. In contrast, Phil didn't like talking about himself. He felt awkward conversing with 'normal' people, those who didn't travel around the world legally shooting others. When once asked how he felt about killing people he truthfully responded that nine times out of then he'd rather legally shoot someone than have to listen to them. His questioner immediately remembered another place that they had to be...It was strange how he came alive when he was around death...

Al's tales of himself comprised three themes.

Pity Me Al was all about attempting to elicit sorrow, such as the death of his mother in his infancy before he knew her, though he had a stepmother from the age of 3, his leaving his wife, and other topics he could write hit country music songs about. Phil believed sympathy was in the dictionary between shit and syphilis and was like morphine; fine at the required time, but people could be addicted to it. He wondered if Al had his own Tragedy Dog who he'd reward with sour treats when he made pathetic facial expressions

There was F.U. Al, where he boasted of his drug use and promiscuity in a series of schools and communes whose primary product seemed to be gullible nymphomaniacs. He bragged of his flunking out of several expensive universities where his father and stepmother had paid a lot of tuition for his partying. He enjoyed goading the police, but he never related participating in any Police Quiz Shows where they used telephone books and soft kid leather gloves for behaviour modification schemes. His biggest F.U. was to his own country when the time came for him to do his army service. He refused and was welcomed with open arms in Canada, unlike a skilled migrant who had to prove he was qualified to be capable of being a self-supporting highly educated astronaut who could teach at university.

'Have you ever wondered who went to Vietnam in your place, Al?'

'Who cares?'

Like most Americans, he didn't know or care that other countries had sent their soldiers to Viet Nam, as Australia did with Phil.

The worst of Al was Super Self-Righteous Man, where the wild mannered Al transformed into a Bible quoting bore, for he used the Almighty to exalt and exonerate himself. The evangelical exhibitionist possessed a certificate that claimed he was an American ordained minister, something Phil believed he found inside a box of breakfast cereal.

If Phil queried whether his sanctimonious self-parable was hypocritical, he would revert to Pity Me Al. When F.U. Al's antics elicited a negative response from Phil, Al would turn into Super Self-Righteous Man without bothering to run to a phone box to change.

Al was his only companion; they found themselves thrust together because of their apparent similarities. Both were casual holiday workers, neither were born in the Great White North, they weren't alcoholics, nor were they teetotalers. Phil had travelled and worked his way around the world, Al had done the same in North America from Alaska to Mexico. Fortunately, Mr. Ego never asked Phil about himself. When Al wasn't around, he would chat up some of the others.

As the weather was miserable and he needed money, he didn't mind working a six-day week. On Saturday night he'd have a pizza and go to the cinema, that was anathema to Al as it was two hours in his life where he couldn't talk about himself. Sundays were laundry, a roast lunch and walks in the cold. He recalled those he knew back in Australia who said they couldn't survive more than one winter in the Blue Mountains, which never was colder than a Canadian Spring.

II

Though his store detective work mostly had him work on his own or with Mr. MacLeod the Loss Prevention Manager, he became a familiar sight to the other employees in the tearoom. They made small talk and passed the time.

One day it wasn't a strange thing that happened, it was just a strange perception. He walked into the tearoom with its usual crowd and suddenly there seemed to be only one person there. He walked up to the auburn-haired woman near his age as if she was the only person in the world; her eyes seemed to be both welcoming and curious at the same time. She wore a cloth hair band that made him think of seeing her on the ski slopes, or like him, she dressed a decade behind the times...Why did she look familiar? It suddenly came to him that she resembled Cousin Cathy from The Patty Duke Show.

'Beth...Beth Barnett. Would you like to join me, Phil?'

'You know my name?'

'Mary Ellen told me a lot about you. She said you always made her laugh.'

'I hope that's a good thing...'

Beth proved it was when she laughed, and her eyes lit up.

'I'm glad you think it is...I haven't seen Mary Ellen around lately, has she been crook?'

'No, she quit.'

'Did something happen?'

'That's the way of retail, Phil. A lot of people come here for a social life as much as a salary. When the day comes that they found they've told all their tales and heard all the gossip, they quit and start over at a different store doing the same type of work with a new audience.'

Phil was surprised, as in the stores he worked at in England, few ever left. They had a stronger feeling of companionship with their co-workers in an Are You Being Served? lifestyle.

'Why don't they have the courtesy to say goodbye?'

'That's part of the mystique about being a man or woman of mystery...someone who doesn't know whether they're coming or going.'

Phil hadn't laughed that loud in a very long time.

'You're very perceptive.'

'When you're a manageress you're also a Girl Guide Leader, an agony aunt, a psychoanalyst...'

He found himself blurting out what he was thinking,

'I wish I could be the same for you...You're quite surprising, Beth...'

'So are you. You say what's on your mind and you're the opposite of a snowbird.'

'A what?'

'Retired and wealthy Canadians who travel and stay somewhere in the sunshine to avoid the winter, but here you are...'

'Everything's bass-akward Down Under. I've always wanted to live through a White Christmas, and where else to go but...'

'You're not seeing much in a department store.'

'Oh, but I am. This is where people go for Christmas, especially all the lonely people who rock up on Christmas Eve for that last minute feeling a part of something.'

'You're very perceptive...I've wondered about you Christmas Casuals who come and go...'

Phil began softly singing the chorus of Cry of the Wild Goose...Beth joined him in the song in a winsome moment that seemed to transcend time and the winter...

'That was my father's favourite song...it always made me cry...Would you like to join my Mother and me for Sunday lunch at our home?'

Phil jumped in shock.

'I'd love too...'

III

Instead of his usual soliloquy, Al asked him a question in the tearoom.

'Have you decided what you're going to do when we finish?'

'Leave.'

'Have you got something arranged yet?'

'Not yet, but I'm working on it.'

'How would you like to join me?'

'Join you in what?'

'Riding in my van to Nova Scotia. There's room for two to sleep. You can be Bob Hope to my Bing Crosby.'

Phil thought being trapped in a van driving through the Great White North in winter with an egomaniac made Hell look appealing.

'And let you get all the girls?'

'We'll share everything.'

'Thanks Al, but when my time is done, I want to go somewhere warm.'

Al stuffed his giant sandwich in his mouth taking huge bites and loudly chewed with his mouth open. Phil watched in horror and asked,

'Is there anything else that you do doggie-style, Al?'

* * *

He had a lot of paperwork to do and by the time he completed it the store was closed. It was The After Hours...the episode of The Twilight Zone that he loved. He walked through the palatial store enjoying the silence and the memories...memories of old films set in department stores, memories of his mother when they dressed up to enter the world of dreams by riding a tram or a double-decker bus to shop, have lunch and see a film matinee, then being with Caroline, the Englishwoman he thought his true love and bride to be until both his love and his career as an Allenby's Department Store executive ended in painful disaster.

The clicking of high heels behind him shattered his reverie, he was rewarded with the smiling Beth Barnett approaching him...

'You're still here? I thought you'd be happy to leave as fast as you can!'

'Bumf makes the world go 'round...actually. I love traditional department stores, where everyone's dream comes true. I love it when people aren't around the most of all...it's a lovely world...'

'Don't tell me you're going to live here...'

His eyes were in the far beyond, she gave him a questioning expression.

'Many years ago I read a short story in an Alfred Hitchcock paperback. It was about a man who decided that he couldn't take the winter anymore, so he decided to live in a department store and sleep in the spaces between the bottom of the floor and the ceiling of the next floor. He found an entire community of people who were doing just that...'

'How did the story end?'

'Sadly...you seem incredulous...'

'No Phil, I...I don't want to insult you...But...'

'Let's talk about your butt...'

Fortunately, his spasm of schoolboy wit went over her well-mannered head.

'Again, I don't want you to think I'm insulting, but, when I think of Australians, I don't think of them reading books or being a dreamer like you. Surfing the waves, riding horses to the Never-Never, drinking and fighting in the pub, playing footie, yes.'

'I'm an Australian homosexual; I prefer women to sport.'

She loudly laughed,

'...and kangaroos of course.'

He held out his hands pointing downward with bent elbows and imitated Skippy the Bush Kangaroo's tch tch tch noise that made her laugh.

'What did you think of when you thought of Canada...if ever you did...'

'Mounties...'

'Don't you have policemen Down Under?'

'Not ones you can look up to...it wasn't only because the Mounties always got their man, it was the way they did it, noble...a strong sense of fair play, squared jawed, honest, slim and handsome and they only spoke when they had to, unlike the beer bellied corrupt yobboes we have who hold the world's record for using the word "mate" when they're taking bribes from crims.'

'That's odd, what you think about our Mounties is what I think about you! I thought you looked like a former policeman when I first saw you...were you?'

He instantly recalled that his Dad and Tatie, his Auntie, were close, but they were like chalk and cheese. The former provincial and always finding fault with him, the latter wildly international and always being his best friend and mentor. The one thing they did have in common besides being war veterans was their instructions to him that war stories were only to be told to other soldiers; never mention your military background to someone who wasn't ex-military. He hadn't.

She sensed there was something that he didn't want to talk about; she graciously changed the topic and gave an excited smile.

'I've heard Mr. MacLeod is quite fond of your helping him with the loss prevention work as well as all the shoplifters you've caught. The word is out that he likes your work so much he's going to offer you a permanent position!'

'"Fella says I´m gonna make a crackerjack clerk. Crackerjack..."'

They turned to see Al wheeling a trolley full of boxes; Phil recognised his impression of Steve McQueen in The Magnificent Seven. Al's voice changed into an impersonation of a Mexican peon,

'"We understand. You could get much more money in a grocery store, and it´s good, steady work."'

Beth's facial expression changed to Miss Barnett about to discipline an employee for unacceptable behaviour, in this case, eavesdropping on a private conversation. Phil beat her to the draw,

'Keep up the good work Al, and someday, some day you'll no longer be a stock boy...you just might become a stock man...'

Her laugh made Al slink away with his boxes.

'I do believe he's jealous, Phil...'

IV

His anxiously awaited Sunday had come at last.

Employees dating each other was frowned upon; Beth came alive acting like Mata Hari on a secret mission. Phil worried about employee gossip fueled by Al's logorrhea, that he defined to Beth as constipation of the brain accompanied by diarrhea of the mouth.

As with Caroline and her family, Phil would spend the day with Beth and her mother. First was attending Mass, then it was home for tea. They all seemed to like each other and each one held their own in a witty and informative conversation. To Phil's delight Mrs. Barnett cheerfully said,

'Why don't you two go out and play in the park whilst I prepare lunch?'

They visited the Winter Wonderland of the Park where he viewed the colorfully but strangely attired Canadians. He recalled Al's comment that the most obvious way to differentiate between Americans and Canadians was how the latter dressed in the wintertime.

'We've only two seasons in Canada; Winter and July...Have you ever seen snow before?'

'Never...my sister used to go on ski trips to Threadbo and Perisher and fly to Queenstown in the Southern Alps...but my parents didn't want me going.'

'What do you think of snow?'

Phil unsuccessfully tried to make a snowball, Beth laughed,

'It's too cold for the snow to pack, so we can't have a snowball fight or build a snowman or a snow fort.'

'Those are the things I wanted to do!'

‘Like in The Bishop’s Wife?’

‘Exactly, Beth. I love that film!’

They sat on a bench where he told her his childhood snow memories of watching old black and white Hollywood movies with winter scenes shot on indoor sets. She not only understood and enjoyed his reminisces, but she had seen many of the same films. She told him he reminded her of Robert Mitchum in Holiday Affair, another Christmas casual worker whose life changed when he met commercial investigator Janet Leigh in his department store.

'How's the White Christmas coming along? Don't you think it's bleak?'

'I love the lights...that's what makes it all come alive...you people really are eager beavers for Christmas decorations!'

'I think beavers are the symbol of Canadians. Not just because we're hard workers, but we mate for life...we build our dams and live in them together without any regard to the outside world.'

He found himself speaking before thinking again,

'You're like the Christmas lights in the bleak winter; when I saw you in the tearoom, you we're the only one who was alive, and I felt myself drawn towards you...'

The pair kissed each other passionately.

'Now, let me show you what winter is all about when you can't pack snow!'

Beth had brought her toboggan. She steered down the snow-covered hillside as Phil hung onto her in thrills and excitement. They rented ice skates, and he eventually was able to stand by himself.

He was having the time of his life, his dreams were coming true, and he was with a truly wonderful woman.

The pair settled down with hot chocolate in a warming room.

'How did your Alfred Hitchcock story end? The one you were telling me about in The After Hours.'

Like him, she could continue an old, interrupted conversation as if it had just happened,

'He was getting on famously with the others then he met and fell in love with one of the young girls who had never known any other life but living clandest...secretly in the hidden alcoves of the store. Spring was coming and he felt the desire to leave, but not alone...he showed his girlfriend her first sunset on the roof before they went to sleep, and she wanted to join him...'

'Did she?'

'The others suspected what they were up to, and like the IRA, the rule was once in, never out. They had heaps of creeps who'd embalm those in the colony who died and turned them into shop mannequins. When they made their break for it, they ganged up on the pair of them and turned them into mannequins...they were together ever after...just not living or happily...'

She gasped,

'It's time we went home for lunch.'

V

'The Canadians must have invented the strip tease...'

He slowly removed his layers of clothing ending up in his grey tweed suit he attended church in.

Mrs. Barnett had set a wonderful table; like Caroline's family they had the traditional Roast Beef of Old England with Yorkshire Pudding, mash and three veg.

'Would you like a beer, Mr. Danté?'

'Yes Ma'am.'

'May I pour?'

Beth stood over him, he was as transfixed as when he first spoke to her. No one outside a pub had ever poured him a beer before, except his father doling out a small portion in his youth. He watched in fascination as she served him.

'You must've been an air hostess...'

'I used to do it for my father.'

All seemed touched, even though Phil could only imagine the scene.

'You're French aren't you...we don't like Frenchies much here.'

'Mother!!!'

'No one does, Mrs. Barnett. God made us just to prove that he has a sense of humour.'

Beth giggled, her mother seemed disappointed, as if she wanted an angry reaction.

Mrs. Barnett's next question was more unexpected.

'Are you related to Jean Danté?'

'Guilty as charged...she's my sister...how did you...'

'It's not all that common a surname in Australia, is it? Your family must be very proud of her...'

'She's the pick of the litter.'

'But you're the one they kept', smiled Beth.

'I'm the one they threw away.'

She shrieked in laughter; her mother gravely nodded her head.

They continued their meal and their small talk about tennis over coffee and sticky date pudding.

Mum went off on a new tangent,

'You were a soldier, weren't you? My husband was in the war...he was captured at Dieppe...you have similar eyes...he left the war, but the war never left him...'

'He must have been very happy living here...I'm sure you knew how to handle him, with TLC.'

'I knew him before the war, but I never knew him after the war...not really...'

Phil believed her husband thought the same about his wife.

'It's not only ladies who have a sense of mystery...'

'It was always on his mind, but he never talked about it.'

'You've got to give him a few beers first. There's not much to say about a prisoner of war camp...all you do is get bullied, fed a lot of rubbish and be miserable...like school...'

'Did you enjoy the war, Mr. Danté?'

'Please, Mr. Danté's my Dad...call me Phil...'

Beth took up the questioning.

'Did you, Phil?'

'It beats working...'

None of the ladies laughed.

'Where are you going after your work here finishes, Mr. Danté?'

'I'm still working on it...I learned how to do the dishes in the army; may I have a go after lunch?' He smiled at Beth, 'I'm pretty good at taking orders too.'

Mrs. Barnett replied,

'And giving them, no doubt.'

'Beth outranks me.'

Mrs. Barnett rose and gave Phil the wedding photograph that had been on the wall.

Beneath his battledress, Beth's father looked wide-eyed and gaunt. Phil visualised him performing his husbandly duties like a drone with his wife transferring all her affection to their child, leaving him emotionally alone and slaving away in a job he hated to pay for their life together. The resemblance between Beth and her younger mother was apparent...The latter had a smile on her face in the portrait as if she had scored her first hunting trophy, which she had. She was the light her husband had reached out to so long ago...Her husband looked like the epitome of Thoreau's quote 'most men lead a life of quiet desperation'. Phil reflected that nothing prepared a man better for marriage then a few years in a Nazi POW camp...

Beth began to softly cry...

'Say Beth, why don't we make like the Three Bears and go out for a walk?'

* * *

'She always destroys my relationships...'

'That's how parents get their kicks. She's not going to get me down...Was your father really unpleasant? Mine's not a barrel of laughs...but when I laughed, he'd really get mad.'

'I believe she destroyed him...she tells everyone he destroyed himself.'

'It's all the same in the end, isn't it?'

'She has her own bag of tricks...'

Phil sang the Felix the Cat song; she laughed and joined him in singing.

VI

On the Monday he received a telegram,

RING UNCLE HUGH ASAP

Phil rang the London telephone number.

'Happy Christmas, Danny Boy.'

'Happy Christmas to you too, sir.'

'Didn't you once say you wanted to go big game hunting on the Dark Continent?'

Two-legged game...

'Yes, sir.'

'It's safari time! Why don't you fly to London in January and join me. We'll transmit funds to your account for your plane ticket.'

* * *

It was half past December; the doomed pair hadn't many Sundays left.

He sensed the Barnetts had a truce; Mumsy would hold her tongue as he would soon be gone...Beth joined him in his Saturday night pizza and cinema, Mrs. Barnett refused to go, but she invited him to stay with them on Christmas Eve after work.

'You were a soldier...you travel light.'

'In winter you wear everything Mrs. Barnett. If I was sleeping outside, I'd cut four holes in my sleeping bag and wear that. All I need is an iron.'

'My husband always ironed his clothes...'

She wore a pensive expression…

'Thank you very much for having me over.'

He gave her mother a gift, she unwrapped it to find a pair of dress gloves.

'This way you won't leave any fingerprints.'

To his relief, Mrs. Barnett laughed.

He presented Beth with a red plaid Scottish tam-o-shanter and matching scarf.

'Thank you, Phil! This is just like the beret I wore with my marching girl uniform! I love it and I love you!'

They embraced each other.

'I'm sorry I couldn't find your family tartan.'

'That's all right, tomorrow you'll get blood initiation into our clan...'

Beth presented him with a paperback book of Canadian history and a little black address book with her name and details on every page; her mother gave him a garish Christmas tie. Mrs. Barnett didn't understand the pair's jokes about Robert Mitchum and a bum in a park...

After a lovely Christmas Eve dinner and singing Christmas carols together, with Phil especially revelling in White Christmas, the three of them attended Midnight Mass together. Beth would sleep with her mother; he slept in Beth's bed.

She tucked him in.

'Bear or bunny?'

'Bunny please.'

She took off the rabbit’s spectacles and gave the bunny to him.

'Mr. Bunny Rabbit, this is Phil.'

'Do we get a story as well?'

He nodded Mr. Bunny Rabbit's head.

'A story?...Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who fell in love with her court jester, but he didn't know it. One day he bravely saved the Princess's life, and her father the King proclaimed, "Name your wish, Jester. Declare what you most want, and I shall grant your wish!" The Jester replied that he wanted to be a knight and travel the world on a Quest. The Princess was very sad...The Jester travelled far and wide where he charmed dragons and made his Kingdom's enemies laugh until one day, he found himself right back where he started from. He told his King, "I didn't find what I was looking for because I didn't know what it was; I'm still a Fool and now it's too late." The still beautiful Princess said, "I'm what you were looking for, and it's never too late." They married and lived happily ever after.'

'Then the Queen crowned him. Get to bed, Princess!'

'Yes Mum', both replied.

She kissed Phil and his Bunny on their foreheads.

Christmas afternoon found him at Mrs. Barnett's extended Celtic family party that like Australia involved fine food, loud arguments and mass amounts of alcohol that fueled the flames of long-standing grudges. They gathered around the television to respectfully watch their Queen's Christmas Day Message at 3 o'clock, then resumed their activities after She-who-must-be-obeyed finished. Phil and Beth were stared at for their constant laughter, for he found the sound of inebriated Canadians amusing, like cartoon characters. He recalled watching telly in his home when The Invisible Man found himself in a situation beyond his control and when no longer smug, he spazzed out in panic and a Canadian accent.

As always, Phil went to club soda water after two lagers. An unpleasantly tipsy Mrs. Barnett sat next to him,

'You're exactly like my husband. You just sit and stare and you can't wait to go home.'

'He knew where he was happiest.'

She sobbed hysterically in his arms...

* * *

Boxing Day found Mother Barnett under the weather; no doubt hung over. Phil and Beth had another splendid winter's day in the park.

In the evening he went into the cold deep white with a bag of coins to a pay telephone to ring his family at their Christmas Day lunch. Absence did make the heart grow fonder, and he no longer felt awkward as he usually did with them on Christmas. As always, his future was the elephant in the room no one dared speak of.

All the females were fascinated by his Christmas with Beth Barnett and were loudly disappointed that she wasn't with him so they could talk to her.

'It's about time someone made a man out of you!', his sister Jean laughed.

His mother made him promise not to embarrass Beth or her mother.

The conversation closed with his Auntie saying,

'We're all drama queens today', then Tatie began to cry that set off his mother and sister.

His angry father shouted,

'Now you've got all the women crying! Stop wasting your money and get off the line, you bloody galah!'

'I love you too, Dad.'

It was the pause heard around the world.

'......I'll always love you, son...just don't act so stupid!', then his voice began to break, 'Bonne chance et joyeux noel mon beau fils.'

He loudly rang off, Phil was glad that Beth couldn't see him now...The French, They Are a Funny Race...

VII

He joked that there was no such thing as a Julian calendar, the Orthodox merely wanted bargains as much as gifts. The fury of the after Christmas Sales was exactly like the female riots in Norman Wisdom's Trouble in Store.

Then it was time for the Christmas casuals to fly away...

Canadians may not have had a monopoly on courtesy, but they certainly did it best.

Their final tea party was truly touching. As the casuals entered the large function room, the store's choir including Beth were there singing I'm So Glad We Had This Time Together from The Carol Burnett Show; everyone sang along.

Despite his life of frequent and mostly unexpected departures he had never had a going away party except from his family. In England he'd been given The Bum's Rush, in the military a goodbye was merely an excuse for the alkies to get pissed. Though the store’s regulars must have gone through the same party every year as one of their rituals, they acted like they were losing family.

Al introduced his new audience, Bernie, the young Yorkshire casual he'd be driving to Nova Scotia with.

Beth presented Phil with a small beautifully gift-wrapped box, with a fragrant sprig. He sniffed the aroma,

'Are we having lamb for dinner?'

'That's Rosemary...for Remembrance...', she hauntingly sang the modified John Leyton song, 'Phillllip...Reeeememmmberrr Meeeeee...'

He was reminded of Rod Taylor proving his adventures in The Time Machine by bringing back a flower...

'Where on Earth did you...',

'Being with you always seems to be never asking questions, so...'

They embraced and everyone turned to look at them.

'Open it!'

'A Britains Mountie!!!'

Everyone laughed and were just as pleased as Phil was.

'I've never had the nerve to tell you, but I still have all my Britains Guardsmen from when I was a boy!'

'You still are, Phil...'

He wistfully looked at the resolute Mountie figurine holding a lance atop his horse,

'Someone's missing...where's Nell Fenwick? A Mountie's not a Mountie unless he has a darling damsel-in-distress he can sing to!'

'I'll always be your Nell Fenwick; sadly, the Royal Canadian Girlies don't always get their man...'

They held each other tightly.

'I'm Dudley Do Nothing...'

'No, you're not! You came to the rescue of both of us! Mum said you gave us the best Christmas since Dad died. The old dragon loves you, but don't ever tell her I told you that...she has a reputation to uphold...'

EPILOGUE

Toronto International Airport January 1976

Her Miss Moneypenny efficiency had found him the most economical air fare.

She drove him to the airport to see him off to London.

'Saint George never made the dragon laugh or cry, but no one could take Snidely Whiplash as their mother-in-law.'

'Could you take the Queen and Grumblestiltskin as your in-laws?'

'I'd be there to hold your hand when they gang up against you. I'll always be in your corner, Phil, no matter where it is. I imagine you can't tell me where you're going after London..."classified", no doubt...'

'That's life amongst the Wild Geese...may I please write to you, Nell?'

‘Why do you think I gave you your one and only address book? I’m not giving up on someday doing the thinking for both of us.’

She kissed him, then nodded and embraced him.

‘You’re just the one to do it, Beth…’

He suddenly remembered the stories his Dad told him of men who once prided themselves on being lone wolves one day finding themselves unable to make any decision by themselves…

'Mum says a soldier without a war is a horrible thing because when he doesn't have a war to fight, he goes to war against himself...'

'You don't need a war with your Mum around...what do you say?'

He found himself captivated by her eyes again as she softly but determinedly spoke,

'”If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it's yours. If it doesn’t, it never was."’

'Leave your light on for me...'

The pair sang the refrain from The Cry of the Wild Goose...

FIN

Author Notes: Happy Christmas everyone! Thank you so much for your support and making my literary dreams come true!

Recommend Write a ReviewReport