Short Story: Christmas On The Bell

Short Story: Christmas On The Bell

This piece has not been edited by the ShortbreadStories team.

Wild winds churned up the turbulent waters battering the 100 foot tower with foaming salty spray but the constant flashing lamp was unaffected by the storm lashing the Scottish east coast.

Eleven miles off shore from the fishing town of Arbroath, two of the three men on the century old Bell Rock Lighthouse were settled across the small wooden table which claimed most of the cramped living space. Before them were the few final pieces of a challenging chess game sitting on their checkered board. While herelithis pipe, the older bearded man, who had just descended from the lantern room, sought to delay his obvious defeat. His opponent, Rob Skelly smiled smugly.

Behind Jim Donald, head keeper on this shift, Davie Burns reluctantly rose from his bunk with his precious bundle of letters once more replaced in their tin box. Nelly, his dearest love, was Jim's only daughter. The wedding plans were well under way and her joy was overflowing from every page. She had such a happy way with words, to stir a man's heart, he thought and he knew that he had found someone special. Sighing and wishing he could change places with the third man, Rob Skelly, who had been due to return to the mainland three days ago, the younger man took his turn and climbed the stairs to the lamp. Rob was getting slightly restless waiting until the weather calmed. This ferocious mid winter storm could perhaps extend his six weeks duty for another few days, but once it settled down the supply boat would bring his replacement and news from the families along with their Christmas treats.

Two days later the conditions had improved and the necessary supplies, mainly fuel and food, were being loaded on to the boat.

In her kitchen Nelly filled a stout canvas sack with the gifts from the family. Thick knitted socks from Granny, a new clay pipe and the sweet smelling tobacco Pa liked. A new style ofwoollenhat for Davie, copied from those worn by the whalers from Dundee, sailing the north Atlantic. Double thickness, it came over his entire head and covered the face, with a narrow slit across the eyes because he always complained of the whipping wind giving him earache. The last hat she knitted had been lost when a vicious gust had blown it from his hand just before he had time to replace it on his head after his turn topping up the oil for the lamp.'A bit of a breeze' he had called the force 9 gale. These canny men tended to understate, usually minimising their stressful conditions. Also, along with a tin of treacle toffees and a big cloutie dumpling, she had managed to buy, from herwedding fund, a small bottle ofwhiskyso the lads could have a wee nip on Hogmany to see in the New Year of 1911.

'Willie, are you there?' Nelly knocked once more at the cottage door and again called, but this time louder. 'WILLIE!' She had been expecting theneighbourto pop in to see her on his way to the boat. He had promised to deliver her letter and pick up the Christmas gifts.

There was no answer so she ventured through the low doorway.

'Have you left without saying a word? Tach.' She voiced with exasperation to the seemingly empty dark kitchen, before she saw the man lying on the rug by the neglected fireside in an unconscious stupor. Horrified, Nelly tried to revive him with a violent shake but it was no use. The skinny little lighthouse keeper was oblivious to all. Totally snorting, snoring drunk. Since his wife died last summer he had simply gone to pieces. She dragged him on to his bed and draped a blanket over his limp form.

'Poor lonely old sot. How are we going to get you to the harbour in this state to start your shift?' she muttered. Willie would lose his job and if there was no one to replace him on this trip, and Rob would not be happy delaying his departure yet again. She shook her head slowly in dismay and an idea drifted in... Instantly the hardy fishwife made up her mind.

Dropping her shawl and slipping off her apron and long striped skirts, she pulled on a spare pair of heavy trousers she found hanging behind the door. Two chunky knitted jersey tops under the waterproof jacket padded out her shoulders. The big boots were filled with extra socks and she covered her face with the Balaclava hat she had made for Davie, cramming a sou'wester on top with the brim turned down against the rain and wind. At the last minute she turned and picked a piece of charcoal from the fireplace then scribbled across the front of the old newspaper lying on the table in large black letters:

WILLIE WHEN YOU ARE SOBER FEED MY CATS

AND TELL GRANNY

NELL IS ON THE BELL

With the sack tossed over her shoulder she staggered down to theharbourand saw the crew making impatient signals to the person they thought was Willie, late again.

Nelly clambered on board to settle, hunched, listening, without response, to the reprimanding tirade from the boatmen. They were used to Willie's tardiness, and to his drinking, but this would be his last warning. Perhaps he didn't care about losing his pension now that he had lost his Jeanie.

Reaching the lighthouse, Nelly helped unload the supplies muttering and grumbling as she had heard old Willie do so often and quickly climbed the ladder. She had been there before on short visiting trips with her father years before, so the layout was familiar. Soon she was in the toilet area pretending to be sick and hiding from the others. She heard the 'Goodbye' from Rob eager to leave with the returning boat before the tide changed and soon felt safe enough to venture out.

Pulling off the heavy disguise, the one and only ever woman lighthouse keeper grinned at the astounded faces of her father and husband to be.

' Davie, Dearest, I think we are going to have a very Happy Christmas.'