EIN KRANZ FOR CHRISTMAS

Evening Post, Issue 149, 20 December 1935, Page 14

EIN KRANZ FOR CHRISTMAS

iiTT 111 KRANZ!" cried Carla, opening her JJi wjde Teutonic mouth with the perfect but slightly prominent teeth and bringing it together again in the thin pencil line of postivcness. "It is all nothing—this Christmas of yours! That is that what is!"—which utterance was surely a tribute to my one month's lesson in English. "You poor little whippet, you're homesick," I said. "A wreath? Of course we shall have a wreath, and you shall show me how to make it." "But you are true?" cried Carla, her blue eyes radiant as stars. "Now—l beg your pardon—but I must lofiE you!" Arid she flung her long arms about me with the wildness of a schoolgirl. llf nn *'** Carla is twenty-two. She lives with us "au pair." We are absurdly poor, but she insists. It is because Michael caught her unawares—naked and delicious Jn the Park. She thrust her aunt forward as interpreter- and asked, simply, if she might live with us. But now it is Christmas. At home in "Hahnoffer" they have hung a Kranz and lit a candle for each Sunday in Advent. Little Kata will have placed the bunches of Christmas Bush over the doorways and above the portraits of "Mem Onkel" and "Tante Paula," and Lisa with the splendid thighs and the large fine hands will have placed the little shrine with the candle behind so that the soft glowing face of the Virgin shines down upon the sleeping Babe and the-Wise Men kneel in a pool of light. O Jesulein zart, 0 Jesulein zart, ' Das Kripplein ist hart, • Wie liegst dv so liart. • ' Der Seraphim singt, Untt Cherubim klingt, Viel Engel im Stall, ;. DieWiegendichall. Ach schlaf, ach thu die Aunglein zu, , Schlaf, und gieb uns die ewige Ruh. Now, at home in "Hahnoffer" they have prepared their little gifts. The tiny tree stands waiting for the moment when all shall gather round and "die Grossmutter" lights the last candle on the Kranz. ■ " . • I look at Fergus across the dwindling firelight. He raises his brows and makes a little popping sound with his pipe. I have lived with him for three years and I know his language. "We've no money for nonsense, you two—go steady." But I pull her ear down to me and whisper, You shall have your Kranz. Tomorrow, mem

By . Alison Grant r Kind, tomorrow very early «we shall go in th» dark. You -must wake me." , Her eyes dance. At the door she nods mysteriously. "Schlafen sic gut, Herr Robinson," she says, and to me, "Ich liebe dich, gnadige Frau!" Dawn is still three hours away when we'creep out of the house next morning.- Small Michael sleeps with an arm flung up out of. his nest. He does not even sigh as I lift it. Fergus is still buried in bedclothes. We take hands and run lightly along the frozen streets. Our i breath streams like a cloud. We laugh as we run: In all the world we have only five shillings. : : "Listen; child," I say to her, "I have thought what we will do. We will make riot one but many. Not for ourselves only, but for others. Why not? ■ You are not the only Madchen who is "homesick in London this- day!'.' • - '■' ■'■■'■>- s-■-'■' J ' /: We are roh; the escalator.''She'turns 'ahi'gives me a resounding kiss that leaves my.r cheek stinging. / ■ ■ \ ■; ■■■ ■ Covent Garden is. full of rollicking life. Venders, merchants," street-sellers jostle and leap. and. run. The air is full of strange cries, the. reek of. freshlytrodden vegetables, the warm fragrance of fruit, the drifting scent of flowers. Towers of cabbages, walls of oranges, of melons, Of pomegranates, field -after field of roses, daffodils,: hyacinths. ■ The meadows of France, the hills of Spain, the open valleys of the Scilly Isles. - , Carla clutches my arm. "The Christmas-Bush," she whispers. We traverse the length" and- the breadth of this glowing world. At last.we find it -HDne stall, one little room, withjOnly this. For sixpence our arms are loaded, .our faces are lost, our eyes peer like cats' between the little twigs. We board a bus. An enormous woman is.buried in mimosa. She nods across at me. ' "Ain't no sale for that stuff,. dearie—this 'ere's wot they likes—a bit o' colour wiv a smell to it.". -~'.' : A grocery store for barrel rungs. Wool worths for wire, for' ribbon, and .red cartdles. But now, home in the first streaks of dawn. The monkeys are chattering in the London ZOo: A "watery- sun slants low on Primrose Hill, the trees, dimpenciled on the misted .green. ' Fergus has few words over the coffee. Michael crows with delight. The hearth is soon a forest of boughs, a labyrinth of ribbon and candle-ends. The floor is a wired entanglement. All day we work, feverishly, our fingers scarred and aching. At last—at last they are ready. Three dozen Kranze, full generous wreaths of the dark green Bush, ribboned and looped and candled. It is a delicious, an absurd gamble. Who wants Kranze! .We entreat just five shillings more from .Fergus,^ whose grace is by this time almost imperceptible, and calling a taxi mount our goods in pyramids and climb in between them. At Harrod's I proceed alone, as is arranged. The world—-and many other worlds—-is here. Past the Bank and the Beef and the Baby-linen I go with my solitary Kranz—past the Brassieres and the Beauty Specialists and' the Bird-fanciers—to the Manager of "Toys and Fancy Goods." "You see," I answer him, "Hitler has ejected the Jews —they are all homesick.? He looks dubious. It is for Carla now to approach. She does not glance at me, but when she sees the Kranz she stops short, claps her hands, and flashes her starry eyes upon the Manager. "Ah, but you have the Kranz! How gut—how clever you English! What is the price? ' Seven and sixpence? But that is nothing! My vriends—l must tell my vriends—how gut—how it is wonderful!" * ~ . Through all this I remain grave, humble, obediently waiting. He turns to me and-"murmurs, "You have them with you? How many? Three dozen? At, say,* four and sixpence—eight pounds two. Fetch'eni up." O lifts descending, what aeons pass under you! But at last there we are—l,-the taximan, and a boy—trying hard not to look like a procession . . . past the Beef, the Baby-linen, and the Bird-fancier. . . And again descending with a cheque scratching the skin of my chest; Outside Carla'is waiting. I show her the cheque. We clasp the taximan and the small lean boy and- dance them down the thronging ways of Knightsbridge. On the way home.we'buy a Christmas tree for Fergus. We gather the gay scraps together and make him a Kranz—a meagre, wry-setting "• one with bits of string and odd-matched candle-ends. We swing it over the hearth beside Carlo's and -challenge him to: criticise. "A Scotch Kranz. a Kranz for Herr Robinson!" shrills Carla. "A Kranz and a kiss—a Scotch kiss! I think I must kill you," she cries. "I am so happy. A Kranz—a Kranz for Christmas!"