Christmas Legacy

A Christmas Legacy

The shower has gone and the mirrorshine pavements
Are rainbowed with washes of Christmas Eve light,
That plays with the children, excitedly scudding
Past windows with promise of longed-for delight.
Shiny new bicycles, 'Barbies' and games,
Laughter in boxes,
And pantomime dame's, "Yes he will; no he won't"
Seems to echo their claims
On the chimney-pot caller tonight.

And everywhere pictures of strange-looking beasts,
With great scalloped horns, and a carriage in tow,
That didn't need wheels, it just slid through the white
Of something the Ancients referred to as 'snow'.
"That's the end of the tour, please press button A
On your virtual headsets - that's all for today."
But Jimmy was musing,
Faint cries in the air had rapt his attention and frozen his
stare
To the mouth of the alleyway, just over there.
What was that? Jimmy just had to know.

The class clustered round as Miss Pasternak checked
That their sunsuits and visors weren't damaged or torn,
But Jimmy crept backwards, to ages of shadows,
Cast into awareness before he was born.
And then, he was gone into time, into space,
A helmet of history dappling his face,
With images locked in a long-ago place,
Before the Great Warming had come.

The head-up display signalled, 'Commentary Only'
And Jimmy, in puzzlement, asked himself why,
When the cries of the street had been stifled in silence,
The alleyway sobbed with that sad sniffing cry.
Ever nearer, and louder, he hurried along,
Past the virtual shops; through the hologram throng,
Closer and closer, the cries growing strong,
With a fervour he could not deny.

"J-Jimmy, J-Jimmy, I knew you would come!"
Now he stood in the dark of the alleyway's throat,
And gazed, disbelieving, but quite unafraid,
On the beautiful child in her thick winter coat.
Her hair was of flax and her cheeks rosy red,
From the cold in the air and the tears she had shed.
"J-Jimmy R-Rebel!", she wistfully said,
In a strangely encouraging note.

"N-No-one believed it would happen so fast,
We k-kidded ourselves that it wasn't a crime.
I w-want to say, 'Sorry' for what we bequeathed,
In a tunnel of madness that stands for all time".
And Jimmy looked round at strange birds in the trees,
The skin of the children untouched by disease,
And snowflakes that hung in the breath of the breeze,
Proclaiming the earth in its prime.

And Jimmy just smiled - there was no need to speak,
No need for forgiveness for one so sincere,
Who'd conformed to survive in illusory freedom,
Now paid for with guilt and a half-deserved tear.
Too late, he turned back, for she'd melted away,
And the lights, and the shops, and the dark alleyway
Were no more ...
..."Come on, Jimmy, that's all for today,
I've been calling you - can you not hear?"

He put on his sunsuit, as if in a dream
And walked to the 'bus with the rest of the class
"I hope you've learned something", Miss Pasternak said,
"From what you have seen in the century past".
His mother stood up as they passed the school gate
Miss P. said, "I'm sorry you've had a long wait,
"It's Jimmy - again! He made us all late"
And those all-knowing glances were cast.

Back home, Mum said, "Grandad is coming for Christmas.
He's not been too good since your grandmother died.
Sometimes he talks to her - thinks she's still there",
But Jimmy was lost, with his eyes open wide,
In the photograph there, on the mantelpiece shelf,
With bridesmaids and page dressed like fairies and elf,
And right in the middle, was Grandad himself,
With his stammering, flaxen-haired bride.

Paul Styles