Christmas Resurrection

Christmas Resurrection

Bruno Roggen

Almost every year, tractors still drive half-rotten beams and slabs of clay that have been whitewashed out of the ground. This happens in the fields between the former domain of the Baron of Skeelan and what is now the Main Road between Hazelstead and Daiste. Not very long ago, a Boarmarsh hamlet was located there. It was called Laurath, apparently because it was a place where there were shrubs of bay leaves. That culinary herb was common at Laurath, or perhaps even grown as an agricultural crop.

Anyway, Laurath was closed off from Boarmarsh, Skeelan, Wyer and Herchville. The hamlet was hidden from anyone who passed by, surrounded by dense laurel hedges and pine forests that were hundreds of years old.

Because the inhabitants of Laurath had little contact with the outside world, something strange happened there, something that is actually hard to believe: they didn’t seem to know about Christmas there, and as a result that beautiful holiday remembering the birth of Jesus Christ was never celebrated there…

At Christmas, both on Christmas Eve and on Christmas Day itself, there was, unlike in Skeelan, Boarmarsh, Herchville or anywhere else in the civilized world, no activity that pointed to Christmas. The narrow streets of Laurath were deserted, without decorations or lights to cheer the hearts of the inhabitants.

In a clay house on the Crow Street at Laurath lived Nelson, a small boy with eyes as deep as the night sky and golden hair that fell in curly waterfalls over his forehead. Nelson was rather restless, like many growing boys.

He regularly left his remote hamlet and wandered through the area. As a curious boy, he kept his eyes open and observed from a distance what was happening in the neighboring villages at that time. There, laughter and songs mingled with the winter air. Nelson found this sad. People weren’t allowed to have this pleasure at Laurath, and the boy couldn’t understand why they had to miss it. Often, he returned home, sad, and with tears in his eyes… Nelson's mother, Christina, was a warm, hard-working woman who was always wrapped in a woolen shawl. She saw that Nelson was unhappy when he returned home. Christina shared her son's sorrow, hugged him gently and whispered:

"You needn’t be sad, Nelson. One day the magic will return, my child."

The disappearance of the Christmas spirit at Laurath wasn’t really a mystery. Once this hamlet, like the villages in the area, had been filled with joy, friendship and warm solidarity, but that had come to an end. A series of harsh winters and failed harvests had left a trail of hopelessness. Jacob, the man who took on the duties of mayor in Laurath, was a man with a stern expression and hands that told the history of the land. He had good intentions, but he had tried without success to revive the old traditions. After a few futile attempts, Jacob had given up hope and had started drinking heavily on the home-distilled gin made from potato peelings and bay leaves…

It was a cold December evening when Nelson decided it was time to take action.

“Mother, I want to bring Christmas back to Laurath!” he exclaimed with a determination that surprised Christina. Despite her concern for what he was planning, she knew that her son’s persistence could work wonders. Nelson’s first step was to visit the house at the end of Fletch Road, where old Harus lived, a fortune-teller who based his predictions on the inspection of poached rabbits’ entrails. Some at Laurath called Harus mad, but the fortune-teller kept alive the memory of old customs.

The old man, who was just gutting a skinned rabbit, received Nelson with a familiar gleam in his eyes, a curious face full of questions and a clear gaze.

“Is it true that you can tell the future with rabbit entrails, and that you can talk to the wind?” Nelson asked respectfully.

The old man nodded and began to tell stories about his younger years, when he and the elements were old friends. “Fire, water, air, and especially the earth on which rabbits live have taught me a lot of secrets and brought me wisdom,” he said in a hoarse voice. “But to learn their lessons and make them listen to you, you have to give them something back. I will tell you something that no one knows, and you may share it with others here at Laurath Forest, but nowhere else.”

Nelson listened attentively to what Harus told him. Inspired by this new knowledge, the boy ran to the small main square of Laurath. He called the inhabitants together in the sheepfold next to the fire pond and shared with them the idea that Harus had come up with: to restore the Christmas atmosphere by making a pact with the wind.

“If each of us offers something from his heart, we can perhaps instill some hope in ourselves,” he said confidently. “And then we can celebrate Christmas like they do in the villages around us.”

Nelson’s proposal caused a lot of emotion among the inhabitants. Patrick, the baker from whose ovens the best bread in the entire Herch River valley came, was the first to join in:

“I will give the smell of my freshly baked bread to the east wind every morning,” he said boldly.

The inhabitants of Laurath joined the plan one by one, offering small personal treasures, each according to his ability: a few turnips, a bushel of wheat, a beautiful poem written on parchment, a blanket woven from sheep's wool, a melodious melody played on the flute. Thus the list of generous offers grew, and Nelson felt the atmosphere begin to fill with an unprecedented warmth.

It was the day before Christmas Eve when a surprise came to the village. A large group of strangers, people from Daiste, Sharphill, Buttshot and even further away, suddenly arrived at Laurath. Even a delegation from Hazelstead and self-confident people from faraway Meuseford and the surrounding area had joined the Laurath dwellers. They had all been attracted by rumours that the wind had carried about a miracle that would appear on the horizon. They had brought with them abundant food, artisanal products and festive clothing.

“We have come to share the true Christmas spirit with you,” they announced joyfully. “Let us enjoy it together and make it an exceptional Christmas.”

Under the growing light of the stars, the hamlet of Laurath, led for the occasion by the tireless Nelson, was completely transformed. The inhabitants of the hamlet and the visitors decorated the streets with colourful garlands, lit every corner with candles and decorated a gigantic pine tree in the middle of the square, right next to the fire pond. Jacob was drunk, but he declared with a smile that had not appeared on his face for years, a bit double-tongued: "Today, thanks to everyone's work and the kindness of Nelis, Laurath embraces Christmas again."

Christmas Eve was there. It began with a communal dinner at wooden tables on the square. The participants didn’t even feel the cold. Of course, that had something to do with the bottles of gin that the ostentatious Hazelstead residents had brought along and generously offered everyone, drink after drink...

Laughter, singing and stories wove harmony while the flavours of the banquet, prepared by women from every family at Laurath, spoiled the taste buds of those present. For the first time in a long time, Joy and Merriness were the guests of honour...

As the evening progressed, a light rustle could be heard between the trees. One by one, the villagers and their guests realised that the wind had begun to blow gently and caress the offerings hanging from the branches. The invisible barter had worked and the wind whispered thanks in an ethereal dance. Nelson hugged his mother Christina with tears of joy.

“We did it, Mama, Laurath has resurrected Christmas again!” he said, crying tears of happiness.

Christina, her eyes as bright as the stars, whispered:

“You, Nelson, you have brought the greatest gift to Laurath: unity and hope.”

The bell of the little church in the hamlet struck twelve and from the tower the smaller bells rang out with a clear and pure melody. The miracle had been accomplished, Laurath was lit up by the magic of Christmas, and in every heart was the desire to keep that spirit of Christmas all year long.

As the night faded into silence, Harus watched from afar, his knowing smile dedicated to the stars. The mad rabbit bowls’ sayer knew that it was the faith and generosity of one child that had rewritten the history of the hamlet of Laurath...

Dawn of Christmas Day brought with it the first day of a new era for Laurath. Families gathered to continue the celebration, and children ran about, rediscovering forgotten games and laughter. The snow, once a blanket of oblivion, now shone like a blanket of possibility. Before the strange visitors left, Nelis came by to thank them.

“You don’t have to thank us, boy,” they said. “Laurath's reputation for generosity led us here, and it is a memory we will always carry in our hearts.”

Years later, the legend of "The Hamlet That Resurrected Christmas" spread to all corners of the country and, until Laurath was burned down during a bitter war by jealous insurgents coming from the town of Daiste, the hamlet became a place of pilgrimage for those seeking the true essence of the late December festivities.

And Nelson, who grew up as the guardian of that precious achievement, would always remember Christmas as the turning point, not only for Laurath, but for his own life, defined by Kindness, Courage and Love.

© Bruno Roggen, Anhée, 2024