How Mrs. Claus Saved Christmas (29 page)

Alan and I were the first to arrive, but soon afterward we saw flickers of small lanterns being carried by people making their way up the hill toward the barn.

CHAPTER
Seventeen

 

 

 

 

T
he first months of 1647 were difficult for the Puritancontrolled Parliament. The war was over, and the king was defeated. But victory did not guarantee the love and loyalty of the common people. Many working-class English men and women, perhaps even a majority, had liked it better when the king was on his throne. They were very suspicious of the Puritans and of Parliament. Even though its members were supposedly voted into office at regular intervals by the taxpayers, this Parliament had been in session since 1640 without benefit of reelection. They kept extending their own current terms without requesting public approval. Many called it the Long Parliament, and they didn't intend the nickname as a compliment.

Parliament made an agreement with the Scots for the return of King Charles. In exchange for several large payments, the Scottish leaders handed the king over to England, where he remained a prisoner while rebel leaders negotiated with him. If Charles agreed to Parliament's terms, there was still the chance he would regain his throne. If not, he faced a life in prison and perhaps even execution. But as soon as Charles was in Parliament's custody, a stunning thing happened. As the defeated king's carriage proceeded south to the estate where he would be kept captive, the common folk of England lined the road and cheered him as he passed. This made the leaders of Parliament
very
nervous—what if there was a popular uprising to restore the king? Parliament had just voted to stop raising money to pay the army, so the Roundhead soldiers might very well refuse to fight anymore.

“Parliament feels it must do something to prove it is in complete control of England,” Alan reported after his arrival home in Canterbury. “I believe one of its members, Lord Manchester, called it ‘Bringing the rabble to heel.' Rumor has it there will be a new, harsher law against Christmas, because, so far, so many people have ignored the ruling of two years ago that it should no longer be celebrated.”

“What can Parliament really do if people want to sing carols or feast in honor of Jesus' birth, so long as we do this in our own homes?” Elizabeth wanted to know. “They can't punish everyone who does. Under the laws of this country, no one is supposed to tell us what we may or may not do within the walls of our own homes, so long as we are not plotting treason.”

“No,” Alan said thoughtfully, “but they can try—and they might. I'm sorry to say, my love, that those presently in power seem to define ‘treason' as any beliefs that do not exactly match their own. Those they cannot persuade, they are quite willing to intimidate. Blue Richard Culmer is stalking through the streets of London once more, followed by his gang of nasty-looking thugs. Parliament meets again during the first week in June. That, I expect, is when we'll have more laws about Christmas. It is on that issue—whether or not it is sinful to celebrate the birth of Christ on December 25—that the Puritans intend to make their stand and to prove once and for all that they can force their beliefs on the rest of us.”

Sadly, Alan was right. In early June, Parliament announced again that celebrating Christmas—or Easter, for that matter—was against the law. Violators would be punished. There was no explanation of
how
they would be punished. That was left to the public's imagination. But there was no flexibility in this edict. Christmas could not be celebrated publicly
or
privately. No church services, no carol singing, no gifts, no feasts. Any of these activities would be cause for arrest. Though Parliament still couldn't find money to pay its army, it did set aside funds to pay for a militia, or Trained Band, in each county. These men would enforce the new no-Christmas law.

As a gesture to the poor working class who were losing their beloved holiday, Parliament added that, from now on, one Tuesday of each month would be made into a nonreligious holiday when no one would be required to go to their jobs. This only proved Parliament had no real understanding of what Christmas truly meant; the wonderful, traditional celebration of December 25 had nothing to do with not having to go to work, and everything to do with giving joyful thanks to God for the gift of his son.

After the new, stern law was announced, Parliament was concerned by the negative public reaction. I, on the other hand, was thrilled. The time had finally come. With the right planning, it might just be possible to rouse the public spirit and save Christmas in England after all.

I began cautiously in mid-June, right after news of Parliament's edict reached Canterbury. I asked Alan and Elizabeth to quietly talk with their friends and sound out whether any of them might be willing to risk reprisal by joining in a public protest on behalf of Christmas. I realized, of course, that for the greatest impact the demonstration should take place on December 25 itself, but six months would be barely enough time to recruit sufficient participants.

“You must be aware, Layla, that every town in England is riddled with spies for the Puritans,” Alan warned. “Here in Canterbury, that is especially true. Mayor Sabine must have informers all over. If the wrong person learns that you are attempting to organize a Christmas protest, something terrible might happen to you.”

I was willing to accept the risk. I had now been living in Canterbury for five years. I knew that most of its people were good-hearted, hardworking men and women who loved Christmas and resented being told they could no longer have it. Avery Sabine's spies might be numerous, but they were mostly obvious, too, in their Puritan black and with their disdainful, superior expressions.

It would be enough, at first, to suggest to people that there might be some way to make it clear to Mayor Sabine and to Parliament that Canterbury and its surrounding towns would have Christmas whether the law allowed it or not. There need be no immediate mention of a demonstration on Christmas Day. Otherwise, people might decide to march before we had recruited a large enough number to defy reprisals—a group of fifty might all be arrested, but there was no jail in Canterbury or anywhere else in England that could hold a thousand. Public indignation was already widespread, but it would grow even more intense when the holiday was imminent.

And so Alan and Elizabeth began making discreet inquiries, and I did the same. At work in the Sabine house, I was particularly careful since I knew at least some of the employees there had to be informers. Only to Janie and Melinda did I carefully mention the possibility of public action on behalf of Christmas, and they both told me they would be willing, even eager, to participate. Shopping for Sunday dinner in the Canterbury marketplace, I made the same suggestion to several people I saw there on a regular basis. A few replied that they had no desire to incur Puritan wrath, and I could not blame them for that. But most liked the idea, and one or two even mentioned the Apprentice Protest of 1645 in London, which pleased me. If that event was still in public memory, think how effective a larger, better organized demonstration might be!

Not surprisingly, I found strong, if secret, support among non-Puritan church leaders, who were being allowed to conduct services so long as they did not violate the new Parliamentary strictures. In particular there was Father Joel, a staunch Catholic who had been reduced to holding Sunday services in a barn. Because his responsibility was to protect his small congregation's beliefs in general, he told me, he would not personally be part of any Christmas protest I planned. But he could, at least, offer me the use of the barn. Large, clean, and well away from view several miles outside the walls of Canterbury, it stood atop a sprawling hill. No one could approach closer than two hundred yards in any direction, Father Joel said, without being visible, so if I held meetings there I could post lookouts and not have to worry about the area's Puritan-funded Trained Band sneaking up to arrest us.

By late September, I felt we had enough supporters to call a meeting at the barn, where we could discuss more specific plans for a demonstration. Parliament's attention, for the moment, was on issues other than Christmas—the king was being stubborn during negotiations, refusing to give up most of his divine right powers—but December 25 was now just three months away, and more people were beginning to realize that this year Christmas really
was
being taken away from them for good, unless they did something to prevent it. We now had to begin our work in earnest.

“How many people do you expect to come to this meeting?” Elizabeth asked, keeping her voice very soft. It was late at night and Sara had long been in bed, but we still didn't want her to overhear if she happened to be awake. “Six? A dozen? More?”

“I would think twenty or even thirty,” I said. “All of them are known and trusted by you, Alan, or me. There won't be any strangers there.”

“Well, there will be a few you haven't met, Layla,” Alan corrected. “I've made the rounds of the surrounding farms and found a few good fellows who ought to be great additions to our group. We've done what we can to emphasize to everyone that we must keep our effort completely secret. I believe they understand. We all certainly remember Blue Richard Culmer's smashing of the stained-glass windows of the cathedral. No one doubts how severely we'll be treated by the Puritans if they find us out, but we all are willing to take that chance.”

“You've made it clear to them that there will be no violence on our part?” I asked. “Everyone understands that whatever we do, it will be peaceful?”

“Christmas is dedicated to the glory of the Prince of Peace,” Alan said solemnly. “It would dishonor him if we raised a hand against anyone, even those who might raise their hands against us.”

The night of September 30 was unseasonably chilly. A brisk wind blew in from the north and recent rainstorms had left the ground damp. Leaving Elizabeth home with Sara—who indignantly demanded to know why her father and auntie were off somewhere after dark and was told that some friends needed help planning a party—Alan and I walked about two miles to the barn, which was to the north of Canterbury, past the river and across rolling fields of recently harvested wheat. The scent of freshly cut grain carried quite pleasantly on the cold air. We pulled our cloaks about us and didn't need to light our lantern for a while, since the moon was full and the road was wide. A few riders passed us, including members of the Trained Band, but no one stopped us to ask where we were going. The war was over, and, though Alan thought we were walking at a very good pace, I could have made it all the way from Canterbury to London in the thirty minutes it took us to get from the cottage to the barn. But I made certain to match his much slower, normal pace.

The barn was on the property of a farmer named Stone, a devout Catholic who'd had to stop practicing his faith openly, but who allowed Father Joel to hold Sunday services there for the Stone family and other Catholics. Accordingly, it was quite clean inside, with fresh straw strewn across the dirt floor and a thick bale of hay off to one side. I guessed that, on Sundays, Father Joel used that hay bale for an altar.

Alan and I were the first to arrive, but soon afterward we saw flickers of small lanterns being carried by people making their way up the hill toward the barn. Father Joel had been right—it was easy to see anyone coming from any direction. Many of the new arrivals were farmers, but to my surprise I also recognized some town craftsmen and a few shop owners. While I had expected twenty people, perhaps thirty at the most, almost sixty eventually arrived.

“I hope you don't mind, Layla,” my friend Melinda from the Sabine house whispered to me. “It's just that my two chums Katie and Kenneth love Christmas so much, and I knew they would want to come.”

“Do you trust them to keep our secret?” I asked, and when Melinda nodded, I greeted both her companions, who assured me they wanted to be part of any effort to save Christmas in England. And, like Melinda, it was obvious some of the other people Alan and Elizabeth and I invited had decided to recruit some of their Christmas-loving friends, too. Alan was worried because there were so many arrivals he didn't know personally, but I took it as a good sign. People cared enough about Christmas to come out to a secret meeting on a cold fall night!

Alan called the meeting to order, first suggesting that only a few lanterns remain lit: “We don't want the Trained Band to receive a report that a local barn is on fire!” he joked. “Let me welcome you all, and thank you for coming. I'll begin by emphasizing things I hope you already know. First, we must keep our activities secret. None of us want a visit from Blue Richard Culmer. Second, our purpose is to help save our beloved Christmas holiday by planning some activity, a protest, if you will, that will be so impressive in style and message that all the way back in London Parliament will realize it cannot take Christmas from us. Third, there is to be no violence of any sort. No matter what might be done to us, we will not raise our hands against anyone else. Are all here agreed?”

There were murmurs of assent. Then Alan introduced me as “Layla, aunt of my beloved daughter and someone who has lived here among us for five years now. Though we may not have any official leader, I would suggest that she is the beating heart of this body. No one I have ever met loves Christmas more than Layla or understands better how the holiday can reflect the best in human spirit.”

Then I talked for a little while, mostly about the Apprentice Protest in London, how brave it was, and how effective. I was not used to speaking to an audience and found it somewhat uncomfortable. My voice shook a little as I told about the look on Oliver Cromwell's face as he realized there was stronger opposition to the abolition of Christmas than he and his Puritan supporters had ever imagined. I pointed out that the demonstrators had been easily dispersed because they had no real plan. If they had remained organized, no one could have made them stop protesting until they themselves decided they'd done enough.