I was living
in a Stevenage with my parents in the early seventies, in a block of Warden run
flats, which were sheltered accommodation for the elderly, and my mother was
the Warden.
I attended
the School nearby, but I was never what you might call academic, so I left
school when I was fifteen, and I left at the end of May and I started my first job
three days later, as a trainee groundsman.
However in
the November of that same year the family house from one side of town to the
other, and the significance of this will become clear later in the story.
The house
move didn’t affect my getting to and from work though as the town had a good
bus service, operating a flat fare service on circular routes, so I still got
the same bus as I did from the old address but from a different stop, and the
price was the same, this will also prove significant later on.
As I said
this was my first year at work and as a result I also had my first works Christmas
party to look forward to, which was on the last day before we broke for the
Christmas holiday and we had a little works party in the yard, where a little
Christmas cheer was imbibed and a drink or two were consumed.
Now I was
only sixteen when Christmas came around and I had only had very limited
experience of alcohol and I got well and truly bladdered on Whisky Mac, cider
and something unpronounceable from Yugoslavia.
At the end
of the boozy afternoon one of my workmates gave me a lift into the town centre
and in my drunken state I staggered to the bus station and caught my usual bus,
and I managed to climb the stairs to the top deck and in due course the bus set
off, filled with Christmas shoppers and a one drunken trainee groundsman.
Probably
with the combination of alcohol and the motion of the bus I drifted off on the
journey and I suddenly came to and on looking out the window I recognized a
familiar sight and I promptly got off the bus.
As the bus
drove off, I headed off up the road in the direction of home wishing all and
sundries a merry Christmas as I went, not unlike George Bailey in “It’s a
wonderful life”.
When I
reached the flats I entered through the main doors, passing the Christmas tree
in the foyer and headed straight for flat number one.
At the door
I fumbled for my key and presented it to the lock, but it wouldn’t fit, so I
peered closely at it and it was definitely my door key so I tried to put it in
the lock again, but still it wouldn’t fit.
Suddenly the
door opened and a stranger looked out at me
“Can I help?”
she asked.
“Ah, my name
is Paul, and I don’t live here, anymore do I?”
The lady,
who was the new Warden, laughed and agreed with me that I no longer lived there.
So I wished
her a happy Christmas and made my way back to the foyer were there was a public
telephone with a large Perspex dome over it.
My intention
was to phone for a taxi but rummaging in my pockets I discovered I had no money
for the taxi or indeed a coin to make a phone call, and then as I tried to duck
under the Perspex hood I tripped over my own feet and fell into the Christmas
tree which ended up on top of me.
The lady,
who now lived at no 1, heard the commotion and came to investigate and to my surprise
thought it very amusing to find a drunken teenager wearing the Christmas tree.
“Oh dear”
she said laughing.
Deeply
apologetic, I explained the circumstances of my predicament and the new Warden
phoned a taxi for me and even gave me the money for the fare.
That was real
Christmas spirit, in the spirit of the Capra classic, and I have never
forgotten her kindness and tolerance and try to keep that same spirit in my own
heart at Christmas.
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