The Spirit of Christmas

The two women sat in the cafe.  The parcels and bags containing their latest Christmas Pressy purchases pushed safely under the table by their feet.

“Ooo, I needed that,” one of the women, called Angie, said, taking a sip of her coffee and replacing the cup on the table.

“Are you sure you didn’t want a cake, they are gorgeous,” replied her friend Helen, taking another bite from the cream horn she was delicately holding in a napkin.

“Mmm, I am tempted, but, no, I’ll be putting on enough lard over Christmas without starting early,” replied Angie, with a smile.  She went on, “Have you got everything you need?  I think I’m just about done, everyone on my list has been ticked off.”

“Yup,” answered Helen, “But it’s so hard to know when to stop, you walk around the shops and see something one of the kiddy-winks would absolutely love, and there goes another hundred quid … I just hope the little buggers appreciate it all!”

Angie burst out laughing, “I know what you mean, my Grand kids think I’m a Money Cow, there for the milking, they’ve no idea of the spirit of Christmas at all!”

It was Helen’s turn to laugh and nod in agreement as she picked the last few crumbs of the flakey pastry off of her plate with her finger.

“The Spirit of Christmas is about the giving, I keep telling my lot that, and what do they give me, bloody bath salts … every bloody year, bath salts!”

Angie chuckled once more, “With me it’s bedroom slippers, I’ve a wardrobe full!”

The women chatted and laughed on for another ten minutes or so, Helen looked at her wristwatch and declared,

“Blooming heck!  Look at the time, if we don’t get a move on we’ll be getting a parking fine, come on,”

The women gathered up their bags and parcels and bustled out of the cafe.

Sat on the pavement was a girl.  She sat crossed legged on a filthy sleeping bag.  There wasn’t much about the girl that wasn’t filthy.  From her tousled hair which might have been blonde, to her stained and torn parka, held together by an old and rusty diaper pin.  Her grubby threadbare skinny jeans gave witness to just how skinny the rest of the girl was as they were loose around her legs.  Her sockless feet were crammed into a pair of too small for her, once white, trainers, the soles worn, the uppers ripped.  To one side of her was a backpack containing everything she owned.  In front of her was a plastic bowl and a cardboard sign, which read,

“Homeless and Hungry, please help me.”

Angie nearly tripped on the bowl,  “Oh for God’s sake!”  She exclaimed.

Helen caught her friend’s arm to steady her, while giving the girl, who hadn’t even flinched, a black and disgusted look.

“Shouldn’t be allowed,” said Helen, “Flaming druggies!”  

“No, I agree Helen, especially at this time of the year, spoils it for everyone seeing dirty dregs like her, sat around on the streets begging, it’s disgusting!”   And to the girl she shouted, “Go get a job, earn yourself a living and stop sponging off people.”

The girl still hadn’t moved or replied.  She knew there was no point, so she kept her head bowed.  Besides which she was used to this onslaught of verbal attack.  If she remained silent the women would move on and leave her be.  

But they were wrong, she wasn't a drug addict, she was just sixteen years old,  frightened, and alone.

 

She was homeless because what was once her home had become a place of torture and fear.  After her Mam had died she had been left in the care of her Step Da, a brute of a man who neglected her basic needs of food and clothes, then when she was on the cusp of becoming a young teenageer, he decided it was time she ‘paid her way.’   

The Social had finally come to her rescue and had found her a new home, she had been fed into the Foster Care System. The Social, overworked and under pressure, once satisfied that she was now ‘safe,’ moved on to other urgent child abuse cases ….. And the girl found history repeating itself, her Foster Father fed and clothed her, was always kind, he never shouted at her, or gave her a wallop, but for a price, the price being that she kept still and quiet, both before, during, and after he had crept into her room.  So she had became a runaway and sought life on the streets.

She had thought that because it was Christmas people would be more caring, more giving, wasn’t that what Christmas was about?  All she wanted was enough to buy a basic beef burger, perhaps chips, but a burger would do.  

A shadow was hovering over her, not the women, they had moved on, grumbling and complaining loudly.  The girl looked up.  His hair and beard were black and in an uncombed, unwashed state.  His long coat was torn and ragged.  His boots were worn and laced up, one with string and the other with what looked like a strip of plastic from a bag.  His trousers had holes where his boney knees stuck out.

The girl reached forward and grabbed her bowl, there wasn’t much in it, but she wasn’t about it let it go to another street beggar on the lookout for easy money.  She gave him a defiant stare.  The look he gave back wasn’t one of greed, or lust, or disgust, nor was it one of pity, she knew those looks so very well.  

“Don’t want yer money girl, but you can’t stay here, they’ve gone to get a copper, you’ve got to move on before they get here.” The ragged man said.

The girl looked up at him, “Thank you”, she whispered.

“Well, said the man, “If we don’t look out for each other, who would?  There’s a soup kitchen tonight, after all the shops is shut,  hide up out of this cold wind until then, you’ll get something hot in your belly at least…..there’s a padre there too, talk to him if you want, he might know of a refuge, you’re a bit young to be living on the streets.”  He gave her directions on how to get to the soup kitchen and walked off, his tattered coat flapping in the wind.

The girl didn’t know what the future would hold for her, she tried not to think about it, getting through one day at a time was enough.  But, at that moment she felt a little better about life in general, the man hadn’t offered material help, but he had shown honest and unconditional concern, and told her where she could get a hot meal and maybe a place of safety…..not much to some, but it was The Spirit of Christmas to the girl.


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