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Christmas story submissions only.


Senior Member
HI all, this thread only to be used for Christmas story entries.

Date 1 December 2012 Closing date 7 December 2012. Winner or winners will be announced within one week of the closing date.

First prize, a donation of £20 donated by myself to Mr Thomas`s chosen charity and generously matched by our Moderator Kev. In total £40.00.

Simple rules.

The story must be Christmassy in content. (Any genre.)and included as written, the following words or phrases.

ghost (Capital G accepted if required.)

ghostly (Capital G accepted if required.)

plum pudding (Capital Ps accepted if required.)

"He`s a larf innee?”

Note for OldGit words within brackets are explanatory and not required.

Thank You`s would be appreciated below the entry threads and will be used as part of the judging. (One thank you per forum member.)

Ribald remarks and abuse unless posted in a seperate thread will immediately disqualify an entrant without notice of appeal.

I can not enter for obvious reasons but here is my yuletide yarn as the first stir of the plum pudding mixture.

Good luck and a big thank you for supporting a worthy cause with your stories.. Regards to all. Hark the Herald Angels blowing a cool tune on their horns. N.

A Chilling Christmas Tale.
By Navarro the Annonymous.
Laventie Northern France 1954.
The morning could only be descrbed as Christmas card perfect. The fields had a light dusting of snow which gleamed and sparkled in the morning sun and there was an air of calm and peacefullness about the whole area.
As Simon walked slowly down the secluded country lane he stopped and leaned heavily on his walking stick to ease the pain from his leg, the lifelong reminder of that other Christmas nearly forty years ago, when the world had been a totally different place.
He rounded a bend and saw a modest gite bedecked with festive greenery and a display of lights, must be English he thought, driven over for the holiday. He was right a mud spattered Austin A40 Somerset was parked in the lane.
From an open window the fruity scent of spices wafted out and he heard a child’s voice chirruping “ Oh Mummy what a lovely plum pudding you have baked." Simon smiled to himself and thought ‘did’nt think they called it that anymore.’
Suddenly, he was there, the place he had to keep returning to year after year, and a coldness enveloped his whole body, the sun became hidden by a grey cloud and a light rain began to fall. The pain from his old wound forced him to sit down on a bench placed there by the villagers. His invasive memories made him oblivious to the cold and drizzle, He nodded off, he could sleep anywhere in any condition, his military background helped him with this.
Simon awoke with a start. The field was shrouded in a ghostly grey light and the drizzle was now a torrential downpour. To his left of the field and coming from a grove of trees he heard men’s voices singing in unison, “ Silent Night, Holy Night-------” but in a foreign tongue, which Simon remembered only too well. From the other side of the field a voice shouted out.”Come on Fritz it’s Christmas, let’s play ?” And a football was lobbed into the centre of the muddy green. “Okay Tommy, we will beat you anyway.” Came the reply.
A raggle taggle group of men emerged hesitatengly,mostly in uniform, and began kicking the ball. A uniformed British soldier whom I recognized began informally refereeing the game. It’s Cooper, Sergeant Cooper I thought, but he’s dead, Private Chalky White in a tasselled Santa Claus cap barged his way through the German opposition trying to emulate his football hero Jack Southworth of Everton. But Chalk’ys gone as well, his head blown away by shrapnel when I lead them out of the trenches into no mans land on that Christmas afternoon in nineteen fifteen, when the holiday truce ended. Cooper was a well liked soldier and I had often heard his men say good naturedly “He`s a larf innee?” when referring to him.
I saw myself, ten minutes into the game, a pompous nineteen year old Captain marching on to the field and barking out an order “Come on men,” I screamed “ We are here to fight not to play, Christmas truce or no Christmas truce.”
Then I remembered that same Christmas afternoon with Sergeant Cooper and Private White, and the hail of machine bullets which greeted us as we clambered out of the trench.
Was I truly just wounded, or am I a ghost as well I asked myself ?
The End
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Senior Member
A Yuletide Nightmare – with overtones and subtones.

Sleeping one freezing Yuletide night,

I dreamed a ghostly, ghastly sight.

Shivering in the primal mist,

There was I, mildly Brahms and Liszt.

My usual state when playing a gig,

and normally I wouldn’t care a fig.

But, as I adjusted my Otto Link,

my mind cleared and I started to think,

“This gig is different!”.

Everyone there was a saxophone hero,

but were seeing me as a saxophone zero.

At the front, and leering in the crowd,

stood one Pete Thomas, jeering out loud.

Next was Al Cohn, having a moan,

Zoot didn’t seem to give a hoot,

Lester thought that I was a jester,

Chu Berry seemed pretty merry.

Earl Bostic was being caustic,

Courtney Pine was having a whine,

Tony Coe thought it a bit so-so,

Marshall Royal stayed loyal, though.

Endless conical “cigarettes”

were being inhaled by Stan Getz,

Grover looked like he wished it was over,

but James Moody simply looked broody.

Sonnys Stitt and Criss had given it a miss,

Jug thought I was a bit of a mug,

Bird was having a word with Rabbit

who was indulging in his lettuce habit.

Kenny G was giving me short shrift,

although he was playing in the lift (again).

In a gentle lob by Arnett Cobb,

peanuts (hucko) were chucked, oh,

and Bob Wilber was hurling sixpences of silver.

(The last two rhymes are a bit of a climb,

but they surely oughter

be envied by Cole Porter,

and Gershwin, Ira, would be an admirer.)

Those flying sixpences had come

From a festive plum pudding, a pudding of plum.

And as the crowd moved from relative silence

closer to the edge of vilence,

over my playing, with my tone so tinnee,

I heard these words from Blue Lou Marinnee,

“That Kingsley, he’s a larf innee?”

(Wanting to cover myself with glory, I pondered about submitting this story

but it's a competition, innit?)
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Busking Oracle
The night before the night before Christmas Eve.

The snow was starting to fall steadily as the last light of day disappeared and darkness set in. There was a loud noise at the door and a low muttering of “Bloomin’ snow!” As he knocked the snow off his boots, Kevgermany stumbled in, laden with logs for the fire. “Don’t you go leaving big muddy foot prints on my floor” said MandyH. “I’ve spent all day making sure the house is clean for little Griff136s return home.”

Little Griff136, apart from having a rather odd name, was the much loved only child of Kevgermany and MandyH. He was due home after seeking his fortune making penny whistles and selling them to elves. This was a rather remarkable thing for him to do as he was only seven and three quarters!

Kevgermany stoked the fire and a wisp of smoke wafted from the chimney and entered the room, leaving a lovely woody aroma and promptly setting off the smoke alarm! MandyH cursed in much the same way that The Haunted Tenor may have done, and he’s from Ireland! Kevgermany looked a little sheepish, mumbled an apology and slumped into the nearest arm chair, the warmth from the fire making his eyelids heavy, he soon slipped into a deep sleep.

He opened his eyes just in time to see a skulking figure slipping from the shadows and creeping stealthily across the floor, it was Daveysaxboy, the kleptomaniac and he was after Kevgermanys’ precious saxophone.

“My precious” yelled Kevgermany, rubbing his hands in fear! Daveysaxboy spun on his heels to face Kevgermany before leaping out through the window, which must have hurt as it was shut at the time! On the spot where Daveysaxboy had once stood, was a round object. In the gloom Kevgermany could not make out what it was so he approached it with caution. It was only when he prodded it with his scrawny finger that he realised exactly what it was. It was a plum pudding!

MandyH mumbled something, “What?” said Kevgermany.

“Yes.” Said What, who had been sitting quietly in the corner all along.

“I’m not talking to you.” said Kevgermany as he picked up the plum pudding in the fashion of a bowling ball, instinctively he swung his arm backwards and let the plum pudding hurtle down the length of the hallway straight towards Navarro, Sue, Little plum, Dooce, Aldevis, Luluna, TomMapfumo, PaulM, and littlewailer who all stood behind BigMartin. The Plum pudding hit BigMartin square in the family jewels and he stumbled backwards knocking all the others over and turning a ghostly shade of grey! “You’ve turned a whiter shade of pale” said Dooce, giggling like a school girl.

“Strike!” Shouted Kevgermany, as they all tumbled all over the place.

“Ah,” said MandyH, “They look like a Picasso!” She was, after all, a very ArtyLady.

At that moment the doorbell rang out the first six notes of “Baker Street.” MandyH ran to the door and threw it open. It was little Griff136 standing there with his worldly belongings tied up in a red hanky with white spots on dangling from a Mark VI Selmer (98% original lacquer) that was slung over his shoulder. “Hi Mummy, I’m home!” he yelled, “Can you pay the cabbie?” In the background, Gladsaxisme lurked nervously beside a handsome Hansom. He knew all about Kevgermanys’ reputation for being a feisty father and a fiendish fellow to boot! Kevgermany callously tossed a coin into the deep snow. Gladsaxisme scooped it up with a dexterity that only a cabbie has and disappeared into the night.
“Kevgermany,” said MandyH, “Go out to the shed and fetch the biggest Turkey that we’ve got.”

“Ok” said Kevgermany stomping out to the shed. He threw open the door and grabbed the nearest bird, Targa the turkey, by the scruff of his neck. He gave Targa a quick bang on the head and Targa was asleep! Kevgermany threw Targas’ limp unconscious body onto the work bench and he turned to reach his axe, but to his horror it was gone! He turned back to look at Targa just in time to see a ghost like hand reach through the shed window and snatch Targa from the bench! Kevgermany ran out through the door but there was no sign of Targa or his theif! Looking down, Kevgermany noticed footprints in the snow, they were very distinctive, one clean footprint and one foot dragging through the snow surrounded by a square of four dot like imprints.

“I know those prints” Thought Kevgermany.

Taking the short cut through the woods and then the graveyard, passing the oldest body in the place (his headstone read Miles, from London, 127)

Kevgermany reached the door to the Manor House “Git Towers” With one big kick the door flew open. Young Col and Pauline, who was the official mol of the CasLm, spun round with shocked looks on the faces. “Where is he?” demanded Kevgermany. “He’s behind you!” they both replied as one voice!

Kevgermany turned on his heels (he was used to manoeuvring swiftly on six inch stilettoes) in the doorway was Old Git and hanging limply from his left hand, was Targa. With his right hand he was steading himself on his highly polished solid gold Zimmer frame! “I knew I recognized your tracks old man” Said Kevgermany. “I guess you caught me red handed.” Said Old Git.

“Give me back my turkey!” said Kevgermany “Or I’ll be having words with Her Majesties Customs and Excise men”
“Can’t we come to some arrangement?” pleaded Old Git, (he was a right old pleader) “after all, you have got something I desire and it is Christmas eve eve?”

Later that evening, as Targa recovered in his shed, Old git, Young Col and Pauline, the official CasLm mol, all arrived at Kevgermanys house. The smell of home cooking wafted through the open window.

The sound of Baker Street greeted them when they pressed the door bell and MandyH opened the door. “Welcome to you all, do come in.”

They all walked in to the dining room where there was a large table. Peering up from the table were the faces of Little Griff136, Navarro, Sue, Little plum, Dooce, Aldevis, Luluna, TomMapfumo, PaulM, and littlewailer who all sat beside BigMartin, What and Daveysaxboy. Artylady and Gladsaxisme were also there.

Kevgermany stood up and said “I’d like to welcome Old Git and his friends into our house at this special time of year, after all, it is nearly Christmas!”

Old git looked at Young Col, as he tucked into a slice of his favourite food, plum pudding and said “That Kevgermany, "He`s a larf innee?”

“God bless us all” Said Young Col “each and every one of us!”

No forum members or animals were hurt during the writing of this production Ps, sorry if you weren't mentioned
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Deluded Senior Member...
As Kingsley has rapidly taken this exercise into the realms of poetry I think we should consider the possibilities of another form.

I know that Haiku is Japanese and therefore the thought of a predominently Buddhist state contributing to a Christmas story may be somewhat anachronistic but what must be done will be done....

The following opus entitled 'Funny Lunch' is submitted for the approbation of my fellow sax-addicts.

comics ghost for tea
ate a ghostly plum pudding
He’s a larf innee?

If only I could have done it in Japanese but the editor wouldn't accept it :(

But I have a cunning plan.......


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Senior Member
Yuletide nightmare - PS.

A friend has accused me of being a louse

For leaving out Charlie Rouse.

Pete Thomas

Chief of Stuff
Commercial Supporter
A big thank you to all who took part, and to navarro for starting it off and for donations from he, matched by Kev and also from:

Pauline, gladsaxisme, the CaSLm, AndyWhiteford

If I missed anyone, let me know: it's not always easy to match up donations received notifications in my inbox with people.


Cafe Moderator
A big thank you to all who took part, and to navarro for starting it off and for donations from he, matched by Kev and also from:

Pauline, gladsaxisme, the CaSLm, AndyWhiteford

If I missed anyone, let me know: it's not always easy to match up donations received notifications in my inbox with people.
Missed me:crying:


Pete Thomas

Chief of Stuff
Commercial Supporter
And Jeanette!!

Sorry, my problem is there are various different ways of donating and I can't easily correlate them into what was for this competition unless the message filed of the donation says so. But I can find it now and indeed jeanette donated very kindly.

Many thanks.
Saxholder Pro

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