December 22nd, 2009
A Cooper Christmas Carol
One snowy Christmas Eve, Ebenezer Cooper sat hunched over his laptop scrutinising the Primary Framework for Literacy. His two eldest children played happily on the carpet, lost in a game of ‘eye-poke’. In the kitchen, a flustered Mrs Cooper muttered something about the dishwasher not being loaded correctly as she continued her quest to use every conceivable utensil in preparation for the big day. Baby Iolanthe surveyed this scene of domestic disharmony with bemusement from the comfort of her Bumbo.
“Bah! Humbug!” grumbled Ebenezer as he found further evidence that his class were indeed less clever than their European counterparts. “Kids these days! It’s all ‘Wii Fit’ this, and ‘Nintendo’ that. When I was a lad, we had books. BOOKS!” He shook a finger accusingly at no-one in particular.
“But father,” offered Adah cheerily, suddenly developing excellent communication skills for an eighteen month-old. “Consoles offer youngsters a pathway into the virtual world, an opportunity that previous generations could scarcely have believed possible.”
“Yeah. Don’t be such an old git,” agreed Jonah bluntly. “Now read me The Gruffalo and have done with it.”
Ebenezer resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to finish what he was doing, and began to read half-heartedly. But it was no good.
“I’m sorry Jonah,” he sighed. “But Christmas just isn’t what it used to be. Back in the good old days, a teacher could spend his holidays getting stressed in peace, knowing that his class would be usefully engaged in snowballing old people’s windows or skating on dangerously thin ice, not rotting their already miniscule brains by gawping at Grand Theft Raider or whatever it’s called. It’s time we called a halt to the whole thing.”
The children fell silent, deflated. “What a year it’s been,” continued Ebenezer, seemingly unaware of the fact that he had shattered the seasonal ambience. “Another one behind us, and nothing of note achieved.”
“Now that’s not true,” chirped Adah. “For a start, Iolanthe was born in July. And what about the holidays? Northumberland was fun.”
Ebenezer squinted as he cast his mind back. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Although you cracking your head on the cottage floor is the only part that springs to mind. Yet another hospital trip. At least we get our money’s worth out of the NHS.”
“Don’t forget about Big Barn Farm,” added Jonah excitedly.
“Now I’ve explained this before,” replied Ebenezer impatiently. “It was just a regular farm, near Pickering. We only told you it was Big Barn Farm because you were whinging.”
The three of them thought hard for a few seconds. Could the year really have been that dull?
“I’ve got it!” cried Jonah suddenly. “Our camping trip to the hospital. That was fun.”
“Jonah, you broke your arm by falling from the coffee table, and we had to stay in overnight” groaned Ebenezer. “And what was the first thing you did when you came home? Climb up onto it again.” Mind you, he thought to himself, at least the children’s hospital had free television facilities. It set his mind to reminiscing about his own stays in the Hallamshire that year.
“Then there was your tonsillitis,” added Adah, as though reading her father’s mind. “You couldn’t really have timed the second bout any worse. We hardly saw any of Auntie Hannah and Uncle Matt’s wedding reception”
“If we’d have left sooner,” retorted Ebenezer, “we wouldn’t have had to endure Uncle Matt’s singing. In fact I think that’s what brought the tonsillitis on. Mind you, at least I got a couple of day’s break from you lot.”
“We did go on a real camping trip though,” remembered Jonah. “To Clitheroe. It rained.”
“It always rains in Clitheroe,” grumbled Ebenezer. “And because we were camping, for the second year in a row I missed the Champions League final.”
That night, Ebenezer couldn’t sleep. The Christmas Eve insomnia of children the world over could be attributed to the imminent appearance of a certain bearded gentleman, but the thought of the Royle Family ‘Christmas Special’ straight after the turkey just added to his sense of loathing for all that the following day would entail. Eventually, curling up on his allotted eighth of the mattress, he drifted into a fitful sleep.
Some time later he was awoken by a dreadful moaning sound. It drifted under the door like dry ice, dragging him into full consciousness within a few seconds. “Jonah,” he grumbled under his breath as he put on his slippers. Yet halfway down the stairs, he realised that the source of the terrible sound was in fact in the front room. He padded cautiously down the darkened staircase, and flicked the light switch. Then he flung open the door.
Sitting on the sofas were three spirits. Or at least, Ebenezer assumed that is what they were; they were a foggy grey in colour, as though drawn onto tracing paper with a blunt pencil, and their edges were slightly blurred.
Ebenezer was unfazed – he’d been to a seminar on The Supernatural at Spring Harvest earlier that year. Still, nothing had been said about spirits who broke into your house and played with your children’s toys….. The first spirit put down the empty toilet roll that he had been using to make the ghost call, then spoke.
“Ebenezer Cooper! You are doomed – DOOMED! You will endure an eternity of misery if you do not change your ways!” He waved his hands dramatically, as though drunkenly conducting an orchestra.
The second spirit kicked him hard. “Present!” he hissed. “I’ve told you three times now. Past here has to speak first.” He pointed to the third spirit, who was busy arranging the animals from a wooden Noah’s Ark to look as though they were mating.
“What? Oh, er, sorry Future, I was just….. Well anyway. Now where were we? DOOMED! Yes, that’s right. DOOMED, Ebene…”
He was cut short by a clout around the head from Future. “You two are unbelievable! We talked about this at briefing earlier. That’s not why we’re here!”
Past looked confused. Future rolled his eyes before continuing.
“After this, we’re off to put the willies up that idiot who invented the Christmas novelty record, and then we’re booked in to intimidate the bloke who’s responsible for giving Dad’s Army a prime-time slot on the big day. And can either of you remember the details of our final stop?”
Present and Past hung their heads like reprimanded schoolchildren.
“Iceland ring any bells? Jason Donovan? A Nolan sister? Chocolate coated strawberries?”
There was no response from his two colleagues. Future sighed.
“If you want a job doing properly, you have to do it yourself.” He produced a scroll from within the folds of his cloak, unfurled it, and began to read. “Ebenezer Cooper, I hereby bestow upon you the titles of Britain’s Grumpiest Man, Chief Commander of the Forces of Disappointment, and the Admiral of the Legion of Flaccid Seasonal Vegetables. May your annoyance at all that this season entails be infectious to those around you.”
Ebenezer accepted the scroll with a handshake. Whoever had made it had done a pretty professional job with their computer; they’d even included some clipart of a cute little puppy about to be squashed by a falling piano.
“It’s nice to be appreciated,” he smiled.
“Don’t mention it,” replied Present, beaming as he shook Ebenezer’s hand.
“No, seriously – don’t mention it,” added Past, leaning forward and whispering as though the room were full. “The boss doesn’t want us making literary appearances any more. That Victorian bloke cast us in totally the wrong light.”
“Of course. My lips are sealed,” said Ebenezer. And with that, the spirits vanished into thin air.
The following morning, Ebenezer leaped from his bed and threw back the curtains to reveal a winter wonderland. Children played gaily, their faces red with cold and the joy of a heavy snowfall. After a tolerable half hour spent opening presents (only eight pairs of novelty socks), he turned on the television.
“A change to our advertised schedule for this evening – Dad’s Army is to be replaced by an hour-long Last of the Summer Wine Special,” taunted the announcer.
Still, Ebenezer mused after absent-mindedly skimming the entertainment news. At least Jason Donovan has contracted incurable laryngitis.
Merry Christmas
Love from Team Cooper
xx
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