The Broken Pane

The Broken Pane

A children's Christmas story

By George Wheeler

Let me put an image of Old Sam into your mind. 

Think flat cap, pipe, twinkling blue eyes and a smile of sunshine. Add a pint of beer, a scraggy, yet icily loyal, dog, a plethora of stories, and you have your man.

Living on the outskirts of his economy, he was nonetheless never short of a pint - nor of money for his baccy. 

He gained them through his storytelling at the inn. 

Was there anywhere Old Sam had not visited? Any major battle he had not fought? Any great disaster he had not witnessed?

Emphatically no, if his stories were to be believed.

Joining him at his table, I placed a pint of bitter before him. This was the admission fee to his imagination, the key which unlocked a thousand alleged memories. 

Old Sam drew heavily on his pipe, took a sip from the glass and, leaning forward, said: 'Did I ever tell you about the stable lads and the broken window pane?'

I shook my head.

"Well," began Old Sam, "It was like this...

"It was the winter of 1785, one of the coldest ever. That Christmas Eve, two stable boys were taking a horse through a short cut in the woods. The animal had been sold that day by their master, and the lads were walking it to its new stable, some five miles from their own.

Snow suddenly threatened their journey, falling steadily at first, then thickening. The path ahead was becoming increasingly obliterated.  

"We need shelter, James," yelled Harry. " It's too dangerous to go on any further."

"I know, but there are no inns round here. We'll have to turn back."

Old Sam refilled his extinguished pipe and, striking a match, relit it.

"Suddenly," he continued, " a figure appeared from out of the snow. The horse reared up, and the boys, thinking it was a ghost, were very afraid.

The figure, which the lads could now make out to be that of an old man, approached the horse. Immediately the horse became still, and allowed the newcomer to fondle its head.

The old man then walked away, turned, and indicated to the boys that they should follow.

James and Henry exchanged glances. Concerned with the horse's well-being as much as their own, they hesitated.

Again the old man beckoned before turning once more to disappear into a cloud of snow.

Exchanging, with a look, unspoken agreement, they cautiously trekked after him, James leading the horse.

The weather worsened. There was no sight of their new companion: trepidatiously they followed the tiny footprints he'd left behind in the snow.

Suddenly, ahead, a light appeared - hazy at first, almost like a mirage, but it was there. So, too, was the old man.

As the snowfall slackened, the boys could see that he was stood in front of a cottage. The light was coming from a window.

The cottage door opened and a large woman, anxious and concerned, burst out.

"Where have you been?" She was addressing the old man. 

Henry spoke up.

"We were in trouble with the weather. He brought us here."

"We needed shelter," added James.

"And you will have it," said the woman, without a moment's thought.

She turned to the old man.

"Put the horse in the barn."

She ushered the boys into the cottage as he did so.

A blazing log fire greeted them.

"You'll be freezing. Have you eaten? We have soup. And bread."

"Thank you." The boys spoke in unison. The large woman turned her back and busied herself with its preparation.

James glanced around the room. The fire seemed to be its only source of light: consequently, the walls came alive as mad shadows taunted and danced across them.

"Where were you going on such a poor night?" The large woman spoke without turning. Shadows played on her back, too.

"We're taking the horse to Squire Rosebery's," answered Henry. "He is to be trained there. There's many a fine race to be won with him."

"And are you jockeys?"

"Not me, Mam," replied Henry. "I'm too heavy. But James is to be one when he's older."

"Sit up at the table." said the large woman. The soup and bread were ready.

The boys ate in silence. As they did so, the old man entered the room, threw a log into the fire, and sat before it.

"That's a fine horse," he said."Who owns such an animal?"

"It's been sold to Squire Rosebery. That's where we were going."

"The boys tell me there's many a fine race to be won with him" said the large woman.

The old man poked the fire.

"So why's it being sold?" he asked practically.

The boys, without an answer, continued their meal in silence.

It was then that Henry noticed, fixed onto the window, the painting of a shepherd-boy; a slim, pale-face lad holding a flute - on the mountain side behind him, sheep.

He rose from the table to gain a closer look.

'Who is he?' he asked.

'He's the one keeping the draught out' chuckled the old man.

'I don't understand.'

The large woman collected up the soup plates. 'The window pane's broken,' she said. 'We just put the picture there to keep out the cold.'

'Oh.'

Old Sam drained his glass, wiped his lips, and put the empty vessel before me. Taking the hint, I called for two more beers.

Old Sam continued...

"The four, huddled around the fire, enjoyed its warmth: then the old man suddenly produced a bottle of whiskey. At first the boys resisted, but, reminded by the large woman that it was Christmas, each accepted a small glass.

Then came the stories; so, too, a second glass of whiskey, then a third. 

The old man related about the time when he, too, had been a jockey. He spoke of the occasion when, racing over an unfamiliar course, he had asked a spectator the way and had been guided in the wrong direction, finishing up back at the start. 

The large woman recalled an earlier marriage. She had, she remembered, been no more than a slave - cooking, cleaning and unappreciated. 

James spoke of his aspirations; 'I shall be champion jockey' he declared before, befuddled, asking for another whiskey. Henry confessed to ambitions of being a trainer.

The snow outside showed no signs of abating and the boys, the worse for drink but happy and still mindful, stayed the night, sleeping in the barn which housed the horse.

Christmas Morning broke crisp and clean, snow dazzling beneath a rising sun.

Neither boy told the other of his headache: instead they prepared to leave.

The large woman stood on the cottage step, seeing them off. There was no sign of the old man.

'Thank you for putting us up,' said Henry.

'And thank you for the soup.' added James.

'You must take this with you as a memory' said the large lady, holding out the painting of the shepherd-boy. 'I will get him to fix the window properly.'

'Thank you.'

With a final wave, the boys continued their journey.

Old Sam paused to drink from his glass; I had never quite worked out whether or not his stories were based on some truth or whether he made them up as he went along. I wondered now if he was working out how to proceed. Old Sam smiled enigmatically at me before continuing.

"Two days later, back at their own stables, James was ill. Having caught a chill on Christmas Eve, he had been ordered to bed by the housekeeper. She had given him a hot water bottle and brimstone and treacle which she swore would drive the fever down. He could still taste it in his mouth some thirty minutes later when Captain Cecil, for whom he worked, knocked and entered.

Responding to his good wishes, James assured the Captain that he was making excellent progress and would soon be well enough to return to his duties.

The Captain, however, suddenly wasn't listening, 

He was staring intently, instead, at the shepherd-boy painting James had placed on the table beside him.

'Where did this come from?' asked the Captain at length.

James explained how it had been used as a window pane.

'She gave it to Henry and me as a memory.'

Captain Cecil stood deep in thought.

'Do you mind if I borrow it?'

'No, Sir. Not at all.'

'And with that' said Old Sam, 'the Captain picked up the painting and left. The next morning James felt quite well and, thanking the housekeeper for her care, sought out Henry, who was sweeping the yard. He told him about the painting.'

'And he just took it?'

'Yes.'

'And didn't say why?'

'No.'

Old Sam shrugged. 'It was a mystery to them' he said, 'but with the hard winter taking a firmer hold and bringing them extra work, their thoughts were concentrated elsewhere. Yet neither lad could forget the kindness of the large woman and the old man and, when the housekeeper baked James a small cake for his sixteenth birthday, he asked a favour.'

'Would you mind if I gave it to them by way of a thank you? We would have been in trouble that night without them.'

'Bless you, Master James...but you will not give them that cake. You will give them instead the cake that I will bake them.'

And, next day, for the old couple, she baked the most beautiful cake.

'And I've put in some home-made jams as well,' she said, handing them the parcel.

Retracing their steps, the boys found the cottage. They could see from the outside that the missing window pane had still not been replaced.

A knock brought the large lady to the door.

She was surprised, but pleased, to see them. She was also very subdued.

"What's wrong?' asked Henry, noticing.

'He is not well' she replied sadly.

And he wasn't. Entering the cottage, they saw the old man lying motionless, covered by just a thin blanket.

'What's wrong with him?' whispered James.

'He is old. We have no money for medicine. His time will come shortly.'

Old Sam sat back, suddenly falling silent. Experience had taught me that now was the time to buy him a glass of rum. I did so. Sam nodded his gratitude and continued...

"Saddened and helpless, the boys returned home. 

Weather permitting, James was shortly to have his first ride, a three-year-old called Grotto, entered in a maiden at Salisbury. Thoughts of the large woman and the old man slipped from his mind. 

Salisbury arrived. Henry had accompanied him and had offered advice - 

'Try to lay up close to the leaders.'

The horse missed the break. James, panicking, struck the horse. Once, twice, then once again. Grotto, resenting this, tried to pull himself up.

James trailed in last.

Inexperienced, James was distraught. Was the horse at fault or was it him?

Then the head lad, with a message, knocked on his door.

'The Captain wants to see you first thing in the morning. 9 o' clock in his study.'

James sought solace with Henry.

'Well, he can't sack you, not for getting beat on a horse.' reasoned the older boy. 'They'd be no jockeys left. Besides, he knows that if he got rid of you, he'd be getting rid of me, too. I wouldn't let you leave on your own.'

'It was all very worrying,' continued Old Sam. 'James began blaming himself for the horse's defeat. Henry insisted that the horse had quirks and would be a difficult enough for a professional, let alone James. Neither boy slept well, Henry considering options should the worst happen. Next morning, at precisely nine, they knocked on the study door.'

'Come in.'

They entered.

The Captain looked puzzled to see Henry.

'It is James I wish to talk to,' he said.

'I know, Sir, but James is my friend and I did not want him to face bad news alone.'

'Very commendable, Henry,' said the Captain, 'but there is no bad news.'

'And with that, he opened the wall safe and extracted from it the painting of the shepherd boy. He placed it on the table.'

'Now, James,' he began,  'I want you to tell me once more exactly how you came by this.'

And so again James related that past evening's events; how the old man had led them to the cottage, how the large lady had provided them with bread and soup and how they had slept in the barn with the horse. James did not mention the whiskey. He did, however, mention their return to the cottage. 

'The old man was ill. The lady could not afford medicine.' said James. He then reaffirmed that she had definitely given them the painting.

'We did not steal it, Sir.'

'I never for a moment thought you had. Now, what's this about the old man being ill? I will have Doctor Archer call on him immediately. Henry, you will go with the good Doctor to show the way.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'But before you do - I am sure you would want to hear some good news.'

'Good news, Sir?'

'Yes.' The Captain turned to the younger boy. 

'James - the painting the lady gave you; she would not have known what is was nor it's true value. I have taken the liberty to have it properly verified and assessed. It is, as I thought, one of a pair painted by a French artist over a century ago. It is worth many thousands of pounds and, since its disappearance some fifty years ago, a substantial reward for its safe return has been on offer. That reward, James, now belongs to you.'

James and Henry stood open-mouthed.

'I will, on your behalf, see that it is returned to the proper people.' The Captain returned the painting to the safe. 'And, of course, I will see that the reward gets to you safely.'

'I can't really accept it,' said James, finding his voice. 'It would be like stealing. It belongs to them.They gave Henry and I shelter. They gave us their supper. They cannot even afford medicine. They must have it.'

*******

'Henry and Doctor Archer called at the cottage that afternoon. They were immediately offered bread and soup. Both, politely, declined.'

Doctor Archer tended the old man, still lain prone.

'It is nothing serious,' he concluded. 'Age and tiredness beset us all.' He rifled in his  bag and produced a bottle. ' This will restore his energy.' he said.

'It is kind of you,' said the large lady, 'but we have no money for medicines.'

'Nor would I take it if you had.' 

Old Sam sat back, drawing heavily on his pipe. In the respite that followed, I wondered how the story might end. I had not long to wait.

'Young James was as good as his word, insisting to the large lady and the old man that, by rights, the money was theirs. The old couple would have none of it.

'What would we do with such a sum at our age?' reasoned the large woman. 'You and Henry are so young. There must be so many things you want. No - you must keep it.'

'There is time enough for Henry and I to earn money. At least accept half.'

Then the old man spoke.

'The horse that your master sold to Squire Rosebery. You said that there were many a fine race to be won with him. You must buy the horse back and return it to him.'

'But that doesn't make sense,' said James. 'He wanted to sell it.'

The old man shook his head. 'No,' he said, 'he didn't. It is plain that he sold it because he had to. He would not sell such a good animal if that were not so. I fear he has less money and more problems than he would care for others to know.'

He looked at the boys. 'Your master is an honourable man,' he said. 'He could have sold the painting himself without saying a word - but he didn't.'

Old Sam finished his beer and tapped out his pipe. I could sense a happy ending.

"So they bought back the horse - Rose of England it were called - and entered it in the local cup under the Captain's name. Young James was to ride. The horse had not seen a racecourse before and the Master took some fancy odds about it upsetting the favourite, Black Tom. 

Henry reassured James in the paddock.

'Get the best placing possible,' he said. 'Third's fine if that's as near as you can get. If you can achieve better, all well and good.'

'I'll do my best.'

Rose of England, unfamiliar with procedure, was fractious at the start. James did well to remain seated.

Then the field was called in.

In an untidy break, Rose of England - hesitating and unsure of what was expected of him - lost valuable lengths.

James was the last to clear the first hurdle. 

Black Tom's jockey had elected to make the running: approaching the second, he was already some four lengths clear of his field.

Jumping the last, he had increased his advantage to six lengths.

A roar emanated from the spectators - they were on him to a man.

Suddenly the roar quietened and, thus stifled, hung in the air: halfway up the run-in James was somehow producing a unforeseen response from the gallant Rose of England.

In the stands, Henry and the Captain were wilting.

Henry screamed encouragement at his brother.

The Captain dare not look.

In that moment, James became a man.

Riding as if his life depended on the result, he kicked and cajoled as Rose of England strove to best his rival.

Black Tom and Rose of England flashed by the line together.

Henry's heart sank. 'We're beaten,' he said.

The old man shook his head. 'I'm not sure.'

The uncertain Captain remained silent.

Then came the result.

'First, number two - Rose of England...'

Henry screamed in joy.

James had won! Just!

Estatic, Henry threw his arms around the old man. The  Captain, emotionally drained, shook his head in disbelief. 

Jubilant James, now sat some six foot taller in the saddle and grinning wildly through tears, guided Rose of England back to the unsaddling enclosure and slid off.

A party was immediately organised for that evening.

The Captain proposed that it be held at his residence, but the boys pleaded for it to be held at the couple's cottage.

And so it was.

The fire crackled, the shadows danced. James and Henry, taking advantage of the Captain's delicately turned blind eye, drank whiskey. The old man recalled his days and aspirations of childhood while the Captain confessed to this being one of his happiest days.

Outside, the wind gathered pace, sending an uncomfortable draught through the yet to be repaired window.

James shivered as it hit him.

'Let me put some card up. That'll stop it,' said the large lady.

'No thanks,' said James. 'It's fine.'    

The End