This is Our Christmas
written by: David Milner
It wasn’t as busy as he had anticipated, but what did he know? He coughed. Coal dust in his lungs. And the cigarette he’d puffed cycling on his bike to get to the hospital. He’d passed a Salvation Army band on his way, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen sung heartily. One of his favourite hymns, though he didn’t know the rest of the words. A nurse rustled towards him, nicely built in regulation white, young, clean, and healthy with the looks of a film star.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m a coal delivery driver,” Eddie replied.
“I beg your pardon?”
“No… what I mean, it’s why I’m dressed… just come from delivery depot, you see.” Eddie shrugged in his dirty coal-gritted boots, corduroys, and donkey jacket. “Must look like I’ve been dipped in oil, eh?” He laughed.
“You’re visiting?”
“That’s right.”
“Who might that be?”
“Er, the wife, yes, the wife.”
“And your wife’s name?”
“Rita. She’s having a baby.”
“Her surname – I’ll check the register.”
“Salthouse.”
“Rita Salthouse.”
“Rita Salthouse.”
Eddie instinctively looked at his wrist and instantly remembered he’d pawned the watch on December the twenty-second so that he’d have enough to pay for the Christmas grub, trimmings, and whatnot else.
She’d never known this pain. She needed more chloroform. She was clutching some poor nurse’s hand for dear life. Christ, where was the chloroform…?
“Come on now, dear, another push.”
“Ahhhrghhrg…”
Rita pushed with everything she had, her body raging with primal forces, from her arse to her swelled bust. Through her wet, pursed lips, she blew, thinking that she might forget how to breathe. Her eyes were not seeing.
“And another….”
“Ahhhrghhrg… Chlo…rof…”
She wouldn’t wish this on anyone. They didn’t tell you the half. And wouldn’t be home this Christmas as there was no home left after the bombing blitz had blown it to bits….
“Ahhhh God… God… My mum and dad are in Scotland!” she cried for no other reason than to wallow in the pity of it all. Oh, why had she come back to this Godforsaken city?
“Keep pushing…”
There was nothing to push, nothing moving but her strength ebbing away in blood, sweat, and tears.
“Rita is in labour.”
“Champion,” Eddie said, grimacing a little as he felt a twinge of pain in his lower back.
It had been, all told, a long and tiring day. He glanced at the large Christmas tree in the corner of the waiting area; a few people patiently waiting, reading newspapers or staring into space. “A wonderful tree you have there. Do the nurses decorate it themselves?” He smiled.
“Depends,” replied the nurse, “Would you like a cup of tea and, perhaps, have a wash?”
“Aye… Champion.”
“I’ll show you the way, Mister Salthouse.”
“That’ll do for me,” Eddie smiled, and couldn’t take his ruddy eyes off the sway of the young nurse’s hips as she led him partly along the brightly lit corridor.
“Just there, on the left, Mister Salthouse.”
Eddie passed her, a few steps, then thought to ask…
“There’ll be soap?” He turned, but she’d gone. Fast on their feet, these nurses!
“God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Der Dah Der Doo Hoo Hoo….” The tuneless rendering echoing off the enamel surfaces and concrete walls of the lavatory as he scrubbed his hands, arms, and face at the sink. Eddie hadn’t volunteered for active service back then, when it all got started. His was a reserved occupation. He’d been trained, at some expense, to drive the lorries. Coal was a vital commodity. He was needed on the home front. Some said he was lucky, the sneering gits. If he’d been conscripted, he wouldn’t have had a choice. His brother was in the merchant navy and had done his bit. His dad was dead at thirty-seven from bronchial complications due to copping a load of mustard gas in the Great War. His family had done enough for king and country. Well, war was over. Bleeding rotten mess of it.
Rita had come to a breakdown. Scared to death during the bombing blitz last Christmas time. Left Manchester to work for her auntie, who had a haberdasher’s shop in the Lake District. Outside forces pressing down, within and without, keeping them apart for months on end. It couldn’t be helped.
He’d cleaned himself up. There wasn’t a towel or anything to dry himself.
“You suit that porter’s uniform, Eddie.”
“Champion.”
They’d given him a towel to dry himself and found a spare porter’s uniform for him to step into the maternity ward. He’d managed to grab a bit of sleep in the waiting area. If he played his cards right, he might get a bit of breakfast.
“Come away from the window now.”
Her voice sounded weak, child-like. Rita was ever so pale. Tiny freckles had come out on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. Her light brown hair still looked damp. It was combed back from her small, rounded forehead. Maybe the nurses had styled it for her? It was shorter than he remembered. She was beautiful. Beautiful.
“It’s ever so mild… the weather… warm for this time of year.” Eddie thought he could smell mother’s milk in the air, wishful thinking on a Christmas day.
He looked at… the two of them. Baby in her arms. Swaddled in soft white woollen blankets, Eddie couldn’t make much of the little head, it was pink and wrinkled.
She was staring down at the boy.
“Very nearly a Christmas day birth, eh?”
“I don’t know what time it was or is.”
“You’ll be staying over a night or two?”
“Do you want to hold him.”
Rita’s pale blue eyes glistened with tears that seemed too tired to fall.
“Well, I… Scared I might drop him, love.”
“Sit down.” She sighed.
“We’ll have our Christmas in a couple of days. Got everything in. The turkey will keep. You’ll want for nothing.”
“Your mum hates me.”
“Don’t worry about her!”
“Your brother, and Maureen… all of them…”
“Don’t you worry, I say! Don’t cry, Rita, love… Give him here… the baby.”
He took the swaddled boy in his arms. Rita turned her head away from them.
“Oh, Eddie….”
“Has he got any bones in him?”
“Bloody hell, Eddie, you and your jokes! I don’t want it to be Christmas!” Rita began to sob. Exhausted, her head turned into the starched white of the pillow. Eddie held the baby closer to his chest and, automatically his body began to rock, gently, gently back and forth. The baby’s eyes were wrinkled closed.
“There’s going to be changes…” Eddie paused in his thoughts, his mouth dry and claggy. He’d expected his heart might break, but it was beating steadily, spreading a warmth and tender gratitude within him that he didn’t have the mind to fathom. He was happy. “This is a Christmas of peace. Thanks be, I’ll make things right. Make things right for us, Rita.”
“Forgive me, Eddie.”
“We’ll get married. Easter. Eh, Easter, how about that? Show them fucking well all!” Eddie laughed and caught his breath. He rose to his feet to stand in the light of this pale winter sun. His heart was melting.
He would love this child as his own.
“Forgive me…” Rita uttered on the verge of slumber, “I never meant to… hurt you.”
And the baby opened his eyes, and stared, like stared right into Eddie’s…
“Hello.” Said Eddie, in a voice he hardly recognised as his own. Staring right into his face, like he’d been here before.
Eddie wanted to get into the hospital bed, to cuddle up, the three of them.
He reckoned the nurses wouldn’t allow it.
- This is Our Christmas - December 18, 2025
- From Here to Identity - October 14, 2025
- Distracted Times - July 27, 2025
