Page 28 of I’ll Be Home for Christmas

But it was good that he did. That meant he might remember something about her dad too.

‘I don’t blame you,’ he said. ‘Probably better to block out Samichlaus’s dark-robed companion.’

She was only puzzled for a moment until she remembered Samichlaus – Father Christmas – and then a memory followed on at his mention of the dark robes. ‘I saw them at the parade in town!’

‘That’s right, you did.’

‘I was so frightened when I saw Schmutzli.’ She remembered now that he appeared each year in early December, along with Samichlaus. ‘Did they turn up on a donkey?’

‘It’s all coming back to you now.’ He chuckled. ‘I was with my parents to see the parade. I was way too old for it, but they liked to get involved with any Winterbruck event. My mum spotted you and told me who you were, and I still remember seeing you hide behind your dad’s legs. You had your eyes tightly shut as if you believed that when you opened them Schmutzli might disappear.’

‘He gave me a cookie, from what I remember.’

‘That’s right. Mum and I waited and watched, saw your dad coax you out from your hiding place, and once you realised Schmutzli wasn’t completely evil you seemed okay.’

‘It was that dark hooded cloak and the fact daylight had disappeared. It was scary. I think Dad knew that if he didn’t get me to face Schmutzli, I’d have nightmares for the rest of our stay.’

‘A wise move,’ he said with a smile.

‘It felt like he was there to scare children into behaving,’ she said. ‘Although I suspect there’s a lot more to the tradition than that.’

‘I don’t think Schmutzli always handed out cookies, put it that way. I remember saying to Mum that while the Schmutzli was tradition here I was glad I’d avoided it. I grew up mostly in England. When I was a boy, we’d had Santa going up and down the street waving from on top of a float when we were kids rather than the parade and a man in a dark outfit that hid his face. Give me the threat of a lump of coal any day.’

‘Same.’ She smiled. ‘I remember your mum.’

‘You do?’

‘Your parents were good friends with Grumps and Nanna.’

‘They sure were.’

And she remembered something else. ‘One day, my mum and dad had gone to do some Christmas shopping. Grumps had a cold and was in bed, Nanna was in the kitchen, so I was out here building a snowman in the front garden. I was looking for some sticks for his arms and when I found them your mum came outside of her chalet and handed me a carrot for his nose and three big stones to do his buttons.’

‘That sounds like Mum. She loved doing that sort of thing when I was a boy.’ He seemed to like the memory, and she was glad she could share it with him. ‘She’d do it when I visited as a grown-up too, and actually I enjoyed it just as much.’

‘How old were you?’

‘When we made snowmen? In my twenties.’

She giggled.

‘I don’t think I’ll ever lose that sense of fun with things like that. Snowmen, snow angels, skiing, sledging.’

‘You helped my dad make me a sledge.’

‘Oh no, you must be mistaken.’

Her heart sank. He didn’t remember.

‘It couldn’t have been me,’ he said. ‘Father Christmas – Samichlaus – left the sledge by your Christmas tree. Me and your dad had nothing to do with it.’ He winked.

She felt a warmth course through her body. He remembered.

He set down his empty cup, and took over the shovelling. ‘Give me a turn. You finish your drink.’

He skilfully moved the snow out of the way then started on the pavement beyond that led to the start of her grandparents’ path. He was so kind, bringing her a drink, chatting as if he had all day. She found the courage to ask, ‘Do you remember much about my dad?’

He stopped what he was doing, turned, and rested the shovel beneath his hands drawn against his chest. ‘A bit, yes, and I’m sorry you lost him so young. He was a good man. You must miss him a lot.’