jtd@dec.uk.net

Fran looked out from her cold, gloomy parlour into the dark, frozen streets outside. People made their way carefully through the deep snow trying their best to complete their jobs and get home early for the magical night of Christmas Eve. Secretly wishing she were somewhere else Fran enlarged the hole in the ice that covered the inside of the windowpane using her bare fingers. She listened to her mother coughing from the makeshift bed in the corner and her younger brothers playing soldiers in the back room. Yet she felt powerless, vulnerable and alone – a victim of this cruel world.

Fran’s father was away at sea and the money he had left the family had run out leaving them without food or the means to warm their humble home. As Fran’s mother had come down with the all too familiar signs of Tuberculosis (TB) she was now bedridden and not able to work. Each day her mum got worse and Fran could do nothing but wait, as she could not afford coal for the fire or the necessary medicine to help her mum breathe more easily. Fran looked at the small toys she had lovingly carved from scrap wood and had painted in beautiful matching colours. They were to be presents for her family but yet another, more purposeful idea came into her head. Without delay Fran checked that her mother was comfortable, told her brothers to behave and threw her threadbare shawl over her shoulders in preparation for the cold outside.

In the street more snow was falling and it felt bitterly cold. Fran walked up the side alleyway towards the main road. There would hopefully be many Christmas shoppers wandering around. She would sell her toys and use the money to buy food and medicine for her family. Fran found a suitable place and placed her basket containing the toys on an empty box. Feeling much braver than she felt inside she shouted,

"Toys for sale, toys for sale. Only sixpence. Would you like one, kind sir?"

A man looking very startled took a wide berth around her almost losing his grip in the snow. Without feeling disheartened Fran continued her chant regardless of her own dignity.

Each time people passed they would pull the same expression and pass her by in some haste. Fran rearranged the handmade toys and started again. As she called out Fran watched a woman approach her wrapped in an old fur coat. Her eyes were like pin holes and her face was ancient parchment. The woman stopped in front of her and eagerly felt each toy in turn.

"How long have you been here my dear?" asked the woman in a sinister tone of voice.

"A few hours now," replied Fran urgently bashing the snow from her frozen feet to regain her circulation.

"Sold any?"

"No."

"Well I’m always ready to help a poor beggar girl like you. I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you tuppence for each toy."

Fran knew that the toys were worth at least sixpence each but time was getting on and she would be missed at home.

"Kind lady what you are offering for my toys is a fraction of their true worth."

"Yes, so what? An offer is an offer."

"Could you not give me five pence each? I have a sick mother at home."

"That doesn’t concern me you sad urchin. Now do you want me to buy these toys?"

Fran thought about it and used her last remaining wit to save the day.

"Madam, I will sell you four of the five toys for the price you ask." The woman did not register any perceivable emotion and placed eight-penny coins bearing the head of Queen Victoria into Fran’s frozen hand. Fran dropped them and as she searched into the snow the woman walked quickly away.

Regaining her balance and feeling quite faint from hunger Fran realised that the woman had taken all five toys and had disappeared into the busy London street. Fran was too tired to cry or offer chase but resolutely picked up her empty basket in resignation and went into the chemist to buy the medicine.

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