By: Blonde Two

So here is part 2 of our Dartmoor Christmas Story revealed in all of its Christmas glory. Seasons greeting to all of you and happy walking!

In the end the Son of God popped out without too much Great Mis. Joe had missed closing time but he was so relieved to get his hand back in one piece that he didn’t mind.

“He’s a cute little Brat Tor,” he said to Mary, “What shall we call him?”

“His name’s Jesus and history suggests that we are supposed to put him in a Stalldown Barrow,” answered Mary, “But I don’t want to put him down at all so  pop yourself off to the kitchen and make me a cup of tea.”

Joe smiled at this, a bossy Mary was a happy one and the baby did look very comfortable in her arms. He wandered off to the kitchen and soon they were both happily sipping hot tea and having a good old Chat Tor.

Later that night, just as Joe was dozing off, they heard a knock at the cafe door.

“What the Black Dung Hill is that?” muttered Joe, getting up reluctantly to go and see.

He opened the door and peered out. Standing there were three red-faced farmers.

“We’m visiting that Son of God,” mumbled the first farmer, staring at his wellies.

“Aye we’m heard the Riders Rings and we’m brought’m a Lower Dunna Goat,” With that he pulled on the rope in his hand and a tiny goat appeared round the door.

Joe scratched his head, since the Son of God thing, everything had been a bit odd.

“Well you had better come in,” he invited, opening the door a bit wider. “Mary, these farmers have brought a goat for you.”

“Eees not for er, eees for em Son of God,” said the third farmer taking his hat off.

“Well he’s a bit small,” said Mary eyeing the goat up, “Couldn’t you have found a bigger one? This is the Son of God you know.”

“Well, this ‘ere’s the Lower Dunna Goat, Bob’s gonna bring the Higher Dunna Goat down dreckly.”

Mary sighed, she knew what ‘dreckly’ meant and she wasn’t sure that Foxtor Cafe would appreciate her waiting around all week for a Higher Dunna Goat.

“Well he’ll have to do for now,” she said, “Joe can you get these chaps a cup of tea? They look a bit worse for wear to me.”

Joe nodded and the three farmers sat down politely. Mary looked at their boots and tutted to herself, they had left straw all over the floor.

Joe had just sat down with his second cup of tea of the night when there was another knock at the door.

“Oh Crapstone!” he said, “This is all getting a bit ridiculous.”

This time when Joe opened the door there were three very tall men in pinstriped suits standing outside.

“Who are you?”

“Hello Joe, my name is Beardown Man, allow me to introduce my companions, Loughtor Man and Quintin’s Man,” said the nearest, stooping so that he could see through the door.

“Nice to meet you,” replied Joe, “but how do you know my name?”

“We know everybody’s name,” Beardown Man replied, “We know everybody’s name because we are very wise.”

“Hmm, you look like politicians to me,” said Joe doubtfully. “You’d better come in and shut the door. My girlfriend’s just given birth to the Son of God.”

“We know!” said Loughtor Man and Quintin’s Man together as they trooped through the door. “We’re wise you see.”

Mary looked up as the wise men came in, “Please don’t tell me you have brought any more goats,” she said, “This one’s tiny but he has already messed up the floor.”

Beardown Man, Loughtor Man and Quintin’s Man stood and looked awkwardly at Mary.

“We were too wise to bring any goats,” said Beardown Man, “but we have brought some presents for the Son of God.”

“Indeed we have,” boomed Loughtor Man in an official-sounding voice. “I am a Conservative MP and I have brought a Crock of Gold for his crown.”

“And I represent the Green Party and have brought an organic Greena Ball,” announced Quentins’ Man.

“What have you brought Mr Beardown Man?” Mary sighed, hoping for a bag of disposable nappies.

Beardown Man looked sheepish, “I’m afraid that since Brexit I’ve been a bit confused about my political leanings so I just brought him a Rattlebrook.”

“Well you had better all sit down'” said Mary, glad they hadn’t ended up in a stable, at least cafes had chairs. “Joe, can you make another round of tea?”

And that was how Christmas happened in Princetown on Dartmoor. The Higher Godsworthy was born, the farmers and the politicians came and everyone enjoyed a nice cup of tea.

In the morning when Dave came to open up Foxtor Cafe he was a bit surprised to see a couple, a baby, three farmers, three politicians and one very small goat all asleep in front of the fire.

“Weird lot those walkers,” he muttered and went off to make a bacon sandwich.