The escape from Mary Poppins, Noel's house party and the Queen's speech, became the quest of St. Stephen's day, the late afternoon walk guided our feet as if by some invisible compass, unerringly in the direction of Camden Street. The late winter afternoon was damp, grey and cold and a fine mist of rain blew in our faces. We stared at windows with shutters firmly bolted down and watched the Christmas litter blowing along the streets. There was a chink of light at the edge of a window where the blind was just the smallest bit off line, we stopped and my husband gave a rap on the door, we waited and then he rapped again, shuffling steps and heavy locks being turned sounded, the landlord peered out through an inch of opened doorway." You're an absolute nuisance" he said," but I suppose I must let you in, considering you claim that I'm a friend of yours". He led the way through the darkened hall of his home which was over his business. The lights in the lounge bar were low and a Christmas Tree with tinsel and red velvet bows provided some light as well, the pine smell from the tree provided a pleasant change from the usual smell of cigarette smoke and beer that dominates most pubs, it was clear also that the staff had cleared and cleaned the place since the frenzy of Christmas 'Eve.

" A pint for yourself sir" he said with heavy sarcasm, " and what will the lady be having"?
The drinks were placed on the counter, "no, no" he said , "that's your Christmas drink, thank God it only comes once a year" and he poured a drink for himself. There were less than half a dozen people in the lounge. We sat down to celebrate the great escape from the awfulness of the festival. After a few minutes we noticed the sound of someone crying gently, occasional sniffs and nose blowing and the voice of a young man making soothing remarks. The landlord tapped his head and whispered " don't mind them, a bit touched they are, I think". After a bit we could perceive through the lowered light, a young couple of about thirty sitting in an alcove. A pretty fair haired girl with a devoted and good-looking husband. He had his arm around her shoulders and every so often he would say, " ah Millie, please don't cry, stop love, just to please me, do please" and the girl would stop and sniffle for a few seconds.

Well we wondered if they had had some kind of bereavement, been in a car accident or had lost all their money. Bit by bit the story came out and quite clearly the young man was fairly shaken by his experience.

They had decided to leave the Christmas shopping to the last possible minute in order to get some bargains, so at about three o'clock on Christmas 'eve afternoon they had walked into Henry Street where the last of their gifts were purchased, he had bought new shoes for himself and she had purchased a cashmere cardigan in Arnott's. Finally they had gone across to Moore Street where they bought the Turkey. At this stage they were into the heavy traffic period with only a remote hope of getting on a bus. So they had hailed a taxi and sat in with relief with all the parcels.

At this point in the gin and tonic the girl took up the story, she had lovely blue eyes, messed and red from weeping and the top of her nose was red also. "I was just sitting back she said, when I felt some thing move", she had looked beside her in disbelief and saw that it was the turkey that had moved, "it couldn't be "she said to herself, then it moved again and she had screamed "Tom", they were aghast, the taxi driver was aghast and he said " well let's get you home out of this and we'll fix you up." At the end of the fare he refused to take any money from them and helped them to take their messages into the flat. Tom had put the living, breathing turkey on the settee, he took the cord off it's legs, " would you like me to finish it off for you "? said the taxi man kindly.

According to Tom it was at that point that an overdose of conscience came to take over, Millie took out the new cashmere cardigan from the Arnott"s bag and wrapped it round the bird. "It's cold she said, poor thing, sure it's feathers are plucked off it.". The taxi-man fled at this point and Millie and Tom set out on what was to become for themselves a most bizarre Christmas day. I don't have the heart to tell t you what Millie told us about their efforts at resuscitation of a half strangled bird on that Christmas day, glucose in water dropped from a dropper into its bill had failed to help, and the victim passed on despite their best efforts. There they were, in a pub in Wexford Street on St. Stephen's day, avowed vegetarians who had eaten nothing since Christmas 'eve and who were therefore getting more inebriated as they drowned their sorrows. "I told you, said the landlord " tapping his head again, but he said it in such a kindly way that he truly embodied the spirit of Christmas, " I don't often do this, but let you all have another snort on the house".