The Nanny Piggins Guide to Conquering Christmas (14 page)

So Nanny Piggins sat down to read the play. The school had been performing the exact same nativity production with the exact same props and costumes for thirty years. This made things very easy for the staff, because by the time the children were old enough to play the talking parts they had seen the play so many times that they knew all the lines by heart. But Nanny Piggins was not going to let a little thing like tradition sway her.

‘This play is appalling,’ she denounced. ‘Who wrote it?’

‘I think Headmaster Pimplestock did,’ said Derrick.

‘Typical,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘That man has less imagination than a fruit bat – a species that is pathologically unimaginative because of the excess of fruit in their diet.’

‘I know the dialogue is a little stilted,’ said Derrick, ‘but nativity plays are supposed to be simple.’

‘It’s not the complete lack of word play, action sequences or fist fights that appalls me,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘It’s that he’s got all the facts entirely wrong.’

‘Really?’ asked Samantha. ‘I’m pretty sure he includes all the main plot points from the Bible.’

‘Aha,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘That’s where he went wrong.’

‘How?’ asked Derrick.

‘There is a much more reliable account of what went on in that stable the night that Baby Jesus was born,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘Really?’ asked Michael, beginning to get excited. He could sense a stunning revelation coming.

‘Yes, the oral history of the Piggins family includes a firsthand account of that night, which has been passed down through generations, from pig to pig,’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘You see, my great times ninety-eight grandmother, Yudith Piggins, was in the stable that night.’

‘No way!’ exclaimed the children.

‘She helped deliver the baby,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘You’re pulling our legs,’ said Samantha.

‘Well, you don’t think Joseph delivered the baby, do you?’ asked Nanny Piggins. ‘In these tricky situations you always need a woman, or preferably a pig, to take charge.’

‘Tell us the story, Nanny Piggins, please,’ urged Michael, knowing that if Nanny Piggins said a Piggins was present at the first Christmas, events must have been even more exciting than the recorded history.

‘All right,’ agreed Nanny Piggins, checking her watch, ‘if you give me forty-five minutes to whip up baklava. You shouldn’t tell stories without something sticky and sweet in your hand.’

And so forty-five minutes later the children sat around Nanny Piggins on the couch, a tray of sticky honey-flavoured pastry on each of their laps, ready to listen to her story.

‘
Long long ago
,’ began Nanny Piggins.

‘Over 2000 years ago,’ supplied Derrick.

‘Don’t interrupt,’ snapped Nanny Piggins. ‘The dates are neither here nor there. The shocking details of the first Christmas that I am about to tell you are much more significant than a 2000-year-old calendar system.’

‘Sorry,’ said Derrick.

‘That’s quite all right,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Where was I? Oh yes,
Long long ago
. . .’ She glared at Derrick before continuing,
‘My great times ninety-eight grandmother Yudith Piggins was minding her own business and having a lovely nap after a particularly delicious dinner of chocolate cake.’

‘I didn’t know they had chocolate cake 2000 years ago in the Middle East,’ said Samantha.

‘Humans didn’t,’ agreed Nanny Piggins, ‘but pigs have always been way ahead of humans in the field of experimental cooking.’

The children nodded, encouraging her to continue.

‘So Yudith Piggins was sound asleep, snuggled up in the corner of a stable behind an inn when –’
continued Nanny Piggins.

‘Hang on,’ interrupted Derrick.

‘Again with the interruptions,’ complained Nanny Piggins, rolling her eyes.

‘I don’t mean to be disrespectful,’ continued Derrick.

‘People who say that are always about to be very disrespectful,’ accused Nanny Piggins.

‘In the Middle East, people don’t eat bacon or pork,’ said Derrick carefully. (The subject was a very sensitive one to his nanny. The mere mention of the word ‘bacon’ could send her into a shin-biting frenzy.)

‘That’s true,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘They are a very civilized people. What’s your point?’

‘Why would there be a pig in the stable then?’ asked Derrick.

‘If they don’t eat pork, where else would the pig be?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

‘No, I mean, why would they even –’ began Derrick.

‘You’ve already heard the story to know there was no room at the inn,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘Yes, but –’ continued Derrick.

‘She was hardly going to go and sleep in an open field with the sheep like some sort of wild animal, was she?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

‘Well,’ began Derrick.

But Samantha put her hand over his and whispered to her brother, ‘Derrick, we all want to hear Nanny Piggins’ story. If you start trying to apply logic and rational thinking we’re never going to get through it, are we?’

‘Sorry,’ said Derrick, realising that his sister was entirely right. ‘Please continue.’

‘Yudith Piggins was having a lovely dream about a world where fruit was soaked in so much brandy and cooked with so much fatty suet that it actually tasted good, when she was rudely awoken by a great big pregnant lady sitting on her trotter,’
said Nanny Piggins.

‘Ow!’ cried Yudith Piggins. ‘How dare you crush my trotter, and when my imagination hadn’t finished inventing all the ingredients to go in the pudding I was dreaming about.’

‘Sorry,’ said the pregnant lady. ‘It’s just nice to sit down on something that isn’t a donkey.’

‘Have you tried a chair?’ asked Yudith Piggins.

‘I’d love a chair,’ said the pregnant lady, ‘but they won’t let us in the inn.’

‘Really?’ asked Yudith Piggins. ‘That would be right. That innkeeper is a rotter. He wouldn’t let me borrow his oven to make crème brûlée, so I’m not surprised he doesn’t let a eight-and-a-half month pregnant woman inside his inn. He’s probably worried you’ll have the baby and keep him up half the night asking for boiling water and towels.’

‘I think my feet have swollen,’ said the pregnant lady.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Yudith Piggins. ‘That’s the problem with travelling by donkey, there’s no foot rest.’

‘Do you mind if I have a little nap?’ asked the pregnant lady.

‘Not there!’ exclaimed Yudith Piggins. ‘I keep my stash of sticky buns under that pile of hay. Come over here, there’s a nice pile of hay that the cow hasn’t got around to using as a toilet yet.’

‘Thanks,’ said the pregnant lady, before promptly falling asleep. Yudith Piggins was just about to do the same when a man came into the barn.

‘What is this?’ demanded Yudith. ‘Is this Bethlehem’s hip new meeting place or is it a stable?’

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ said the man politely. ‘Is my wife all right?’

‘She’s gone to sleep,’ said Yudith Piggins. ‘She was telling me some crazy story about you making her travel a long distance on a donkey.’

‘It’s true,’ said the man. ‘We’ve come all the way from Nazareth for the census.’

‘Are you out of your mind?! She’s eight-and-a-half-months pregnant!’ exclaimed Yudith Piggins. ‘She shouldn’t be travelling anywhere, except perhaps to the nearest cake shop for more sustenance.’

‘We had to,’ said Joseph. ‘It’s the law. You have to return to the place of your birth for the census.’

‘Yes, but it should be pretty easy to get around that,’ said Yudith Piggins. ‘DNA technology and fingerprinting haven’t been invented yet, so as long as you turn up with a woman at the census, they’re never going to know whether she’s your actual wife. That way you could let this poor pregnant woman stay at home with her feet up, eating bonbons.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ admitted Joseph.

‘It never ceases to amaze me that humans think they are the dominant species when they are so poor at lateral thinking,’ said Yudith Piggins. ‘And deceit,’ she added as an afterthought.

‘Aaagh!’ interrupted Mary.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ asked Yudith Piggins.

‘I think the baby is coming,’ said Mary.

‘I bet it’s a boy,’ said Yudith Piggins. ‘Only a man could have such bad timing.’

‘What should I do?’ asked Joseph.

‘Do you know how to bake a chocolate cake?’ asked Yudith Piggins.

‘No,’ admitted Joseph.

‘That’s a shame,’ said Yudith. ‘All this drama is making me peckish. Never mind, I’m putting you in charge of holding Mary’s hand and saying supportive things. Do you think you can handle that?’

‘I think so,’ said Joseph.

‘Failed!’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘Until this baby is born I want every sentence you say to be phrased in the most positive way possible. Do you think you can handle that?’

‘Ummm . . .’ Joseph racked his brain, trying to stop it panicking and focus. ‘Of course, everything is going to be all right.’

‘Now kiss her and tell her she’s beautiful,’ ordered Yudith Piggins.

‘Aaaagggghh,’ wailed Mary as another contraction hit.

‘Do you really think it will help?’ asked Joseph.

‘Just do as I say!’ demanded Yudith Piggins.

‘You look beautiful,’ lied Joseph, before giving Mary a kiss.

‘Good work, keep it up,’ urged Yudith. ‘Don’t worry, she’ll be in too much pain to be able to tell that you’re lying.’

And so, two hours later, after much screaming, pushing and swearing like a sailor (from Yudith Piggins, obviously Mary did not have a potty mouth), the baby was born.

‘And they called him Baby Jesus!’ called out Samantha.

‘Who’s telling this story?’ demanded Nanny Piggins. ‘If you are going to yell out all the good bits, where’s the fun for me?’

‘Sorry,’ said Samantha, ‘Please continue.’

‘And they called him . . . Baby Jesus,’
said Nanny Piggins.
‘Then Mary had a long nap and Joseph sat with his head between his legs waiting for the feeling of nausea to go away. Yudith Piggins herself was just settling down to go to sleep after a long night of mid-wifery when there was a knock at the door.

‘Who could that be?’ complained Yudith, before calling out through the door. ‘If you’re another expectant mother – go away! This is a stable, not a hospital. We animals need our sleep too, you know.’

‘Yoo-hoo, hello!’ called a voice from outside.

Yudith Piggins instinctively knew that anyone who was silly enough to call out ‘Yoo-hoo’ at two o’clock in the morning was unlikely to go away just because you yelled at them to, so she got out of her makeshift bed of hay and went over to answer the door.

‘This had better be good,’ she said as she swung open the door and was surprised to discover three shepherds standing there.

‘What do you want?’ asked Yudith Piggins.

‘Glory to the newborn king!’ declared one of the shepherds.

‘How dare you,’ said Yudith Piggins. ‘I’m not a King. I’m a lady. So if you are going to declare me royalty I’d be a Queen.’

‘No, the baby,’ said the shepherd. ‘Unto you a child has been born and he will be our new king, saviour of us all.’

‘How impertinent,’ declared Yudith Piggins. ‘I have not had a baby. And if I had had a baby I certainly wouldn’t stand around talking to a bunch of shepherds.’

‘But the Angel of the Lord came to us in the field,’ said the shepherd, ‘and told us that the bright star would guide us to the stable where Christ our saviour was born.’

Yudith Piggins turned and looked up at the sky. She had to shield her eyes from the glare because an enormously bright star was shining directly above them.

‘Let me get this straight,’ said Yudith Piggins. ‘An angel came to you in the field, told you a baby had been born and that you should go and visit it?’

‘That’s right,’ said the shepherd.

‘And this angel didn’t mention anything about appropriate visiting hours, or waiting a few hours while the mother got over a difficult labour?’ asked Yudith Piggins.

‘No,’ admitted the shepherd.

‘The angel didn’t say anything about not bringing your sheep to meet a newly born baby, whose immune system hasn’t developed yet and may be susceptible to goodness knows what sheep-born diseases?’ asked Yudith Piggins.

The shepherds looked down at the sheep they were carrying, which were undeniably dusty and slightly poo-ridden.

‘Ooops,’ said the shepherd. ‘We didn’t think of that.’

Yudith Piggins sighed. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t blame you, but this angel should have known better.’

‘So can we see the baby?’ asked the shepherd.

‘All right,’ conceded Yudith Piggins. ‘If you leave your sheep outside and you wash your hands thoroughly first.’

So Yudith Piggins led the shepherds in to see the baby. Mary was fast asleep on a bed of hay. And the baby was . . . nowhere to be seen.

‘Joseph!’ called Yudith Piggins.

Joseph looked up. He was still a bit green around the gills. ‘Yes.’

‘Where’s the baby?’ asked Yudith Piggins.

‘Oh, he fell asleep,’ said Joseph, ‘so I lay him in the manger.’

‘You did what?!’ accused Yudith Piggins. ‘What were you thinking? The animals eat out of the manger! Have you any idea how unhygienic that is? And not just for the baby, think about the poor animals! Would you eat off a dinner plate that someone had let a newborn baby sleep on?’