There was a d in the day, so the Boys were in the pub, sitting around their usual table. It hadn’t occurred to them to change their nom de guerre when Edna joined the gang, so she was now one of the boys. Nobody noticed. The place had been quiet since the visitors returned to the valleys, but tonight it was heaving, it being Christmas Eve and a traditional night for a beer before mass.
Edna looked around slowly, reached into her huge hippy handbag and brought out a flagon of gin, Gower gin, in that she’d brewed it and lived on the Gower. Not the nectar of the same name, but bathtub or rotgut might have been a better name. “Top up?” she asked, looking around again for the barman. “God no,” the Boys said as one, and covered their beer with their hands in case the two hundred percent proof had made her deaf. “There were lights on the artefact last night,” Derek said. He’d been in the army so said things like artefact. “Dancing around after midnight,” he said. He brushed the front of his blazer with its regimental crest, a winged dagger. Not his regiment, that would’ve been a winged wooden spoon, probably. Edna was dead still, staring at him, the jug of gin halfway into her bag. It was happening, the invasion.
When the huge tin can had washed ashore on the point, most of the locals pretended they weren’t interested. The can was a huge tank, ten feet high and twenty long, and could’ve been a ship’s fuel tank, except that if one went missing, the skipper was probably going to notice. Sooner or later.
One by one the bored and the curious strolled out to the point as nonchalantly as it’s possible to be on sea-splintered rocks. The Boys went last when nobody was watching and walked around it, rapped it with their knuckles, and Owen Jones climbed on top of it, because he was wearing a boiler suit. Owen always wore a boiler suit, oversized and held in with a broad, brown leather belt. And he wore a square-topped baseball cap with a huge peak. People took to calling him Casey Jones, but only once. Owen could be a little brusque when goaded. He stamped on the tank. “Sounds empty.” Owen knew things about metal stuff. He had a huge steam engine that he’d hand-built. He had a wife too, somewhere, but she’d told him it was the greasy scrap pile or her. She’d gone to stay with her sister to give him time to think about what he was missing. That was in 1997.
With the inspection complete, the Boys returned to their table in the pub to discuss their findings. Most of the women had gone home with better things to do, except Edna, who’d got things to do right there. Before they could report that it was an empty tin can, Edna stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Last night I seen lights on the point in the middle of the night, moving about. The lights, not me.” The subject got more tantalizing.
“I saw the lights,” Griff Williams said. Griff drives the school bus and wears a white short-sleeved shirt with a greyhound on the pocket, beige shorts with turn-ups, and trainers with no socks regardless of the season. A hard man then, not prone to exaggeration. “And I went out on the rocks to check. Civic duty,” he said, brushing imagined dust off his little sleeve. In the dark. On the jagged rocks. The man was missing a few plants in his shrubbery, but nobody mentioned that. That would’ve been rude.
Griff took a long breath. Confession time maybe. “As God is my witness, I saw something moving around the tank and heard noises from inside. I got as close as I was going to and swear on a stack of Sporting Life that there were strange-shaped beings moving bunkbeds out of the tank and into crafts hovering above the sea.” As unlikely as it sounded that aliens would choose the jagged rocks of the Gower to begin their colonization of the world, they had no reason to doubt his account of what he’d seen in the dead of a night with no moon. It appeared that an invasion of Earth was underway, spearheaded by strange-shaped beings who’d slept their way across the stars on bunkbeds in a rusty tin can. It was a good reason for another drink or two, if they were to be the last to be had before the kidnapping and experimenting. Edna had read about these experiments and, when pushed for more information, said they didn’t sound so bad. Griff remembered that just a few weeks ago he’d heard a humming noise late at night. So that was it, then. They were doomed.
The pub doors banged open, and everyone froze, everyone at the table that is, the rest of the pub didn’t give a stuff. The Boys turned slowly to see if the moment for the abductions had come. It was Elis and Rees Davies, the part-time policemen. Derek called them over, knowing they wouldn’t refuse a request from a fellow military man.
They looked at each other for a second, then at the bar. They’d decided on the bar, but Derek half stood and waved urgently. Something interesting. But not interesting enough. Rees was the older brother, so was in charge, that and because he was built like a rugby forward on steroids. People tended to do as he said, which was a handy trait for the law. He coughed. Nobody paid any attention. Coughing isn’t really a gossip stopper. Unless it’s harsh and incessant. He rapped his knuckles on a table. Same result. Not going to plan. Elis blew a whistle, shrill and loud. That did it. But it would. “Police business,” Rees said, his pomposity as big as his body.
The eight customers along the bar turned to listen to the formal declaration. If that was what the jumped-up wally was about to deliver. “There’s a fuel tank on the rocks. Was heading for Japan but fell off the ship.” The customers sniggered. The part-time law exchanged an official look. Drink brings about disrespect of the law. Any more of it and names would be taken. “You will stay clear of the article in question…” Derek could’ve told him it was an artefact, but kept his mouth shut, which was a near miracle. “An assessor will arrive in due course to…assess the article to ensure it has no health and safety implications.” “He means see if it’s worth anything,” Owen said very quietly. Rees had a temper; he remembered that from school. The proclamation issued, the law headed for the bar to end a grueling day of driving around the Gower looking for ne’er-do-wells to thud. Derek repeated his frantic waving, and one half of the law took pity on him and came over. Elis. Edna gave him the story in a single rush. The lights at night. Griff’s creatures with their bunkbeds, and the spaceship.
Rees couldn’t resist and came over while his brother explained the situation. Very slowly. Elis told them the lights belonged to fishermen who’d been retrieving bunkbeds, better known as lobster pots, as they had since King Harold got shot in the eye by the French. Rees reminded his brother that they would need to verify that said fishermen were using approved pots. A mental note was made. “But what about the spaceship, eh?” Griff said, a little too self-satisfied. Tick in the box for getting one over on the law. Rees smiled at him. Never a good thing, a cop smiling. “That will be the coastguard helicopter spaceship you’re talking about.” The law couldn’t continue its explanation because they were laughing too much to speak.
Now months later the lights were back. Derek had seen them. The aliens had been lying low on their bunkbeds in their tin can to lull the Earthlings. “We’ve got to do something,” Griff said, but couldn’t think what that something might be. Other than running away. Thank God he didn’t have the school run in the morning. “We need to reconnoitre the area,” Derek said, taking charge because of his military background. Corporal, catering, but that’s still military. “They’re going to probe us,” Edna said, to nobody in particular.
“We need to make a plan,” Derek said. “I thought we were going to reckon-thingy,” Owen said, and nodded at the barman for another refill. “This is no time for beer,” Derek said, in his commanding officer voice, which was mostly his regular voice but a bit more squeaky. “Always time for beer,” Griff said. Derek considered the proposal, and although command isn’t a debate, beer sounded good. And it was cold out. “We’ll wait until midnight, when everybody’s gone to mass,” he said commandingly.
Owen waved at the barman, who must have missed the earlier nod. The barman waved back and returned to serving the customers at the bar. An easy misunderstanding. Owen went to fetch more beer while Edna refilled her half-pint gin glass from her private cellar. The barman must have been tilting for tips, or he would’ve served them first. Of this Derek was sure, though it would be mentioned at a later date. They left, the fair-weather customers, and only the Boys remained. The pub to themselves at last and as usual. The barman told them he was shutting early, as it was Christmas and there weren’t any real customers now. Derek was about to give him a dressing-down, but remembered their mission and led the way in double time to the door. The rest of the Boys drank their beer and rotgut gin and followed a few minutes later. Not double time, more wobble and stumble, but it was late and they were tired.
“What’s the plan, then, General?” Owen said, and stepped forward quickly to avoid the door hitting him on the ass as the barman slammed it shut and bolted it. “We few,” Derek said, standing to attention, “we happy few, we band of brothers—” “He’s off again,” Edna said, rummaging in her hippy bag and finding only an empty bottle. “I think we’re off to fight the aliens,” Griff said. “Bugger that,” Owen said. “What about if they’re not, y’know, evil aliens?” Griff said, ever the reasonable one, a requirement of a school bus driver. They turned and waited. This should be good. Aliens had invaded the Earth and he thinks they’re ET. “Think about it.” They did, but couldn’t really think what to think. Beer and bathtub gin will do that. “What day is it?” Griff shook his head. “Tomorrow.” “Christmas,” Derek said, back on safe ground for a leader: stating the bleedin’ obvious. “Exactly,” Griff said, and touched the side of his nose. They all knew. “Anybody know what he’s talking about?” Edna said. A round of head shaking answered that. Griff sighed. Talking to kids on the bus was easier. “Christmas?” Nothing. “Who comes around at Christmas?” “Ah,” Owen said, getting it. “My old mom.” Griff stared at him.
“He could mean Santa,” Edna said with a grin. Big joke. “Exactly,” Griff said, with a slow nod. “What?” Derek said. “What about Santa? What’s he got to do with the aliens?” “Simple,” Griff said. “Think about it.” That hadn’t worked the first time around.
“Santa has to deliver presents all around the world, right?” Given. “Then how’s he get them all where he wants them? There must be thousands, mil.lions.” He gave them the slow nod. “How he does it, right, is in the summer he drops off supplies in key locations everywhere. Then when his sack’s empty, he can just swoop down and refill it. Simple.” Totally raving bonkers. “And that’s what that big can is?” Edna said. Griff nodded again. “Twelve o’clock,” Owen said, hoping to drag himself back to a semblance of a sane world. “Merry—” They heard the sleigh bells. “You don’t think…” Ewan said, looking around quickly. “What? Santa’s trotting past on his sleigh?” Owen said. “Could be,” Edna said. “Makes more sense than them being aliens.” And not so scary.
They searched the sky. Nothing. A mad midnight jogger rounded the corner, his head warmed by a red pointy hat and his pace kept by the jingly Christmas bells around his neck. Idiot. The jogger gave them a cheery wave and headed on up the hill. No Santa, then. The Boys looked out across the dark rocks. There was a light, dim and shak.ing in the cold wind. More fishermen for sure. Then they heard the bells again and waited for the jogger’s return, but he was long gone. Edna pointed up, unable to speak. There was a bright light moving up and away from Santa’s summer store, climbing and whirring with the sound of sleigh bells in its wake. No probing then, Edna thought, relieved but a bit disappointed.
Author: Leigh Barker Illustrations: Pam Parry