The Tale of The Christmas Goose

Way back in the olden days, Horatius was sitting on a small hillock which was his favourite place to observe the woodlands around his lake. He was watching an old man dressed in rags collecting firewood in the forest on the night before the special celebration. The old man didn't seem to be very good at this task, and, thought Horatius, those sticks are all damp and won't help make a fire for anyone. Horatius was a goose of all the colours of gold and sand and had often seen the villagers collect wood for their fires. The villagers didn't have feathers, after all, and needed something to keep them warm in the depths of winter, especially in the snow.

The goose turned his head to look at the old man from a different angle and then flew off to gather his brothers and sisters to help the old man. The geese collected dry branches and sticks and dropped then at the feet of the old man who stood and looked at them in astonishment. When there was a goodly pile of dry tinder Horatius landed back on the hillock and went 'Honk' and bowed to the old man before flying away to a tree a bit further back in the forest to see what happened next.

The old man bowed to the golden goose in thanks and gathered up the sticks and created three bundles which he left outside three hovels in the village and went back to his own shack on the edge of the village. Horatius followed the old man to see what would happen and did't understand why the old man gave away all the dry twigs rather than build a nice fire to keep himself warm. 'Humans' thought Horatius and, when he returned the next day, saw that the old man had gone.

Spring and summer passed and Horatius had his own brood of goslings who were, generally, scamps but in a good way. Then, as the leaves had fallen and the snow and frost appeared, he saw the old man again and called on his children to collect a pile of firewood for the old man and stash it under a fir tree to keep it dry. Then Horatius issued a loud 'HONK' to the old man to alert him to his gift and the old man came over in wonder. He sat beside the golden goose and stroked his neck and his wings and said 'thank you Master Goose' with a low bow.

So it happened every year afterwards when the snow appeared and the special day drew near. Horatius was to be found waiting for the old man with a pile of dry kindling with his children and grand-children watching from deeper in the forest. The old man would bring a bag od seeds of the highest quality so his friend could have a snack while they comforted each other in a friendly silence.

The old man grew older and so did Horatius. Until one year the old man found a pile of dry twigs under a tree but there was no sign of his friend. He left the bag of seed for Horatius's children and shed a tear.

The King's castle wasn't far from the wood and on the day of the big celebration the old King, resplendent in his best holiday robes was looking forward to the new treat he'd been promised by his hunters. They entered his banqueting hall with a cage with a rough shape inside with the colours of dull bronze.

As the cage was put down the shape stirred and a final, defiant 'HONK' issued from the cage.  The King instantly recognised the voice of his old, winter friend from his trips into the woods disguised as a poor man in his annual penance. He jumped up and demanded that the cage should be opened and the bedraggled goose set free. The king picked up the body of his old friend and, with tears in his eyes. said 'It's me, Horatius, my friend' . Horatius recognised the old man's voice and rested his head on his shoulder which was covered in fine silk and damask.

The old king carried his friend to the table and sat him down in the place of honour on a soft cushion, ordering water and high quality seeds for his friend. Then he issued a proclamation that never again should golden geese be hunted in his kingdom. Horatius issued a loud 'honk' and his children, and grand-children and great-grand-children appeared at the windows to honour the old king and their treaty. And then he nipped the king's finger to remind him that they were still a free people and not subject to the whims of humans. And the old King giggled.

Centuries passed and we remember good King Wenceslas and the firewood but we rarely hear about his friend, Horatius. The golden geese remember him, though, and celebrate him when the snow falls and humans search for dry sticks on that special night. Keep your eyes peeled and you might see Horatio honouring his ultimate grandfather, standing on a small hillock with lots of dry sticks waiting to be claimed by anyone who needs them. Some things are important.