The Carrington Christmas Capers

“Thanks very much for stopping by to put up the tree tiger,” Grandma Marie told me as she handed me a sparkly red bauble.

   “Like I was going to miss this,” I replied, finding a spare branch on her authentic fir tree to hang the ornament from. “The decorating of the Merton Christmas tree is a tradition second only to mince pies.”

   “Well you do such an excellent job Sara,” she told me as she opened a second box, containing a set of bright green ribbons to tie around the branches. “Shame your second in command couldn’t be here.”

  “What, Chris?” I snorted. “His gig isn’t until this evening, he could have at least come for an hour instead of practicing for the hundredth time.”

   “Come now Sara, it’s fantastic you both have such active social lives. You shouldn’t feel like you have to go out of your way just to spend time with me and your grandfather.”

    “Yeah but its Christmas. Family is supposed to come first isn’t it?”

    “Oh I’ll always be here for you both. It’s far more important you spend time enjoying your youthful years.”

    “But I am enjoying it,” I smiled as I held my now emptied glass of mulled wine towards her. “Any chance of a refill?”

    “Don’t you go glugging it all back, I’m brewing that specially for Maureen’s Christmas party,” Grandma Marie laughed, even as she took my glass to provide me with second helpings.

    “I’ll be gone by then, don’t worry,” I yelled back to her through the open doorway into her kitchen. “I need to stop by the post office before it closes to send off my Christmas cards.”

   There was a brief pause from my grandmother before she replied, “I don’t suppose you’ll be visiting the Post Office down the road from me?”

   “Well it’s the closest, plus Kavita is working there over the holidays, so was going to pop in and say hi.”

   I turned my head as Grandma Marie re-entered the room with our re-filled glasses. I could see that there was now an expression of concern on her wrinkled yet kind and elegant face. She anxiously ran her hand through her grey hair only a little shorter than my own, before sighing, “You wouldn’t prefer to use the one on Carrington High Street?”

   “Is something wrong?” I asked her as I tied another ribbon around the branches.

    She exhaled loudly before she remarked, “It’s just that…a long time ago, when I was your age…I worked there for a bit.”

   That surprised me. “You never mentioned that before.”

   “Well it was only for a few days in the end. It was supposed to be a quick holiday job over Christmas, helping with all the cards and parcels and whatnot. But I had my own motivations for joining you see.”

   I raised my eyebrow at her. “Snoop related motivations?”

   “When it comes to our family, is there any other answer,” she replied, before she began her story.



   It was the Christmas of 1964, and it was a cold one. No snow that year for Carrington, but it was nippy enough to make me regret not wearing a nice fluffy cardigan as I began my work, organising which cards needed to be sent onto which street. Instead I was wearing a smart, short sleeved dress coloured a deep green, which I wore with a pair of tan tights I’d borrowed from my mum and my favourite pair of block heel Maryjane shoes. My brown hair was fixed up into a beehive, not the most practical hairstyle for a day of work but I was off to the cinema after work with your grandfather, so I wanted to look my best.

   The post office was currently being operated by the local postmaster Archie Ingram, and his three lady members of staff. Denise and Jolene were two ladies in their late thirties who had worked in this post office for years, Denise a lady with dark auburn hair and Jolene a strawberry blonde, both cut to a practical length. The third staff member was a lovely young lady called Agatha, a brunette who like me liked to mould her hair in the latest fashions.

   It was a pleasant place to work, but I hadn’t come there for the company, or even the money. You see over the past few weeks there had been a spate of raids on post offices in the area. Me and Shirley quickly deduced that Carrington might be next on the criminals hit list. So we had hatched a plan. I would take a holiday job at the Post Office and keep an eye on proceedings, and if it did get targeted then Shirley would be working at the clothes store opposite, so she would be able to alert the police straight away if I gave her the correct signal.

   However I’d been working there a week and as Christmas fast approached I began to wonder if this had all been a waste of time. All I’d done was sort envelope after envelope and lick so many stamps my tongue tasted of glue. But at least the company was good. I remember Denise laughing with Jolene when they were handed a special delivery in a specially sealed case, trying to guess how much it was worth. We were all in good spirts as the hands on the clock drew ever closer to five ‘o’clock.

   But it had just gone past three when things took a turn for the worst. I went into the post room to sort some Christmas cards, when I heard loud shouting from out front accompanied by some panicked cries. I could tell that the new voices were male, and judging by their aggressive attitudes I quickly realised we too were being raided.

   A man wearing a balaclava then burst in through the door, and before I could run away he grabbed me by the arm and hauled me into the main post office area. I could see that this man was joined by three accomplices, who had currently cornered Denise, Jolene and Agatha against the wall. Thank goodness nobody else had been in the post office at the time.

    “Quickly, lock the door!” one of these men barked at his cronies.

    “Wait, I’ll do it!” I volunteered quickly. If the men were surprised by my suggestion they didn’t say anything, instead just watched as I locked the front door and turned the sign around from open to closed.

    For a final touch I pulled down the shop blinds, which drew some suspicion from the ringleader. “What are you doing that for?”

    “I don’t suppose you’re going to want anyone looking inside are you?”

     “And you’re helping us out because…”

     I had to think on my feet at that point. There was no way I could let him suspect that the closing of the blinds was my secret signal to Shirley across the road that something was wrong. “I…just thought that the sooner you take what you want, the sooner you’ll be gone.”

    Thankfully he seemed to swallow my story. “Smart girl. The rest of you ladies follow her example and you’ll be free to celebrate Christmas before the day is out.”

    At that point Archie the Postmaster emerged from his office, his face flushed red with the stress of the season. “Denise could you get me a book of second class…” he began before he saw the intruders, and all the colour drained from his face. Archie was not exactly the heroic type, and he rather meekly submitted to the raiders demands. He was roughly bustled back into his office by one of the men, while the remaining three marched Denise, Jolene, Agatha and myself back into the sorting room.

   We were made to kneel on the floor in a row. One of the men then disappeared, while the other two quickly found the rolls of brown parcel tape we used for packaging. With a swiftness that implied they’d had practice, they pinned my hands behind my back and wound the tape about my wrists. They then crossed my ankles over and secured them with the same material. I found myself dumbly hoping that my mother’s fancy nylons wouldn’t be ruined as the tape stuck to them fast.

   Once I was secure it was the turn of Agatha beside me. She was far less accustomed having her hands secured behind her back, and she bit her lip in apprehension as she was taped. When they crossed her ankles over to wrap them up she turned to me and whispered, “How are you so used to all this?”

   “You never really do get used to it,” I answered as the men moved on to tape up Denise and Jolene.

     I used the time to test my tape bonds but they held fast. By now the men knew full well just what was needed to keep a quartet of girls under control. We barely spoke a word, but that didn’t stop the balaclava wearing goons from slathering several layers of tape over our mouthes, starting with Jolene then moving to Denise, then to Agatha, and then to myself.

    Naturally I’d hoped it would stop there, but I was out of luck, as the third goon returned carrying four burlap sacks, the kind we uses to store letters, big enough to stash four average sized ladies in. I watched on in a mixture of surprise and concern as they lifted up Agatha, the brunette stepping into the sack feet first, and she was told to stay in place as the sack was pulled up over her body, hiding her trendy white dress from view, before they stopped at her neck and pulled the straps taught, meaning that all of her body from the neck downwards was concealed within the sack.

    Agatha was dropped to the floor by the men and repositioned against the wall. Then came the turns of Jolene and Denise to literally get the sack. Once all that could be seen of their bodies was their tape gagged faces it was my turn. Up I was hauled into the awaiting sack, then I was held by the shoulders as the men pulled it right up to my neck, where the straps were tightly fastened.

    “That should stop you four moving around causing us trouble,” the head goon sneered as I was plonked beside Agatha so I was resting against her sacked up form.

    “Mmmmm nnnttt bbbtttnnn yyyyttt,” I tried to say through the packaging tape as my eyes narrowed at the goons, remaining defiant even as I realised that these sacks would prove an effective means of keeping me where they wanted.

    Suddenly we heard the fourth member of their little gang yell, “It’s here. The Postmaster coughed up its location!”

     “Lock him in his office then bring it to us!” the chief robber yelled even as his mates moved out of the post room. He followed swiftly behind, but not before leaving us with a final warning. “Stay put in here and you’ll never see us again!” he barked, before he slammed the door shut on us.

    I think Jolene and Denise were keen to stay in place, resting side by side only emitting the odd fitful murmur from behind their gags. Agatha and I weren’t going down without a fight. We both struggled desperately, the sacks we were trapped within bulging and rising as we thrashed our bound legs and twisted our bound wrists. Strands of my brown hair fell out of my previously immaculate beehive as I shook my head and rotated my shoulders trying to shake off this burlap sack, but I wasn’t able. I even tried standing up to hop for the exit, but imagine trying to do the school sports day sack race with your hands and feet tied together. Very difficult, and I was forced to admit defeat.

   How long we were stashed away I had no idea. We could hear strange sounds coming from the room next door, bangs and crashes and cursing, and what those men were up to I had no inclination. I could only sit and fidget restlessly in my itchy, uncomfortable sack, hoping Shirley had seen my message of distress.

   She had, and quickly she had got on the phone to PC Merton. After what seemed an eternity to us four captives we heard the sound of police sirens approaching the post office. We were swiftly greeted by the sight of PC Merton and his young trainee officer Billy Simpson bursting through the door to our rescue. But they had arrived too late. The four robbers had already escaped out the back door and had disappeared into the winters evening.



   “Wow, I had no idea that happened to you,” I remarked after Grandma Marie finished her tale and as we wound tinsel around the Christmas tree. “What did they take?”

   “They were after one thing. A pendant constructed out of the finest diamonds and jewels which Archie had been keeping locked up in his safe,” Grandma Marie informed me. “That had been the real reason for their crime wave; they had been raiding post offices trying to find out which one was holding it. The owner and their insurance company had been very clever concealing its location, but ultimately not clever enough.”

   “Shame that those crooks got away with it!” I muttered bitterly on my Grandmother’s behalf.

    “Oh they were eventually caught,” she said to my surprise. “Six months later their gang was busted in a raid. But the pendant was never seen again. I guess they quickly sold it on.”

    “And I’m guessing they got a pretty penny for it,” I surmised.

    Doing the calculations in her head as she bent down to reach more tinsel Grandma Marie said, “In 1964 it was worth fifty thousand pounds in old money. So now, taken into account inflation and the new currency and the fact it’s been missing for so long…I’d say it could now be sold for nearly a million pounds.”

    “Well Grandma, another amazing story for Rachel to write up I think.”

    Grandma Marie shot me a wry smile and replied, “Oh Sara, who ever said that that was the end of the story?”



    Twenty four years later I found myself returning to the very same post office as Christmas once again approached. The winter of 1988 was an incredibly mild one, which after the harshness of the one the year before was quite a relief. As a result I was quite comfortable stepping out wearing just a beige overcoat, my dark blue skirt suit, sheer tights and black high heels, having just finished my reporting work at the Herringford Gazette for the holiday season. I just now had to go post my Christmas Cards before I could begin preparing for the big day for your Grandfather and three increasingly difficult to manage teenage offspring.

    And one difficult eighteen year old in particular.

   “This isn’t going to take too long is it mum?” Caroline asked me with a resigned huff as I got out of the car. “I’m supposed to be meeting Keith for a party in an hour.”

   “I’ll only be a few minutes,” I told your mother as I bundled my Christmas cards and some parcels underneath my arm. “You’re more than welcome to join me.”

   “I’ll be fine thanks,” Caroline grunted.

   “OK, won’t be long!” I told her as I closed the car door, leaving her inside with the car keys. I took one quick look back at her before I entered the post office. She was checking her make-up in the mirror, obviously eager to impress Keith. But my goodness Sara your mother was the spitting image of you when she was your age. The big difference was her hair. Though she shared your brown hair colour, hers was long, big, wild and deliberately frizzy, as was fashionable at the time. She also very caught up in the denim fever of the eighties. For example on that day she was wearing a denim jacket over a black top, a short jean skirt, dark tights and high heeled ankle boots.

    She was also very picky about her choice in music, so when she turned on the radio and heard Cliff Richard’s ‘Mistletoe and Wine’ playing on three separate radio stations she angrily tutted to herself and sat in silence. The minutes passed by and eventually impatience won out. Spying a small alleyway beside the Post Office she exited the car and darted into it at speed. When sheltered from the weather she checked the coast was clear before she plunged her hand into her jacket pocket and from it pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

  She was about to light up when she heard the sound of someone screaming for help, so she hastily stashed them back within her pocket and ran in that direction. One thing she inherited from me, and passed onto you, was her sense of adventure and confidence to go snooping where no-one else dared. And yes, it often got her into trouble.

   So it proved as Caroline came around to the back door of the Post Office and saw one of its workers trying to escape the clutches of goons dressed in black with balaclavas covering their faces. They’d pinned the dark haired girl’s hands behind her and one had clamped their gloved hand over her mouth. Her name was Catherine Dobson, a girl who’d been two years above Caroline at school. She’d come back from her second year at University for the holidays and had been working part time in the Post Office just as I once had. She was a simply stunning girl too, with dark hair tied back in a ponytail which she wore with smart grey trousers, a white blouse and a red cardigan with black high heels.

   Well your mother was never one to back down from a fight, so she whistled angrily at the men to get their attention before she started throwing stones at them. She was a great shot, and scoring a couple of direct hits she bellowed, “Think you’re tough do you? Come on, prove how manly you are then!”

   Recognising her Catherine garbled through her captors hand gag, “Gggggttt tttt ccccrrrrllllnnnn!” She could only watch and squirm as one of the men tried to grab the new arrival, only for Caroline to kick him in the shins with her ankle boots.

    “Enough of this!” one of the men shouted at both girls. “Come inside with us now or the other women we’ve got inside will regret it.”

    Caroline ceased her attack. She realised they must have been referring to me in addition to Catherine’s other colleagues. She rather unwillingly held up her hands in surrender before grunting with eyes narrowed, “If you hurt anyone then I’ll make your life a living hell!”

   “We’re not here to hurt anyone sweetcheeks!” one goon hissed as he pinned her arm against the small of her back before steering her inside with Catherine. Though he couldn’t help but add, “Though if you don’t curb that tongue of yours I may make an exception with you!”

    Both young ladies were swiftly manoeuvred into the storeroom next to where I had been held captive nearly a quarter century ago, and where I was currently being held captive. The men had already taken over the Post Office by the time I’d gone inside, and I’d unwittingly wandered into their hostage situation. Now once again I’d been bound up with black duct tape hand and foot with more about my expensive suit jacket and encircling my upper legs. More had been used not only to gag me, but to connect me back to back with the current Postmistress, a certain Mrs Agatha Traynor, the same lady I had been held prisoner with in the Post Office all those years ago.

   When I saw my daughter being brought in by those holding me prisoner I felt my heart sink, and I murmured through my tapegag, “Rrrrrrr yyyyymmmm kkkkkk?”

   “I’m fine, these berks hurt you?” Caroline asked me, to which I shook my head. She had no problem understanding my gagspeak, as she herself had been a victim of the old bind and gag routine during her early adventures. You have asked her about the case of the Secret Attic Stash haven’t you?

    As a result she barely showed any fear at all as the men used black duct tape to bind her wrists behind her back, though poor Catherine at her side seemed a lot more apprehensive over events. She managed to keep her fears under control, even as she and Caroline were gagged with multiple tape strips, before they were seated back to back on the floor and taped against each other. Their feet and knees were likewise ensnared, rendering both of them as helpless as Agatha, myself and the other three female hostages being kept in the corner.

   I could see Caroline was now really not in a good mood as she bucked and strained against her bonds with all of her vigour, and I doubt it was just because she was now going to be late for her party with Keith. She angrily stamped her booted feet on the floor and emitted muffled obscenities in our captor’s direction. I was a lot more methodical, testing my restraints for any weak spots and shuffling on the spot to remain comfortable. But with the balaclava’d goons still in attendance there was no way we were getting loose anytime soon.

   And they weren’t in any special rush it seems. Instead they were examining the room intently, flashing their torches on the walls and floors and speaking in animated whispers. I listened hard but could only make out certain words, such as, “this spot,” twentieth down,” and “hammer.”

   As to what they meant by those words I never found out, as suddenly the post office was swarming with police.

    It turned out that this gang had been under surveillance for many weeks, and they’d been preparing to leap to the rescue when Caroline’s involvement had complicated things. Still, better late than never Detective Inspector William Simpson and his men strode into the Post Office to my rescue, just like he’d done in 1964. Once his men had the criminal gang under arrest he came over to free me personally. With a friendly smile he remarked to me, “Just like old times Marie?”

    “Oh those were the days!” I answered after the tape was peeled from my lips. “Where would I be without you Billy?”

    “A lot less comfortable for one thing!” he smiled at me. He then saw my daughter also sharing in my predicament, and then yelled, “PHILIPS, you out there?”

   “Yes boss?” piped up a rather dashing rookie officer just turned twenty one, fresh from his transfer from Herringford to Carrington.

   “Lend me a hand untying these ladies would you?”

    “Yes sir!” the young man responded before he knelt down to peel away the tape from Caroline’s mouth. “Those twats didn’t hurt you did they?”

    “They’ll be the ones hurting when I’m through with them,” Caroline growled as he set about slicing through the tape binding her legs with a pocket knife. “Do they know how badly duct tape messes up a pair of tights?”

   “Is that a regular problem for you then?” this young officer asked with a cheeky smirk.

    Well it took a lot to shut up eighteen year old Caroline Merton, but that comment from twenty one year old Harry Philips did it. I watched as your mother’s face turned a deep shade of scarlet as she let the young officer help her to her feet, before they set about helping to free Catherine Dobson.



    “Looking back on it now, I realise what a defining day that actually was,” Grandma Marie said as she finished her story. “Not only was it the day your father came to your mother’s rescue for the first time, but little did Detective Inspector Billy Simpson realise that the beautiful Catherine Dobson would one day become his daughter in law.”

    Those weren’t the only two revelations that had left me astounded. “Mum smoked?” I gasped in disbelief.

   “Oh that was one of the habits she picked up from the lovely Keith,” Grandma Marie laughed with a strong hint of sarcasm. “Don’t worry, she kicked the habit pretty quickly once she dumped him and went off to University. By the time she eventually did start dating your father she hadn’t touched one in years.”

    As I examined our completed, beautifully decorated Christmas tree I found my mind began to swim with everything my Grandmother had imparted. “Have you ever thought its weird how everything in Carrington and everyone who lives in it are so interlinked?”

   “It’s not that weird Sara. Carrington’s not a big place, even if it does give the impression that it is sometimes. The same families have lived here for generations, and I’m sure they’ll still be here in years to come.”

   “What about those goons from 1988? What were they after?”

   “Well interestingly enough we found out afterwards that two of the men were relatives of the men who had raided the Post Office in 1964. Seemed they wanted to ‘finish the job,’ or something bizarre like that. Of course this time they were caught in the act, so what they were really after we never did find out…Well I must say together we can decorate a mean Christmas Tree!”

   “I learned from the best!” I replied as I got to my feet from where I’d been kneeling on the floor. “Listen Grandma I’d best get going.”

    She accompanied me into her front hallway and handed me my maroon scarf. As I wrapped around my neck, over my seasonal sweater, a dark blue colour with patterns resembling lines of reindeers, owls and robins, which I wore with a jean miniskirt and dark tights, she said, “I suppose I’ll next be seeing you on the big day itself. I’ve got a turkey the size of a car prepared, and your granddad’s bought half a pubs worth of booze.”

   “I don’t doubt it,” I laughed as I slipped my nylon clad feet into my pair of bright blue flats. “See you then, and thanks for the mulled wine.”

    “Always a pleasure for you Tiger!” Grandma Marie smiled.



    So anyway that explains why I was walking through the Carrington outskirts on a chilly, dank afternoon on the last Saturday before Christmas. My Grandparent’s house is a good twenty minutes’ walk from my own, but it’s an easy walk through a neighbourhood of old fashioned houses that formed part of Carrington Old Town. Christmas lights hung from every house and, whether it was the seasonal sights or the mulled wine I’d drunk, I was beginning to feel truly festive.

     I took a left turn onto a street filled with convenience stores and locally run shops, all similarly bedecked with twinkling lights and decorated trees. At the end of this row was a large red brick building with a flat roof. I knew this building all too well. It was the Post Office from the two stories my Grandma had just told me. The very one I’d initially planned to post my Christmas Cards with. I slowed my pace as I passed, filled with curiosity as I recalled the events that had engulfed my family at this very place during Christmases past.

     Which was perhaps why I noticed that it was closed.  

     That was beyond odd. It was half past two in the afternoon on the last Saturday before Christmas. Why would they have close early…unless…no surely not…

   Snoop alarm bells ringing I tried the front door and found out that it had indeed been firmly locked. “Hello, are you open?” I tried calling through (ironically) the letterbox but I got no response. The foyer area was deserted.

   Knowing Kavita was currently doing her shift inside I tried calling her, but I got no response. That was the weirdest thing of all. Kavita is almost surgically attached to her phone, and always replies no matter where or when she is. Now beginning to get really suspicious I decided it was time to call in the cavalry. I sent Rachel a text message saying, ‘Post Office on Williams Street, possible Code Red, need back-up!’ I decided to head in for a nose around before she arrived, diving down the alleyway were presumably my mother had once lit up during her rebellious phase. I quickly found the back entrance where so long ago she’d come to the aid of Rachel’s mum, and I could see that it had been forced open. Someone had kicked the door in, causing the lock to hang off its splintered hinges.

   Now I knew things were getting serious. I sent Rachel another text saying, ‘Code Red confirmed!’ before I cautiously ventured inside. I tiptoed through the back corridors past sacks of unsorted letters and parcels, not hearing a single sound other than that of my own breathing. Eventually I did hear a muffled cry from behind a closed door, and so leaving all common sense behind me I turned the handle and ran straight through.

   “Sssssrrrrrrr nnnnmmmm!” Kavita cried out through the grey tape gagging her. I stared open mouthed at the Indian descended girl’s face as that and her long dark ponytail were the only parts of her body I could see. The rest of it, from her neck downwards, was surrounded by a thick burlap sack. She wasn’t the only one to have befallen such a fate, two other postal workers and a couple of women who’d been customers at the time had found themselves bagged up and helpless. One of them was, you guessed it, the now elderly postmistress Agatha Traynor, who stared at me with resigned eyes at finding herself held prisoner for a third Christmas.

   And before I could say a word or raise the alarm a gloved hand clamped itself onto my right shoulder hard to prevent me escaping. “You should have paid attention to the closed sign sweetheart!” a male voice growled into my ear.

   I was then spun around to face a group of balaclava wearing men, one of which was ominously cradling a burlap sack and a large roll of grey duct tape in their hands, and I couldn’t help but say in a resigned way, “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

   It only took a couple of minutes for me to be thrown to the ground beside Kavita, my hands and feet taped up with a burlap sack covering my body and fastened at my neck, and grey duct tape sealing in a sponge wad that was stuffed in my mouth. “Llllttttt ssss tttt ffff ssssss!” I growled angrily as I wriggled about in my sack, the strands of my brown hair blending in perfectly with the colour of the material. Grandma hadn’t been joking when she she’d said how uncomfortable it was. The material scratched my legs even through my tights and my body temperature began to roast, thanks to the thick festive sweater I was wearing. Even as I jiggled my bound hands and stamped the floor through the burlap, I realise I wasn’t getting out of this on my own.  

    The goons we were being held prisoner by didn’t seem to be paying us much attention. Instead they seemed more interested in the far wall, and seemed to be counting the bricks one by one. Then they found the one they were looking for, and grabbing a pair of hand chisels and hammers they began hacking away at the plaster. In between my wriggles and my bashings against the equally struggling Kavita I watched on in confusion, wondering what the hell they were trying to do.

  I quickly found out when they pulled away one of the bricks to reveal a small man made cranny within the wall. Inside was a dark velvet bag which they pulled out and unfastened. When I saw what was contained inside it my eyes widened in shock.

   No wonder the missing diamond pendant believed to have been stolen in 1964 had never been found. It had never actually left the Post Office!

   All those bangs and crashes Grandma Marie had heard during her first capture here now made sense. The first criminal gang had stashed the pendant in a hole in the wall before making their escape. That way they could deny ever stealing if the police ever turned up. Stashing it out of sight also had the effect of raising the value of the jewel. But how did this current batch of grunts know about it?

   I found that out soon as well when I overheard one of the balaclava’d men mutter to another, “What a present this is going to be for Granddad.” Of course! It had been a family affair all along. The raids in 1964, 1988 and the present day had all been organised by three generations of a local crime family.

    The men didn’t get much of a chance to admire their new jewel as at that point the last member of their gang came in hauling another captive. “Give me a hand with this one will you?” he grunted as he battled to keep the eighteen year old girl with long raven hair under control.

   “Rrrrcccchhhllll!” I cried in shock at the sight of my best friend in peril.

    “Sssssrrrrrrr!” she exclaimed back at me through the gloved palm hand gagging her, wriggling and twisting to free her hands from where he’d pinned them against her side and lashing out with the point of her favourite pair of brown high heeled boots. She was wearing a bright red festive jumper herself, a red one adorned with white snowflakes, which she wore with a jean miniskirt and dark tights.

   “Don’t worry, I got a spare bag here for this cutie!” one of the men sneered. Rachel’s eyes widened as she saw me, Kavita and the other hostages, and then saw the masked man approaching her with burlap sack and grey duct tape in hand. She squealed in protest but couldn’t stop them crossing her wrists behind her back.

    “Get your hands off of my Granddaughter you filthy swines!”

     At the sound of that deep, authoritative voice well all looked to the doorway and saw another new arrival. It was a man in his late sixties, dressed in a red jumper over a white shirt with smart trousers and equally smart shoes. Despite his age he retained his imposing presence from his youth, and his wrinkled face retained traces of his past handsomeness.

   William Simpson, known as Billy to his friends, eyeballed the four goons as he demanded they release Rachel, and indeed all of us, from their clutches.

    Evidently the four men were not all that scared by him. “Stopped by to post your Christmas cards Granddad?” one sneered, causing the others to laugh.

   That was a mistake, and angrily Billy Simpson retorted, “You know lads, arresting criminals who like to raid post offices has become something of a Christmas tradition for me!”

    “Some traditions deserve to be broken!” one of the balaclava wearing crooks growled as he approached Billy menacingly.

    But Billy acted quickly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an old fashioned police whistle. “Don’t take a step closer!” he warned as he placed the whistle near his lips.

    “Or you’ll what, toot at us?” a criminal sneered.

    “Well there’s the thing lads. When I first started on the beat all I had was this whistle. No radios or mobile phones, all I needed was a quick toot on this to bring criminals to their knees.” Billy watched as the men took another step closer, before he let out a short, sharp blow on the whistle. Following his signal into the room burst a squad of police officers, led by my dad DI Harry Philips, catching the four crooks unawares and handcuffing them with great speed.

    Looking very smug all of a sudden Billy couldn’t help remarking, “Wow, still works a treat too!”



     “Now as an ex-detective inspector I should really tell you to keep out of trouble from now on,” Billy told me after taking a hearty swig of mulled wine. “But knowing your family history I doubt that’s happening.”

    “I think you already know the answer to that question,” Grandma Marie told her old friend happily as she sat on the armchair beside his, even as my Granddad Philip topped up her wine glass. We’d returned to my Grandparents house to recover over some mince pies and steaming hot wine, which was now no longer being saved for Maureen’s party.

    A cheeky grin forming on my Granddad’s face he remarked, “Poor old Billy, my girls have caused you some stress over the years haven’t they?”

   “Why do you think I retired?” Billy joked.

    “At least that’s the mystery of the missing pendant solved!” I said to him.

     “Yeah that’s a nice early Christmas present. Well technically a severely late one. I spent fifty odd years wondering what happened to it.”

    “Lucky you were visiting me when Sara’s call came through,” Rachel told her Granddad as she sat on the floor beside me.

     “And it’s nice to see our grandchildren continuing our good work,” Billy said happily. He stared straight at me at that point, took a sip of wine, before adding, “You know Sara, when I entered that store room and saw you trapped in that sack, I got such a flashback to the days I used to go crime fighting with your grandmother. Sometimes I look at you and it’s like she’s travelled forward in time from the sixties to now. You could’ve been twins I swear.”

    “Would explain a lot!” Granddad Philip joked.

     “You keep being cheeky Mister and there’s no more mulled wine for you!” Grandma Marie warned jovially.

     “You know, maybe a few years down the road well be doing this all again with our kids Rachel,” I suggested with a smirk. “Just think; Sara Jr and Rachel Jr going around Carrington solving crimes, following our legacy.”

    “If that does happen make sure to keep me away from any Post Offices,” Billy remarked. We all laughed at his joke, happily oblivious to where our futures would eventually lead us.