Good King Wenceslas

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Good King Wenceslas – a Christmas Story by Christina Byrne

Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen. The castle was bitterly cold; the snow was over three feet deep and his staff were unable to collect wood for the castle’s many fireplaces.

A poor man came in sight carrying winter fuel.

Wenceslas called a page and ordered him to go out and take the bundle of logs from the poor man. After the page had struggled through the deep snow, the man refused to hand over the fuel. He needed it for his poor wife who lived in the forest.

The page was dismayed. ‘What shall I do?’, he thought, ‘The king will have my head off and burn that instead,’ Then he thought, ‘He is good king Wenceslas after all.’ Then he had another thought. ‘If he’s so good it does not seem fair that me, a page, should mug the poor man and take his winter fuel.’

So the page went back to King Wenceslas.

‘The man wants to keep his fuel,’ he said. ‘He has a poor wife in the forest who is sorely in need of a fire. He says her arthritis is playing up something awful.’

‘Tell the man to bring his poor wife to my castle,’ said Wenceslas. ‘That way we can all have a good fire and the man and his wife can share in the food we have left over from Christmas day – If he didn’t get rid of that blasted roast turkey they would still be eating it on sandwiches at Easter.

The page put Wency’s idea to the poor man but the man refused to go in to the castle.

‘My wife can’t leave our little house’ he said. ‘She’s not able to walk very well and we have no form of transport.’

The page relayed the answer to the king.

‘I know,’ said Good King Wenceslas. ‘Let us go to the poor man’s house.’

So the King, The Queen, the page and the poor man set off with food and fine wine and made their way to the house in the forest.

They had not traveled far when the royal sledge got stuck in the deep snow.

‘What’s to do now?’ said Wenceslas.

‘We’re almost at the forest,’ said the poor man. ‘The snow is not so deep there because it can’t get through the dense leaves and branches of the trees so we can walk to my little house.

‘Walk!’ said Wenceslas. ‘A king does not walk in the snow.’

‘Walk!’ squeaked the Queen looking down at her satin slippers then glaring at the King. ‘You will have to carry me,’ she snapped.

King Wenceslas eyed the Queen and his heart quailed. The size of her! A slim 18 year-old when he had married her, she had developed the physique of a Sumo wrestler. However he squared his kingly shoulders, threw his queen on to his back in a fireman’s lift and eventually managed to carry her over the threshold of the poor man’s cottage.

So Good King Wenceslas, his Queen, the page, the poor man and the poor man ‘s wife dined well in front of a roaring fire. The roast turkey, the cranberry sauce, the Brussel sprouts, the mince pies, the Christmas cake and the fine wine disappeared like snow off a Bohemian castle ramparts.

That was the last time Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen. But just to be on the safe side he kept a good store of winter fuel and persuaded the Queen to go on a diet.

Christina Byrne (17th December, 1936 – 17th December, 2012)