The Inn-keeper’s Tale by Bishop’s Stortford U3A creative writing group member Derek Crowther

The latest in a series of pieces written by members of the Bishop’s Stortford U3A creative writing group, led by Peter Latham, which meets monthly, when they are set challenges on a wide range of subject matter.

Derek Crowther has written The Inn-keeper’s Tale.

“Ezra, where are you - you’re hiding from me again.” That’s my wife Golda calling. I agree I do lose track of time, sat outside in the half-light musing of an evening. It’s been a busy day; the inn is full and curiously we have our Roman occupiers to thank for it. They have issued an edict that every person of David’s lineage has to come to be registered in the Census here in Bethlehem.

But my main pre-occupation here tonight has been the bright star which rose in the east and appears to be heading our way.

“Golda, come and sit with me a while and look at this star.”

“If you don’t get your backside in here quickly and look after your guests, you will see a lot more stars when I hit you over the head with this pan.”

It has been like this for 20 years. We weren’t blessed with any children so I’ve been the sole focus of Golda’s attention - lucky me!

I smile through gritted teeth. “And go and look at the animals afterwards, they’re getting agitated,” she adds. “The sheep in the fields are making a racket too. There must be wolves about.”

We are a great team, Golda and I - she tells me what to do and I do it!

I’ve lit the brazier to ward off the wolves and just as I am putting the hurdles up across the stable entrance with the animals safe inside, and the dogs tied up on guard duty, a distraught couple emerge out of the gloom. They’ve come to register their names with the census. His wife is heavy with child and the journey has been necessarily slow. Their donkey is not at his brightest either.

Joseph’s shoes are in tatters and his feet are bleeding. Mary is distressed and is moaning occasionally - he fears her time is near.

“So many inn-keepers have turned us away. They think we are vagrants, Joseph tells me. Will you, can you, help us please?”

But, hold on, Golda has cautioned me not to take in any more guests unless I want to spend the night with the animals. What am I to do? I look up for inspiration and see the bright star which now seems to have settled above the inn. That’s it. I don’t need to tell Golda anything. They can stay in the stable.

I bring some straw for a makeshift bed and they rest as best they can. Water is brought from the well and some bread taken from the kitchen (there are plenty of likely culprits I can blame for that!)

A strange calm has come over the stable. The animals are no longer jittery; the sheep in the fields have stopped bleating. I go in and claim my ministrations to the animals have rendered them silent.

“Thank you, Ezra,” says Golda. “I now have the chance of a good night’s sleep, which I need. I am sorry for upbraiding you earlier.” She kisses me - it is indeed a strange night!

I awake with a start and sit up bolt upright. Golda is missing and I hear a babe crying in the stable. Oh dear, I’m in for it. I rush out to explain myself.

But Golda does not bite my head off. “Come here Ezra and look at this lovely baby,” she says. “He looks so peaceful in the straw you brought them. They plan to call him Jesus. Well done - I always said you were a good man.”

The old rooster puffs his chest out and starts crowing in what I can only call a song of joy. Then three shepherds arrive as if summoned from the fields. They marvel at the little baby boy and bow down before him as if he were a king.

And now even I am a kind of king. Golda is a changed woman and has a new inner peace - something really must have happened that night. She says she loves me and that indeed she loves everyone. And what do I think? I am more than content to share this wonderful woman with the world.

She joins me most nights now, outside, when the day’s work is done. We often wonder what the future holds for that baby boy born in our stable. We look too for that bright star but I suspect we’ll never see its like again.