Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas

Cries for help and roars of pain echoed around the rain soaked streets and alleys of Hoxton Market as Alfred Thompson, a widower of middle years, made his way back from evensong late one night in early January. He had been a devout Christian since being saved three years before at the late age of fifty two after attending a spiritualist church gathering at the urging of his then lady friend. Alfred thought that the rush he experienced during the service was simply some kind of mass hysteria, until he awoke the following morning and felt an indescribable inner peace. Since then he had accepted Jesus Christ as his personal saviour and found a focus to his life that until then had been missing since the premature death of his wife eight years before.

Alfred started to run towards the awful noise as fast as his legs would manage, given that he'd spent most of his time behind a desk as a senior partner at the accountancy practice of Williams, Lawrence and Thompson. As he rounded the corner of Marshall Street he saw one man laying face down on the ground, one man kicking him, and another trying to steal a briefcase that their victim was desperately clutching to his chest. Alfred was no hero but the rush of adrenalin he felt was overwhelming and he launched himself at the first attacker as he raised a boot for another vicious kick into the writhing body. Seventeen stones of accountant running into a much lighter body did the trick and the mugger slid to the ground with every atom of air now firmly knocked out of him. Alfred turned wide eyed and panting towards the second man who luckily mistook Alfred's look of abject fright as the glare of a mad man and ran off into the darkness.

Alfred turned his attention to the unfortunate victim who was laying on his back, eyes closed, and moaning. Alfred saw that the man wore his hair in ringlets and sported a small cap on the back of his head; a black, wide brimmed hat lay a few yards away on the edge of a muddy puddle. 'Where do you hurt?', asked Alfred. 'Everywhere,' Came the reply in a low whisper, 'I'm Rabbi Michael Silverman, please call me Michael. Who do I have the pleasure of meeting in such auspicious circumstances?' Alfred gave his name and then reached under the man's left arm as the Rabbi slowly raised himself to his feet. 'Are you okay?' 'Yes fine, just bruised all over.' 'Shouldn't we get you to a Doctor to make sure there's nothing broken?' 'I am a Doctor, at least I used to be one before I became a Rabbi. I found that healing souls was more fulfilling than healing bodies.' Slowly and painfully Michael bent down to retrieve his battered hat, 'I owe you my life. How can I repay you?' 'Oh, you don't owe me anything, I was pleased to help. Tell me, what was so important about your briefcase that you risked your life to keep it from those hoodlums?' The Rabbi turned to Alfred with a smile that showed no vestige of the trauma he had suffered just a few minutes ago. 'Here in my case is a rare form of quartz crystal that will form the last piece of the temporal control for my time and space machine.' 'Look, you've just been badly beaten and one of the blows..' '&ldots;must have rattled my brains. Yes, I know what it must sound like, but I assure you it's true.' Behind them the man with the boots began to raise himself from the pavement with the kind of language that is best left to the imagination. Alfred and the Rabbi had no stomach for another confrontation so merely watched as the man, now outnumbered, lost himself in the maze of alleys that surrounded the market place.

'Look, I've thought of a way to repay for what you did just now. Why don't you come with me on my maiden voyage through time and I'll let you choose the date for our first trip. What do you say?' The proposal was so preposterous to Alfred that he saw no reason to do anything other than agree. But what time to choose? One of the great moments of invention? Drop by and see Harold get his eyeful at Hastings? Then it struck him, Alfred wanted to be there to witness the event that had such a profound effect on his life and on the lives of millions of Christians before him - the crucifixion of Christ! Alfred put forward his proposition and Michael readily agreed, it would need just one phone call to a religious historian friend of Michael's to get a reasonable fix on the date. Alfred didn't believe for one minute that this would really happen, but given the opportunity it would be the ultimate Christian witness.

Michael lived in a large downstairs flat about ten minutes away and after a warming cup of sweet tea he made the phone call that yielded a date somewhere in the spring of 29AD. 'Got it!' he announced triumphantly as he marched back into the tastefully furnished sitting room, 'Let's go!' 'What? Now?' 'Why not, it's the perfect time if you'll excuse the expression.' Alfred followed Michael as he strode off into one of the back rooms with the precious crystal in his hand. In the middle of a well equipped engineering workshop there stood a stainless steel platform about three yards long, two yards wide, and six inches deep. The surface was completely enclosed in a polished glass cabinet that contained a control panel, a first aid box, and two aircraft style seats behind which was a maze of equipment. Whatever fantasy the Rabbi had in his mind he had spent a great deal of time building it and Alfred was going to enjoy playing along with him inside that beautiful, glistening construction.

Michael opened one of the glass doors and beckoned Alfred into the left hand seat, then buckled himself into the right hand seat in front of the most busy section of the control panel. As he inserted the crystal into a small round recess the machine began to hum and Alfred noticed a slight rising tremor. 'I'm glad I was attacked tonight,' Michael said as he flicked switches and pushed buttons, 'I was quite resigned to having to take this first historic journey alone.' Alfred still didn't think that the battered Rabbi was in his right senses so merely nodded his head in the manner normally kept for humouring a child who has just declared its intention to fight dragons in some far off mythical land. 'That's got it,' said Michael as he made the final adjustments to what looked like a digital alarm clock, 'Hang on tight, it could be a bumpy ride. But then again as I've never done this before it could be anything!' Michael carefully pulled back on a small lever set down in the floor like the hand brake of a car, and slowly the room began to dissolve as though someone had poured a jar of solvent over a photograph. The room quickly darkened and disappeared into a dark purple void that gave Alfred the worst case of vertigo he had ever experienced. Alfred looked around him half in fear half in wonderment. 'I really didn't think&ldots;' '&ldots;that it would work. I know Alfred. You don't get to my age without knowing when you're being humoured. Well it does work as you'll see in just a few seconds.'

Michael's words were well timed for the dark outside the machine turned to light and then back to semi darkness illuminated by a full moon that had risen faster than any moon should do and then abruptly stopped high above them. They had landed on a rocky slope in front of what seemed to be a series of small caves cut into a low cliff. From one of the caves came a flickering light casting shadows of its occupants as they moved back and forth inside. 'What's that Michael?' 'Well, assuming my calculations are correct we're just outside Jerusalem in 29AD, around Easter time, and those small caves are typical of the tombs they had around this time.' 'So if these are tombs, why is one of them the centre of so much activity so late at night?' 'No idea Alfred, let's have a look.' Alfred grabbed Michael's sleeve. 'Now wait a minute Michael. Isn't it enough that we're here? That you've proved your point? That time travel is a reality. That it can be done, and you did it. What if some Roman guards come along and want to know who we are? I don't even speak Latin.' 'But I speak Hebrew and that's one of the languages of this area alongside side Aramaic. Now look, we've just travelled two thousand years back and about four thousand miles east. A couple of yards on top of that won't hurt. Now stop worrying and follow me.'

Michael and Alfred made their way up the slope towards the cave entrance; as the travellers entered they could see that there were three men inside tending to a fourth who was lying unconscious on a low stone slab. The men looked more frightened than surprised when they saw they had company and began to reach for their daggers which hung loosely from leather belts. Michael took the lead and spoke some words that must have been Hebrew. 'They don't seem to understand you Michael.' 'I'm not surprised, no one in the twentieth century has ever heard how Hebrew was originally spoken so my modern Hebrew may sound very strange to them.' Michael tried again and this time they seemed to understand a little more of what he was saying, finally allowing Michael to approach the injured man who was painfully thin and had obviously suffered a thorough beating. He had cuts across his forehead that seemed to extend around his head in a ring, his ribs were badly bruised, his wrists were grazed, and when they gently turned him over Alfred could see long bloody weals across his back. 'I'll need the first aid box,' Michael said after the brief examination, 'Fetch it for me please Alfred.'

Alfred was gone only a matter of seconds before returning with the box which Michael took from him and set to work. Alfred dearly wanted to know everything about these men and what had happened to their friend, but he held back as Michael's intense concentration showed that he had his hands full attending to the man's injuries. What little conversation there was with the other three improved as Michael became more proficient in the local dialect. Once or twice Michael looked back at Alfred briefly with a look in his eyes that puzzled Alfred, but Michael said nothing. At last Michael stood up stiffly and stepped back as the three men carried their friend out of the cave and laid him in a donkey cart that was hidden in some bushes nearby. Then after much shaking of hands and expressions of gratitude they disappeared off into the night with their precious cargo.

Alfred couldn't wait any longer. 'Tell me Michael, who was that? Who were they? Who was the man you tended? What had happened to him?' Michael walked off a few paces, looking at the ground and gently shuffling pebbles with his foot. 'That man was called Joshuah, they all come from the region around Gennesaret, and the man I was tending had been crucified after trying to free Israel from the Roman occupation. He was actually their tribal king as they called him Messiah which means the chosen or anointed one.' 'You say crucified, but I didn't see any nail holes.' 'No, he was crucified using the quick method given that tonight is evidently the feast of the Passover. The authorities wanted him dead quickly so they bound him to a cross with ropes and after a few hours an executioner would have come along to break his legs. The sagging of the body after that would cause slow suffocation, hastened by the shock and pain of the broken limbs. Luckily his followers managed to give Joshuah some sour wine laced with a sleeping draft which fooled the executioner into thinking he had already died. The Romans who were supposed to be guarding this tomb were treated to the same mixture so they're out for the count on the cliff just above us.'

Alfred began to feel uncomfortable as this story seemed somehow familiar to him and he could feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck. 'Michael, there's more to it, I can see from your face. Please tell me.' Michael took Alfred by the shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. 'Alfred, the name Joshuah translates into the Greek form Jesus. The word Messiah translates into the Greek word Christ; those men were his disciples Simon, James and Levi.' Michael saw the tears begin to well up in Alfred's eyes as he said, 'We have just saved the life of your Jesus Christ. He was crucified but his resurrection was actually just a bit of first aid from two time travellers who met up in Hoxton Market. I'm sorry Alfred, I truly am sorry.' Alfred began to cry, in deep shoulder wrenching sobs like a child who has just discovered that Father Christmas doesn't really exist after all.



	Cries for help and roars of pain echoed around the rain soaked streets and alleys of Hoxton Market as Alfred Thompson, a widower of middle years, made his way back from evensong late one night in early January. He had been a devout Christian since being saved three years before at the late age of fifty two after attending a spiritualist church gathering at the urging of his then lady friend. Alfred thought that the rush he experienced during the service was simply some kind of mass hysteria, until he awoke the following morning and felt an indescribable inner peace. Since then he had accepted Jesus Christ as his personal saviour and found a focus to his life that until then had been missing since the premature death of his wife eight years before. Alfred started to run towards the awful noise as fast as his legs would manage, given that he'd spent most of his time behind a desk as a senior partner at the accountancy practice of Williams, Lawrence and Thompson. As he rounded the corner of Marshall Street he saw one man laying face down on the ground, one man kicking him, and another trying to steal a briefcase that their victim was desperately clutching to his chest. Alfred was no hero but the rush of adrenalin he felt was overwhelming and he launched himself at the first attacker as he raised a boot for another vicious kick into the writhing body. Seventeen stones of accountant running into a much lighter body did the trick and the mugger slid to the ground with every atom of air now firmly knocked out of him. Alfred turned wide eyed and panting towards the second man who luckily mistook Alfred's look of abject fright as the glare of a mad man and ran off into the darkness. Alfred turned his attention to the unfortunate victim who was laying on his back, eyes closed, and moaning. Alfred saw that the man wore his hair in ringlets and sported a small cap on the back of his head; a black, wide brimmed hat lay a few yards away on the edge of a muddy puddle. 'Where do you hurt?', asked Alfred. 'Everywhere,' Came the reply in a low whisper, 'I'm Rabbi Michael Silverman, please call me Michael. Who do I have the pleasure of meeting in such auspicious circumstances?' Alfred gave his name and then reached under the man's left arm as the Rabbi slowly raised himself to his feet. 'Are you okay?' 'Yes fine, just bruised all over.' 'Shouldn't we get you to a Doctor to make sure there's nothing broken?' 'I am a Doctor, at least I used to be one before I became a Rabbi. I found that healing souls was more fulfilling than healing bodies.' Slowly and painfully Michael bent down to retrieve his battered hat, 'I owe you my life. How can I repay you?' 'Oh, you don't owe me anything, I was pleased to help. Tell me, what was so important about your briefcase that you risked your life to keep it from those hoodlums?' The Rabbi turned to Alfred with a smile that showed no vestige of the trauma he had suffered just a few minutes ago. 'Here in my case is a rare form of quartz crystal that will form the last piece of the temporal control for my time and space machine.' 'Look, you've just been badly beaten and one of the blows..' '&ldots;must have rattled my brains. Yes, I know what it must sound like, but I assure you it's true.' Behind them the man with the boots began to raise himself from the pavement with the kind of language that is best left to the imagination. Alfred and the Rabbi had no stomach for another confrontation so merely watched as the man, now outnumbered, lost himself in the maze of alleys that surrounded the market place. 'Look, I've thought of a way to repay for what you did just now. Why don't you come with me on my maiden voyage through time and I'll let you choose the date for our first trip. What do you say?' The proposal was so preposterous to Alfred that he saw no reason to do anything other than agree. But what time to choose? One of the great moments of invention? Drop by and see Harold get his eyeful at Hastings? Then it struck him, Alfred wanted to be there to witness the event that had such a profound effect on his life and on the lives of millions of Christians before him - the crucifixion of Christ! Alfred put forward his proposition and Michael readily agreed, it would need just one phone call to a religious historian friend of Michael's to get a reasonable fix on the date. Alfred didn't believe for one minute that this would really happen, but given the opportunity it would be the ultimate Christian witness. Michael lived in a large downstairs flat about ten minutes away and after a warming cup of sweet tea he made the phone call that yielded a date somewhere in the spring of 29AD. 'Got it!' he announced triumphantly as he marched back into the tastefully furnished sitting room, 'Let's go!' 'What? Now?' 'Why not, it's the perfect time if you'll excuse the expression.' Alfred followed Michael as he strode off into one of the back rooms with the precious crystal in his hand. In the middle of a well equipped engineering workshop there stood a stainless steel platform about three yards long, two yards wide, and six inches deep. The surface was completely enclosed in a polished glass cabinet that contained a control panel, a first aid box, and two aircraft style seats behind which was a maze of equipment. Whatever fantasy the Rabbi had in his mind he had spent a great deal of time building it and Alfred was going to enjoy playing along with him inside that beautiful, glistening construction. Michael opened one of the glass doors and beckoned Alfred into the left hand seat, then buckled himself into the right hand seat in front of the most busy section of the control panel. As he inserted the crystal into a small round recess the machine began to hum and Alfred noticed a slight rising tremor. 'I'm glad I was attacked tonight,' Michael said as he flicked switches and pushed buttons, 'I was quite resigned to having to take this first historic journey alone.' Alfred still didn't think that the battered Rabbi was in his right senses so merely nodded his head in the manner normally kept for humouring a child who has just declared its intention to fight dragons in some far off mythical land. 'That's got it,' said Michael as he made the final adjustments to what looked like a digital alarm clock, 'Hang on tight, it could be a bumpy ride. But then again as I've never done this before it could be anything!' Michael carefully pulled back on a small lever set down in the floor like the hand brake of a car, and slowly the room began to dissolve as though someone had poured a jar of solvent over a photograph. The room quickly darkened and disappeared into a dark purple void that gave Alfred the worst case of vertigo he had ever experienced. Alfred looked around him half in fear half in wonderment. 'I really didn't think&ldots;' '&ldots;that it would work. I know Alfred. You don't get to my age without knowing when you're being humoured. Well it does work as you'll see in just a few seconds.' Michael's words were well timed for the dark outside the machine turned to light and then back to semi darkness illuminated by a full moon that had risen faster than any moon should do and then abruptly stopped high above them. They had landed on a rocky slope in front of what seemed to be a series of small caves cut into a low cliff. From one of the caves came a flickering light casting shadows of its occupants as they moved back and forth inside. 'What's that Michael?' 'Well, assuming my calculations are correct we're just outside Jerusalem in 29AD, around Easter time, and those small caves are typical of the tombs they had around this time.' 'So if these are tombs, why is one of them the centre of so much activity so late at night?' 'No idea Alfred, let's have a look.' Alfred grabbed Michael's sleeve. 'Now wait a minute Michael. Isn't it enough that we're here? That you've proved your point? That time travel is a reality. That it can be done, and you did it. What if some Roman guards come along and want to know who we are? I don't even speak Latin.' 'But I speak Hebrew and that's one of the languages of this area alongside side Aramaic. Now look, we've just travelled two thousand years back and about four thousand miles east. A couple of yards on top of that won't hurt. Now stop worrying and follow me.' Michael and Alfred made their way up the slope towards the cave entrance; as the travellers entered they could see that there were three men inside tending to a fourth who was lying unconscious on a low stone slab. The men looked more frightened than surprised when they saw they had company and began to reach for their daggers which hung loosely from leather belts. Michael took the lead and spoke some words that must have been Hebrew. 'They don't seem to understand you Michael.' 'I'm not surprised, no one in the twentieth century has ever heard how Hebrew was originally spoken so my modern Hebrew may sound very strange to them.' Michael tried again and this time they seemed to understand a little more of what he was saying, finally allowing Michael to approach the injured man who was painfully thin and had obviously suffered a thorough beating. He had cuts across his forehead that seemed to extend around his head in a ring, his ribs were badly bruised, his wrists were grazed, and when they gently turned him over Alfred could see long bloody weals across his back. 'I'll need the first aid box,' Michael said after the brief examination, 'Fetch it for me please Alfred.' Alfred was gone only a matter of seconds before returning with the box which Michael took from him and set to work. Alfred dearly wanted to know everything about these men and what had happened to their friend, but he held back as Michael's intense concentration showed that he had his hands full attending to the man's injuries. What little conversation there was with the other three improved as Michael became more proficient in the local dialect. Once or twice Michael looked back at Alfred briefly with a look in his eyes that puzzled Alfred, but Michael said nothing. At last Michael stood up stiffly and stepped back as the three men carried their friend out of the cave and laid him in a donkey cart that was hidden in some bushes nearby. Then after much shaking of hands and expressions of gratitude they disappeared off into the night with their precious cargo. Alfred couldn't wait any longer. 'Tell me Michael, who was that? Who were they? Who was the man you tended? What had happened to him?' Michael walked off a few paces, looking at the ground and gently shuffling pebbles with his foot. 'That man was called Joshuah, they all come from the region around Gennesaret, and the man I was tending had been crucified after trying to free Israel from the Roman occupation. He was actually their tribal king as they called him Messiah which means the chosen or anointed one.' 'You say crucified, but I didn't see any nail holes.' 'No, he was crucified using the quick method given that tonight is evidently the feast of the Passover. The authorities wanted him dead quickly so they bound him to a cross with ropes and after a few hours an executioner would have come along to break his legs. The sagging of the body after that would cause slow suffocation, hastened by the shock and pain of the broken limbs. Luckily his followers managed to give Joshuah some sour wine laced with a sleeping draft which fooled the executioner into thinking he had already died. The Romans who were supposed to be guarding this tomb were treated to the same mixture so they're out for the count on the cliff just above us.' Alfred began to feel uncomfortable as this story seemed somehow familiar to him and he could feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck. 'Michael, there's more to it, I can see from your face. Please tell me.' Michael took Alfred by the shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. 'Alfred, the name Joshuah translates into the Greek form Jesus. The word Messiah translates into the Greek word Christ; those men were his disciples Simon, James and Levi.' Michael saw the tears begin to well up in Alfred's eyes as he said, 'We have just saved the life of your Jesus Christ. He was crucified but his resurrection was actually just a bit of first aid from two time travellers who met up in Hoxton Market. I'm sorry Alfred, I truly am sorry.' Alfred began to cry, in deep shoulder wrenching sobs like a child who has just discovered that Father Christmas doesn't really exist after all.