All I Want For Christmas is my Two Front Teeth

It was raining cats and dogs, as the saying goes. My Pal Keith and I were the only two pupils in the school who decided to go outside into that wet, cold, winter's yard and play one of the most violent games ever devised for a school playground. Even the teacher, who was supposed to be on duty, was cosily inside the staff room supping a hot mug of tea and dunking his ginger biscuit into the hot liquid, instead of braving the elements and protecting the boys from danger.

It was an all boy's establishment (and not a posh one, I hasten to add). The game we chose reflected the toughness that an all-boy’s school should project to the world. It was called 'British Bulldogs'. I've no idea why the creator of that vicious game called it what he did, and I suppose he didn't either.

The playground was deserted except for the two soggy adversaries. Nevertheless, we decided to pit our strength against each other, with me in the middle of the play area. Keith had to force himself to the other side of the playground with me as the barrier trying to stop him by foul or fair play and to make it even more difficult, we had to do it hopping on one leg. Normally there would be several combatants starting with the one in the middle trying to bring down one of the lads trying to cross. When caught, that person would have to join the opposite side, until there was only one kid trying to cross, who then reversed his role and he became the pig in the middle.

And so we faced each other as mortal enemies from the two teams, namely me and him. He charged at me, trying to bluff his chosen direction to fool me into missing him. I lunged towards him, on one leg. I was quick but Keith managed to side-step me, also on one leg. Then the sly swine that I am, dived on his back just when he thought he was clear. He involuntarily thrust his head backwards. That was when an immovable object met an irresistible force. Something had to give. It was my front teeth and his rear scalp. Bits of my previously perfect gnashers, flew out of my mouth as blood spurted from his head. We decided that we'd had enough of that game and staggered off to see nursey in the sick bay.

Keith was sent to hospital where I later learned that he had to have 5 stitches and his head replaced. I, on the other hand, had to have a visit to the dentist who replaced my front teeth with a new pair on a plastic palette. I was very unfortunate with my timing for only a week later they invented capping teeth, and the bits that were left in my mouth would have been enough to have had the capping. Such is life and how Vampires get their good looks.

I used to try to scare my daughters and their friends who came within my vicinity by taking out my dentures and moaning in a spooky way, "I vant to suck your blood!" The kids loved it. "Do it again," they would squeal. So, I would hobble after them in a Bela Lugosi stagger, minus my front teeth, attempting to drink their blood.

But my lack of teeth came into their own when telling my daughters bedtime stories. And to make the tales more authentic, I would tell them without my dentures in, to give my story a more authentic and atmospheric lithp. Their favourite narrative was how I almost rescued the Titanic. Of course, I had to initially explain what had happened to the cursed ship before veering off course and telling them the real truth. But the really real truth was that the massive passenger ship had dunched into the even bigger iceberg and I very well nearly saved it.

I happened to be passing by in a little rowboat that I had hired from a Whitby fisherman. You see I had lost my way after a sea mist descended on the harbour. So instead of keeping to the coastal area, I ended up miles away in the freezing North Sea. Realising I was totally lost at sea (nothing unusual there) I tried to get my bearings by re-navigating. I knew it was something to do with latitudes and longitudes but had no idea what they were or how to find them. Through the dark haze I saw the monstrous shape of an iceberg dwarfing the silhouette of a ship. A mourning, muffled, deep throated blast from a foghorn echoed over the still waters. By that time the ship was taking in water and the captain and some of his crew were leaning over the rails and shouting for my help. As I got a bit closer, I could see the name of the vessel on the side of the hull. It was called the Titanic. " Ahoy there"! Shouted the first mate. "We are sinking. Can you help us?" "Dunno mate. I'll do me best." I shouted back. "Chuck us a line and I'll try to tow you back to Whitby. With that one of the crew threw me an exceedingly long piece of rope that was attached to the ship's deck by the captain, or should that be the capstan? I did try to wrap it around one of the oarlocks, but the wet conditions made the rope very slithery, and anyway I needed the oars to pull the ship away from the iceberg. So, without a thought of my own comfort I grabbed the rode (as the rope is nautically called) twixt my two front teeth and pulled for all I was worth, putting all of my determination into each stroke of the oar. I kept it up for about 5 minutes when the ship started to sink. The extra stresses that this caused made my tooshy pegs pop out while at the same time the rope slipped out. There was nothing more I could do except wave the crew and some of the passengers goodbye, shouting, "Have a good holiday." Luckilly I found my way back without too much trouble as the sun was fast rising. This told me I had to steer southwest where I knew the sun was aiming for and where Whitby was-ish.

I refused to pay the boat man the hire money as my two teeth were absent through no fault of my own - and I needed what bit of cash I had for some dentures. "And you know," I told my sleepy girls, " I try to tell people the truth about the Titanic - and they don't believe me, but that is how I lost my two front teeth."