Down the lane drove Fred Woodpecker
Work completed in the town.
He had made the mayor a name-plate,
Earned a shiny half-a-crown.

A carpenter was returning from the town one winter’s afternoon.

A little earlier he had put the finishing touches to the Mayor’s new parlour, carving his worship’s name on a plaque surrounded by cartouches of holly leaves and berries, giving it a final polish, and fixing it to the heavy oak door. The Mayor had carefully checked the spelling before expressing his satisfaction and handing the carpenter the agreed fee. Then the carpenter had swept up all the shavings, packed away his tools and stowed everything on his cart.

Stepping lightly down the High Street
He had bought some festive fare,
Presents for his wife and children,
Sweetmeats for them all to share.

He had stepped light of heart around the market place where he spent some of the money on a plum pudding, a packet of pins for his wife, coloured pencils for the children, and a dusty bottle of Madeira; for it was Christmas Eve. His wife would by now have dispatched their fine goose and be plucking it ready for tomorrow’s feast.

He had stayed in town the previous night with his brother, so that he could make a very early start on his work and be finished soon after noon. His brother was glad of the company, and after dinner he produced with a flourish a little barrel of his own home-brewed beer. The beer and the conversation it provoked were so pleasant that they stayed up well into the small hours of the night. The carpenter had only just stumbled into bed, it seemed, when the knocker-up hammered on the shutters. So this Christmas Eve afternoon, having fulfilled his obligations, he was finding it difficult to keep awake.

Back at home his wife was plucking
A fine goose they’d raised all year.
It would be their Christmas dinner,
What a day of merry cheer!

Fred was feeling very sleepy,
He’d been up to greet the dawn.
While his donkey kept on going
Fred slept on a bag of corn.

No matter, because his old donkey had pulled the cart many times to and fro between the town and his little cottage on the far side of the forest. If he nodded off to the rhythm of clopping hooves, the donkey would nevertheless bring them both safely home by habit.

Grain was falling on the pathway
From the sack beneath Fred’s head.
Donkey sensed it, turned to nibble,
Gave up walking straight ahead.

As he turned corn fell behind him,
Soon he’s going round and round.
Getting dizzy, full to bursting,
And no longer homeward bound.

However, there was a bag of corn at the back of the cart, and a nail must have torn a hole in it, so that somewhere in the middle of the forest, grain began to fall onto the track. The donkey noticed, whether by the smell or the sound or both; and turning his head around as far as he could, he saw the chance of a snack. So he wheeled the cart about and began eating. As he did so more grain fell out, and before long he was going round in a wide circle, eating and dropping corn at the same rate.

Suddenly Fred woke and realised
They were lost inside the wood.
How would they get home for Christmas,
With the presents, wine and pud?

The carpenter awoke, and was surprised to find that they were still in the wood. The donkey was now so full of corn and so confused with circling that he was both dozy and dizzy at once. The carpenter could not make out the track and the darkening sky gave no clue as to the direction of his cottage.

“How am I going to get home?” the carpenter pondered. He suddenly thought of climbing up the tallest nearby tree, in the hope of seeing the window of his cottage glowing against the dark countryside. So up he shinned, but when he reached the top, he could only see a ring of treetops all around. They were too tall to let him see anything beyond.

Heavy-hearted, he climbed down and sat on the cart. Perhaps he should go straight ahead in any direction, come to the edge of the wood, and then go around until he recognised his way. But there was a poor chance that he would come out near his home; more likely he would travelling all night. In any case the donkey did not look capable of taking many more steps, so he would have to go on foot, and how would he find the cart and donkey again? He began to weep.

Fluttered down a little robin
With its orange breast aflame.
“I can help you find your cottage.
Follow me – it’s like a game!”

“Stop your tears, sir!” said a gentle voice. The startled carpenter looked all around but could see no-one. He peered into the gloom of the forest and up into the tops of the trees, where the light had nearly all gone from the sky.

“I’m over here, sir, but I’ll come closer”. The carpenter saw a little bird fluttering toward him and lighting on the donkey’s head. It was a dainty robin whose orange breast burned intensely, even in the dusk.

“I see you are lost, but I will help you get home,” said the robin. Though amazed, the carpenter was immediately relieved by this unexpected offer. “You must leave the donkey and follow me, and I will lead you back here on Boxing Day to collect him. He has eaten so well that he will sleep soundly until then. Put the empty corn sack over his back”.

Donkey could not travel further,
Laid down on the forest floor.
Fred would fetch him after Christmas,
Left him there for now to snore.

Gifts and victuals in his toolbag,
Following robin’s dipping flight,
Fred soon reached his homely cottage,
Just in time for Christmas Night.

The carpenter did as he was bid and, putting all the presents and victuals in his toolbag, he set off gratefully after the robin, flowing his dipping flight.

Robin said “On Boxing Morning
I will lead you to your cart,
And your silly sleeping donkey.
Let us make an early start.”

Sure enough, in an hour they had reached the edge of the wood and there, across two fields, was his cottage. “How can I thank you, robin?” he asked. “I must give you a Christmas present”.

“Now I want a Christmas present –
Those wood shavings in your sack.
How I love their fragrant odour,
For my nest I’ll take them back”.

“Give me the wood shavings from your bag. I will use them to build a new nest”.

“Wait”, said Fred, “I need those shavings
So our fire will quickly light.
Let me give you something different,
Currants sweet or berries bright”.

The carpenter was worried, as he was expecting to use them as kindling for his fire. How would they enjoy Christmas if there was no fire to warm them and to cook the goose? “I’m sorry, robin, but I can’t give you those. Please take something else. Come to the house and I’ll find some dried fruit for you”.

“No!” The haughty robin flew off.
“Now my promise I’ll not keep!”
How could Fred locate his donkey,
In the forest dark and deep?

“No,” said the robin, “I only want the shavings. I love the fragrance of well-seasoned oak”.

“Well then,” said the carpenter, “I’ll bring you some another day, as I need these for tomorrow”.

“That’s as may be,” replied the robin haughtily, and flew off.

“I’ve upset him all right,” thought the carpenter. “If he doesn’t come on Boxing Morning I’ll have to find the donkey by myself”.

Christmas Day was such a pleasure,
Goose for lunch, a roaring fire,
Children using their new pencils,
Fred’s wife in her best attire.

Christmas Day was a lovely family occasion. In the afternoon, while the children drew fantastic creatures and imagined scenes with their new pencils, husband and wife sat in front of a roaring fire with a glass of madeira each, digesting their splendid lunch. He told his astonished family what had happened on the way home the previous day; how the robin had saved him from a terrible ordeal. The next morning, from first light, they all looked out for the robin, but in vain. After two or three hours, the carpenter dare not leave it any longer to set out in search of the donkey and cart. But what if he could not spot them from the only path, which went straight through to the town? Nevertheless he set off, with some bread and cheese and a flask for his own sustenance, and a few vegetable scraps to revive the donkey.

Ten o’clock on Boxing Morning
Fred set out into the trees,
Searching for his frightened donkey
Calling “Donkey! Answer please!”

He stared into the wood from side to side, and called the donkey’s name in the hope of hearing a bray in response, but he arrived at the far side without any sign. Immediately he set off back, as the afternoon would be short. He stared harder, called louder, and occasionally dared to go some way into the trees, as long as he was sure he could get back to the path.

Now a magpie came to help him
“I will take you there”, she said.
How her croaking voice relieved him!
“That is marvellous!” said Fred.

“Do you need some help?” he heard a croaking voice say. There was a magpie sitting on a branch just above him. As it flapped its wings, its black feathers flashed with purple and emerald green. “Are you looking for a donkey and cart?” “Yes, yes!” said the carpenter. “Do you know where they are?” Sure enough the magpie did know, and before long she had led the carpenter to a clearing, where he could see the donkey looking fearfully around. Soon the donkey was eating up his fodder with relish, while the magpie pointed out the way back to the joyful carpenter.

Soon they found the donkey shivering.
Fred fed him some tasty food.
Magpie gave Fred clear instructions
How to exit from the wood.

“How can I repay you, magpie?” he asked.

“How can I repay you, magpie?”.
“I would like those shiny pins
That you gave your wife for Christmas.
Nothing else my favour wins”.

“I like shiny things, as shiny as my eye. Give me those new pins you bought on Christmas Eve”.

“That I can’t do, but I’ll give you
A nice shiny nail or two”.
“That’s not good enough,” said magpie.
“So I’ll put a spell on you.”

“I can’t do that, as I’ve given them to my wife as a present. But I will give you a bright shiny new brass nail”.

“No”, said the magpie. “I only want the pins. They are so dainty”.

“Well, I’ll buy you some in the New Year”, said the carpenter.

“Never mind”, said the magpie. “Now, off you go, and don’t forget to turn left in front of the seventh holly-bush”. “The seventh? I thought you said the second”. “No, no. The seventh”. And off she flew, her eyes twinkling.

Off she flew, her eyes a-twinkle.
Now the spell confused Fred’s brain,
He forgot all those instructions.
Far from home and lost again!

By the time the donkey had pulled the cart as far as the seventh holly-bush, the carpenter realised that the magpie had tricked him, because they were now in a part of the forest that he did not recognise at all. The trees were of unfamiliar kinds and there were little streams every few paces, which made their going very slow. The light had long been fading. “Surely we are more lost than ever!” wailed the carpenter. He and the donkey looked at each other with sad despairing eyes.

But they heard a booming voice call,
“Shall I help you in your plight?”
Looking round, Fred saw an owl
Gliding down in silent flight.

At that moment a deep voice said “Come now. I will help you to get back to your family and fireside”. An owl glided across their path to settle on a low branch just ahead of them. The white mask around his solemn eyes gleamed as his head swivelled one way and the other.

“We will be so grateful, owl”, said the carpenter. As it was now dark, the owl guided them by his hooting. and eventually brought them to the track, near to the edge of the wood and their home.

By his hoots he led them homeward.
There the cottage window glowed.
“Thanks indeed! What can I give you,
Owl, for showing us the road?”

“I would like the plaque you crafted
For the mayor’s parlour door.
Hanging by my tree-hole entrance
It will look good, to be sure”.

“Many thanks indeed. What can I give you for your trouble, owl?” “I like learned things. Give me that plaque that you made for the mayor, so I can hang it above the hole where I live. It will look very impressive”.

“But,” said Fred, “that is the mayor’s.
Let me make one just the same
Out of finest seasoned pine wood,
And inscribed with your own name”.

“But owl, the mayor has paid me for that! It belongs to the Town Hall. Let me give you some pencils, so you can write your own name on the tree”. The carpenter had decided that his children would have to give up some of their presents, rather than offend the owl, even though he was now safely in sight of home with his donkey and cart.

“Oh no”, said the owl, frowning. I am not keen on writing. My pleasure is reading”.

“Well, I cannot get you the mayor’s plaque”, said the carpenter. Let me find a piece of wood and I’ll make you one of your own – with your own name of course”.

Owl agreed to this proposal,
But “I have no name”, said he.
“Carve whatever name you think of.
I will read it – just you see!”

“Mmmm…. but I don’t have a name. You can put what you like, but don’t tell me what it says – I want to try to make it out myself”.

So Fred set to work next morning,
As he carved, the shavings coiled.
Then he made some shiny needles
From the wine-jar’s silver foil.

Thirsty, Fred drank two large glasses
Of the tasty Christmas wine.
Then he quickly finished carving
Letters in the plaque of pine.

So the next morning the carpenter set to work on a little scrap of seasoned oak-wood that he found under his bench. When he had nearly finished making the owl’s plaque, he needed refreshment. He went into the house and poured out a generous glass of madeira. As he did so he noticed the silver foil on the neck of the bottle, which, when the dust was rubbed off, shone brightly. He peeled it off and with his penknife cut it into strips. These he rolled up into tiny cylinders like so many dainty shiny pins, and stuck them fast with a dab of madeira. He drained another glass, before going back into his workshop and quickly finishing carving a name for the owl. Then he collected together all the fragrant oak shavings.

“Come now children, to the forest
Carrying these little things,
Presents for the birds who helped me.
You’ll look like the three wise kings”.

Smallest one the shavings carried,
Next the foil needles bore,
Then the eldest with owl’s nameplate,
Laid them on the forest floor.

He called his children, who were in the field playing soldiers, fencing with long icicle swords that they’d broken from the eaves. “Dry your hands and hold these carefully”, he said, giving the smallest the wood shavings, the next the foil pins, and the eldest the little plaque. They all set off together along the path through the wood.

First the robin piping sweetly,
Then the magpie chattering,
Came and fetched their Christmas presents,
Clutching them beneath their wing.

Now the owl appeared, and studied
Hard the lettering on the plate.
Side to side his head he swivelled.
Suddenly he hooted “Great!”

“I can see it says ‘His Wooship’!
That is perfect for my door!”
Off he soared into the treetops,
With his plaque clutched in his claw.

When they reached a clearing in the very middle of the forest, they set down the gifts on a tree stump and watched from behind a holly bush. After a few minutes they saw a robin, a magpie and an owl flying from tree to tree, ever closer to the stump. The robin began to carry off the shavings, the magpie the pins. While they went and returned repeatedly, the owl perched on the stump studying the plaque. His head twisted this way and that as he tried to make out the letters. The other birds had taken all the shavings and pins, and disappeared, before he succeeded. Suddenly he hooted triumphantly and extended his wings wide. “ ‘His Wooship’! That’s right! That’s me!” Delighted, he took the plaque in his claws and with a few strong beats of his wings he flew up above the trees, where they could see him silhouetted against the sky before he slipped again into the depths of the wood.

How the children were excited
When they heard the owl speak –
Couldn’t wait to tell their mother
That their forest was unique.

Dad said, “Owl’s a clever fellow,
But his reading is so-so!
Not ‘His Wooship’, but ‘His Worship’!
I would never tell him, though.

The carpenter’s children were thrilled to hear the bird speak, if only so briefly. The carpenter laughed heartily and gathered them in his arms. “That owl is a clever bird to be sure! And he was so pleased that I had not the heart to tell him that he had read the plaque a little wrongly. Of course it really said ‘His Worship’”.

Fred’s first child was a good reader.
She knew that the owl was right.
But she’d always keep it secret
Not to spoil her dad’s delight.

Hand in hand they set off gaily
Skipping down the woodland lane,
As the sinking sun’s red fire
Lit their way to home again.

His eldest child, who could read well, thought it better not to tell her father that the owl had read it correctly. It would only upset him, and he would surely never set eyes on the plaque again. They all skipped happily home hand in hand as the sinking sun sent red fire through the trees.