Sir Bedivere’s Gift

         Author’s Note: Requests to republish this short story should be sent to the attention of the author via the Contact form on this Barnaby Druthers website. Comments welcome about this story. Please consider sharing your thoughts below.

The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities between any parties or situations are completely coincidental.

Sir Bedivere’s Gift By J. Timothy Quirk ©2022

When December 24th arrived, Otis Boyd wandered aimlessly through the East End of London. He wished no one a Merry Christmas and received no seasonal greetings in return. His unkempt beard with flecks of white covered the lower half of his wrinkled face but as his balding top half had no cover, he walked as briskly as a man of his girth and condition could muster with a walking stick carrying some of the burden.  When he wore his dark shirt, the holes in his long brown overcoat were obscured but at least his pockets were patched and filled with enough coins for a four-penny-coffin for the night.

Just at mid-day, as he strolled among the shoppers, revelers, street vendors and carolers, Otis spied a small package sitting in the snow underneath a streetlamp.  He surmised this Christmas present must have fallen from a carriage, for certainly many London cabbies were known to take the turns far too quickly at the corner. He considered that perhaps a shopkeeper had dropped it while making a delivery and would retrace his steps once he was realized what was missing. In any case, Otis felt it was no business of his and began to turn away when he saw a young boy moving furtively towards it.  Their eyes met, and he yelled, “Be on your way, boy! Do not think to steal. Not before Christmas!”  As the boy ran off, Otis picked up the package to inspect it further. There was no name or address, no card, no writing on it at all, just the colorful holiday images of canes, trees and angels on the paper wrapped around the box with a brown ribbon that was tied in a bow.

He placed the package back in the snow to return to his meandering journey when he stopped and turned to look at it once more.  How long had it been there? How long would it remain before an unscrupulous fellow nicked it? Who could be trusted with its protection until the true owner returned? A nicely wrapped gift is not soon forgotten, so whomever lost it would come for it soon enough and Otis decided he would spend a moment as its temporary guardian until the package could be properly recovered.

But as day fell into night and after the lamplighter lit the streetlamp above him, Otis, now sitting next to the package, wondered aloud whether the gift would ever be found. More than once, a policeman asked his business and he replied he was protecting a Christmas gift, and this seemed to satisfy the inquiry. A dusting of snow provided a hint of holiday charm, but it did not please the balding man who could not adjust his own coat above his head without leaving where he sat at the mercy of the snow below.

Big Ben chimed nine when a tall bespeckled gentleman in a fine overcoat peered down at him and smiled.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

Otis returned the greeting without much thought.

“Is this your package?” asked the man.

“No, it is not,” Otis replied, now interested in the questioner. “Is it yours?”

“That is a very good question. May I see it? Even if it is not mine, I may be able to discern its true owner.”

“There is no name or address on the package, sir,” warned Otis.

“Indeed. All the better to hone the investigatory skills, eh what? It is something in my line, or at least interest, after all. May I?” he asked, motioning to the package and Otis readily lifted it up to him.

“It’s yours, sir. Truly it’s yours,” Otis pleaded. “Say it is yours so I can leave this corner.”

“Why can you not leave this corner all the same? Did someone instruct you to stay here?”

“No, sir. But…,” Otis attempted to explain his motives but in the end all he could muster was the phrase, “… but it’s Christmas.”

“And you wished to protect a Christmas gift for Christmas? I see. I see. Well now, let’s examine the item a little closer, shall we? Yes, yes…I see there is no written name on this package just as you advised, so we must seek other clues. Note how the ribbons are crossed just so. Why, if my eyes do not deceive me, this must be a Sir Bedivere’s Gift.”

“Sir Bedivere’s Gift?”

“I’m sure you know of the grand tradition of the Sir Bedivere’s Gift? Oh, it is very special. You see, every Christmas, somewhere in the world, there is a Sir Bedivere’s gift. You know the story, don’t you?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“Well, you know the story of King Arthur who, after being mortally wounded at the Battle of Camlann, asked Sir Bedivere to return his sword, Excalibur to the Lake?  At first Sir Bedivere said he returned it, but when King Arthur asked what occurred and Sir Bedivere said nothing, the King knew Sir Bedivere had not completed the task. Ashamed, Sir Bedivere went to the Lake a second time and threw the sword to the water, not knowing what would occur. Before his eyes he saw a Lady’s hand reach from the water and catch the sword before bringing it below. And so, the idea of a gift being brought into the elements for its rightful owner to claim is a long and storied one. A Christmas present wrapped in a bow but without a name or address may indeed be a lost item or it may be a Sir Bedivere’s Gift.”

“If it is a Sir Bedivere’s gift, who is the rightful owner? Has it found you?” asked Otis.

“Not necessarily. Let us inspect the clues, for the clues should tell us to whom this Sir Bedivere’s gift belongs. There is a cover of brown ribbon. This indicates to me that the owner would have a brown covering. I, sir, do not have a brown stitch upon me. Let us look closer. There are images of a cane on this package. This is a curious detail and alas, I walk without a cane. Then there is the imagery of a tree. A dark colored tree with bright ornaments upon it. This is the most striking clue to this mystery yet.”

“Am I to look for someone carrying a tree with ornaments before I turn over this present to him and find my rest for the night?” Otis was incredulous.

“Not at all. I think the identity can be discerned quite clearly. For instance, you, sir, wear brown as a cover.”

“My overcoat?”

“And I can not help but notice you carry a cane,” remarked the gentleman.

“I use a walking stick, it is true,” answered Otis.

“And your thick beard is flecked with pure white, which is quite ornamental, is it not? Why indeed, I could mistake your face for a Douglas Fir in the right light!”

Both men laughed heartily until Otis’s face fell. In a somber tone, he pointed to the angel on the wrapping. “But there is one clue unaccounted for. It is an angel. I can assure you, sir, I am not that. No, I am not that. Nor am I a man who could claim to have lived as virtuously one. The gift must be meant for another.”

The gentleman holding the package was taken aback by the confession, then he considered it for the moment and then thoughtfully replied, “I would not be so hasty. I am not certain that an angel depicted on a Christmas present would prevent any person not angelically pure from receiving it. If that were true, then nobody except for the one whose birth is celebrated on Christmas would be perfect and pure enough to receive it. No, I think this angel means something else today. Perhaps it is meant for how one has acted on the day the gift is received.  And what have you done today? You have protected something that was not yours, and it was done for the benefit of someone you didn’t know. What knight of the round table would have done more? Tell me, how long have you been sitting here, sir?”

“Since the mid-day, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. You did not steal the present yourself; you did not sell it. So indeed, to my estimation, the man wearing brown, using a cane, with a full beard with flecks of white and whose actions today are noble and virtuous is indeed the true owner of this gift.” Pointedly, the gentleman gave the package back to Otis and said once more, “This is your Sir Bedivere’s gift. Please take it.”

Otis took the gift and asked, “Do I open it?”
“It is Christmas Eve, sir. I think it is right you should do so.”

Otis unwrapped the package he protected all day. From within the confines of the box he found a hard felt hat with a rounded crown.
“A gentleman’s hat!” Otis exclaimed.

“A bowler perhaps from Thomas and William’s shop itself. It suits you,” said the gentleman as Otis placed it upon his head.

“I don’t know what to say,” said Otis, “except thank you, sir.”

“Any expressions of gratitude are not meant for me, sir. But I do believe the intent of Sir Bedivere’s gift has been achieved. Merry Christmas, my good man!”

“And Merry Christmas to you!” Otis cheerily replied.

Now what occurred after that day for Otis Boyd is not entirely known. Some say Otis found work at a hattery, let a room in a reputable boarding house and eventually married the widow who ran it.  Some say he made amends to his estranged children and, on his deathbed, bequeathed the bowler hat to his son who wore it with pride. But what is known is that every year hence, an unmarked wrapped gift would sit in the snow below a streetlamp at a corner in the East End of London on Christmas Eve, and wait to be found by its rightful owner in the name of Sir Bedivere.

-Fin