Christmas in Stoke-on-Trent | Three Heart-warming Short Stories

Recently, we were delighted to sponsor a prize for Stoke-on-Trent Libraries writing competition, in celebration of the breathtaking new City Central Library located at Two Smithfield. The theme was all about 'Christmas in Stoke-on-Trent', inviting writers to put pen to paper and cast their minds towards the festive season. 

Three age categories were included, with a delightful array of stories submitted by young children to older adults. Entries from 7 year olds to a 95 year old gentleman! The winners were...

Henry's Christmas Wish by Alfie
A Potter's Christmas by Mariya
The Pantomime Potters by Katherine

Amy Capewell, Senior Librarian at Stoke-on-Trent City Central Library said:
"The stories have been fantastic - a real pleasure to read. Everyone has thought really hard about crafting a story that shows off Stoke-on-Trent at Christmas. Everyone was incredibly happy to be chosen and have asked me to pass on their thanks to the Stoke-on-Trent BID team for their generous donation of Cineworld vouchers; Alfie is particularly excited to go and watch the new Wonka movie!"

In the spirit of the season, we're delighted to share the winning entries in full, so grab a hot cocoa or bevarage of choice and enjoy some festive stories! 
 

Henry’s Christmas Wish by Alfie
At the bottom of a tree in the cold, dark Cocknage Wood, there lived a lonely hedgehog named Henry. It was the beginning of December and Winter was coming. Henry was tired because all the jobs around his tree house were difficult, and he had to do them by himself. To make things worse he’d run out of oatcakes, which would have given him lots of energy. All Henry really wanted for Christmas was a friend (and maybe a few oatcakes).
One snowy night as the moon shone bright, Henry decided to write a letter to Santa Claus. This is what he wrote:

Dear Santa,
For Christmas I don’t want toys, chocolate or sweets, all I want is a friend that will stay with me for life (and if you have any spare, maybe some oatcakes).
I really hope I’ll get what I wish for.
Love from Henry.
xxx

He carefully folded the Christmas letter and placed it beside his decorated Christmas tree, that was made of twigs and berries. Then, in a puff of smoke, the letter disappeared. Henry was shocked but amazed. And then fairy dust sprinkled out of the twinkling sky and onto his lovely tree house. Henry thought that something magical had just happened in his lounge. It was the day before Christmas, the night of Christmas Eve. Henry prepared for bed as usual. As he closed his sleepy eyes, he made one final wish for Santa to visit. As Santa Claus flew across the glistening, moonlit Stokie sky, he read Henry’s letter and it
gave him a warm tingly feel in his heart. So he sent a magic email to his helpful Elves and suddenly, out of nowhere, a friend appeared. It was a beautiful red squirrel called Sally. Santa asked his reindeer to head for Henry’s treehouse. He told Sally to stay put under Henry’s Christmas tree until Christmas morning.
When Henry woke up on Christmas morning, he ran straight to his tree. He was amazed when he saw a big bushy red tail. Suddenly, out popped Sally.

“Hello,” said Sally. “I’ve come to be your new friend.” Henry gave Sally a big hug. He was so happy. “Not only that,” Sally went on, “I’ve also brought you these, although I’m not sure what they are.”
“I know what they are,” shouted Henry in delight. “They’re my favourite scrumptious oatcakes.”
Santa and his elves had made Henry’s wish come true. From that moment on, Henry and Sally became best friends forever (BFF’s).
They had endless adventures together.
 

A Potter's Christmas by Mariya

In the heart of England, nestled between the bustling cities of Manchester and Birmingham, lies the quaint city of Stoke-on-Trent, known for its rich pottery heritage. As the Christmas season approached, the city was adorned with twinkling lights and the air was filled with the scent of mulled wine and mince pies.

In the midst of this festive cheer lived an old potter named Alves. He had spent his entire life in Stoke-on-Trent, crafting beautiful ceramics that were admired far and wide. However, as he grew older, his hands had started to tremble making it difficult for him to continue his craft. One chilly December evening, as Alves was closing his pottery shop a young girl named Sarah walked in. She was new to Stoke-on-Trent, having recently moved from London with her family. Sarah had always been fascinated by the art of pottery and wished to learn it. Seeing the spark in Sarah’s eyes, Alves decided to teach her the craft. In the days leading up to Christmas Sarah and Alves spent countless hours in the pottery shop. Under Alves’s guidance Sarah learned to shape the clay, paint intricate designs and fire the ceramics. On Christmas Eve Sarah presented Alves with a beautifully crafted ceramic Christmas tree, complete with hand-painted ornaments. It was a token of her gratitude of his mentorship. Alves was moved by the gesture and marvelled at how far Sarah had come in such a short time. The next day, Alves and Sarah set up a stall at the Stoke-on-Trent Christmas market. The ceramic Christmas tree was placed at the centre of their display. Passers by were drawn to its unique charm and soon all their pottery pieces were sold out. As the day ended Alves looked around at the bustling Christmas market, the twinkling lights and the joyous faces of the people of Stoke-on-Trent. Holding the ceramic Christmas tree in his hands he realised that he had received the greatest gift of all – the joy of passing on his craft and seeing it flourish in the hands of the next generations.

The Pantomime Potters by Katherine 
Christmas Eve swept her magical star studded cloak over the frosty rooftops of the Six Towns, shrouding the streets in a glorious shimmer of blue velvet fading to inky black. Down in One Town, fairy lights flickered their fancy flash dance against the backdrop of night, while trees trimmed with tinsel twinkled merrily in the windows of each cosy house. I imagined the people inside all curled up like little dolls drinking cups of cinnamon cocoa after a busy day of wrapping gift
mountains and stuffing turkeys the size of baby elephants with fistfuls of cranberries. Stockings would be hanging expectantly above the warm fires, mince pies and tipples perched on the mantelpiece ready for a peckish Father Christmas.

Outside, Winter was nibbling naughtily at my toes and the first shy snowflakes were drifting softly from the moonlit clouds and melting into the frozen puddles in the pavement cracks. I was heading towards my usual spot under The Man of Fire's steely watch; the somewhat dingy doorway of the old boarded up department store, which had long lost its hustle and bustle to the cruel demon of decline. Tonight however, I would never make it to my destination.
As I walked, I could just about glimpse beyond all the festive glitter and glitz of the centre, that familiar shadowy shape looming in the deep folds of shadow on the very fringes of One Town. The Old Factory, standing strong and silent; its heavy iron gates sealing in the blackened brick bottle ovens, which towered importantly above the chimney pots like giant toy soldiers keeping watch for the march of midnight. One by one, I watched the fairy lights dance their last and each and every lamp go out, in One Town's nod towards dream-filled sleep. Without those lights to comfort me, Winter's bite was gnawing at my bones like the fox that got the Christmas goose. Not a sound could be heard in the swirl of the whispering snow; no squeak from a mouse or coo from a pigeon. Just the reliable tick-tock of One Town's Blue Clock, who proudly counted down to Christmas in his usual perfect time. I settled my gaze upon his face as Tock followed Tick to touch the twelve, the moon-made spotlight shining down on those pointed hands, which quivered and glowed with midnight MAGIC.
A whirlwind of sugary snowflakes spiralled down in a swirling frenzy around that beloved clock of blue, faster and faster they flew, then out of the clock's crown burst a fizzing rainbow of sparkle that shot up into the Christmas sky. It whizzed and whooshed its way over the snowy white rooftops and crackled like a fantastic firework, showering stars into the very heart of The Old Factory. Quick as a flash, I took up my blanket and tore through the shadowy streets, my battered shoes slipping and sliding on the icy pavements until I reached the factory gates. Gates which, once rusted with decades of dirt and smoke, were glittered with gold. Like a doorway to a fairytale castle, they opened wide; and out of the bulging bottle oven lit by the magic of night and filled with fire, stepped
a jolly man with his face all of a grin, wearing a sparkling cap and a long clay-covered apron that
covered his knees.

We are The Pantomime Potters!; Said he,

You're here for the show?; Tis the best place to be,
For here's where we make the most MAGICAL mugs,
Supreme are our plates and majestic our jugs,
Our tea sets and wares are the finest around
So stay and behold, we will surely astound;

I watched with eyes like saucers on stilts as hundreds of potters popped out of chimneys, waved from the windows and paraded through the cobbled yard carrying trays of tottering teacups, spinning plates in their dozens and tossing teapots in perfect time to the beat of their potter's song.
The great fire in the bottle oven's belly burned bright with the treasured tales and secrets of Six Towns, warming me from the inside out with flames of hope and wonder. Then through the magical flickering smoke, I glimpsed a flash of red suit, heard the jolly Ho, ho, ho! echo off the chimney stacks, as seas of coloured streamers exploded around me; and I was suddenly standing in the show under the spot of the moon, telling the story: A pantomime dame with a teapot shaped gown Appeared on the scene with a face like a clown, She had a large platter of wobbly jelly, Which slid when she slipped, onto Santa's red welly!
Have you seen Santa?; The panto dame cried,
He's standing BEHIND YOU; I duly replied,
The Potters, quite rightly, shout OH NO, HE's NOT!
For Santa, like stardust, was off like a shot - WHOOSH! Up the chimney and into the sky With sacks full of tea sets all ready to fly! And fly did the night, as the Pantomime Potters took their final bow and the rainbow of fire led me back in a blink to the wink on the face of the one Blue Clock.
Christmas Day dawned with the snow-capped smile of sunrise. The Man of Fire gleamed above, his face and mine a picture of surprise, for the grime-graffitied boards had disappeared... The store windows were shining and sparkling with Christmas cheer, as long ago they once had! I stared with
delight at the glorious display; a table laid for a festive feast with the finest china you ever did see. Golden turkey with all the trimmings, crackers tied with shiny ribbons, candles aglow and majestic jugs filled with sprigs of frosted holly berry. And there at the head of the table, a place set with a
plate supreme, a mug most magical and a card glittering with the words:

Fire is at the root of all things both visible and invisible. Merry Christmas, Mr Doorman!
Merry Christmas! I laughed, and pottered right in.