Andrew "Little Bone'' Wilson, no relation to John "Big Bone'' Smith, lived on just a tiny corner of Parker Hill in the City of Hamilton. He was the smallest of the nine Wilson children and the one who was most immune to the constant neighbourhood gossip, in spite of the fact that he wore pampers on the outside of his corduroy pants and a bib behind his back.

He was only six and he was deaf. His father, Mac Donald "Handbone'' Wilson, was a most peculiar man. His face was always whiskered, he rarely combed his hair and his five foot six rotund figure was never attired in more than a tee shirt and a pair of jeans.

Tucked away in his ear was a pencil, and in his mouth beside a lone shiny tooth was a toothpick. In spite of his best efforts, his hands were always covered with paint and the deep rich red soil from his garden that matched his red cheeks.

It wasn't just the fact that every member of the Wilson family had a nickname, it was the fact that they were a bit... what shall we say in a kind way about them... they were a bit odd! With Christmas bells filling the air and coloured lights flirting with the wind, Mac Donald Wilson was taking down his lights, hung on early Easter morning.

Priscilla Wilson had been married to Mac Donald for over 20 years although nobody could recall the day they tied the knot. People just guessed that they must have gotten married because Henry "Meatbone'', their oldest child, was 19 years old. Priscilla was always singing songs about Easter and even though it was Christmas, and her yard was full of Poinsettias, she did not seem to notice it was the wrong time to sing about the Crucifixion.

She was the complete opposite of her husband in weight, and her face was a light cooper. She was a product of a mixed race. Nobody ever knew who, or how, but her blue eyes and pointy nose gave her away and her voice. Oh that voice! Old Mr. Hillard could recall once hearing her really sing and belt out the words `Steal Away, Steal Away, to Jesus'. But for now, she mainly chewed her words before swallowing them always with a loud belch. Anyway, her marriage was never really talked about as much as the other peculiar ways of the entire family.

I guess not that you have met the parents and two of the children, I might as well tell you about the other six. Briefly, there was Carl "Bigbone'' named because he was always carrying ten little bones in his top pocket for good luck. He was by far the unluckiest man in Bermuda. He once bet that he could run the Marathon race in one hour.

When he returned home a week later he said he had taken a wrong turn, and a couple of drinks too, I might add! Then there was Lewellyn "No Bone'', George "Hardbone'', Margaret "All Bone''; John "More Bone'' and Gerald "Snowbone''. Yes, that was the group. Tucked away on their own little plot in what they called God's Heaven.

There was so much bone in that family, my grandfather once said, that they could feed all the dogs in the village. Just remembering them was difficult, so we used to ask them their names and then we scratched them on a coke bottle and shot berries at it with our sling-shots.

They were so proud of their nicknames that it was worth seeing their broad smiles turn into anger when the children on Princess Row teased them. Nobody really hated them but people thought that they were mighty strange because of the way they lived. They were never seen in any grocery store, they always wore red and electricity was not permitted to enter their home. They seemed to spend their nights looking at the stars or just starring down at us.

Tucked below them on Princess Street were us normal people. Christmas was always a special time for us. The smell of cassava pie, turkey, plain and fruit cake would thunder to the top of the hill and almost mesmerise the Wilsons who would sit under the PawPaw tree glued to the activities below. As a child, I never paid much attention to them or they to us, but as I grew older I began to have so many questions about them and when I never saw them in school I really became worried that maybe they might be from another planet. It was in bed one night that our real Christmas tale begins. I just rolled over and thought that the entire neighbourhood was engulfed in blackness. I reached over to the table and when I could not find my flashlight I whispered to my brother Kenneth.

"Kenneth,'' I said in a tiny voice, "The lights are out.'' Kenneth tried to ignore me at first but when he heard the blinds smash against the window, he sat up.

"What is it?'' he said.

"I need the flashlight,'' I responded, "so that I can put a shilling in the electricity meter.'' "What for?'' he asked.

"So I can go to the toilet,'' I shouted.

Kenneth reached under his pillow and pulled out a large red flashlight. We had used it that night to shine a straight light across the road and on to the faces of the Wilson's above on the hill. All the kids used to do it and they used to dance in the hail of light just like they were having their own dance show. They would be lifting things above their heads and dancing in the weirdest way.

Anyway, I seem to be getting lost in this tale. Oh yes. When I put the money in the meter and the lights did not come on, we looked at each parents' room.

"The lights are out,'' my dad said when he saw us coming. "Must be a Belco blackout or something.'' The three of us walked down the stairs and out into the road. Doors gradually started to open. My dad shone the beam from the flashlight on to his watch. It was 2 a.m. and the only phone in the neighbourhood was locked up in Mrs.

Wilkinson's store. Everybody was asking the same questions but the cold chill of Bermuda winter night made the answers short and sweet and drove us into our kerosene warmed homes.

When we turned around, my mom came running towards us.

"It's gone! It's gone! Over one thousand pounds of gift club money, gone.

Just disappeared from under the cupboard.'' My dad dashed in the house, stepping on Rover's tail and knocking over a table. Rover was in severe pain and he sure let us know it. He darted out of the house and knocked over my mom's prized orchid. I tell you. You want to see smoke. My mom was so angry that she forgot about the money and started to collect the soil from her plant. The dog's action had not deterred my dad, however. He dashed into the kitchen and threw open the bread cupboard door and used his pocket knife to pry open a board. She was right! It was gone. We sat on the floor in disbelief.

"What's the matter dad? I asked.

There was silence so we waited. After about five minutes my mom entered the room.

"What's this? A party?'' she asked. "When the three of you were outside in the road I came in here and decided to make you some hot chocolate. When I reached over for the tin, it was gone so I knew that something was wrong because I had only just used it this morning. So I checked the Gift Club money which I have been keeping for the past twenty years in the same old blue Ming's cake tin and it was gone.

You know I have to pay it back this morning at 10 a.m. so that everyone can go and buy their Christmas presents out of the money they have been giving me every week,'' she screamed.

Just then, I began to have a flashback. "Dad, last night we were shining our flashlight up at the Wilson's like you always tell us not to do and I think I say them holding up a cake box just like ours.'' "Oh really?'' said Mary Woods, the street gossip. How she ever got in the the house we will never know for sure. "We'll, if you think that they have taken our money then we better get everyone together and get up that hill and take it back.'' She was gone in a flash. My dad jumped to his feet and tried to stop her but it was as though she was a ghost. She was gone. When we finally got our lamps together, we dashed outside only to find about 100 adults and children headed towards the Wilsons.

A little boy had brought his drum and started to beat it. Someone started to shout and the next thing you know, there was a chorus of: "We want our money back! Keep those bones or we will throw stones, just give us our money back.'' It was the most frightening thing I had ever seen. There was a long line of lights meandering up the top of the hill like ants and I was in the middle of it all wondering if Santa would punish me for my deed.

At the top of the hill everyone stopped when they saw the Wilson's appear. Ms.

Woods stood on the top of the Wilson's wall and screamed: "We are here to get our Gift Club money back. Young Marcus here said he saw you holding the tin above your head when you were doing your nightly dance ritual. If you don't hand it over we will come in there and take it from you and burn your house down.'' "No, crucify them!'' someone shouted.

My father was horrified when he saw the crowd start to light bonfire rags and take out their hammers. He pushed towards the top.

My dad later told me that although he barely knew Mr. Wilson, apparently he had met him once while jumping the pond on their way to school. My dad had missed and without saying a word Mr. Wilson had helped him out.

"Put down your rags,'' my dad cried. "These are innocent people until proven guilty by a court of law. The is Christmas. We should reason and forgive if they are guilty.'' That was the first time that I had seen my dad look so angry. But the crowd did not move. The crowd became edgy when the Wilson's began to arm themselves.

All I remember was the sound of Rover barking and whistles. Just when the first fire was about to be thrown the Parish Constable came dashing through the trees crying: "We got them. We got them.'' As he drew near, we could see him carrying the blue cake tin.

The crowd stood in shame. He opened it. It was full of money.

"I was on my way to pick up some eggnog for the misses and a Christmas tree, when I saw Rover barking at a clump of trees. When I drew near what should I see but two guys huddled together holding a bag. I took Rover and they dropped the bag. Don't worry, they are in prison now. When I got back to the station and sorted through the bag and saw that coke bottle and the tin I knew it was yours.

The crowd then hoisted the constable on to their shoulders and took him home.

As my dad began to leave, Mr. Wilson reached over shook his hand and said, "Thank you.'' Mrs. Wilson handed me a blue Ming cake tin that was filled with red and white sugar canes and raised my head and said: "Merry Christmas and to all a good night.'' The incident went to court, the Wilson's were acquitted and the two robbers received ten years in prison. I was admonished by the judge for being careless and I got nothing for Christmas. Everyone gave my mom an extra allowance the next morning when they got their Gift Club money back.

As happens in all Bermuda stories, the Wilson children went on to become fine doctor's and lawyers. And I tell you, my grandson, that is a Christmas I will never forget.