The Flying Bedroom and the Snowman

Snow was falling over Aberdovey. Outside, through the dusk, large feathery flakes settled on the empty gardens and the quiet roads.

‘It looks like it’s sticking,’ said Elinor’s mother.

When Elinor went to bed it was still snowing.

‘If it carries on,’ said Elinor, ‘will there be enough to build a snowman?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Elinor’s father.

Elinor lay awake for a long time, watching snowflakes flurrying like moths around the street lights. But eventually she closed her eyes and slept.

And while she slept, her bedroom flew.

Round and round and up and down went Elinor’s bedroom. Snowflakes swirled overhead. A balled-up sock rolled off the edge of Elinor’s bedroom and was lost forever. One of Elinor’s drawings blew off the wall and was carried up, up and away…

And then down, down, down went Elinor’s bedroom until with a ‘bump!’ and a long, slow slide, it stopped.

Elinor opened her eyes. Her bedroom ceiling and her outside wall had disappeared, and the sky was crowded with snowflakes. Elinor put on her rabbit slippers and her dressing gown and went to the edge of her bedroom. The snow was falling thickly. ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Is anyone there?’

There was no reply.

Elinor made a snowball and threw it into the blizzard.

‘Ow!’ said someone.

‘Oh!’ said Elinor. ‘Sorry!’

Out of the blizzard came a portly figure. He was wearing a black top hat and a red wool scarf and his arms were sticks with mittens on the end. He had two lumps of coal for his eyes, a carrot for his nose, and a pipe stuck in his mouth.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Elinor.

‘I’ve been worse,’ said the snowman. He was rolling along from side to side, leaving a channel in the snow behind him. He came to the edge of Elinor’s bedroom and with a wag of his twiggy arms he rolled right in across the threshold.

‘Whew!’ he said. ‘What a day!’ He took off his hat and his scarf and threw them on the chair. ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’

‘Thanks,’ said Elinor.

‘Mind if I stop a while and thaw out a little?’

‘Not at all. Is it cold out there?’

‘Cold? It’s freezing! But that’s not the worst of it.’

‘It isn’t?’

‘No. The boys are the real problem.’

‘The boys?’

‘Throwing stones,’ the snowman said, ‘and smashing things. You know what I mean?’

Elinor did.

The snowman took his pipe out of his mouth and knocked it on Elinor’s chest of drawers. A little lump of snow dropped out onto the carpet and began to melt.

‘Warm in here, isn’t it?’ said the snowman. His carrot nose was no longer sticking straight out but pointing downwards.

‘You don’t think it’s a little too warm,’ said Elinor cautiously, ‘for someone like yourself?’ She had noticed that where the snowman stood, a large damp patch was spreading.

‘Too warm? Not at all! Good for you, a bit of heat. Sweats out the impurities.’

‘It’s just,’ said Elinor anxiously, ‘that I wouldn’t like you to – you know – melt or anything.’

‘Nonsense!’ said the snowman. His words were getting slushier. ‘I’m like my gwandfather.’

‘Your what?’

‘My Gwandfather. He loved the heat. Lived in India.’

‘In India?’

‘Met my gwandmother on the twain.’

‘On the what?’

‘Twain! Twain!’ said the snowman. ‘Chug-a-lug-lug!’

‘Oh! Train,’ said Elinor.

The snowman creaked and seemed to shift a little. Elinor got a towel and pressed it on the damp patch. While she was doing this, the snowman’s pipe fell out. Elinor stuck it in again.

‘I sink I’ll shtay a little longer,’ the snowman said. ‘I like it here.’

‘I wouldn’t stay too long,’ said Elinor.

‘Why not?’

‘You might begin to – oh!’ One of the snowman’s coal eyes fell out and rolled across the carpet. Elinor went after it.

‘Whatsa matter?’ said the snowman.

‘Your eye!’

‘Wot?’ said the snowman. ‘Stand where I can shee you!’

‘Hold still!’ Elinor pressed the coal back into the snowman’s head, where it sat more deeply than it had before.

‘Ah! There you are!’ said the snowman. ‘And look! It’s stopped snowing.’

And so it had. The sky had cleared. The sun was shining and the snow lay still and sparkling as far as the eye could see.

‘P’rhaps,’ said the snowman, ‘I should be going.’

But just then there came a knock at the window – and there was the snowman’s wife, wearing a paisley headscarf and a pair of sunglasses. ‘There you are!’ she cried. ‘Sitting here melting while I’m out looking for you!’

‘Oh dear,’ said the snowman.

His wife rolled in across the threshold. ‘Look at the state of you!’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Elinor. ‘I tried to tell him but—’

‘It’s not your fault,’ said the snowman’s wife. ‘He’s always doing this. Let’s get him up.’

The snowman put out his twiggy arms, and Elinor and the snowman’s wife took hold of them and pulled. But the snowman’s arms came right off in their hands. They stuck them in again.

‘Let’s push from behind,’ said Elinor. So they went behind and pushed, and the snowman rocked slushily across the carpet and out into the snow again.

But he was only half the snowman that he had been. His head slumped, his eyes were lopsided and he had lost his nose and two of the buttons on his front.

‘Oh dear!’ said his wife.

‘Oomph umph,’ said the snowman.

The snowman’s wife put a mitten to her mouth and began to cry.

Just then there were voices – and over the brow of the hill came several figures bundled up in scarves and hats and winter boots.

‘Oh no!’ said the snowman’s wife. ‘It’s those boys again.’

The boys were laughing and throwing snowballs at each other.

‘HEY!’ yelled Elinor. ‘Hello! Could you give us a hand?’

The boys came over.

Carefully, Elinor removed the snowman’s two coal eyes, his pipe, and his remaining buttons, and handed them to the snowman’s wife. Then she pulled off the snowman’s twiggy arms and stood them in the snow like little trees. She picked off his remaining buttons one by one. Eventually there was nothing left of the snowman but two snow balls – a small one for his head and a big one for his body.

‘First the head,’ said Elinor, and she pushed the snowman’s head right off so that it fell – plut – into the snow. Then she began rolling it away. As she rolled it through the snow it got bigger and rounder and by the time she had rolled it back again, it was twice the size it had been.

‘Now the body,’ said Elinor.

The boys helped Elinor roll the big ball in a circle. The further they rolled it the bigger it got and by the time they had rolled it back again it was twice the size it had been. Then Elinor and the boys lifted the snowman’s head back on his body. Elinor replaced the snowman’s eyes, his carrot nose, his pipe, his buttons and his twiggy arms, and before long the snowman was as good as new – better, even.

‘I’m a new man!’ said the snowman.

The snowman’s wife looked doubtful. ‘Don’t you think his head’s a little big?’

‘Not at all!’ said the snowman. ‘It’s perfect. Thanks, lads!’

‘You’re welcome,’ said the boys, and they went off, singing, through the snow.

‘What nice boys,’ said the snowman’s wife.

‘Very nice,’ agreed the snowman.

Elinor looked at the sky. It had clouded over again, and the first few flakes of snow were beginning to fall.

‘We’d better be going,’ said the snowman’s wife.

‘Just a minute,’ said Elinor. She went and got the snowman’s hat and scarf from her wicker chair.

‘Much obliged,’ said the snowman. ‘Goodbye!’

‘Goodbye!’ said Elinor.

The snowman and his wife linked arms and went rolling away through the snow. Elinor listened to their voices grow fainter and fainter until they had disappeared altogether. Then she took off her slippers and her dressing gown and climbed back into bed. She lay there for a moment, watching the snowflakes swirling overhead. But eventually she closed her eyes and slept.

When Elinor woke up, her ceiling and her outside wall were back again. It was strangely quiet and her room was filled with pale reflected light. Elinor went to the window and looked out. The sun was shining and all of Aberdovey was white – and there was Elinor’s father. He was rolling a huge ball of snow down the middle of the road. Elinor banged on the glass, and her father looked up and waved. ‘Come on out!’ he shouted. ‘I’m building a snowman!’