Silent Night | Learn to Love to Read

Each Ten Word Tale is written using ten words chosen by children. Silent Night is inspired by ten words chosen by Maddie Liley.

Spot the 10 words - sparkly, crystal-clear, icicle, cave, joyfully, purple, freezing, robin, escaped, quickly - and enjoy the story!

Chapter 1

There was once a girl, called Robin. Some would say it was a good name for her because her hair was brown and shiny, smooth on her little head like a feathered cap. Some would say it was a good name because she had rosy cheeks and bright eyes. At school they would say she was like a robin because she ran so fast in sports day races that she almost flew. Those who knew her best would say she was like a robin because she could sing.

Sadly, Robin got so shy in front of people that when she tried to sing her voice disappeared to a tiny whisperiness. Most people had no idea how well she could sing but when she was on her own or thought no one was listening, out came her voice, crystal-clear, like the true notes of a tiny ringing bell, or the soft notes of a long silver flute, or the sound of a robin, singing his heart out in the garden.

Mums and dads often have ideas about what they hope their children will do in the future. Robin’s dad, listening to Robin singing in the shower or on the stairs on the way down to breakfast, became very keen on the idea of Robin becoming a singer when she grew up. He imagined Robin singing in huge arenas, queen of the stage, her voice thrilling thousands.

Robin’s mum could see Robin’s character might not fit with these celebrity-singer plans. Robin was a happy girl and she loved many things but NOT being in front of people. There were many interesting futures waiting for Robin that did not need her to do things in front of people. “She needs an audience, “ said Robin’s dad. “She needs to be happy,” said Robin’s mum. Robin did not say anything. She was in her room, singing quietly to herself and knitting her father some socks for his birthday.

Chapter 2

Robin’s dad wanted her to have singing lessons. The first singing teacher said she was too shy and her voice was too soft, so her father quickly found another one but he said the same. This went on for many months until Robin’s dad came to the very last teacher he could find, Mr Breve. He was a little old man, quite bent with age. He was considered the very best in town: very expensive and very experienced, known for his experimental ideas. He was also famous for the concerts of his pupils, which pleased Robin’s dad, just what he had in mind for Robin’s first steps to fame. He known to be very kind, which pleased Robin’s mum.

Looking at Mr Breve with his friendly face sitting at the piano and playing the opening chords of her song, Robin got ready to sing. She was going to try her very best. Her mouth was open wide, her lungs were full, her throat was extended …. but nothing like her beautiful voice came out, just a breathy sound.

Robin hung her head and hoped the floor would swallow her whole. Mr Breve was very understanding. “My dear Robin,” he said. “Your voice has just disappeared with fear. That happens sometimes. It might as well be deep in a distant cave or on the highest mountain. It is not in this room with us. I think you should have a rest from trying to sing. We’ll try again later in the year. You never know. You might end up in my Christmas concert after all.” Mr Breve’s Christmas concert was particularly famous in the town because all his old pupils came back to sing in it.

Robin’s dad face was filled with thunderous gloom when he heard Mr Breve’s advice but he agreed to wait till Christmas. Robin hugged her father being patient and he went off to the bakery where he worked to knead some dough for doughnuts VERY fiercely indeed. Robin went up the stairs, singing quietly under her breath, stopping on each step to change tunes.

Chapter 3

Robin’s dad pounded the dough for breads and buns day after day at the bakery, in the same bad mood. The bakery did brilliantly as this made the breads and buns taste delicious. He loved Robin just as she was but he also loved the idea of the whole world thinking she was marvellous and he could not let go of it.

Mr Breve talked to Robin’s mum. “Does Robin have a lovely voice or is it a dream of your husband’s? Parents want their children to do wonderful things but they get confused about what their children can really do wonderfully.” Robin’s mum’s eyes flashed like sparkly diamonds. “My daughter’s voice is beautiful. If you heard it once you would never forget it.” She looked out of the window. It was late November and there was snow on the ground. A very long icicle hung like a glassy spear from the kitchen window. “She just freezes up in front of people.”

“Even you?”

“Even anyone.”

Mr Breve decided this called for one of his experiments. He discussed it with Robin’s parents telling them it must be quite, quite secret from Robin herself to work.

“If this experiment works,” asked Robin’s dad, “will she sing in front of people?”

“Wait and see,” said Mr Breve and would not say anything more.

Robin did not know anything about the experimental plan at all. When she set off on a trip to look at Christmas lights with her Mum and Dad, she had no idea that Mr Breve’s plan was in action. At the same time as the three of them stood at the bus stop, Robin never suspected Mr Breve was standing on a box and a chair in Robin’s bedroom. As they sat down at the back of the bus, Robin could not have known that Mr Breve was lying on the floor beside the bath in the bathroom. As the bus became crowded and noisy with pushchairs and families, Robin would never have imagined that Mr Breve was on a ladder in the garden doing something with wires in the apple trees.

Chapter 4

In the last week of school there were little parties in lessons, a carol service, a play, secret Santa, the final assembly and a pantomime. Robin felt she could sleep for the four days left before Christmas but she was too busy for sleeping.

On the first day, she finished making the last of her Christmas cards. As she coloured and folded and wrote and stuck, she sang away in her room where no one could hear her.

On the second day she helped with cleaning. Her grandparents were coming for Boxing Day and would expect the house to be as smart as a hotel. She tied back her hair, put on an old jumper and began with the bathroom while her parents cleaned downstairs. As Robin scrubbed and sprayed and polished she sang her very best while cleaning every surface within an inch of its life.

On the third day she went with her mum to choose the tree and with her dad to collect the turkey then her mum sent her out to post the last cards. It was freezing cold. Ice was on every leaf. There was no one around except an actual robin and she found herself singing quite loudly, misty clouds of air coming from her mouth into the cold blue air.

On the fourth day Robin had her favourite job. Robin’s mum was the Mayor and she always knew who might need some EXTRA Christmas help. First Robin and her mum packed some special hampers. Every present was wrapped and tied with ribbons and there were packets of food and boxes and tins. When Robin worked alone at the packing and wrapping she would sing away, carols and Christmas songs. As she sang Robin realised no one had mentioned Mr Breve’s concert. She was very relieved it was quite forgotten and she had escaped. When the hampers were ready and it was dark, Robin and her mum dressed as Santas so no one would recognise them, delivered the hampers to the right doorsteps.

Chapter 5

It was Christmas Day.

After breakfast was present time. Robin had knitted a beautiful purple scarf for her dad and she had made her mum mittens decorated with snowmen. Her parents loved their presents and Robin had lots of presents from them: new pyjamas, some colouring pens, six new books, a game, a furry hat.

“Now darling,” said her dad, holding out one final gift. “You remember Mr Breve.”

Robin’s heart sank like a stone. Surely her dad was not going to talk about singing today.

“Mr Breve has made an experiment and, well, here it is.”

Her dad passed her the small square. She undid the silky red ribbon carefully and peeled off the silvery paper. Inside was a CD. There was no writing on the front cover, just a robin.

Her mum clicked the box open, took out the CD and put it on the music system. “Do not say anything. Just listen,” she said.

Out of the speakers came a voice, crystal-clear, like the true notes of a tiny ringing bell, or the soft notes of a long silver flute. The voice sang the same songs, sad ones and happy ones, Robin sang when she was alone on the stairs or in her room or cleaning the bathroom. The voice sang the Christmas songs as Robin sang when she was making presents and Christmas cards and packing hampers. Underneath someone had put accompaniment: piano, a flute, once, a harp.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“It’s you,” said her dad and there was quite a quaver in his voice.

“Me?!?!?!” said Robin, her speaking voice turning into a squeaking voice.

“Yes, you.”

Her mum asked, her voice anxious, “Do you like it?”

“I do,” said Robin. “I do.”

Her parents explained that this was what Mr Breve’s experiment had been: to catch Robin’s voice when she was not in front of people and he wanted to let other people hear it too.

“Other people? I can’t.”

Robin leapt to her feet but her mum patted her back onto the sofa. “It will be your voice but you won’t have to stand up and sing. He wants to play the last track of music, the recording of you, at his concert.”

Her dad said, “I was wrong to want you not-to-be-shy but I do not think I was wrong, wanting everyone to know how wonderful you are. Other people should be able to hear you and this way they can.”

Robin had so many things to think about it was hard to get everything straight in her head.

“What do you think?” asked her mum.

“I say YES,” said Robin.

And so it was, on Boxing Day afternoon at the end of Mr Breve’s concert, the audience, with Robin and her family sitting at the back, waited for the last song. No one came forward to sing but into the silence came Robin’s voice, like the true notes of a tiny ringing bell, or the soft notes of a long silver flute, singing an old carol, sweet, with no accompaniment, just the voice, clear as the sound of a bird, singing his heart out in the garden. Silent Night. Silent Night.

When the song was over, there was an amazed hush. Some people were drying their eyes. Mr Breve came forward. “I think you will come to this voice very well in the future,” he said. “Let me introduce the singer.”

Mr Breve had checked with Robin first. Ho pointed to her and she stood up, shyly but also joyfully, as everyone turned round. Robin bowed and the audience erupted in applause and cheers.