“Tell us a Christmas story, Grandpa!”“Yeah, tell us a story when YOU were little!”

Samuel S. Skink sighed, nibbled his buttonwood cane, rearranged his tail and gazed at the children, who sat cross-tailed in front of him.

“I will tell you a true story,” he began, “about Santa Claus and me.

“One black, cloudy night.....

A solitary Cahow flew over the black waters of Castle Harbour, out beyond the foaming reefs. As always on her nightly fishing route she gazed keenly down into the dark waters. The glass-like water reflected the sky perfectly. Mounds of billowing clouds rolled across the surface of the water while the moon peeked in and out like a wary fish. The Cahow found herself distracted by the play of lights and shadows strobing below and at first she didn’t notice the strange light in the sky. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of crimson. What was that? Confused she looked up and saw a sleigh being pulled by eight, no, nine reindeer, counting the one with the winking nose, plummeting towards the waters of Castle Harbour!

The driver of the sleigh was short and stubby, with a red and white suit, (the cap some metres behind him, fluttering to the sea) and a look of horror on his face. He shrieked as the sleigh plunged into the sea, creating a massive column of white foam. With desperate speed the Cahow rocketed back to the only person she knew who could rescue Santa Claus — Sammy Skink.

Sammy Skink was relaxing in his newly finished hole when Courtney Cahow slammed onto the ground next to the entrance.

“SAMMY!” she screamed at the top of her voice.

Sammy strolled out, front claws over his ears. “Good evening Courtney” he said (in a suave and debonair manner).

“No time, no time!” the Cahow cried impatiently. “Santa’s crashed off Castle Island!”

Sammy cocked his head sceptically. “And where is your proof?”

Courtney Cahow brandished a sodden red and white hat with a white pom-pom on the top. Sammy examined it thoroughly and then he leaped into action. Grabbing his buttonwood cane he cried: “It’s a Red Alert! All troops scramble!”

The Cahow rose into the air with a blast of feathers and shrieked: “Mayday! Mayday!”

In about 15 minutes, all the skinks were assembled on the beach, covering it completely. Green turtles lifted their heads from the water, looking at Sammy. Moonlight reflected off the shiny black skinks and edged the turtle shells in silver.

“Santa has crashed his sleigh in the waters near Castle Island, just outside the reefs.” Sammy began.

Several skinks laughed. Others gasped.

“I have proof!” yelled Sammy, holding up the sodden hat in his front feet. “Santa is out there and we will find him.”

A torrent of cheers cascaded upon him, and when it died down, he said to the turtles, “Recon the area — if you see anything, report back.”

The turtles blinked once, then submerged without a ripple. Sammy began to organise the skink troops into divisions. He was still struggling with the Warwick Camp division when the turtles came back, and reported that they had indeed seen a half-submerged sleigh. A plump man in red was sitting on top of a massive bag. They tried to move it inwards, but to no avail. The reindeer were nowhere to be seen.

“Well, the only fish I know that have the power to move an object of that size are the Barracudas, but they aren’t the most reasonable fish,” suggested an elder.

“What about a whale shark?” someone put in.

“I think the Barracudas are the best bet,” said Sammy. “We’ll have to negotiate with them somehow.”

“I have a plastic bag, left by some tourists,” offered an elder. (There was a collective gasp — trash on Nonsuch?) “If we could put it on the back of a turtle, it could prove quite useful.”

The plastic bag was loaded onto the leathery back of a veteran turtle and Sammy fearlessly marched into it. He could breathe, but only for five minutes. This had better be quick!

The turtle dove on command, and Sammy entered a whole new world, a wondrous place he’d never seen! The water was a blackish blue, but the reefs stood out in colourful abandon. Fish were everywhere, in all colours, shapes and sizes. Sammy was fascinated but quickly the final point of their journey loomed ahead — a dark and creepy cave. As they entered, cold currents wrapped around Sammy, and he thought he saw malicious maws, just inches away! He gasped for breath. The turtle shot to the surface in an underwater cave and Sammy tore the plastic open, jumped out and breathed that precious air. It was musty and salty, with a tinge of something rotten.

He crawled into the back of the cave, and milliseconds later a massive black and silver head blasted out of the water in a jet of water. Two evil eyes, full of hunger and no soul at all, bored into Sammy with the cruelty of a gun barrel. The eyes glinted, then a slivery, slippery voice rasped, “You are the ambassador.”

IT was not a question.

“Yes,” gulped Sammy. Time to play it smooth, he thought.

“Why have you come?” the mouth asked again, with the same metallic coldness.

“I ask for your help, to rescue a man called Santa Claus.”

A rough rasping sound hacked from the jaws of the beast, and it took Sammy about ten seconds to realise it was laughter.

“We Barracudas have a strict sense of honour, infidel.” it coughed. “The great god, Barracu, blessed us with this island’s waters. We live here but humans destroy our environment ... I see no reason to help you rescue one of them.”

“But this one is different!” Sammy pleaded. “He travels all over the Earth this night and delivers presents to the poor and lonely.”

“Humph. He’s never brought US any presents,” sneered the Barracuda. “What will you give us for our help?”

“I know,” cried Sammy. “Santa can help you. He will inform the children about your environment. The children will listen to him. They will grow up to protect the waters of Bermuda.”

It must have been something in the water that special Christmas Eve, or maybe Barracudas aren’t really that bad, but the Barracuda agreed.

An armada of turtles, skinks and Barracudas assembled on and near the beach. Sammy Skink pointed his buttonwood cane in the direction of the reefs. “To Santa!” he bellowed.

With a roar of confidence the squadrons of skinks, Battalions of Barracudas, troops of turtles and the solitary Cahow advanced. As the sleigh came into view Sammy signalled the turtles to dock. The skinks jumped off and offered help to a bewildered Santa.

“We are the skinks, Cahow, Barracudas and turtles of Nonsuch Island, Bermuda,” declared Sammy.

“Well!” boomed Santa. “I did“Well!” boomed S anta. I didn’t expect the animals of Bermuda to rescue me. This truly is a wonderful island.”

“We’ll tow you inwards to the airport,” said Sammy.

“But my reindeer, where are my reindeer?” exclaimed Santa. A Barracuda raised its head. “There are some rather bedraggled mammals on Castle Island,” it smirked. “Would they be your transport?”

Everyone turned to look, and sure enough, there was a flashing red light blinking from the trees.

“S.O.S!” giggled a skink. “The reindeer are found!”

The flotilla headed inland, collecting a rather sheepish group of soggy reindeer on the way. Sammy looked doubtfully at the reindeer.

“Are you sure they’ll be able to fly,” he asked. “They look rather wet.”

Santa laughed reassuringly. “Oh yes,” he said. “They dry quickly.”

“Land Ho!” a small skink squealed as the airport runways came into view.

With a final heave the Barracudas shoved the sleigh onto the beach. The reindeer were harnessed, and with a small struggle, hoisted the sleigh onto the runway.

Santa turned to the animals in the water. “I cannot thank you enough, my friends,” he said. “You have far surpassed the Bermudian reputation for friendliness.”

“Santa?” rasped a voice. “What about our deal?” Santa looked at the Barracuda and smiled. “Of course I will honour it.” he said. “I will tell the children of the world that the reefs of Bermuda need protecting.”

“Hmph. See that you do,” and the Barracudas vanished with a swirl beneath the water.

Sammy rolled his eyes at Santa. “Barracudas!” he sighed. Santa bent down and shook Sammy’s claw. “Thank you, Sammy.”

Santa climbed into the sleigh, slapped the reins once and the sleigh blasted into the night sky, leaving behind a trail of sparkling dust.

The little skinks sat motionless in awe.

“Wow, Grandpa, you were cool!”

“Will Santa come again this year?”

Sammy looked up at the sky and smiled. A small red light moved above him in a rather wobbly path. “Oh, I’m sure he will. Bermuda is such a great place!”

Skink to the rescue!