#achmothogair

In that tiny and isolated hamlet of Sunnyville (more properly known by its original name of Achmothogair) – situated, as it is, in a remote corner of north-west Scotland – there is precious little natural light to be had around the time of the winter solstice, and life must necessarily be lived in an environment of deep shadow and artificial illumination.

It is perhaps not surprising, therefore, that the residents of Sunnyville observe the traditions of Christmas in much the same way that their parents and grandparents were wont to do in years gone by, for the shortest, darkest days of the year are considerably brightened by the trimmings that enhance the celebration of Advent and Christmas. The folk of this wee township look forward to the modest pleasures of the season for quite some time in advance, and find much enjoyment in opening the doors of their Advent Calendar day by day, to the accompaniment of warm mincemeat tart and spicy gingerbread, which they deem necessary to counteract the penetratingly damp chill of the west Highland winter…

When the sturdiest residents of Sunnyville (that tiny Scottish hamlet more properly known by its original name of Achmothogair) returned to the forest to dig their sleigh out of the snow drifts, they were startled to discover a large buried chest beneath the snow, blocking the path of the runners.

Curiosity naturally overcame them so, throwing their shovels and spades down on the snow, they heaved and pushed with all their might to try to force the frozen lid of the chest open. At first it wouldn't budge at all, but just when they were about to give up the metal-bound lid began to move, and then with a creaking and a groaning it slowly swung right back on its rusty hinges.

The gasping labourers were dumbstruck… Apart from a few old maps, the chest was filled to the top with a jumbled assortment of precious objects, made of silver and gold, enamel and jewels and fine decorated porcelain… They scarcely knew what to say or do, for nothing like this had ever been seen in Sunnyville before…

Concerned that the snow might begin to melt very soon, the three sturdiest residents of Sunnyville (that tiny Scottish hamlet more properly referred to as Achmothogair) loaded the treasure chest into their sleigh as fast as they could, and then, with considerable difficulty, dragged it slowly back through the forest to the village, where it eventually came to rest outside Sunnyville House, the rundown headquarters of Novelties and Notions from which the sleigh party had set out together for their Hogmanay celebration.

As soon as the sleigh drew to a halt, the astonished villagers rushed from their homes and crowded round eagerly to inspect their neighbours' remarkable discovery, with gasps of amazement as each piece was examined, for many of the items gave off an unusual glow. No one could guess how the treasure chest had managed to find its way into the depths of the forest, for Sunnyville was exceptionally isolated and the residents were always aware of any unusual activity in the area. And no one could explain where it had come from originally, although one of the village elders recalled that it had long been said that many centuries ago, several ships from the stricken Spanish Armada had sunk into the ocean off the nearby coast, not very far from Sunnyville…

A selection of five photos from 2025, of Sunnyville (more properly known as Achmothogair), Mr. Turnip, and that lamentable poet A (for Alphonse) Poeticus Abysmus, the lousiest poet on the midway. (It baffles science!)

From @novelties-and-notions for LuxLit's end of year Gray Card extravaganza, with many thanks to Fern and the rest of the LuxLit crew for continuing this fine tradition.

The journey into the forest was arduous, at least for those residents of Sunnyville (more properly known as Achmothogair) who were obliged to haul the sleigh which carried the others.

But their efforts were well rewarded once they reached their favourite clearing, for the baker and his wife had not omitted to ensure that adequate provisions for a wonderful starlit Hogmanay party were packed safely between the passengers, and as soon as the feast was spread before them even those who had laboured hardest forgot their aches and pains.

As the midnight star shone down on them through the trees, the Sunnyville folk (with the exception of some of the smaller children who were busy making friends with a slightly unusual forest animal) gathered together to sing Auld Lang Syne, then settled down to celebrate Hogmanay in their own traditional way, by consuming an abundance of cakes, tarts, meringues, éclairs and gingerbread treats, plus a magnificent Yule log…

… pausing only, from time to time, to wish each other and all their friends in the outside world a very Happy New Year!

In due course the three strongest residents of Sunnyville (that tiny Scottish hamlet formerly known as Achmothogair), collected up all the shovels and spades they could find in the village and returned to the forest, in order to dig their abandoned sleigh out of the snow drifts before a thaw made it impossible to drag it safely away.

But as they started to shovel the snow away from the front of the sleigh's runners, their tools hit something surprisingly hard, with a series of resounding clangs. Proceeding much more slowly and carefully, they soon uncovered what appeared to be the top of a large, bright, metal-bound chest. It seemed that it had not been the snow drifts alone which had prevented their sleigh moving any further when they were making their way back home from their Hogmanay Party in the heart of the forest…

The residents of Sunnyville (more properly known as Achmothogair) lingered in the heart of the forest long after the new year had arrived, feasting on the copious quantities of cakes and other sweet provisions they had packed into the sleigh. And, like so many others who have eaten considerably more than is strictly necessary, they then nodded off one by one…

When they eventually awoke, they were concerned to discover that a great deal more snow had fallen while they slept. Considering it unwise to tarry any longer, they hastily packed up the sleigh and began to make their way slowly home, with the strongest among them hauling the sleigh by the traces as before.

But they quickly ran – or, more accurately, stumbled – into difficulties, for the snow had piled up into deep drifts across the track they had followed previously, and they had not thought to bring any shovels or other useful tools with them, being too much concerned with carrying adequate provisions for their feast…

The tiny Scottish hamlet of Sunnyville (formerly known as Achmothogair) lies in one of the remotest parts of those largely inaccessible regions which adorn sections of the Atlantic coast of the Scottish Highlands that contemporary means of transport have yet to reach.

But news from the outside world does occasionally make its way even to this isolated community… and so, having heard clear but distant rumours of a cheerful seasonal event known as a Christmas market – which, it was reported, would brighten up even the very darkest days of the year – the residents of Sunnyville decided that as they could not travel to see such a wonder in its native environment, they would try to recreate this festive phenomenon on their very own doorstep.

Once they had overcome the logistical challenges of supplying such a market, when in fact there was no ready source of supply, a most enjoyable time was had by all, and as the tired but happy residents of Sunnyville trudged their way homeward through the snow, laden with Christmas treats and toys, they wished each other and all their friends in the outside world the merriest possible Christmas.

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