“The Christmas Stocking Murders” is the second Yule tide mystery by Denzil Meyrick to feature Inspector Frank Grasby. The first book “Murder at Holly House” was an entertaining pastiche of the Golden Age of Crime mysteries, this second book follows in the same vein. Despite not quite reaching the heights of its predecessor it is still retains enough of what made that first book so engaging. As with the first book the story is taken from Frank’s memoirs with a few amendments for the modern readers sensitive ears.
“I have taken the liberty of replacing some of the saltier language, lest it should offend the contemporary reader. But the rest is, and will remain, the very particular voice of its author, Inspector Frank Grasby. - My only advice? Jolly well hold on to your hats before you read this. You’ll need to, as, yet again, I marvel at the fact I’m still here at all.”
It begins just before Christmas 1953. A year has passed since the episode at Holly House and once again Grasby is destined to spend Christmas in a remote village where the bodies pile up as fast as the snow. This time the murderers weapon of choice is nylon stockings. As he tries to get to the bottom of the crimes Grasby has to contend with a village full of oddities, his wayward father and the Americans.
“It doesn’t matter what you achieve in life, you can always guarantee that an American has done it bigger and better.”
What follows is a glorious mix of farce, murder mystery and northern humour.
‘I reckon he misunderstands our relationship, sir.’ I give Juggers a knowing look. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You know, young man and older man sharing a hotel room.’ ‘Don’t be daft, lad. Mind you, I can understand why he might think you’re playing for Lancashire, but not me. And anyhow, if I were that way inclined, I wouldn’t be tipping my hat at a long streak of haplessness like you.’
And I still chuckle when I think of Jugger’s and his underpants! As well as the slapstick humour and wry observations there is the odd social comment too.
“I think of all the families on this little island of ours. The bottles of beer, singsongs round the family piano, Christmas puddings, the new Queen’s speech on the wireless, children playing with their toys – if they’ve been lucky enough to get any. It’s still so hard for far too many. I sometimes wonder how it would have been if the war had never happened. It was a beastly time, no doubt about it. But there was poverty before and there is still. I can’t help thinking we’re doing something wrong.”
In conclusion “The Christmas Stocking Murders” is another enjoyable slice of festive fun and I look forward to spending next Yuletide in the company of Frank Grasby.