Rodney was dead. Well, not exactly dead, but his career as leader of Medway Council had run its course and ceased to be. The political obituaries had been written and the register of resignation had been signed by council officers and cabinet members.

Alan Jarrett himself – Rodney’s old deputy – had signed it, and now Jarrett was himself leader.

Now once upon a time – of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve – old Jarrett was sat busy counting parking fines in the council finance office, in the bleakest, loftiest and draftiest corner of Gun Wharf; his favourite pastime in his favourite place.

All of a sudden his mood of financial meditation was disturbed by his phone ringing.

“Merry Christmas sir,” said a cheery voice. It was young Cllr Andrew Mackness, who continued: “May God bless you sir, for last night’s council Christmas dinner. The turkey sandwiches were delicious, despite the fact they tasted more like spam than turkey.”

“Christmas!?” replied Jarrett. “Bah! Humbug! I don’t recall approving any sandwiches at all. Be sure that they are removed from next year’s budget and that everyone knows central government is to blame. And make sure you’re in work tomorrow morning!”

“But sir…” attempted Mackness.

“Humbug!” replied Jarrett and turned his phone off.

All of a sudden Jarrett’s eye was drawn to a painting – a portrait of his old leader. Was it his imagination, or had the hair atop Rodney’s head just wafted a little in the draft? No, it was true! Rodney’s hair moved again, and with horror Jarrett realised the portrait’s gaze had fallen upon him.

And thus Rodney spake, in a dread tone: “I tell thee, Alan, by the time this night is out you will be visited by three phantoms, to warn you of your miserly ways, even if those miserly ways are actually central government’s fault.”

“Rodney,” implored Alan, stricken with terror. “Old Rodney Chambers, tell me more. Speak comfort to me, Rodney.” “That concludes the meeting,” replied Rodney with a groan. And with that, old Rodney’s portrait froze again.

No sooner had it done so than another vision appeared at the window – which looked remarkably like former Medway MP Bob Marshall-Andrews.

“Open the window, Alan,” said the vision. “I am the Ghost of Medway Past.”

Jarrett did as the spirit commanded and was soon whisked off over the streets of Chatham to observe a scene from two years past, where a poor family was gathered around a meagerly laid dining table as the father read out an article from the Medway Messenger.

“Open the window, Alan,” said the vision. “I am the Ghost of Medway Past.”

“Looks like we’ll have to sell all the Christmas presents,” spoke the father to his children. “It says here council tax is going up again, and we won’t get to vote on the matter because Cllr Jarrett says ‘turkey’s don’t vote for Christmas’. Does he think we’re all turkeys then?” “But I never said…” began Alan, protesting.

“Silence!” declared Marshall-Andrews. “The year is drawing on.”

Suddenly, with great relief, Jarrett found himself once more in the finance office back at Gun Wharf, alone but for the motionless face of Rodney Chambers on the wall… but not for long.

All at once a gust blew open the latest copy of the Messenger, which sat on the desk, to reveal a photo of a large genial fellow.

Next to the photo the caption read: “Medway Labour leader Vince Maple,” but before Jarrett’s very eyes the wording shifted and changed in the gloaming, to read “The ghost of Medway Present.”

“What witchcraft is this!?” bewailed Jarrett, but he was cut short by a laugh from the page.

“Yes Alan, I am the Ghost of Medway Present,” said the photo of Vince Maple. “Look over there on page 14 of the Messenger. The young singer Jamie Johnson is merrily singing Christmas songs while refurbishing the new community recording studio at Riverside One.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that?” cried Jarrett.

“Nothing at all,” replied the photo of Cllr Maple. “But know me better man. Look at the opposite page. There’s a small story about a group being set up to welcome refugees from war-torn countries to Medway. What are you doing to help those refugees?”

Before Jarrett could reply the newspaper flipped to page 11, where Jarrett was faced with his own words: “Medway is not able to house refugees until central government can guarantee long-term funding.”
“But,” began Jarrett.

“Silence,” said the Ghost from somewhere deep inside the paper. “I grow old.”

Once more Jarrett found himself alone, but had hardly recovered his breath when the clock struck three, the door to the finance office flew open and a towering figure with a dome-like head appeared in the doorway.

Was that a Ukip badge on the apparition’s suit jacket?

It said nothing but Jarrett knew this was the Ghost of Medway Yet To Come as the giant reached out its hand, and transported him in a trice to the streets of Medway, seven years hence, and waved its long arm towards a dishevelled figure at the side of the road with some Syrian refugees.

“But spirit!” cried Jarrett. “That’s that nice Jamie Johnson fellow. What could have happened to him!?”

The Ghost of Medway Yet To Come waved its arm once more to show the Riverside One studios demolished for a council-backed heritage project, before revealing another scene – a meeting of Medway Council.

“Oh no spirit!” cried Jarrett. “Do not say that man leading the opposition is me! Those turkeys have voted me out!”

With that, Jarrett awoke with a start. The light of dawn was breaking across the River Medway outside, and the sound of cheerful music was floating up from Riverside One.

"And let every family in Medway have a free turkey this year" - Cllr Jarrett

“Thank the Lord!” cried Jarrett. “It’s not too late!”

And with a leap and a bound he was downstairs, where he ran into Andrew Mackness making his way into work.

“Merry Christmas to you, good councillor!” he cried, stunning Mackness with surprise by kissing him on both cheeks. “Get back home to your family for lunch, but before you do spread the news – we’re going to cut council tax and spend all the money planned for Rochester Airport on converting Fort Amherst into a refugee camp.

"And let every family in Medway have a free turkey this year!”

Far to the north in Lapland, at the end of a hard night delivering presents, Santa’s sleigh came in to land, drawn by several flying pigs.