Read the Award-Winning Stories from our Christmas Writing Competition

17th December 2025

From frosty walks along the Thames to the quiet magic of Christmas lights in town, this winter’s writing competition invited writers of all ages to capture what the season means to them in and around Reading.

We were delighted by the warmth, imagination and sense of Reading's place woven through every entry. Our panel was moved by the creativity and care shown across all age categories, and we’d like to thank everyone who took the time to submit their work.

We’re thrilled to announce the winners below, whose pieces stood out for their originality, strong sense of place and beautiful use of language. 

Short Story Competition Winners

Children

• Winner: Christopher Huntington — 'The Lonely Snowman'

Young Adult

• Winner: Alma Venuti Sanderson — 'Christmas Skating on the Thames'

Adult

• Winner: Jillian Bost — 'Beautiful Chaos'

We invite you to take a moment and enjoy these winning pieces — a festive snapshot of winter life in Reading, as seen through local voices.

Read the Winning Entries

'The Lonely Snowman' by Christopher Huntington

Once upon a time, there was one lonely snowman all by himself, but one little friend changed his whole life. A boy had built him next to Caversham war memorial, by the river and then forgot about him. One big, snowy day, a squirrel met the lonely snowman and he said “Hello!” The snowman said nothing, he just turned away. The squirrel wouldn’t have it. He faced the snowman and tapped him hard on his carrot nose. The snowman stared at the little red squirrel in surprise. He finally found his voice and said “Ow!” The squirrel took no notice. He said, “Can we be friends?” The snowman replied “Um... I guess…”

“Yay!” said the little red squirrel. “Would you like to meet my family?”

“Ok,” replied the snowman.

He collected all his friends and family from the trees around the old BBC building and Emmer Green pond and brought them all to the snowman.

The more people he met, the more friendly he became. Soon, he became best buddies with the cute, little squirrel and good mates with the squirrel’s friends and family. Years later, on a cold winter’s day, the snowman, who had got used to talking, said to the squirrel, “Can I spend Christmas with you and your family?”

“Yes!” shouted the little red squirrel in excitement.

They made a big Christmas pudding together but it tasted watery because the snowman dropped a few big balls of snow into it and it was lumpy because the squirrel dropped some acorns into it by mistake.

The squirrel’s family were delighted to see the snowman spending Christmas with them.

They had a very happy Christmas and lived happily ever after.

'Christmas Skating on the Thames' by Alma Venuti Sanderson 

My arms are held out to the side, like a swan ready for flight. The blades of my ice skates glide smoothly along the ice, which reflect the brightly coloured lights shining down. A loud thump sounds, and Lola is down for the sixth time. Not really surprising considering she swings her legs around like the pendulums on malfunctioning grandfather clocks.

I slide next to her, wrapping my arms around her before a too-long struggle to lift her off the ground, courtesy of her flailing limbs. I practically tow her across the rink as she skids all over the place, eventually landing us both on our butts. I huff as I dust the ice trailing down my leggings off, continuing to drag her towards the exit. “On the bright side, I heard winter-wonderland has some great mince pies! And churros! Lotus-biscuit flavoured!” she pipes up cheerily, paying no attention to the newly ripped holes in her jeans. “I also heard they have…”

Lola’s voice fades off into incoherent rambling as I take in the scene around me: small children in their new Christmas gloves riding on their fathers’ shoulders, teenagers stumbling about with laughter and rosy faces warming their hands on cups of hot chocolate. Then I look to the sky. Its only 4pm, yet any trace of sunshine present during the day has been whisked away by the chilly winds, leaving a vast canvas of nothingness. Apart from some twinkly stars, of course, but not at all accompanied by snow. I frown slightly.

That night I fell into an exhausted sleep.

My hair falls over my shoulders in two neat plaits, swinging slightly as my boots crunch over snow and icy leaves. Troops of snowflakes settle and dampen my coat, while annoyingly blocking my vision from the winter wonderland in front of me. The previously flowing river is now covered in a thick shield of ice. “Papers, Papers!”, a scruffy-looking man tosses a newspaper at me, attempting and failing at keeping his balance. ‘December 15th, 1963, The Sunday Times’ I read before looking up from the print, and out at the scene displayed before me.

People of every age skidding, sliding and running across the ice, building families, hell, whole towns of snowmen! My lip twitches as a small smile tugs at it, right before I practically throw myself onto the river-turned-ice-rink. If only Lola was here to see it! Screams of joy, snow fights and falling-onto-your-butt-pain pour into my ears. My arms fly up to my sides, mirroring the confused ducks and swans as they soar above the growing crowd of people.

I zig-zag between Caversham and Reading, under the Reading bridge, heartily adorned with festive garlands and magnificent lights. Snowmen lining the river’s bank wear baubles as earrings and tea towels as scarves. What a Christmas it would be, to stay here forever, amongst the rapidly falling snowflakes and out-of-breath-with giggles-children!

My eyes flutter open and immediately flick to the picturesque view outside my window: falling snow.

'Beautiful Chaos' by Jillian Bost

Gemma plastered on a smile as she weaved her way through her fellow Oracle shoppers.

As she clutched her handbag to her side, they waved their arms in half-finished jubilations of excitement, and chattered in between sips of gingerbread lattes. The new dress would get her a date, the perfume would get them a kiss and a teary smile, the rare Funko Pop would make him roar with joy.

It was well to be happy during such a time, wasn’t it? The vendors in quaint log cabins on Broad Street did brisk business as people counted dreams in creamy calories and dodged the rain—not snow—drops. Huge crackling shopping bags whacked elbows as people shuffled down the orange brick road like it was a tunnel.

But all Gemma could think about, in the pit of her stomach, was the thing she needed to buy at Boots.

Snakelike she twisted her way through the throngs of people congregating as if they were at Santa’s grotto, then grabbed and paid for the item she needed.

Her impulse was to run, to dash all the way to Leopard 3 and climb to the top, staring out at the darkness at a bustling and indifferent five o’clock.

Instead, she went down the escalator, and back onto the high street. She passed Starbucks and thought longingly of an eggnog latte, how the warm paper cup would soothe her trembling, blue hands.

But no. She was already delaying things enough.

She strode the rest of the way to Abbey Gateway and stood staring up at the arch, where Jane Austen had gone to school as a girl. She whispered a silent prayer that had no words, only the sounds of her stuttering heart. She thought of the dreams she’d cradled in her belly since childhood. The dreams of a Mr Darcy and a manor home.

She had her Mr Darcy. But life was not yet complete.

Gemma made her way to the nearest bus stop, and carefully thought of nothing until she was walking inside her flat.

Will wasn’t home yet. That was fine.

Because things were normal and she was fine no matter what, she put on her favourite Christmas mix on Spotify. ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ by Paul McCartney. That—that would do. Paul McCartney had performed in Caversham long ago with John Lennon, hadn’t he, before fame? Yes, that was interesting, wasn’t it?

She did not think of anything as she went to the loo.

Five minutes later. Snow did not fall. She heard no cheerful jingling of sleigh bells, no distant ‘ho ho ho!’

But when the door to the flat opened, and Will came in with a bag of baked goods from Yaylo, Gemma rose onto her trembling legs, and showed him her test results.

‘Next year’s going to be absolute chaos, isn’t it?’ Will murmured as he wrapped her in his arms.

‘Beautiful chaos,’ she agreed, and leaned her head on his shoulder.