The Nutcracker a personalised book with your child as the hero

It was Christmas Eve, and the Stahlbaum house was full of guests. There was music in the hall and laughter in the parlour, and in the corner stood a great fir tree, which the grown-ups were lighting candle by candle, until it glowed from top to bottom. Clara and her brother Fritz pressed their noses against the parlour door, waiting to be let in.

Then the doorbell rang, and in came Godfather Drosselmeyer. He was a tall, thin old man with a black patch over one eye, and he mended clocks. He could make clocks sing, and he could make toys that walked and danced all by themselves. He was carrying a covered basket, and Clara and Fritz both knew there would be something wonderful in it.

When the presents were opened, Fritz got a whole box of tin soldiers. But Clara's eye fell on something hidden among the branches of the tree: a little wooden man in a red soldier's coat, with a tall hat, a white beard and a very large mouth.

"That one is for you, Clara," said Godfather Drosselmeyer. "He is a nutcracker. Put a nut in his mouth, lift his coat-tails, and crack!"

Clara loved him at once. She cracked nuts for everybody, very carefully, choosing only small ones. But Fritz grabbed the nutcracker and pushed the biggest, hardest nut he could find into its mouth, and crack! The nutcracker's wooden jaw broke and hung down crookedly.

"Fritz!" cried Clara. She picked up her poor nutcracker, tied up his jaw with a ribbon from the tree, and laid him gently in her doll's bed in the toy cabinet.

At last the guests went home, the candles were put out, and the children were sent up to bed. But Clara could not sleep. She kept thinking about her poor bandaged nutcracker, all alone downstairs. So when the house had gone very quiet, she crept back down in her nightgown to see whether he was all right.

The parlour was dark, and the moon shone in through the window. Then the big clock in the hall whirred and began to strike. One, two, three... all the way to twelve.

On the last stroke, everything began to change. The Christmas tree grew and grew, up and up, until it touched the ceiling, and the ceiling seemed to be far, far away. The toys grew too, and so did the nutcracker. He climbed out of the doll's bed and stood up, as tall as Clara herself.

Then there was a scratching and a squeaking under the floor. The floorboards lifted, and out came mice, hundreds and hundreds of them, pouring from every crack. At the front of them all marched the Mouse King. He had seven heads, and each head wore a little golden crown.

"To arms!" cried the Nutcracker, drawing his little wooden sword. At once the toys on the shelves came climbing down: Fritz's tin soldiers with their drums and banners, the dolls, the jack-in-the-box and the gingerbread men, and they lined up behind the Nutcracker.

What a battle it was! The drums rolled, the toy cannons fired sugarplums, and the mice charged across the carpet, squeaking and nibbling. But there were so many mice. Little by little the toy soldiers were pushed back, and the Mouse King, all seven heads laughing at once, drove the Nutcracker into the corner by the toy cabinet.

Clara saw that he could not hold out much longer. She did not stop to think. She pulled off her slipper and threw it as hard as she could, at exactly the right moment, straight at the Mouse King.

Whack! It hit him on all seven crowns at once. The Mouse King toppled over, squeaked in alarm, and scurried away under the floorboards, and every one of his mice ran squeaking after him. The battle was won.

The Nutcracker turned to Clara and straightened up. And as he did, he was not wooden at all any more. His crooked jaw was mended, his beard had gone, and he was a young prince in a red coat, smiling at her.

"Thank you, Clara," he said with a bow. "You saved me. Long ago the Mouse King's spell turned me into a wooden nutcracker, and only a brave and kind heart could set me free. Will you come with me to my kingdom?"

Clara took his hand. They walked out through the parlour and into a forest where everything sparkled. Snow lay on the branches of the fir trees, and the snowflakes did not fall down but floated upwards, and danced in rings around them, spinning and twinkling like stars.

On the other side of the forest lay the Land of Sweets. There were rivers of lemonade and orange juice, houses made of marzipan and barley sugar, and a castle of spun sugar that shimmered pink and gold. The whole kingdom came out to cheer the prince and his friend, and the Sugar Plum Fairy herself led them into the great hall, where a party was held in Clara's honour.

Clara sat on a throne made of candied fruit, and dance after dance was performed for her. The Sugar Plum Fairy danced so lightly that she barely touched the floor. Dancers from the land of coffee swayed slowly, and dancers from the land of tea leaped and twirled. The candy canes jumped through hoops, the flowers waltzed, and an enormous lady came out in a skirt so wide that a whole family of little clowns tumbled out from under it. Clara clapped until her hands were sore.

Then, at last, the Sugar Plum Fairy began the very last waltz, and the lights grew soft and golden, and Clara's eyes grew heavy...

When she opened them, it was Christmas morning. She was lying on the hearthrug in the parlour, with the grey morning light coming through the window, and in her arms was her nutcracker, his jaw still tied up with the ribbon from the tree.

"Did I dream it all?" Clara whispered.

The nutcracker did not answer. But she was almost sure that, just for a moment, he smiled.