Happy Coming of the Magi, bringing with them the fruits of wisdom, Happy Twelfth Night bringing it all to a close.
As the last night of Christmas draws nigh, I feel moved to reflect upon the true spirit of Christmas. Dickens would be proud of me. In the run up to Christmas I read 'A Christmas Carol' to R&B, a chapter each night in front of the fire. Despite the difficult and archaic language, they bought it one hundred percent, revelling in the Lesson, the delicious contrast between doing it all wrong and then getting it all right.
The second appearance of the spirit of Christmas came with a friend, IB, who determined to gather some English folk and sing Christmas carols and read a Christmas Carol and be jolly. He raised me f
rom my lethargy, my feeling that Christmas was all humbug. He arrived with three friends and they sang Oh Come All Ye Faithful outside the front door. He dug out a very silly game to involve the children and warm us up. I read a passage from Dickens 'A Christmas Carol'. We turned out the lights, bar candlelight and firelight, and IB sang a song with overtones and Celtic sounds, the darkness banished embarassment, a spirit settled itself down with us, by the fire. Then we bashed out the old favourites, some daring to harmonise, I sang Balulalow, B played the flute, R&B amazed us with magic tricks, we ate mince pies and jam tarts and leek and potato soup with homemade bread and drank a Brown Betty-full of strong tea. The spirit of Christmas grew beside the fire, and the afterglow still glows. I wonder how many days it will last? Thank you IB, for what was after all, your determination.
This leads me to resolve to gather in other groups and learn songs and harmonies and merriments for each season, for nowadays we are called upon to make our church portable, to carry the songs and rites we need in our hearts and memories, ready to lay them out wherever we are and gather whoever is around to bring this spirit alive.
rom my lethargy, my feeling that Christmas was all humbug. He arrived with three friends and they sang Oh Come All Ye Faithful outside the front door. He dug out a very silly game to involve the children and warm us up. I read a passage from Dickens 'A Christmas Carol'. We turned out the lights, bar candlelight and firelight, and IB sang a song with overtones and Celtic sounds, the darkness banished embarassment, a spirit settled itself down with us, by the fire. Then we bashed out the old favourites, some daring to harmonise, I sang Balulalow, B played the flute, R&B amazed us with magic tricks, we ate mince pies and jam tarts and leek and potato soup with homemade bread and drank a Brown Betty-full of strong tea. The spirit of Christmas grew beside the fire, and the afterglow still glows. I wonder how many days it will last? Thank you IB, for what was after all, your determination.
