Wheildon

in the early days, there was always someone to arrange an impromptu carol service on the market square.  They were simple, family affairs which ended in picnics and plenty of wine tasting.  every effort was made to create the right atmosphere, especially the sheep and donkey part of the birth of jesus.  as we lived in the middle of a farming community, this was easy, and flocks of sheep and bunches of donkeys were rounded up and delivered to the market square.  hay bales for the kids to jump around on made sure hayfever sufferers could sneeze their hearts out and have watery eyes for the entire evening.  the donkeys, bewildered by their surroundings and with nothing to do, enjoyed munching newly-planted shrubs bordering the market square and ended up getting a hiding for their trouble.

these occasions had their moments too.

it was a sight to see a line of little coloured angels, appearing from their heavenly home (the tennis shelter) dressed in white, singing their hearts out in afrikaans.  bringing up the rear, a freckled little angel, red hair and hands on hips, scowled because her wings were crooked and she was therefore not in the mood to sing.

during one lengthy reading, while mary and joseph smiled proudly at the congregation, a scuffle broke out amongst the wise men.  One of their number had dropped his gift and needed to be chastised.  another wise man had been eyeing the flock of sheep in their pen and could not resist the temptation to use his shepherd's  crook.  he left the other two wise chaps arguing and crawled past the choir.  the lead sheep saw trouble coming and backed off into the far corner with her girlfriends.  they stood huddled as only sheep can.  the wise man aimed his crook at the rear end of a ewe and gave a good poke.  led by the alarmed female, there was a collective dash to the other end of the pen.  members of the choir and some angels tried to stop the wise man from stampeding the now frantic sheep with a flurry of prods.  it took an angry farmer two seconds to chase the wise man off his sheep, and the magi were restored to full strength.

two nights later, as the sun set on christmas eve, ginny and i were sitting on a bench outside our front door enjoying the sounds of village life when we heard a brass band playing christmas carols in the distance.  our neighbour arrived home on her bicycle and informed us that the whole genadendal brass band, aboard a five-ton lorry, was slowly approaching down the main street and would shortly pass by.

the problem was that, overcome by generosity, villagers were offering up quantities of christmas cheer to the musicians.  by the time the lorry made the market square, many of the orchestra had passed out, leaving the music to those less accomplished or complete novices.  Well-known carols, known by every nation on earth, became totally unrecognizable.  tinkling triangles and the odd clash of cymbals rallied to some ferocious trumpet blasts.  the numbers on the lorry dwindled further as the christmas spirits took their toll.  It took the driver hours to gather his passengers, who were scattered up and down the main road.

i remember crossing paths with one of the wise men some fifteen years later.  i reminded him of the carol service and his part in the assault on the sheep.  i chuckled my way through the story with no result.  i could see that he thought i was mad in the head, and he denied any involvement whatsoever.  today, whenever i return to the village for a visit, he avoids me.  i felt such a fool.

wish i could print his name here, the little beggar.