Not a competition

 

Not a competition

We had our first Christmas card on November 29^th, a record for the sender. His is usually the first to arrive, but it has always at least been December before his card drops through the letter box. He is now a widower, in his second Christmas as such, but always wrote the cards every year, much as my brother-in-law did.

I haven’t even written our cards, though I have bought the Christmas stamps. I suppose there are several approaches to card posting. Some send early, to ensure they have completed the task, and maybe to try and guarantee a card in return. Some send as and when they think about it, perhaps adding recipients as they go. Some wait to see who will send them cards and respond accordingly. Some choose never to send cards.

Increasingly, with the cost of postage rising, some opt to publish a general Christmas greeting on social media. They usually claim to be spending the cost of cards and postage on charity donations instead, which is entirely commendable.

I love receiving cards, and know from the envelopes who has sent them. Handwriting is so distinctive, but even with those bearing efficiently printed address labels, it’s possible to discern from post marks where they’ve come from.

However, it is with some trepidation that we open the cards. Some enclose those oft-mocked ‘round robins.’ It’s true that they can be missives of self-congratulation on personal achievements or offsprings’ accomplishments, but mostly they’re amusing, chatty summaries of life. They do relieve the task of writing the same things over and over again to different people.

Other cards bring news of death or disability, which cause a pause for reflection and memory.

 Our list has dwindled a little across the years.

 It’s inevitable. It’s sad. It’s life.

But life goes on (never start a sentence with ‘but!’) and I will have to set aside some time soon to write Christmas greetings. December gathers speed hour by hour and I already have a sense of time running out when there’s still so much to do and learn.

Running to catch up, as usual.

                                      

Christmas shopping

 

Christmas shopping

🎅🎄🎁😇

I have been Christmas shopping all afternoon. I am exhausted and I haven’t even left the house! 🙁😟😕

Have I finished? No!😉

How’s your shopping going? 

Rise and shine!

 

Rise and shine!

On the Friday before Christmas, our alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. People rise early when they’re going on holiday, I understand, and a change is as good as a rest, and this was a change.

Herschel and Jellicoe were astonished but gratified to find their breakfast bowls filled. The dogs were alarmed to discover that no such treatment was offered them.

At 6:00 we set off for a dark, quiet trip to the hospital. By 7:00 we were sitting in the reception area waiting to be ‘collected.’ Several other people were similarly seated, then two extremely cheerful ladies appeared and wished everyone 'Good morning.’ My name was called and we proceeded to ‘my’ room – well, it was mine for the duration of my short stay. I thanked the lady for her cheerful, upbeat welcome and she said that some people actually don’t like the cheeriness. I suppose that’s understandable if you’re facing something really serious.

When I was wheeled into the theatre, feeling rather unnecessary because I could easily have walked, I was greeted with cheerful Christmas carols and suitably suited and booted medical staff. One of them said, ‘You’ve got a painful back, you should see someone about that,’ which made me laugh.

The next thing I knew, I was talking to a charming young Portuguese man and soon after was returned to my room.

I was home again by 3:00 p.m. Barry had driven the 45-minute journey four times, and between whiles had taken Roxy and Gilbert out for their walks, so he was feeling a little weary.

Now I wait to see if the procedure has been successful. At the moment, it’s a wandering pain, so I suppose that’s progress of a sort. Honestly, though, when I look around and see what other people have to cope with, I count myself fortunate indeed.

Christmas passed . . .

 

Christmas passed . . .

 . . . quite quickly! We had a very quiet day on 25^th, just the two of us and the animals, though a couple of the daughters ‘phoned, which was really nice. They’re all so busy on Christmas Day, and we never expect, or demand, that they call. We know how they feel.

We had been invited to our children’s homes, but cannot leave home for more than four hours at a time, because of having to feed Jellicoe regularly, and they all live at least an hour away. He cannot control his diabetes all by himself!

We had roast duck, which was a mistake – I never realised that duck could repeat quite so much! ‘Quack, quack,’ it went all evening.

Our eldest great-grandson, aged ten, spent Christmas Eve in A & E, with testicular torsion. If all the men are wincing, you’re welcome. After an emergency operation, he was discharged in time to go home and wait for Father Christmas’s visit, though I think his attention was on things other than the potential fillings in his stocking. He’s still in a lot of pain, poor child.

His grandfather, our son-in-law, also had a hospital appointment on Christmas Eve, to assess the progress of his repaired Achilles’ tendon. His leg is constantly swelling, which is a concern. It will be several more months before he can return to work, no thanks to the misdiagnosis when the accident first occurred. Sometimes it’s true that the further away from London you live, the more uncertain is the medical treatment. Perhaps that’s true of any community far away from up-to-date city facilities.

His wife, our eldest daughter, was busy feeding the five thousand - three adult offspring, in-laws, in-laws’ in-laws, grandchildren, friends, and anyone else looking for a place to lay their head.

Our youngest daughter was unwell with cough, cold, aches and pains and two lively boys. She is recovering now, just in time for her birthday today, on 29^th December. Why can’t parents be more responsible and give birth to their children at a sensible, less busy time of year? Her ankle is much improved.

Our middle daughter had a strange day. Her oven stopped working and so did her washing machine - somehow the two seemed to be connected in some way - so she had to improvise a Christmas meal for her twelve-year-old son, which worked well enough. At least she was able to spend the day with him, which had been in some doubt until almost the day itself. Long, sad, unfair story. She came home for the day on Saturday, and we had a Christmas meal together, which we all enjoyed much more than the ‘Festive Fare’ on Christmas Day. She and her little dog have gone home to her cats now, and it’s just the two/six of us again.

Our son prepared a feast on Christmas Eve for his three adult children and their partners and friends, which they all enjoyed, and then he created another banquet on Christmas Day. He is an excellent cook, and a genial host.

Barry went to lose some more blood to the NHS on Christmas Eve, too. He’ll have none left at this rate.

So, we limp towards New Year’s Eve, never my favourite night of the year, so we shall stay in, maybe watch the fireworks from around the world, but probably have an early night. I miss the New Years’ Eves of my youth in Kent, when all the ships marked the passing of the old year and the welcome to the new with a ‘Whoop whoop.’ Heart-stirring stuff!

The young of the community will return to their homes in varying degrees of intoxication, singing or shouting, full of bonhomie and beer. The foxes will announce their presence and call for mates, as they have been doing for several nights, now, and 2025 will dawn, grey and still, and life will continue.

Happy New Year to one and all! 

Cold collation . . .

 

Cold collation . . .

 . . . or cold meat and pickles, with some bubble and squeak.

We had a lovely piece of roast beef on Saturday, when Susannah came home. She’s vegetarian so she had a Quorn roast, but the three of us enjoyed a fine selection of roast vegetables.

As usual, I had been over generous with the joint, so we had plenty of meat left over. That suited me, as I prefer cold cuts to hot food. I have unsophisticated food tastes, a child’s palate, perhaps, while many of the children in my extended family appreciate exotic dishes.

Barry has just informed me that he’s looking forward to a slice of beef with a dressing of stinky cheese melted over it. Nooooo!

We pulled Christmas crackers on Saturday. I cornered the market in crackers a few years ago. I don’t know why it happened, but I bought dozens of them, a hangover from the days when I catered for 15 to 20 people for Christmas lunch. In the same way, I have never quite adjusted to catering daily for less than six, and it’s been many years since we had a houseful of family living with us.

I have sufficient mince pies to keep us satisfied stuffed for months, and there is a mountain of cheese in the fridge. It will all be consumed until we are as fat as a house, or as portly as a pig. At least, I will be - Barry is far more disciplined than I.

Never mind, once the white rabbits of the new year’s January have been welcomed, ‘sensible’ eating will ensue, not starvation – there’s no future in that. However, there are only two more days to go . . . I am convinced that all will be well. Everything Most things will keep . . . won’t they?

Now, just in case you haven’t had enough feeble seasonal jokes, here’s one for you from my cracker.

Why did the chicken resign?

She was being paid a poultry amount! Boom boom!

The joke actually said ‘he’ not ‘she’ – dear, dear, chickens are females, aren’t they, or was this a woke joke?                                                              

A bit of nonsense

 

A bit of nonsense

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 ‘Twas the week after Christmas

And all through the land,

There was moaning and groaning

And pinching waist bands.

 

The turkey’s not finished,

And nor are the sprouts,

The curry’s quite filling  -

Of that there’s no doubt.

 

Excitement is dimming,

The presents unwrapped,

We’re tired with headaches –

Our energy sapped.

 

So, look to the future,

The New Year awaits,

Goodbye to the past,

We welcome our fates.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Angels

 

Angels

Angels from the realms of glory

Angels from the realms of glory,

Wing your flight o’er all the earth;

Ye who sang creation’s story

Now proclaim Messiah’s birth;

Gloria in excelsis deo,

Gloria in excelsis deo.

 

The Entropy Gang’s Christmas 2024 blog

Herschel: The SERVANTS have been busy. They both went out the other day really early. We didn’t mind because we had our breakfast early too. Then the THINKER came back without the MAID.

Jellicoe: He took the DOGS for a walk, Roxy first, then Gilbert. We were a bit worried in case he forgot to give us our elevenses. It’s usually the MAID who feeds us.

Herschel: We need not have worried. I don’t think he would have forgotten for long, not with Jellicoe yowling round him and nipping his arm.

Jellicoe: I was just reminding him! Anyway, he soon went out again. Some people just can’t sit still.

Herschel: We were pleased when he came back, because the MAID was with him, and she gave us our threeses. So, everything was back to normal.

Jellicoe: They put up a tree for us to play with. At least, we thought it was for us.

Herschel: Gilbert’s tail swiped the dangling ornaments and made them dance . . .

 Jellicoe: . . . so, of course, we had to tap them with our paws . . .

Herschel: . . . and before we knew it, the tree fell over!

Jellicoe: The angel at the top lost her head . . .

                             With her head tucked underneath her arm . . .

Herschel: . . . and it had to be glued back on.

Jellicoe: One or two of the baubles fell on the floor and the THINKER stepped on them . . .

Herschel: . . . but they’re not glass - we don't have those  ‘coz of little feet and paws.

Jellicoe: The MAID hadn’t been very happy with the tree anyway, because the lights had been put on last, not first, and the wires all showed up horribly . . .

Herschel: . . . so she had to take everything off and put it back properly . . .

Jellicoe:  . . . and that was all right, because the THINKER found some of the lost lights . . .

Herschel: . . . and now it looks much prettier . . .

Jellicoe: . . . until it falls over again!

Christmas children

 

Christmas children

                        A Christmas three-year-old with matching doll

Nothing can compare to the delight in a small child’s face when faced with the joys of Christmas. All is magical and wondrous, and their eyes grow rounder and brighter as each new glory unfolds before them.

They retain that innocence throughout their pre-school and Infant school years, from the ages of two until seven. As they lisp their way through whichever version of a Christmas story they are telling in their concert,  wise adult eyes grow moist. Even their teachers, who have guided and drilled them through their words and songs, often find themselves unexpectedly moved by the unworldliness of small humans who have not lived on this earth for long.

Nonetheless, there are moments of unforeseen hilarity. Mary, struggling up a slope, slides backwards, and Joseph gives her a hearty shove. The Three Kings/Wise Men, always misplaced in the Nativity, fling their gifts at the little family with a grunted blessing and hurry away to the back of the stage. The shepherds try to herd their sheep, who are in some cases much bigger than them, and the donkey’s headdress keeps slipping over his eyes. The cattle have got colds and keep wiping their noses and Mary is trying to look like a caring little mother while unceremoniously thumping the baby (doll) into the crib. The Angel Gabriel appears amidst a host of angels and one of the angels has an enormous, homemade pair of ungainly wings which threaten to make her overbalance, if they haven’t already put out a smaller child’s eyes.

The words of the carols are sometimes not explained, so children happily sing nonsense, like ‘highly flavoured lady,’ and ‘stay by my side until morning is night,’ and ‘poor as I yam,’ that last one heard even among recordings of the exalted King’s College choir.

Almost without fail, the children will search the audience for their parent or grandparent or aunt or big brother, and will wave to them, even though they have been told repeatedly not to. There is usually at least one child who hasn’t got a family member attending, and it’s so sad to see their distress growing as their lips tremble and tears spring to their eyes.

Among the very youngest children, there will often be one or two who will be overcome by the occasion and burst into tears or wet themselves – sometimes both at the same time – or simply refuse to go onto the stage with the rest of the ‘cast.’ The solemnity of the occasion will be lost on many, who will proceed to chat, pinch, adjust their neighbour’s costume and ignore all warning glares from supervising adults.

Some children sing with gusto. The following clip is one I have shared before which never fails to make me laugh. The older children can be seen trying valiantly to maintain the ‘glory’ of the moment, while the younger ones are torn between admiration and astonishment.

By the time term ends, the children will have ‘done’ Christmas multiple times and their excitement will know no bounds. Overtired, over-stimulated, they are prey to all the bugs around and frequently fall victim to coughs, colds, sore throats, diarrhoea and vomiting and will be in no fit state to enjoy the actual festival.

All too soon, the greatly anticipated ‘most wonderful time of the year,’ as the song informs us, is over. New Year celebrations are understated, unless you’re a Scot enjoying Hogmanay, and at the very beginning of January, the spring term starts.

The small, exhausted children, having had very little time to appreciate their new toys, or catch up on their sleep, are chivvied back to school, where they are reacquainted with their equally tired teachers, and life continues. The term of generously shared illnesses proceeds apace, worried parents telling each other that it’s important for their offspring to undergo these ailments in order to build their immune systems, and so they do.

The wheel of the year turns, and all too soon, Easter eggs and rabbits and other chocolatey delights cram the shelves of shops, at just the right height to attract children. Amidst all this, at school, the children learn about ‘Cheesus’ and try to absorb the meaning of new life. After all, they are still very new themselves.

Gilbert the Good – Christmas Epistle

 

Gilbert the Good – Christmas Epistle

Andrew mentioned that I hadn’t written a blog post recently. My last one was in August this year.

I am pleased to report that I’ve been going out for long walks in the forest with Barry. It feels strange to go out without Roxy, as I really like playing with her, but at the moment, she goes out first and then I go out afterwards. I like meeting people and playing with different dogs, but Roxy is my best playmate, followed by Arthur, Susannah’s dog.

 I can’t wait for Janice to get back into walking. Maybe, when she’s had her injection on Friday, she’ll be able to walk further than the end of the drive, then we’ll all be able to go out together, like we used to. Paws crossed!

It's been a strange year. Susannah came to stay for a few weeks with Arthur and the cats. Now she’s moved to London, and we all miss her. She’s coming to see us soon and that will make Roxy and me very happy, especially as Arthur will come with her.

Barry has been back and forth to different hospitals for months. I don’t know what months are, but I think it means a long time. He’s had so much blood taken that I think his arm must be empty by now, and he needs a photograph album for all the pictures he’s had taken of his insides. I can’t see the point of that. I mean, you wouldn’t want to frame them and put them on the wall, would you? Everyone seems to be pleased with him, though, so that’s good.

The angle of this photograph makes Jellicoe appear bigger than his brother, but he's much smaller than Herschel.

Jellicoe is much happier since he had some teeth out and his breath certainly smells sweeter. He’s spending more time with Herschel, even sleeping in the same bed – one of our dog beds - though they still squabble from time to time.

Here's Jellicoe with Roxy.

Most of the time, Herschel and Jellicoe like to cuddle up with us, and that’s really nice.

Here's Herschel with me. He's looking quite cross, but he's not. He's just relaxing.

I hope it won’t be so long before I write another blog post, but it has been a busy year and we all hope that next year will be much, much better.

Meanwhile, I wish you all a Very Merry Christmas and a Happy and Healthy 2025. Make the most of every day and try to ‘Always look on the bright side of life.’

 TTFN

Gilbert

Time to decorate the tree

 

Time to decorate the tree . . . at last!

                                The tree in all its naked glory

The annual dressing of the tree is taking place in the Cooke household. There is a tradition in place, which we never wish to repeat, but somehow always do. Every year, without fail, there is a small drama around the Christmas tree lights. Each Twelfth Night, when I strip the tree, I carefully wrap the lights round tubes so that they won’t tangle when I get them out. Then I put them ‘somewhere safe,’ along with the tree and the decorations.

                         What's in the tin? Something toothsome?

                                    What do you expect me to do? 

There is quite a lot of toing and froing in our house, with people coming and going, and ‘things’ are moved around. So, this year, we cannot find them. We know they’re somewhere in the house . . . or possibly the garage, which is another disaster area, with absolutely no room for a car. 

                                                     Decorations!

Rather than tear our hair out in a probably fruitless search, we have decided to buy another set. Again, this is quite a familiar task, for if we do ever manage to track down the missing illuminations, we often discover that they don’t work/bulbs are missing/wires are frayed. I am full of puzzled admiration for those families who manage to keep their lights for years and never have a problem with locating them and/or getting them to work. That is never going to be our fortune.

Meanwhile, until the new lights arrive, our tree sits in quiet understated splendour.

  

I have a tiny tree which has an ever-changing light display to spread some Christmas cheer while we wait. How long will it be before the battery gives out, and will we have the right size replacement? That’s another perennial teaser.

Candy canes

 

Candy canes

Today’s mug is an interesting shape and features images associated with Christmas festivities. I’m familiar with all of them, though the candy canes were not something associated with Christmas when my children were growing up. I have noticed them increasingly in recent years and they now seem to be an established part of Christmas décor in UK.

A legendary explanation for the origin of candy canes comes from Germany. It claims that in 1670 a harassed choirmaster at Cologne Cathedral was seeking a way of keeping his high-spirited choirboys quiet during Mass on Christmas Eve. He asked a local confectioner to make some sugar sticks that he could give the boys. In order for the sweets to be acceptable in a religious setting, he asked the confectioner to bend the tops of the sticks so that they resembled shepherd’s crooks, which would remind the children of the shepherds involved in the Nativity.

Peppermint candy canes

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

There is no way to prove the truth of this story, but references to it were not made until the middle of the twentieth century. The tradition of candy canes spread from Germany to other European countries and eventually to the United States. The first recorded use of candy canes in the States came in 1847, when a European immigrant in Ohio decorated a small tree with canes.

For two hundred years, candy canes were white. Coloured stripes were not introduced until the beginning of the twentieth century. Traditionally, candy canes are red and white, and flavoured with peppermint, but today they can be found in assorted colour combinations and tastes.

Peppermint is a natural deterrent to animals. It is thought that peppermint canes were hung on Christmas trees to discourage rodents and other small animals from damaging them.

Made to measure

 

 Made to measure

Jellicoe and Herschel enjoy the Christmas season. They particularly appreciate the influx of cardboard boxes. No matter what size they are, they have to be assessed for the efficiency of their insulation. Does cardboard have tog ratings in the same way that duvets do?

It's more of a tight squeeze for Herschel . . .

 

                        . . . but possession is nine tenths of the law!

Gilbert is intensely interested in boxes at any time of the year. His nose nudges human hands working to open them. He likes investigating the packing material so often found inside and frequently carries it to his bed for further inspection. This involves pulling it gently apart with his teeth, to further understand its composition. Roxy is often invited to aid in the analysis.

Just like small children, cats and dogs are as delighted by the boxes as by the contents. I wish we could all be so readily pleased.

 

Christmas mugs

 

Christmas mugs

This is something of a rambling post. ‘So, what’s new?’ I hear you mutter.

A few years ago, I started collecting Christmas mugs and for a while they were brought into use for the whole of the festive season, from December 1^st to January 6^th.

In 2023, I completely forgot about them, but this year I am determined that they will not be left, neglected and unloved, in the sideboard, the very sideboard that was responsible for my sojourn on the floor.

It’s odd the way some people apportion blame to inanimate objects. For example, when my children were small, if one of them caught their shin against a chair, the cry would go up, ‘Naughty chair!’ or was that just my mother-in-law who said that? (My mother would say, ‘Never mind, rub it better,' just as I do.)

A comforting path lies somewhere between truth and fantasy. When my husband was a little boy of five or six, he broke his arm, but instead of telling him he was going to the hospital, his mother told him he was going to a party. I suppose she was trying to be kind and spare him the fear of going to hospital, but I can’t think he would have been in much of a party-going mood. A little gentle preparation would have been much kinder.

When a toddler is told he’s going to have a baby brother or sister, all too often emphasis is laid on what fun it will be to have a sibling to play with. I made a peg doll family to explain to my small children that the baby would be small and noisy and not a playmate for a very long time. Would it have made any difference to them to let them believe that another baby would not affect the family dynamic? I don’t know, but they seem to have weathered the trauma of additional siblings and grown into sensible, loving parents in their own families.

Three-year-old Charlie had a very robust reaction when Jack was brought home from hospital. ‘Put him in the dustbin!’ he said. The two boys, now nine and six years old, are very affectionate with each other, most of the time, and Charlie is quite pleased with his younger brother. Jack is certainly delighted to have a big brother.

 

 

?

I don’t know whether it’s Christmas or Easter.

We have been eating egg-shaped shortbread biscuits from a rabbit-eared tin. The tin was intended for Charlie and Jack, but we didn’t see them at Easter and the biscuits are now out of date. That’s our excuse, anyway. 

The chocolate rabbits had to be consumed, too. It was a chore, I can tell you.

Let there be light!

 

Let there be light!

In the dark and often dreary winter mornings it is cheering to come downstairs into the light. At the bottom of the stairs the hall table holds a lighted tree and some candles while in the sitting room the Christmas tree lights glow a warm red.

 We have a number of candles of various sizes, all powered by batteries. They were dotted all over the room and though they were pretty they didn’t make much of an impact.

Should we instal a prie-dieu?

Geese

 

Geese

                                            Greylag goose

                        Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

The Greylag goose (Anser anser) is the only native breeding goose in Britain. It was first domesticated in Ancient Egypt 3000 years ago. It is a large, bulky bird  and is thought to be the ancestor of most domestic goose breeds. Greylag geese mate for life. 

 

Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat,

Please to put a penny in the old man’s hat,

If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do, 

If you haven’t got a ha’penny, a farthing will do,

If you haven’t got a farthing, God bless you!

This old rhyme has been spoken and sung for centuries and first appeared in print in 1885, ascribed to that well-known and modest author Anon. It is difficult to find any more information about it.

Goose was the traditional Christmas meat until the 1950s when turkey began to overtake it in popularity and availability. Goose was also roasted at other festivities, notably Michaelmas.

Goose has a short season, being reared naturally between September and December. In the UK, before most common land was seized under the Enclosure Acts, small communities grazed flocks of geese on open spaces in their parishes. Apart from the meat, which was much prized above other poultry, the birds gave eggs, feathers, down and quills. After cooking, the fat produced was used for medicinal as well as culinary purposes.

Goose quills were used as dipping pens until the 19^th century. The pinion feathers – flight feathers on the outer edges of the wings – were used to make the flights or fletches on arrows as they were shorter and stiffer and would not interlock with other feathers. The most fortunate in society used down and feathers for their mattresses, which were a softer alternative to straw or horse hair.

Today, the most favoured – and expensive - duvets are filled with goose down to provide warmth and excellent insulation without great weight. Hungarian goose down is the supreme duvet filler. The geese raised in the cold climate of Hungary produce thicker and fluffier down, which provides greater warmth and superior insulation.

 

End of term

 

End of term

                            Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

The schools in this area break up for Christmas soon. Weary teachers and pasty-faced children stagger towards the final day of term, the work gradually tailing off as the holiday beckons. Everyone is under the weather, coughing and sneezing, all reserves of energy almost depleted. Lists have been checked a multitude of times to ensure that each child has made a Christmas card, a calendar, a tree or table decoration, a hat to wear at school Christmas lunch - no-one must be left out. Costumes for the play have been gathered and named.

In a primary school, particularly among the younger children, Christmas has been ‘done’ a hundred times by the end of term. Many rehearsals of Nativity plays have led to the final performances, when angels and kings, shepherds and animals, and of course, Mary and Joseph, are transformed by the donning of costumes.

 The angels are never quite sure whether they're angels or fairies but love the glittery, scratchy tinsel headdresses. The angel Gabriel may be wearing neat wings or enormous appendages which threaten to weigh him down or lift him aloft in a strong wind. The shepherds wear dressing gowns and their striped or checked tea towel headdresses have a tendency to slip off. The kings have elaborate cardboard crowns and carry brightly wrapped ‘gifts’ while the animals have a variety of masks to show what they are.

Excitement builds as the moment for performance arrives. Little children worry in case their mums or grandparents aren’t in the audience. Some cry, others suck their thumbs, all are over-excited, nerves as tight as harp strings. The teachers try to keep their charges calm and then the opening music plays.

Audience and performers' eyes seek each other out and exchange small waves of recognition. The age-old story is told  and children sing the familiar carols with enthusiasm. The magic gradually overwhelms, adult eyes glistening unexpectedly as the innocence of the children adds poignancy to their performance. 'Away in a manger' lisped by little children moves even the hardest hearts.

                            Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

 The teachers, who have coached and cajoled their children and at times despaired that they would ever be ready, see the little boys and girls as if for the first time as they give their shining best. 

 Everyone is a star and the final applause is heartfelt and prolonged. 

Children exclaim that they loved doing it and want to do it all over again. Teachers praise them and give silent thanks that everything went off without a hitch. Everyone goes home singing or humming with their proud parents.

There’s nothing quite like a Christmas celebration in a primary school.                                                                                                             

Sometimes children, especially very young ones, display an excess of enthusiasm. I challenge you to get through this clip without giggling.                                                                                                                                                               .