Christmas

Blog 20
Christmas is around the corner. Largely a Festival of Indulgence today, its religious importance has been confined to the singing of carols at school carol services.
I have three grandchildren at The King’s School, Canterbury and attended their impressive version in Canterbury Cathedral, an overwhelmingly impressive building, vast and cavernous. The school’s singing was superb, but the service was marred for me by two errors of choice.
When I last attended this service, more than thirty years ago, the bidding carol, “I looked from Afar” was sung by a solo tenor in total darkness from the eastern extreme of the cathedral. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. This time, it began more traditionally with “Once in Royal David’s City.” Fair enough, but the first verse was sung by a soprano. While beautifully done, that verse MUST be sung by a treble. Nothing can match the purity of such a voice.
Amongst the carols to be sung by the congregation was one virtually nobody knew. Completely pointless, in my view, especially when the organist gave minimal clues to the melody in his introduction.
When my wife died in 2020, I celebrated the following Christmas alone, because of the Covid lockdown. I pretended she was there and wrote this poem about it.

Christmas with(out) Ann

Our children think I’m Christmassing alone
Now that you’ve fled beyond my stretching arms
They worry that I’ll sit, chew on a bone,
So send me messages with false alarms

But they don’t understand that you’re still here
Sitting and listening to my feeble jokes.
Smiling a little, saying “Yes, my dear,”
At humour that would piss off other folks.

I’m making sure that Christmas lunch is good
With pheasant, not a turkey, for a change.
I’ll cook for both of us. Outstanding food
Presented well, the best I can arrange.

An English sparkling rosé to begin
With quail eggs and smoked salmon on the side.
And, with the bird, roast tatties, sprouts, a sin
Not to include the lot, just ‘cos you died.

I cannot toast your health, but memory
Is best; those special times we filled with love.
Your presence may be extra sensory
But that’s enough to fit me like a glove.

And, when the meal is over, we shall sit
Have conversation without needing words.
Feeling at ease, when soothing lamps are lit,
Knowing that we have feasted as do lords.

There’s nothing maudlin in this dreaming on
But healthy understanding of my loss.
Although your living body may have gone
Your essence still to me will come across.