Trisha Ashley - The Magic of Christmas

Several of the WI members had four-wheel-drive vehicles, so were going to deliver the hampers that afternoon, when the roads had been gritted.

‘Another job done,’ Marian announced with satisfaction as the last of them drove away. ‘There’s just the final Mystery Play dress rehearsal tomorrow, and then we can all relax and just enjoy ourselves over Christmas.’

‘Except we actually have to do the play on Boxing Day,’ I pointed out, and the thought of shivering in the snow in my new Eve outfit was not an enticing prospect.

‘But that’s the fun bit,’ Annie said, then sighed. ‘I will miss our CPC meetings until we start again in summer, though.’

‘This year I think we need to start again right after Christmas,’ I said, ‘only as Wedding Organisers instead!’

On Tuesday afternoon I walked up to the Hall after lunch for the second of the Mystery Play dress rehearsals. I left Jasper typing up some of my latest Chronicle onto my new laptop. He was much faster than me, so that was a big help.

He said Unks wanted him to go up to the house later in the afternoon, so he would see me there.

The cobbled courtyard of Pharamond Hall where the audience stand to watch is bound on one side by the kitchen wing and on the others by stables and outbuildings, making it very sheltered. The entrance is through a large arched gateway with, directly facing it, a second arched doorway to the coach house, which forms the stage for the performance.

Marian, Clive and most of the cast for the rehearsal scenes were already there, milling about, while the Mummers of Invention (minus Ritch, of course, who was on his way to the Caribbean) stood in one corner, running through the song for the first interval. Ophelia was wearing a knitted poncho in three shades of mud brown and it was stretched to the limit over her now enormous baby bump. Various bits of scenery and old props had been dragged out of storage and the loose boxes on either side set up as changing rooms. I knew Joe Gumball had already hung up the stiff, heavy canvas curtains in the entrance to the coach house, because Jasper and Nick had helped him, and now he was checking that the star lantern slid easily across the wire behind it.

There was a chilly wind blowing, and since the courtyard was not warmed by braziers and a massed audience, as it would be on the night, we ran through our scenes pretty briskly. Clive was reading the Voice of God today and started with Lucifer being cast out of Heaven. The silent angels, with their freshly flighted wings, trooped on and off on cue, but when Moses did his scene he interjected more than a little acerbity into his lines: his rheumatism was clearly still playing him up.

I was on next, but luckily, due to the extreme cold, Clive kindly excused Adam and Eve from having to change into costume, which was a relief. I didn’t know about Nick, but I was having serious doubts about the decency of my new Spandex outfit. Still, at least we were back on reasonably good terms again and from the tone of our voices you would have thought we were discussing the price of fish, not contemplating any kind of temptation.

After that, Miss Pym and some of the parents brought the infants up from school in an orderly but excited crocodile, carrying their animal masks, to practise the Ark scene.

‘And all the animals came into t’ark out of the rain, and, by heck, it were pouring down,’ Noah said, standing next to Mrs Noah, who was seated on a bucket. The children started to march past two by two, growling, roaring, hissing and generally sounding like a zoo at feeding time. Last of all came a solitary unicorn.

‘There’s two of every darn thing — except t’unicorn. Yon’s not going to breed on its own, Wife.’

‘Well,’ said Mrs Noah, reluctantly looking up from her knitting, which was presumably a late Christmas present she was keen to finish, ‘there’s no more of ’em. Reckon that’s the end o’ the line for t’poor little beast. I never did see much use for it, though it’s proper bonny.’

‘It attracts virgins, so they say,’ said Noah.

‘Well, it’s just thee and me now, chuck, so I reckon them have died out an’ all,’ said Mrs Noah. ‘Knit one, purl two!’

After the Ark scene we always have a break before the Nativity, so all the little animals can see Father Christmas before going home. By now Annie and Gareth had arrived together and helped Miss Pym shepherd the excited children through the arched gateway to be lined up again, sans masks, outside the front door of Pharamond Hall.

The rest of us went through the kitchens the back way to the cavernous hallway, where a log fire roared and the fairy lights flickered on the huge tree like so many weak fireflies (and I am sure they are not supposed to do that). Roly was sitting in an ancient carved chair next to it, dressed in the red, fur-edged hooded suit and black boots traditional on these occasions, and puffing at a cheroot, which was not. Over the years his wig and beard had yellowed with nicotine, so that I’m sure the scent of tobacco would forever remind successive generations of local children of Christmas.

In the shadows just behind the chair lurked Caz Naylor, the largest elf you ever saw, wearing pointed Spock ears and with his hat jammed down hard over his eyebrows, waiting to hand the presents to Father Christmas. What always surprised me was the way he could move so silently when his outfit was entirely covered in little bells. Perhaps he’d stuffed them with something?

The fire glowed in the huge hearth, and the candle bulbs in the cartwheel of evergreen foliage that was suspended from the ceiling were dimmed. The house smelled of cinnamon and burning fir cones, hot mince pies and spiced punch from the bowl on the trestle table laid out ready.

From beyond the great oak front doors came the sound of a lot of reedy young voices belting out ‘Good King Wenceslas’ at the top of their lungs: distillation of pure Christmas magic, again.

‘Here we go,’ Unks said, regretfully removing the stub of cheroot from his mouth and tossing it accurately into the fire. ‘Let the little blighters in.’

Nick swung the door open and a tide of children rushed forward, only to be halted in their tracks by Miss Pym, who has a presence and voice that could command armies.

‘ Stop! ’ she commanded.

‘Ho, ho, ho,’ Unks said benevolently. ‘Come in, one and all!’

Joe Gumball activated the CD player and ‘White Christmas’ began to chirrup merrily in the background.

There was a gift for every child, and while Miss Pym orchestrated the queue, the adults fell on the food and drink. A few older children appeared as parents began to turn up to collect their offspring, but there was a bag of extra gifts for this contingency, so no one went away empty-handed.

By now Jasper had arrived too, and was talking very seriously to the vicar in the corner. At a rough guess, I’d say they were discussing the eating habits of Biblical folk or something like that, unless Gareth had a personal hobby horse and a stronger will than Jasper’s. Annie had gravitated across to join them, and Trinny, wearing a collar of tinsel, was circling Ginny in a vaguely menacing manner, probably trying to decide which end was which.

Jasper picked Ginny up and Trinny immediately lost interest and wandered off under the table, where there were rich pickings in crumbs and discarded pastry. Mrs Gumball’s idea of children’s party food ran to miniature pork pies, tiny triangular sandwiches, and little jellies in paper cases with a blob of cream and a diamond of angelica on top of each. The hot mince pies and punch were strictly for the adults.