Away in a Manger

Today

As another Christmas approaches we've been catching up with family and friends. We popped over to see Chris who told us about the nativity play in which his four-year old grandson had played a starring role as a lamb. He described the little playlet which the teachers had written and was clearly pleased and proud to have been there.

Down at the flat we had our usual drinks party and various relatives and friends arrived. Paul's cousin had also been to see a grandson in the school play. He had an even more starring role as a dog. "Why a dog?" his grandfather asked. Apparently because the other choice, that of being a shepherd, was altogether too much responsibility. One teacher friend arrived fresh from having been the director, producer and crew for such an event. She said how tired she was, having spent the time pushing one child onto the stage, pulling another off at the right moments.


"I just love nativity plays," I said. "I never know whether to laugh or cry."

In My Day

The laughing and crying bit comes, of course, from small children's unselfconsciousness in these situations.

In 1954 I was a pupil at Cypress Road Infants School in South Norwood. For the nativity play that year I was chosen to play the part of the Angel Gabriel. I remember the excitement about the costumes. I had four acolyte angels, so to speak (the heavenly host, I guess) who wore what looked like floaty white nighties, with gold bands crossed over their chests and halos of tinsel.

Mamma and Daddy laboured over my somewhat grander, if more austere costume. I had a long gown made from a sheet with gold at neck, waist and hem. With much ingenuity they made me a halo from gold paper and wire that actually stood away from my head. The final glory was a pair of wonderful wings made from cardboard and crepe paper.

On the big day, my costume was got ready for me. Gown, halo, wings were all laid out. Now for some white socks. With a predictability that all families will understand, Mamma was unable to find any white socks that were even slightly clean. Finally she dug out a pair of grey, knee-length, schoolboy socks (they probably belonged to Chris) and, with a gay (and misplaced) confidence, assumed that they would be unseen under the long gown. Sent me off on the bus to school.

The story concocted for the play involved children at bedtime being told the Christmas story, when lo! the Angel of the Lord (that's me, folks!) appears and takes them to the stable. I was word and action-perfect. I led them off the stage on one side then up the steps at the other side where the scene had changed into the classic nativity scene. As I approached the steps with due majesty, I felt my overlarge socks slipping down. As I ascended the steps, in full view, I simply reached down, yanked up my gown and pulled the offending sock back up again. I proceeded on my way with marvellous indifference.

Laugh or cry indeed.