Introduction

My father was under the spell of Christmas every year of his life. It is a significant coincidence that he himself passed away at Christmastime, six years ago, at the age of ninety-four. Therefore, I remember him in a special way at this time of year. I think it is a fitting tribute to that wonderful writer, Peadar Bairéad, to celebrate the Christmas season with him as best we can—that is to say, in his own words. Here is a column he wrote some years ago, which is as fresh today as it was when he wrote it.

Happy Christmas All

Yes, that time of year has come around to us again, that time that gives us all a chance to show peace and goodwill to the whole wide world outside of ourselves. Yes, and that time also gives us a chance to walk back down memory lane, to those days long ago when we stood looking in wonder at the beautiful Crib, arranged nicely and peacefully in the Church. And further back still, to the first Manger in Royal Bethlehem, in the Holy Land itself, at the beginning of the era of Christianity, when Jesus was born in the Stable because there was no place to be found for his mother, Mary, or for Joseph in the town’s Inn that holy night.

Christmas Night

Look at how the poet, Máire Mhac an tSaoi, put it in her poem "Oíche Nollag" (Christmas Eve), saying that the wealthy had shelter in that same Inn that night, but the Virgin and her spouse were left with no room to be found, except in the old stable of the animals...

The lights were all lighting in that little hostel,

There were generous servings of victuals and wine,

For merchants of silk, for merchants of woollens,

But Jesus will lie in this household tonight.

Tá an file ag tagairt don nós a bhí beo, i measc Gael, an tráth úd, go mbíodh an Teaghlach Naofa ag fánaíocht timpeall an oíche sin, agus iad ag iarraidh bheith istigh a fháil i dteach eicínt, agus b’in an fáth a d’fhágtaí an doras ar leathadh, coinneall na Nollag ar lasadh, agus áit socraithe réidh dóibh ag an mbord, ag súil go dtiocfaidís ar chuairt chucu, an oíche bheannaithe sin. Féach arís mar a chuireann Máire Mhac an tSaoi é, i véarsa eile, sa dán céanna sin…..

 

Leave all the doors wide open before her,

The Virgin who’ll come with the child on her breast,

Grant that you’ll stop here tonight, Holy Mary,

That Jesus a while in this household may rest.

Níl dabht ar domhan, ach gur éirigh leis an bhfile, dearcadh agus creideamh na cosmhuintire a thuiscint, agus a léiriú, i véarsaí an dáin álainn sin,  “Oíche Nollag”.

A Vigil kept

It was not the custom of the people in the west to go overboard that night with food or drink, for they were waiting for the arrival of the Holy Family to visit them. They would have an ordinary supper—potatoes and fish, perhaps, or something of that sort—because they wouldn't have the big Christmas dinner to prepare until the following morning, that is, after Mass. That morning, every priest had the custom of saying three Masses, and because of that, they would start quite early in the morning, at half-past eight perhaps. Those people would be home again around ten o'clock, and then they would start preparing the dinner. Yes, upon my soul, and consider that they didn't have modern cooking appliances at that time—indeed they did not! They had nothing but the three-legged pot-oven and a pot, and they had to work those implements on the open fire. A big difference between yesterday and today! 

How about toys then?

What about the boy and girls then?

I’ll bet it wouldn't take them long to open their Christmas gifts, for it wouldn't take two people to load them onto a cart! I am talking about my own native place, back in Erris in County Mayo, of course. The boys would get nothing but a little "guinnín" (pop-gun), perhaps, and a little car or the like, yes, and a lock of sweets and fruit to fill the stocking. And what about the girls? Well, usually they would get dolls, and sweets and fruit too, perhaps. We would spend a while playing with those Christmas gifts, and then some of us would go out hunting the wren, or we would be getting ready for Wren Day (St. Stephen's Day), which was the day after Christmas Day. If we didn't succeed in finding a wren that day—and I promise you that those same wrens knew we were hunting them that particular day, for they would clear off out of our way quite early that morning! Well, if we didn't succeed in finding one, what we would do then was wait until nightfall, and then it wouldn't be too hard to find a sleepy sparrow in the eaves of the thatch. He would do the job for us the following day, provided we didn't let anyone get too close to the little bird we had covered well in a cage!

Memories

There is no doubt but that a swarm of memories returns to me at this time of year, as I go back down that distressed, twisting, interesting road of thoughts. Here is how I spoke about some of those thoughts in a little poem I composed myself last year...

 

A treasure of accumulated memories

In the cupboard of bundled memories,

Going out with a Wren, early Mass,

Angels and Shepherds visiting

 

Sharing nice things generously,

Roasting delicious foods,

Christmas treats given with heart,

And Jesus’ birthday being celebrated.

 

They Chose a Goose.

They Chose a Goose It wasn't a turkey they used to roast for the occasion at that time, indeed not, but a goose. Yes, a fine, plucky, Irish Goose for Christmas. And didn't we get plenty of juice and smoke out of that same poor goose! And in the end, when its bones were picked cleverly and carefully by us, we wouldn't throw those bones away idly either—indeed we wouldn't! For we had the greatest desire in the world for the big bones of the wings. By cutting them carefully, we could make "goose guns" (pop-guns) out of them. Then we wanted nothing but a little wooden plunger that would go through the heart of that bone, and a potato, to start firing shots at everyone all over the house. Didn't we have the sport! I’ll bet we got as much fun out of those same goose guns as the children of today get out of their PlayStations and the like! Yes, a big difference between yesterday and today. 

But to put a fitting end to this week's piece, perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to wish a happy and prosperous Christmas to every one of my readers, and may every one of you be seven times better a year from tonight. And yes, may we be alive at this time again.

 

Birth in the Stable

The Christmas season is upon us,

And white snowflakes coming down

Like a bright, holy, shining cloak,

Hiding grime and dirt for us.

 

But inside my heart, with enthusiasm,

I will prepare a manger, with effort,

and I will clear away the grime of the years

From the old stable of my hard soul

 

The Christmas season is upon us,

And the holy, Heavenly Infant, coming down

Is washing, and saving the Clan of Eve,

And hiding sin and trouble for us.

 

Beithilín, a Crib;  máinséar, manger;  teach aíochta, an Inn;  Teaghlach Naofa, the Holy Family;  girseacha, young girls;  guinnín, a little gun;  sa bhundlaoi, in the eave of the house; creimthe, picked;  cálóga bána, white flakes (of snow)