THE FAULT OF THE CAROLS

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 1, Issue 101, 15 December 1939, Page 8 (Supplement)

THE FAULT OF THE CAROLS

There was to have been no sentiment this Christmas: no heart llutterings at the sight of glossy leaves and red berries, no pushing with the crowd in front of the card and calendar counter, no loitering before shop windows all dressed up in .spangled eotU;n-wool. with litilo white lumps dangling suggestively in rows from the ceiling, and m sprinkle of ''frost" elegantly distributed over the fancy goods. There "was to have been no childish delight over the sight of Christmas tree.'-: .brilliant Avith electric bulbs; ove; the illuminated windows of old churches. reminiscent of the painted .card of long ago that lit up mysteriously when held-against the light Everything was to have been sensible and matter-of-fact. For ivhy, one asked, should mistletoe make any difference, or turkeys, or mince pie-;.' JWhy shouVl one go out of one's wav to purchase small presents that no One particularly wants, and wrap them up 111 fancy paper, and fumble with greeting cards slung on bits of red string? Far belter to spend one's rtnic in getting things done —emptying' the stocking basket, for instanci-. and mending the lining of one's winter coat. That would be using Christ mas in a really practical way.

So one argued in November, holding to one's principles Avith unshak-

€n zeal; maintaining an air of superior aloofness, even when December «3awned, and refusing to be entangled in the web for a further Aveek or tAvo. And extremely subtle process that began umnvares and Avorked np and up as Christmas Day approached. It was the fault of the carols.

Someone has lately talked about the "sort of glory" of Christmas tide the wonder of ecstasy that embraces the child and is Aveakened to some degree ever after with the first notes of a carol. It is a strange thing. The carol may be out of tune, issuing forth from the mouths of bad little boys who mix the words up in a meaningless jumble, and whose sole reason for singing at all is to get to the movies; yet the "sort of glory" is there, the glory that filled the word on Christmas night when we Were young. I did not hear the carol singers this year, but I listened to the inharmonious efforts of a specially poor band, gathered together round a lamp below my window. There was nothing Christmasy about the hour; it had been raining, and a muggy dampness had sc tiled over the town. The band played two verses of "The First Noel" badly, then paused for a long time before adding two verses of "0 Come, All Ye Faithful." During the next pause, I Avas convinced that they had given up and gone shamefacedly a way. But I Avas wrong A feeble effort at "Auld Lang Svne" was made, followed by another long pause, and then "Christians Awake." "Christians AAvake" is riot an appropriate hymn to play for last thing (Continued foot of next coluin.:)

fit night, but what did that matter? As I listened, the whole of Christmas was in the room, tfie whole of Christmas, the full glory that shone upon one's childhood and placed a halo round every simple thing. It will be the some next year, and the year after that, arid every year so long as carols last.