A BED’S-EYE VIEW OF CHRISTMAS IN THE HOSPITAL

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 13, Issue 38, 7 January 1949, Page 5

A BED’S-EYE VIEW OF CHRISTMAS IN THE HOSPITAL

(Contributed) ; No, I had never spent Christmas in hospital before! It Was therefore with somewhat mixed feelings that I regarded the prospect. However I was to learn that the spirit- of goodwill was to invade the institution in a manner as delightful as it was surprising and gratifying. As a patient I found I had missed little of the kindliness and love always associated with the festival. Thoughtful little gifts and cards arrived daily, friends arrived smilingly presenting further gifts. Indeed I felt the tears start. I reflected as I lay there, perhaps a sick or convalescing person runsperilously close to becoming selfish. It certainly carries all the temptations—lying comfortably abed, softvoiced efficient nursing attendants meeting every need. Yes, there is that aspect, and I am still undecided in my own mind about it. But to return to our theme. I had heard some talk of carol * singing through the wards on Christmas Eve. I was watchful therefore that my door should be left open in order that I should miss nothing, for I.had thoroughly enjoyed the visit of the Presbyterian Church Choir a few nights previously.- Oh, I can assure you, Christmas was in the air. Little groups of the nursing staff had been busy in the wards and the corridors all day until they were gay with festoons, coloured streamers and greenery. And then it happened. ■ About 7.30 p.m. all lights were suddenly switched off. A feeling of expectation pervaded the wards. Suddenly from the end of the passage came the organ strains of the lovely old Christmas favourite “O Come all ye Faithful.” Down the decorated aisle, marching two abreast, and each holding a lighted candle, came the nurses, sisters and the whole of the hospital staff.' And Ihey sang, yeis, how they sang—all the dear old hymns we all love so well. I watched them as they slowly passed my door, the soft haloes of the wavering candles, lighting up their intent,'rapt faces. And all in white, I reflected, all in white.

There was something ethereal, unspeakably spiritual and uplifting about that procession. It- left me exulting, and yet with a strange fullness in my throat. It went on and on.

Carol after carol was sung in that subdued light, and I thought of the early tunes sung in the catacombs of pagan Rome. I caught myself defining the strong baritone in the higher measures of Night’ but even this contemplation failed to break the perfection of the spell whi/eh had been woven. I watched the retreating procession as it softly passed my door, and studied each intent. face.

I felt that a band of angels had passed my way.