Not wrong, just different: Christmas Special

It was the suggestion in the comments box, coming on the same day as that most bloggable of events, the school Christmas concert, which did it. That, and having a sister who sits and enjoys watching 'Barbie as Rapunzel' with 3-yo. Yes, I really did say “enjoys watching”, so don’t waste time flicking your eyes back over that sentence in disbelief. Come with me, instead, as I emerge from my self-imposed blogging silence, and take you to my boys’ Christmas evening concert.

To enjoy this story to its full, you have to know that in corners of the blogosphere, there has been much head-scratching and brow-furrowing amongst those involved in school Christmas concerts over possible rhymes for the name ‘Mary’. I believe it was even suggested resituating the Christmas story in the Republic of Ireland at one point, simply to make the following a possibility:

Lo on yonder donkey, here comes Mary,
(cue for solo line by small girl in blue costume)
“It’s a long way to Tipperary”.

There was also an attempt to adapt the favourite old Scottish ballad 'Auntie Mary kept a canary', but it’s too profane to repeat here.

Anyway, as it turned out, here in the heart of the mid-American plains, the answer was sitting on my doorstep, in the form of my sons’ music teacher, Mr Darey: music teacher and Christmas show impresario. By now, my rhyming-with-Mary skills are so finely honed that I could have produced a whole ballad featuring Mr Darey and the entire lower school, beginning:

Here comes Mary, riding on a donkey,
Watch Mr Darey, then the singing won't go wonky.

Sadly, though, this was not to be. First, the anonymity of the blog means that my rhyming-with-Mary skills are not known locally. Second, and perhaps this is the more significant reason, the festive season is so PR-conscious, that carols and nativities are done away with altogether, and so the school show was all about snow, reindeer, rocking round the tree, and chipmunks. This is one of those culturally puzzling things. Here I am, slap in the middle of the Bible Belt, somewhere between Ezekiel and Zephaniah I should think, and all year round, it is totally acceptable - in a way that it no longer is in Britain - to talk about Christianity, practice Christianity, assume Christianity is a common local currency. Till Christmas. Then people carefully wish you “Happy Holidays”, put up holiday trees, bake festive cookies, purchase seasonal items, focus unwaveringly on Santa as the hero of the piece, and avoid any nasty religious reference altogether - just at the point of the year when in Britain, the Christian story is allowed to peep through the liberal tolerant curtain.

Anyway, back to the show. It was the very best evening I’ve spent here, and I’ve lived here over a year, so that’s saying something (perhaps it says I should get out more of an evening). For the first quarter of an hour, every minute was a blog post moment. The Christmas tree was knocked over by the curtains, the microphones squealed with feedback, the opening number went horribly wrong because no-one had worked out how long it takes 240 children to get onto a stage - or indeed whether 240 children could fit on this particular stage. There were children wobbling precariously on benches, and instructions hissed at them from the wings. There was talk of how old and historic the building was (built in 1907) which had me and Husband giggling smugly into our hands. We were told there would be no drinks in the interval because the venue had specified that they had just had a new carpet fitted and didn't want anything spilt on it (do they not know what a few chocolate chip cookies can do to a carpet under the feet of 240 children and accompanying families?)

The best thing though, by far, was Mr Darey himself. He was, Husband and I agreed, an amalgamation of Morecambe and Wise. He played both the straight guy and the funny guy. He fed himself lines, then played up to them. He looked like Morecambe, but with Wise's height. By the end of the evening, every time he had to do the fill-in bit between numbers (which took ages because the venue was huge and the school hadn't been able to rehearse in it, so there were times when whole classes went missing), Husband and I would murmur to each other "that was very Morecambe" or "that was just so Wise". I was fully expecting him at any moment to do that wiggling up and down thing with his glasses. He demonstrated two different ties that played Jingle Bells. He kept telling us how wonderful our kids are (this is a fail-safe with parents isn't it?) and how much fun rehearsals had been. The duet he performed with his wife, more 'White Christmas' than ‘Bring Me Sunshine’, was a fine number, but I must confess it did provide the one big disappointment of the evening. I’d so hoped she’d be called Mary, but she was Geraldine. Such a wasted opportunity.

There were lots of clever twists, like the fifth grade singing Jingle Bells, and then suddenly shifting up a gear and doing it in the style of Elvis, ending with a cheery “ho, ho, ho y’all”. There was the second grade hijacking the fourth grade’s number, but, guess what, the two songs blended perfectly to make a rousing duet. There were the first graders dressing up as presents, promising to mail themselves to their fondly-watching parents. There were a couple of numbers by members of staff, which I thought was pretty sporting of them. There was a grand finale, worthy of Morecambe and Wise, with everyone on stage and Angela Rippon doing the can-can.

So that kicked our Christmas off to a flying start. Now I’m merrily a-blogging again (just for the season, you understand), watch out for Iota’s Crafty Christmas Tips, and a guest blog from my mother and/or sister. Unless the Beeb is running old Morecambe and Wise Christmas Specials, in which case you’ll be too busy watching those to be reading blogs.

Happy Christmas to you all. And I was fibbing about Angela Rippon, by the way. Sorry.