Christmas morning! Happy Christmas to me and all
good men as well. Sentimental I am not unless semi-nostalgic remembrances
amount to something soft. The big difference that the intervening years have
brought are the interim departure of brother Mike and Ned and Nan, the parents.
A few words about a long-ago Christmas when we were together as a family. All
of fifty-five years ago. Prodigal ought to be grateful for all the bonus years
since.
Christmas Morning 1960
Communion for mother,
Talk of absent friends,
Cows, calves and fodder.
Mary Keegan home again,
Photos of her London house,
Father said she couldn’t buy
Leggins for a mouse.
Father Peter hinting at a
Drop in Christmas dues,
The one man in the parish
With a pair of leather shoes.
Red berries and a hint of snow,
Red robin on the vestry wall,
Goodwill and cheer for everyman,
I wonder if they care at all.
Still, we’ll enjoy the golden goose
The roasted spuds and all of that,
Pull the paper cracker
And wear its silly paper hat.
Two oranges in a woolly sock
Tin-whistle made by Clarke,
Plum pudding with its holly peak
Bing Crosby ‘live’ from Central Park.
Santa Claus and innocence
Melted with the grainy snow,
Bitter farewell, after sweet hello.
Stephen’s Day special once,
Now just another dawn
Noting nights passing,
Christmas is gone.
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