|The vicar never misses an opportunity to perform.|
The season of church and school nativity plays is in full force. Each one I watch offers secondary scenes to the main story (- if you happen to catch them). The shepherds, tired of waiting, compete to get their crooks higher into the air. And I just wait for one to come toppling down on an unsuspecting sheep.
Then there is the angel who spends the whole of the play gazing at the older angel's halo, which happens to be raised up on a piece of wire. What is she thinking? 'I want one of those' or 'What's that above her head?' or 'Why's she got a TV aerial on her head?'
|a little halo jealousy|
Of course, I can't publish photographs of these moments, so quick, amateur pen sketches help to fix them in my mind. They provided the inspiration for the following verse written in fun (and of no great literary merit), some years ago.
|some boys just don't like dresses|
The school hall was quite overflowing
For the Christmas play was now showing.
There were Mums, Dads and Grans,
And babies in pramsAnd the faces of children were glowing
As the lighting went dim,
The actors crept in,
Three kings from afar.
The play was about to begin!
It was very well planned,
They knew where to stand.
Each king and his page
Marched onto the stage.
In their purple and gold, they looked grand.
One shepherd had enough of the staring,
And lifted his shift, without caring.
For the rest of the play
He remained in this way
And we admired the red pants he was wearing!