Christmas Eve - a day of waiting expectantly

This time last year, The Curate and I were living on the North Coast. We had snow, lots of snow and ice.  On Christmas Eve we also received the telephone call that started the beginning of our move to our present parish - what a long time ago that seems! 

An angel from a local church

It's Christmas Eve and I am waiting: 

* For the turkey to defrost.

* For the mince pies to cook.

* For The Curate to finish his sermon.

* For the last parcels to be delivered.

* For youngest son and girlfriend to land at Heathrow from Morocco.

* For eldest son to ring us from Australia to exchange Christmas greetings twelve hours early.

An angel from a local church

* For the midnight service to begin.

* For the solo singing of  'Once in Royal David's city'. 

* For the shiver of anticipation as the final Advent candle is lit.

 * For the stillness that fills the church when the Gospel is read and we can hear the Christmas story once again.

* For the cheerfully robust singing of carols that seems to always occur at midnight.

* To celebrate the birth of Jesus - Emmanuel - God with us.

Happy Christmas

Christmas Eve market

The Nativity Play

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 Nativity

 The school hall was quite overflowing

 For the Christmas play was now showing.

There were Mums, Dads and Grans,

And babies in prams

And the faces of children were glowing

 As the lighting went dim,

The actors crept in,

Shepherds, sheep and a star,

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!

The Model Curate!!!

Could The Curate be searching for a new career?! Click on the ultimate clergy cape and see if you can spot him!!! 

Running from the spotlight?

It does rain a lot in Devon and The Curate risks getting very wet at any outdoor event. Ever the creative thinker and ex-service man, he decided to research bandsman's capes and found a waterproof cape that was exactly what he needed from this Scottish firm (Scotland can also be a very wet place I'm told). 

...........I'm not sure about the new career - we had to take a lot of photographs to find some that could be used! 

No 'proper' snow on Dartmoor...yet.

 

We went looking for snow this morning. The weatherman had suggested that snow might fall on the higher moor so, as it was our day off, we went to see if it had. The skies certainly looked threatening enough for snow as we drove up towards Princetown. When the sun cut through the dense cloud, the countryside was startlingly vibrant with the light reflecting off the sodden ground and wet rock faces.

We had to get quite high before we saw some distant snow. Dartmoor prison in Princetown, looked bleaker than ever with its dusting of snow.

 

Even North Hessary TV mast, which stands above Princetown (1673 ft above sea level), didn't have much snow.

 

No snow here, just a covering of icy hail stones.

 

Then we saw the hail showers coming towards us, so dense that the bright sunlight was blotted out. The hail stones were flung with such force in the wind, that they stung any exposed skin.

 

Time to retreat to the car and head home. We were a little too keen to try out the sledges that had  been delivered in the post this morning. They would have to stay in the back of the car for another day.

A Small World

Winter Refit - James Dodds

Linocuts bring back memories of home made Christmas cards and  fingers cut, as I carved out the robins and holly on a lino tile in an effort to make a reasonable print on coloured sugar paper. Now The Curate and I are delighted to own this superb print by James Dodds, who comes from the area where The Curate and I grew up and met. All the paintings, prints and craft in our house reflect some point in our life together and  help to make our house a home.  

Two summers ago, The Curate and I wanted some art work that reminded us of the River Blackwater in Essex (in the south east England)- where we originally met. We searched the art galleries in Maldon and we could not agree on any one piece - until I spotted a few frames turned against the wall. They were waiting to be hung  and I asked if I could look at them. Immediately we recognised the location in 'Winter Refit' as being a very familiar old haunt on the River Blackwater.  There is was - the picture chose us!

On researching the artist, it appears that James Dodds served his time in the shipwright's trade in a yard where they refitted and rebuilt the huge wooden sailing barges that were familiar to the River Blackwater. Then I remembered my mother had given us a copy of 'The Shipwright's Trade' by Rudyard Kipling and illustrated with wood and linocuts by James Dodds. I looked at it again and discovered that the foreword is written by The Curate's old form teacher.

The Curate's Study

This large linocut hangs in The Curate's study now  - a long way from the location depicted in the print. Since becoming a curate, The Curate has met some delightful people who have migrated to this part of the world, from the East coast. The Curate used to visit a lady in our last parish, who grew up in the same area and it turned out that she went to the same school as The Curate. She left in 1947 - before The Curate was born. They spent afternoons together, talking about life in Essex. 

Last Sunday, I accompanied The Curate to two churches in our rural parishes. As I sat in the pew in the second church, a lady joined me and we started to talk. It turned out that she too, had grown up in the same village as The Curate and she had gone to the same school. This time, the lady had left in the mid 50s - a little before The Curate was born. 

One teacher was a common link for both these ladies and The Curate.  One particular teacher had begun his career when the lady from the North Coast went to Maldon Grammar and he retired while The Curate was still at school. These unexpected coincidences are a gift to us, as they have helped both The Curate and myself get to know new people in new places and those people get to know us.

Waiting

<

A wet walk on Chocolate box Dartmoor

This is mud ... not chocolate!

We walked near Hexworthy today. There had been an early frost with clear skies but we missed that. By the time we were on the moor, the grey skies had returned and rain was threatening.

Everywhere we look, there are scenes that would be perfect for puzzle boxes...or a chocolate box lid.

The scenery is less bleak here. The thatched cottages are thick walled, ancient and the thatch is dripping with moss. The lichen covered trees lean into the hillside to avoid the winds. The dogs run ahead, sinking into the black, peaty ground. The paths are submerged under water from the recent heavy rains and The Collie runs ahead, then turns back to beckon us on.

The rain return and The Curate quickens his pace - this is wet, cold, winter rain. Time to go home.

A welcome shelter