Wandering Through The Land Of Nod.

A true story of a 1960s primary school nativity play when a young child’s heart was stirred by jealousy and longing. 

Calling can come at any age.

It was cold and dark when I walked down our city street.  Familiar tree trunks grew black and dark in the gloom, bare branches loomed overhead, and pale lights glowed through thinly curtained windows.  My biggest worry was not getting my shoes and socks dirty or dropping my orange booklet.  That booklet, of typed Christmas carols, stapled together by my teacher was my current favourite possession.  I was thrilled when we were given them and told to keep them safe for practices and performance.  I was delighted that we could keep them and when it was all over, I saved mine in a special box ready for the next December when I would look at it again and sing the songs which stirred my heart.

The school was at the bottom of Serlby Rise, and it looked different with bright lights shining out from a dark building surrounding the still, shadow filled playground.  Once inside, my insides leapt with excitement.  School would only look like this once a year, in this strange fluorescent light with only blackness at the windows.  What’s more, I had to go into a strange classroom to leave my coat and line up.  Chairs, desks and the blackboard all faced different ways.  There were different books, pictures and smells and I missed my own space where I’d found my way around.

Thankfully, my shoes weren’t too muddy, and my face beamed when I took my coat off to show my new dress made of red corduroy with long sleeves and white lace at the collar.  A jabot, mam had told me that was called, when she bought it specially. 

As smartly as we could, all wearing our best clothes, we marched across the playground to the school hall.  Strangely, that night our teachers let us out in the cold without our coats on, but that night everything was different and every nerve in my young body knew it!

The hall was full of chairs lined up in rows.  I didn’t know where the chairs had come from or how they got there, but there was a gap down the middle for us to walk along, between our patiently waiting parents.  I felt my cheeks burn when I passed mine.  They were there!

The wooden floor was three months on from its summer clean and polish and our footsteps added to the dulling scuffs when we took our seats.  Wonder of wonders, we weren’t sitting on the floor, but there were more rows of chairs, facing the audience, for us to sit on. 

I was part of the choir and turned to the first page in my precious orange booklet.  Miraculously, all the carols were in the right order.  Miss White struck up on the piano and we stood to sing.  I don’t remember, but I wonder if we began with Once In Royal David’s City.

At the front of the hall, two chairs were placed in front of a manger, ready for the story’s characters to gather and form a tableau.  A wooden box was upturned ready for the readers to delight us.  Bible readings and carols told each part of the story.  So, we sang O Little Town of Bethlehem while Mary and Joseph walked down the gap in the chairs and took their places and While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night when the shepherds arrived to visit the newborn baby. We Three Kings of Orient Are accompanied the wise men.

Sitting in the choir, even with my new dress, clean socks and shoes and my precious booklet, I felt left out, as if I was there because nobody thought I could do anything else. 

I longed for a different part, but I didn’t want to be dressed up, I didn’t want to be Mary or an angel.  No, I wanted to be a reader.

When Gina (I think that was her name) stood up on the wooden box and spoke out Nearly two thousand years ago … I was overcome with jealousy.  Her dress was red velvet, her cardigan was white and her dark curls were neatly brushed.   Her voice was clear and perfect as she told us the story of Jesus being born.

My young heart filled with longing and sank into despondency when I realised that no one knew that’s what I wanted to do or would ever choose me to do it.

That feeling lasted a long time.  I was over thirty before anyone asked me to read out in church.  Once they did, it opened up a whole new life for me and before too long I was reading out in church every week!

I am very grateful to Gina for reading so beautifully and stirring up that longing in my heart.  Gina, I wonder where you are and if you’re reading this?   If you are, then thank you!

I am very grateful to the teachers who taught me to sing carols and gave me my own booklet to keep, then gave up their evenings for us.

What did you long to do as a child?

Wander well on your way to Christmas,

Mandy.

Things I love:

• Reading the Christmas story, especially aloud!
• Singing carols.
• Wearing red at Christmas.