Page 69 of The Christmas Retreat
It was very busy and the selection of lovely porcelain Christmas baubles seemed to be almost flying off the shelves. I was entranced by the various ranges of porcelain figures from myths, fairy tales and legends, including figures from the Solstice ceremony, which came in two sizes.
Then there were the tall, fabric-bodied, porcelain-faced Santas and angels, as well as non-Christmassy wizards.
It was all exquisitely made and very detailed – and extremely expensive! Luckily, I wantedeverything,which meant I only came out with one small, gilded hare bauble – St Melangell’s, presumably – although I had a feeling I’d be drawn back again after Christmas.
I went back to put my purchase in my room before wandering down to the refectory, feeling restless.
Despite all her lofty words about working, I found Kate already there, laying out the pieces of a giant jigsaw on a table, while Toby was casually playing a Christmas carol on the old upright piano.
He said he just couldn’t concentrate on much either, so we had a game of table tennis, not something I’d ever played before.
After a bit, Tudor appeared and set the big jug of coffee on the hotplate, next to a plate of chocolate brownies. Kate took hers back to the table where Verity soon joined her. Jigsaw puzzles seem to have their own magnetic pull – people just gravitate to them.
‘Painting takessomuch out of me,’ Verity said plaintively. ‘I give it my absolute all and it is so draining.’
‘She needs to put the plug in first,’ I muttered, thinking this was a bit precious, and Toby grinned at me. He was much better than me at table tennis, so when Pearl came in I was glad to cede my place to her and have a rest.
She said Opal didn’t feel like coming down, and no one else appeared before Kate had performed the magic trick of making the last brownies disappear.
Perhaps none of the others was as distracted by the imminent arrival of Christmas as I was.
*
Dinner was early again because of the carol service, which it appeared that everyone was going to – even Kate! I think she just hated being left out of anything.
We all, Noel, Bronwen and Tudor included, piled into the minibus and this time Rhys took the wheel.
When we arrived, the stained-glass windows of the tiny ancient church glowed brightly from within and sent harlequin colours across the path.
We filed into a pew near the front, next to a side chapel with a large Nativity scene set up in front of it. Bales of hay were artistically arranged around a crib and various figures of Wise Men, angels, shepherds, sheep and oxen, with a large gold paper star hanging from the rafters directly above it.
Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus were missing and when I asked Cariad, who had come to join us and was sitting between me and Rhys, where they had got to, she told me they were still on their way to Bethlehem. ‘You can’t go fast on a donkey.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ I agreed.
‘Mel is Mary this year and Angelo, whose dad has the pizza restaurant across the road, is Joseph. He’s in our year at school.’
We all quietened as the vicar, who was a tall, rangy man with fly-away red hair and a gentle, slightly plaintive singsong voice, welcomed us all. He had a microphone on a stand in front of him, but since he constantly turned away from it, his voice came and went.
We started with a carol, ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’, then the vicar narrated the Nativity story, while the door at the back opened and a slim dark-haired youth in a striped robe and with the obligatory checked tea towel over his head, led a dark grey donkey up the aisle. Mel, blue-robed, sat astride her mount, rather than sideways as depicted in most old paintings.
I’d always wondered what prevented Mary from slithering off, because I don’t suppose they had proper side saddles then, with a pommel you could put one knee securely over.
The donkey got halfway up the aisle, dug his heels in against Joseph’s tugging, and then defecated copiously. A warm, rich farmyard smell pervaded the church.
Everyone laughed and Rhys whispered to me across Cariad, ‘That’s Walter. He does that every year.’
Cariad giggled. ‘And then he tries to eat all the hay and sometimes he brays when we’re singing.’
As soon as they reached the Nativity scene, Walter did indeed make straight for the nearest haybale and started pulling wisps out of it.
Mel, with practised ease, dismounted neatly, showing a glimpse of purple rubber paddock boots under her blue robes. Then she retired behind the bales and returned almost instantly with a large plastic baby doll, which she plonked down in the crib in a no-nonsense manner.
‘Lo, a child is born!’ said Angelo, without a great deal of interest, and Walter paused briefly between mouthfuls of hay to bray in seeming agreement.
The vicar concluded the Nativity story and then we sang, appropriately, ‘Away in a Manger’ and other old favourites, with the occasional assistance of Walter.
The vicar had just embarked on a sermon, which seemed to be about goodwill to all mankind, when the microphone on its tripod stand suddenly crackled – and then a loud stream of what sounded like rapid Italian invective issued from it.
