Of a Crib, a Collie and cherished companions

As mentioned in other blogs, my husband loved to walk his collie. He also loved all things Christmas.

Mornings in December meant that he could visit the outdoor crib at the local convent school. He would pause in his perambulations to spend a moment with the Infant Jesus and fall in love with the Nativity Scene all over again. The collie would stand on her hind legs, place her front paws gently at the edge of the table and nudge Baby Jesus’ feet with her nose. That done, she would sit patiently till my husband moved on.

Mother Superior, possibly wary of itinerant trespassers and in the interest of her property, was not amused. This moved me to remind her that the original manger was ‘peopled’ by livestock and that legend has it that all animals kneel at midnight on Christmas Eve!

It puzzles me that those who are supposedly close to God do not see, feel or experience the whimsical side of our Maker’s personality. Nature demonstrates the glory of creation but it also throws up many and delightful comical aspects, as those who know so will readily testify.

A priest I had the privilege to know shared this sense of whimsy. He wrote a droll ‘post-card to a duck’ for my scrap-book. It goes:

Madam,

There is one blot on your fair name and one only! You have filled the cricket field with a word of dread. Why your egg, more than any other, should have been chosen to signify by its shape the most ignominious numeral in the multiplication table, I fail to comprehend.

A duck’s egg is no more round than the egg of a pigeon or of a hen – and indeed, it is far less round than that of a goose or of a turkey. Yet it was upon you that the wise humorist fastened; it was you who were set apart to humiliate those who failed to score.

For the rest, you are the friend of man. In life you waddle around with the most charming insouciance, and when the fatal moment arrives, your gift of blending melodiously with sage and onions is beyond compare.

Peas be with you!

Stern and seemingly unapproachable, Msgr. E had an unsuspected ‘soft’ side. And though I must remember him for his sterling advice and guidance, it is the ‘postcard’ which recalls him most gladly to mind.

Our most precious asset

On Christmas Eve, after a month of cleaning and polishing and changing the furnishings, we eagerly unwrap the figures that make up the Nativity scene. It is most precious in our eyes and it is with the greatest reluctance that we confine it once more to its storage space after Epiphany.

Our first crib set, as a married couple, was a housewarming gift from a sister-in-law. Plaster of Paris is not the most durable of materials and though we were very careful, the crib soon wore battle scars – chips, nicks and peeling paint. And then baby Jesus lost his nose in a minor accident.

That was when we decided that we needed a new crib and it was the first item on our shopping list when we had the good fortune to visit Vienna.

We scoured every shop and paused at every window that carried a display and there were plenty of them even in the month of August. But the Nativity scenes on offer were either too expensive, too fragile or did not meet our idea of feature and colour. Just when disappointment seemed to be at its most crushing, a kindly nun directed us to a shop off an alley behind St. Stephen’s in the city. We decided to make one last foray and were rewarded beyond our wildest dreams.

The shop in question had on display the most exquisite hand carved wooden Nativity Scenes. The work of monks tucked away high in the Alps, each piece was finished right down to the tiniest detail. It was love at first sight. But when we heard the cost, our hearts sank: each individual piece carried a steep price tag and we needed several pieces to complete the picture that we had in mind.

The salesgirl must have been an extraordinary individual. She allowed us to handle each figure and take our time over it. Then, she suggested that we should pick out piece by piece the ones that we wanted and she would keep totting up the amount. And that is what we did. When our wallets had reached fraying point, we asked for the final total, counted out the Schillings (the Euro had not yet made its appearance) and hurried home with our precious package.

Back at the convent, where we were staying, we unpacked the figures, set them out on the dining table in the refectory and arranged them according to their appointed places. It was nearing dusk. A visitor picked up a lit candle in a little wooden stand and placed it near the crib. The parish priest brought out his guitar and we gathered around and sang Silent Night in its original German version – Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht. The memory still gives me goose bumps: the joy and sharing of Christmas came to us early that year.

Most people invest in stocks and bonds and gold. We invested in love.