Tags
Sooo…. At this time of year, I usually write a little post about some aspect of Christmas, and I was confident that this year, I would come up with an idea well in advance. And I did – lots of ideas: I could write about serendipity, or about A Child’s Christmas in Wales (my favourite Christmas book), or about presents and consumerism, or about hope, or about how things don’t work out how you expect… Or about lots of things, but for some reason none of them really spoke to me.
Ok, then, I thought, let’s put a poem in. First of all I was going to give you my favourite Christmas poem (which actually turns out to be my second favourite), John Betjeman’s Christmas. But it’s fundamentally a religious poem, and a lot of people aren’t religious (possibly incorrect assumption that anyone will actually read this ahoy!). So then I turned to my second-favourite Christmas poem (actually my third-favourite), T S Eliot’s great The Journey of the Magi. And whilst it’s possibly appropriate for now, it’s also in some ways quite bleak, and I don’t want to do bleak.
So I did a Google for Christmas poems and once I was past the sick-making stuff and the religious stuff (much of it beautiful – Hello Thomas Hardy’s The Oxen *waves*) and the thought-provoking stuff which was gorgeous but which I’d never read before so didn’t have any particular emotional resonance for me, I came across this, which I’d completely forgotten, and it’s perfect. It is, in fact, my favourite Christmas poem: it’s by a poet I love (his Teddy Bear is definitely up there with my top ten poems of all time), it carries a message of hope and redemption, but it’s not religious, and, with its embrace of the concept of minimal but thoughtful gifting, it’s the perfect antidote to consumer angst. In fact, it covers pretty much all of subjects I’d thought of writing about. Except A Child’s Christmas in Wales, of course, but hey, as this poem demonstrates, you can’t always have everything. Enjoy!
Wherever you are, whoever you’re with, and however you’re spending it, I wish you a wonderfully happy Christmas and a peaceful and prosperous New Year.
King John’s Christmas
A. A. Milne
King John was not a good man —
He had his little ways.
And sometimes no one spoke to him
For days and days and days.
And men who came across him,
When walking in the town,
Gave him a supercilious stare,
Or passed with noses in the air —
And bad King John stood dumbly there,
Blushing beneath his crown.
King John was not a good man,
And no good friends had he.
He stayed in every afternoon…
But no one came to tea.
And, round about December,
The cards upon his shelf
Which wished him lots of Christmas cheer,
And fortune in the coming year,
Were never from his near and dear,
But only from himself.
King John was not a good man,
Yet had his hopes and fears.They’d given him no present now
For years and years and years.
But every year at Christmas,
While minstrels stood about,
Collecting tribute from the young
For all the songs they might have sung,
He stole away upstairs and hung
A hopeful stocking out.
King John was not a good man,
He lived his live aloof;
Alone he thought a message out
While climbing up the roof.
He wrote it down and propped it
Against the chimney stack:
‘TO ALL AND SUNDRY – NEAR AND FAR –
F. Christmas in particular.’
And signed it not ‘Johannes R.’
But very humbly, ‘Jack.’
‘I want some crackers,
And I want some candy;
I think a box of chocolates
Would come in handy;
I don’t mind oranges,
I do like nuts!
And I SHOULD like a pocket-knife
That really cuts.
And, oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all,
Bring me a big, red, india-rubber ball!’
King John was not a good man —
He wrote this message out,
And gat him to his room again,
Descending by the spout.
And all that night he lay there,
A prey to hopes and fears.
‘I think that’s him a-coming now!’
(Anxiety bedewed his brow.)
‘He’ll bring one present, anyhow —
The first I had for years.’
‘Forget about the crackers,
And forget the candy;
I’m sure a box of chocolates
Would never come in handy;
I don’t like oranges,
I don’t want nuts,
And I HAVE got a pocket-knife
That almost cuts.
But, oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all,
Bring me a big, red, india-rubber ball!’
King John was not a good man,
Next morning when the sun
Rose up to tell a waiting world
That Christmas had begun,
And people seized their stockings,
And opened them with glee,
And crackers, toys and games appeared,
And lips with sticky sweets were smeared,
King John said grimly: ‘As I feared,
Nothing again for me!’
‘I did want crackers,
And I did want candy;
I know a box of chocolates
Would come in handy;
I do love oranges,
I did want nuts!
I haven’t got a pocket-knife —
Not one that cuts.
And, oh! if Father Christmas, had loved me at all,
He would have brought a big, red, india-rubber ball!’
King John stood by the window,
And frowned to see below
The happy bands of boys and girls
All playing in the snow
A while he stood there watching,
And envying them all,
When through the window big and red
There hurtled by his royal head,
And bounced and fell upon the bed,
An india-rubber ball!
AND, OH, FATHER CHRISTMAS,
MY BLESSINGS ON YOU FALL
FOR BRINGING HIM
A BIG, RED,
INDIA-RUBBER
BALL!