Nativity
Nostalgia
ain’t what it used to be,
But
I can’t help thinking of that day,
Right
at the back end of the Fifties,
When
I did my first Nativity Play.
We
were in the first class of the Infants,
Young
and innocent, no more than five or six,
When
our teacher announced the production,
And
we’d all be thrown into the mix.
There
were to be parts for everyone,
Of
that fact there should be no doubt,
For
the school couldn’t cope with the aggro,
If
any of the class were to be left out.
For
parents would want to see their darlings,
Deep
in the Christmas story engage,
Showing
off to their friends and relatives,
Of
their first public performance on stage.
None
of us knew what to expect,
Because
none of us had ever done it before,
But
if we couldn’t have a major role,
We
decided we didn’t want to play any more.
I
didn’t get to play Joseph,
And
the role of inn-keeper to me was denied,
I
finally ended up as fifth shepherd,
I
was so upset that I cried.
My
mum thought my skill had been ignored,
And
my talent not allowed to shine through,
Which
just added to the misery,
But
I was only five – what could I do?
Rehearsals
were more than chaotic,
The
teachers didn’t know how to lead,
And
scripts were a complete waste of time,
Since
not one of us could read.
So
we did it by practising quite hard,
Repeating
scenes over and over again,
Learning
lines was a complete nightmare,
We
were children trying to play men.
There
was no proper stage to speak of,
You
could see it was heading for a great fall,
So
they just draped a large pair of curtains,
Right
across one end of the hall.
Costumes
were left up to the parents,
For
each to interpret as they chose,
With
no attempt to co-ordinate,
We
ended with an array of odd clothes.
The
shepherds used sheets and tea-towels,
There
were cardboard gold crowns for the kings,
The
Angel Gabriel was a fantastic sight,
Dwarfed
by a pair of white paper wings.
Moustaches
were drawn with burnt cork,
And
false beards stuck on that were itchy,
Nobody
could really see what they were doing,
And
the inn-keeper’s wife turned a touch bitchy.
Joseph
wore specs and a belted tunic,
Mary
appeared in virginal white,
As
they stumbled into Bethlehem,
And
inaudibly asked for a room for the night.
The
innkeeper, over-awed by the audience,
Forgot
his lines and burst into tears.
Lots
of shuffling at the edge of the stage,
Then
the fulfilment of our worst fears.
The
baby donkey, hired for the occasion,
Peed
on stage, as we’d all hoped that he would:
A
large pool spread between his feet,
And
surrounded the cast where they stood.
You
couldn’t get away from the squelching,
Though
the actors were never in danger,
But
most of the dialogue was lost,
As
ox and ass waded into the manger.
The
gold, the frankincense and myrrh,
Were
dropped on to the swaddled-up child,
But
the rising smell of fresh urine,
Was
driving the audience wild.
At
this point, the star fell from its perch,
And
knocked the Angel Gabriel out cold.
The
girls and boys started wailing,
And
mayhem ensued, it has to be told.
The
head teacher appeared with bucket and mop,
Halting
proceedings with a bilious wince.
That
brought an end to my acting career,
And
I’ve hated Christmas ever since!
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015
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