So we really had a White Christmas - the first one for a good few years!

In some areas temperatures dipped to minus 15 degrees. The main roads have been kept clear, but snow is still lying frozen on the pavements in our village, and walking on them is difficult. I took those photographs a few days ago from our back garden, using the close-up lens for the first one.

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Last year I included this poem in my Christmas blog. I’ve discovered that there are quite a few versions of “’Twas the day after Christmas,” but I think this is the best one, so here it is again -

‘Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I'd nibbled, the eggnog I'd taste.
All the holiday parties had gone to my waist.

When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).
I'd remember the marvellous meals I'd prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,
The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese
And the way I'd never said, "No thank you, please."

So, away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip,
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
Till all the additional ounces have vanished.

I won't have a cookie--not even a lick.
I'll want only to chew on a long celery stick.
I won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.

I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore,
But isn't that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!

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The painting I’ve chosen this week is “Thames Frost Fair” by Thomas Wyke

Between the 15th and the 19th centuries it was a common occurrence for the Thames in London to freeze over. In 1683-84 it lasted two months and I believe that’s when the painting was done.

John Evelyn the writer/diarist wrote this description -

Coaches plied from Westminster to the Temple, and from several other stairs, to and fro, as in the streets - sleds, sliding with skeetes, a bull-baiting, horse and coach races, puppet plays and interludes, cooks, tipling and other lewd places, so that it seemed to be a bacchanalian triumph, or carnival on the water.
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LOOKING FORWARD TO BLOGGING IN 2010

I’ve been surprised at the interest shown in “Wise Men Say….” I began this blog in February 2006 and one week recently the site had 218 “hits.” From 18th July to 11th December there were 1776 visitors from 75 different countries including a fair number from very unlikely places.

I’ve very much enjoyed preparing these blogs. “80 plus” is gradually changing, for I’m afraid I’ve run out of boyhood memories. “John’s Quiet Corner” is my favourite, but I realise that both that site and “Haiku Homestead” don’t have the same general appeal.

“Wise Men Say….” will continue daily.
“80 plus”, “John’s Quiet Corner” and “Haiku Homestead” will be updated every Wednesday.
I’m hoping that it will be possible to run a second short series of “Scottish Tales from the Other World.”

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For many years a great feature of Hogmanay in Scotland was the TV show “Scotch and Wry” with Rikkie Fulton as Rev I. M. Jolly. This clip is from the 1978 programme.


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The New Year lies before you
Like a spotless tract of snow
Be careful how you tread on it
For every mark will show. (Anon)
 
WISHING EVERYONE A HAPPY NEW YEAR

Last week I got a surprise to see that our village Community Council had erected a Christmas tree not far from our house.

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This is Burl Ives singing “Santa Claus is comin’ to town”


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As I sat in my window last evening,
The letterman brought in to me
A little gilt-edged invitation sayin':
"Gilhooley, come over to tea."
I knew that the Fogarties sent it.
So I went, just for old friendship's sake.
The first thing they gave me to tackle
Was a slice of Miss Fogarty's cake.

There were plums and prunes and cherries.
There were citrons and raisins and cinnamon, too
There was nutmeg, cloves and berries,
And a crust that was nailed on with glue.
There were caraway seeds in abundance,
Such that work up a fine stomach ache
That could kill a man twice after eating a slice
Of Miss Fogarty's Christmas cake.

Miss Mulligan wanted to try it.
But, really, it wasn't no use,
For we worked in it over an hour,
And we couldn't get none of it loose
Till Murphy came in with a hatchet
And Kelly came in with a saw.
That cake was enough, by the powers above,
For to paralyze any man's jaw.

Miss Fogarty, proud as a peacock,
Kept smiling and blinking away
Till she flipped over Flanagan's brogans.
And she spilt the home brew in her tea.
"Aye, Gilhooley," she says "you're not eatin'.
Try a little bit more, for me sake."
And "No, Miss Fogarty," says I,
"For I've had quite enough of your cake."

Maloney was took with the colic.
O'Donald, a pain in his head.
McNaughton lay down on the sofa,
And he swore that he wished he was dead.
Miss Bailey went into hysterics,
And there she did wriggle and shake.
And everyone swore they were poisoned
Just from eating Miss Fogarty's cake. (Anon)

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Somehow, not only for Christmas,
But all the long year through,
The joy that you give to others
Is the joy that comes back to you.

And the more you spend in blessing
The poor and lonely and sad,
The more of your heart's possessing
Returns to you glad. (John Greenleaf Whittier)

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Something different now.  The words are shown below.



Go, tell it on the mountain
Over the hills and everywhere
Go, tell it on the mountain
That Jesus is born

Down in the lowly manger
The humble Christ was born
And God sent us salvation
That blessed Christmas morn

Go, tell it etc.

While shepherds kept their watch
On silent flocks by night
Behold, throughout the heavens
There shone a holy light

Go, tell it etc.

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Sing hey! Sing hey!
For Christmas Day;
Twine mistletoe and holly.
For a friendship glows
In winter snows,
So let us all be jolly! (Anon)

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WISHING EVERYONE A HAPPY CHRISTMAS

This is an 18th century nativity painting. The artist is not known.

The oldest Christmas carol we have is usually said to be the 12th century Veni Emmanuel - O come, O come, Emmanuel. However, it has been pointed out that this is actually an Advent carol, and that the oldest English one is Susanni (this word from the old German means “sing to sleep”) in a 14th century manuscript.

Here are the words -

A little child there is y-born,
Eia, eia susanni, susanni, susanni,
And he sprang out of Jesse’s thorn,
To save us all that were forlorn.
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

Now Jesus is the childès name,
Eia, eia susanni, susanni, susanni,
And Mary mild she is his dame,
And so our sorrow has turned to game.
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

It fell upon the high midnight,
Eia, eia susanni, susanni, susanni,
The stars they shone both fair and bright,
The angels sang with all their might,
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

Three kings came with their prèsents,
Eia, eia susanni, susanni, susanni,
Of myrrh and gold and frankincense,
As clerkès sing in their sequence,
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

Now sit we down upon our knee,
Eia, eia susanni, susanni, susanni,
And pray we to the Trinity
Our help and succour for to be,
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

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When I was a boy, Christmas Day was just like any other day. We were on holiday from school certainly, but people in offices, factories and shops were working as usual. Hogmanay and the New Year were more important, and it would have been difficult to find a shop open on New Year’s Day.

I believe there was midnight mass in Roman Catholic churches on Christmas Eve, but the other churches didn’t have services, either then or on Christmas Day.

Each year we children went to the Sunday School party where we played games and received a gift from Santa Claus. I remember there was always a big Christmas tree, beautifully decorated, and I’m pretty sure that very few people in those days would have a tree in their homes.

Like most folk, our living room had coloured paper decorations round the walls and extending across the ceiling. This transformed our home into something really exciting, and from then on, Rita and I would be shouting our requests up the chimney. I must add that I was most annoyed when I discovered that Santa wouldn’t hear us, indeed that there was no such person! Shame!

Our parents usually took us to Glasgow to see Santa Claus in a big store. On one occasion we were passing through a number of corridors lined with toys and novelties, when we came to a huge teddy bear, taller than an adult. As we passed it, my father took hold of its paw, and said “How d’you do?” and it’s head fell off and rolled along the floor!!!

It wasn’t till the late 1940s that Scotland began to make more of Christmas. Perhaps the change was brought about by our servicemen and women coming back to civvy street, having experienced Christmas church services elsewhere. That was certainly the case in our own church when the Service of Nine Carols and Lessons was introduced. I think it would sometime later that services on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were begun.

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This is a 16th century carol “Gaudete“ sung by the Mediaeval Baebes


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I came across this poem last week. It was new to me, and I think it’s probably American.

I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas,
Mommy and Daddy are mad.
I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas,
'Cause I ain't been nuttin' but bad.

Broke my bat on Johnny's head,
Somebody snitched on me.
I hid a frog in sister's bed,
Somebody snitched on me.
I spilled some ink on Mommy's rug,
I made Tommy eat a bug,
Bought some gum with a penny slug,
Somebody snitched on me.
I won't be seeing Santa Claus,
Somebody snitched on me.
He won't come visit me because
Somebody snitched on me.
Next year I'll be going straight,
Next year I'll be good, just wait,
I'd start now, but it's too late.
Somebody snitched on me.
So you better be good whatever you do,
'Cause if you're bad, I'm warning you,
You'll get nuttin' for Christmas.

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I found this little video amusing. Please stick with it to the end.



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This photograph of our tree I took either last year or the year before. We’ve had it for 26 years and each Christmas I’m outvoted when I suggest dispensing with it. And so any time now, my job will be to bring it down from the attic and try to get in the way as little as possible while Jean puts it together and does the decorating and lights.

We also have a small fibre-optic tree, plus another small one which belonged to my parents and must be about 40 years old!







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When I was a young boy, I looked forward every week to the day my comic The Rainbow arrived, and it was a special treat if the Annual was among my Christmas presents. I remember the comic had a picture story which ran for years about a boy and his father who lived in a submarine and had adventures all over the world. The front page featured Tiger Tim and his friends, and here are a few of them.

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 This poem is in broad Scots, but I’m hoping the general meaning will be clear to everyone. The writer was Sir Alexander Gray (1882-1968), a Scottish civil servant.

Twas a cauld, cauld nicht i' the back o' the year;
The snaw lay deep, and the stars shone clear;
And Mary kent that her time was near,
As she cam’ to Bethlehem.

When Joseph saw the toon sae thrang,
Quo' he: “I houp I be na wrang,
But I'm thinkin' we'll find a place ere lang,”
But there wasna nae room for them.

She quo', quo' she: “O Joseph loon,
Rale tired am I, and wad fain lie doon.
Is there no a bed in the hail o' the toon?
For farrer I canna gae.”

At the ale-hoose door she keekit ben,
But there was sic a steer o' fremmyt men,
She thocht till hirsel': “I dinna ken
What me and my man can dae.”

And syne she spak: “We'll hae to lie
I' the byre this nicht amang the kye
And the cattle beas', for a body maun try
To thole what needs maun be.”

And there amang the strae and the corn,
While the owsen mooed, her bairnie was born.
O, wasna that a maist joyous morn
For sinners like you and me?

For the bairn that was born that nicht i' the sta'
Cam doon frae Heaven to tak awa'
Oor fecklessness, and bring us a'
Safe hame in the hender-en'.

Lord, at this Yule-tide send us licht,
Hae mercy on us and herd us richt.
For the sake o' the bairnie born that nicht,
O, mak’ us better men! 

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 The following verse, part of one of Alexander Gray’s poems, can be seen on the Canongate wall at the Scottish Parliament.

This is my country,
The land that begat me.
These windy spaces
Are surely my own.
And those who toil here
In the sweat of their faces
Are flesh of my flesh,
And bone of my bone.

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This video is “Christmas Pipes” featuring Celtic Woman at the Helix Centre in Dublin. They are Chloe Agnew, Lisa Kelly, Orla Fallon, Meav Ni Mhaolchatha,  and Mairead Nesbitt the violinist.



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Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to
the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the
old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport
the traveller back to his own fireside and quiet home!
(Charles Dickens)

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This is Lochnagar in the Grampian mountains.

I first came across the Scottish song “Dark Lochnagar” when I was playing organ in a local club. Quite a number of the cabaret artistes had it in their repertoire, and it often cropped up during the sessions when members of the audience had the opportunity to entertain.

Many folk don’t know that the words were written by an Englishman. The poet Lord Byron 1788-1824 spent part of his early life in that area, and his love of Lochnagar inspired him to produce those verses -

Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses,
In you let the minions of luxury rove,
Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes,
Though still they are sacred to freedom and love.
Yet Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains,
Round their white summits the elements war,
Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,
I sigh for the valley of dark Lochnagar.

Ah! There my young footsteps in infancy wandered,
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was my plaid.
On chieftains long perished my memory pondered
As daily I strode thro' the pine covered glade.
I sought not my home till the day's dying glory
Gave place to the rays of the bright Polar star.
For fancy was cheered by traditional story,
Disclosed by the natives of dark Lochnagar!

Years have rolled on, Lochnagar, since I left you!
Years must elapse ere I tread you again.
Though nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you,
Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain.
England, thy beauties are tame and domestic
To one who has roamed over mountains afar
Oh! for the crags that are wild and majestic,
The steep frowning glories of dark Lochnagar.

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FORGOTTEN FAVOURITES - This is “J’attendrai” sung by Tino Rossi in 1938. Born in Corsica, he made hundreds of records and appeared in more than 25 films. The translation of the song is shown below.


I will wait day and night, I will wait forever for your return,
I will wait, for the bird which flies away will one day search for the one left behind in the nest.
The time hurries by echoing sadly in my heavy heart.
And still I"ll await your return.

The flowers fade, the fire dies. A shadow glides over the garden.
The clock makes its slow, slow sounds, I think I hear your footsteps.
The wind brings me faraway sounds
Standing at my door, I listen in vain.
Alas, nothing, nothing at all, comes for me.

I will wait, etc.

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During my time as a club musician, I met some very talented amateurs. It was rare for singers to have their music with them, and I had to follow them as best I could. Since they usually didn’t know in which key their song was set, I would ask them to start on their own, and after a couple of bars I was able to join in with a suitable accompaniment.

I must mention that my knowledge of “pop” goes no further forward than 1960, and at times I was probably the only person in the club who didn’t know the number being sung. Fortunately the drummer knew his stuff, and was a big help to me.

Of course all the professional artistes had band scores, most of them very well written, and playing them was a challenge I really enjoyed.

For a while I played occasionally for cabaret at a golf club, and it was there I met one of their members - a very amusing amateur comedian. He reminded me of the American George Burns, and the audience loved his casual, relaxed style. I was so keen on his act, that I arranged for him to appear in the club where I was resident. And I was completely shocked! He was a flop! The poor man, away from his usual group of friends, had a real struggle to raise a laugh.

That was the last time I ever recommended an entertainer.

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  This British Film Institute clip shows London street scenes in 1903. It would be interesting to know how many horses there were in London streets at that time. And if there were many accidents. It looked as if it would be quite dangerous for a pedestrian to cross the road, and it seemed that many were taking quite a chance hurrying in front of those horses.


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A haiku -

at the foot clinic
embarrassment
an odd pair of socks

More today at HAIKU HOMESTEAD
http://haikuhomestead.blogspot.com

This Friday on SCOTTISH TALES FROM THE OTHER WORLD
“True Thomas and the Elfin Queen”
http://scottishtalesfromtheotherworld.blogspot.com

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