FURTHERMORE
By Gerry Moran
Some years back, a Fr Ronan Drury, the then Editor of The Furrow, made contact wondering if I would write a piece on how Christmas was different for me having recently retired from the teaching profession. The Furrow is a monthly journal for the contemporary church and enjoys an international reputation as a courageous and impartial forum for discussion. Contributors have included theologians, writers, poets (including Seamus Heaney) Catholics and other Christians. And now, much to my surprise, yours truly! This is an extended version of the piece Fr Drury published in The Furrow.
I love Christmas – love the lights, the hustle and bustle, the chirpy, Christmas greetings as I pass friends and acquaintances on the busy glittering streets. I love homecomings, family gatherings and reunions. I love midnight Mass, the stillness, the sacredness. I love Santa Claus, Christmas carols and Christmas cards. Yet, as much as I love Christmas, since I retired something is missing, or rather some people are missing. Children.
Come Christmas I am missing not one child, not two, not even 22, but nigh on 322! A primary school teacher, and a Principal, for most of my working life, come Christmastime I find myself missing school terribly, in particular those last few days leading up to December 25.
Above all I miss those infant faces, wide-eyed with anticipation and expectation of Santa’s arrival. I miss the joy, the excitement of Christmas brimming in their innocent eyes. I miss the cut-out Christmas trees and snowmen adorning their classrooms, decorating windows and walls, and I miss the magical atmosphere pervading the entire school.
And I always remember the crib in the corridor, handmade by a dear departed colleague, and the clusters of children huddled around it at lunchtime, enchanted by its warm, almost mystical glow. The figures – Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus, the shepherds, the animals all enthralling their curious minds not least the exotic-looking Three Wise Men whose strange and unusual gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh intrigued the children.
I loved the impromptu carol-services our Junior and Senior infant teachers occasionally conducted around the crib: ‘Silent Night’, ‘Noel’. ‘Little Donkey’ echoing imperfectly but oh so sweetly, and innocently, throughout the school as the wintry, dark December evenings drew in. And I can never forget the tree, the great big Christmas tree, a real one, standing to attention in the hallway, laden down, not with fairy lights or glittering, fragile orbs but with little hand-made paper lanterns, angels, and stars – creations from the children’s art & craft classes. And I can still smell the tree’s pungent, piney odour usurping, for once, the old, familiar smell of school.
And I miss the Christmas cards – arriving in dribs and drabs to my office. Miss the pride and satisfaction on each child’s face as, proud as punch of their choice, they’d hand me the card, their greeting and name carefully and, no doubt, laboriously written in their very best handwriting. I used to festoon my office door with those same cards, transforming that rectangle of brown timber, with Príomh Oide emblazoned on it, into a riot of crimson Santas, snowmen, reindeer and red-cheeked carol singers. I remember the presents – the book from a lone-parent, a box of Roses from the family who could ill-afford it and, the unexpected – and one to remember – half a dozen duck eggs! “From our farm,” the child proudly announced.
And I will always miss the madness, the mayhem of the morning of the Christmas holidays: the running with mince-pies to our sister school down the road, the box of chocolates for the lollipop lady, the bottle of spirits for our caretaker, the little something for the secretary, the signing of documents, reports and, of course, our own wee celebrations later in some cosy hostelry when the children had long gone and an eerie, empty silence descended on the corridors and classrooms.
My schooldays were definitely the best days of my life – the best Christmases of my life – especially those precious, almost sacred schooldays just before December 25 when the spirit of Christmas permeated the school, filling, flooding each corridor, each classroom, with a sense of mystery, awe and expectation.
Finally, I wish you all peace, joy and happiness this Christmas season.
