Christmas Speech Night

Tonight, our homeschool support group hosted a Christmas Speech Night where the students could perform, memorized or not, a holiday-themed selection of poetry, a dramatic reading, or some other informative article. My daughter, who HATES public speaking and avoids it whenever possible, decided at the last minute to read the following from Christmas Customs and Traditions by Frank Muir. Thankfully for her nerves, the effort was well received.

THE KISSING BOUGH

In his book The English Festivals (London, 1947), the poet and glass-engraver Laurence Whistler has shown that in many parts of rural England there was an alternative to the Christmas tree called a kissing bough. This was a spherical framework bound with box, rosemary or some other evergreen, inside which red apples dangled from coloured ribbons. Fixed to the strip of metal or osier that formed the circumference of the sphere were coloured candles. The whole thing was then hung up in a prominent place and mistletoe tied beneath it.

One year my family decided that a kissing bough might be more fun than the usual tree. Out came the pliers and the wire. Simple craftsmanship. As we did not grow either box or rosemary in the garden we chose pagan ivy. This we bound round the wire frame. Next came the seven apples suspended on red ribbons. So far no problems, but where to put it? The hall ceiling was too low to hang a four-foot, round, verdant football. The answer seemed to be to hang it above the staircase. This entailed climbing a ladder, chiseling the paint out of the joints on the outside of the window overlooking the stairs, and then pushing a five-foot length of wood through the gap between the bottom of the window and the frame. Inside, this piece of wood stuck out over the stairs like a gibbet. Next we threw up some nylon washing line with a guaranteed breaking-strain of half a ton --- essential for our kissing bough --- and hauled the mighty structure up into position. With the aid of a step-ladder the candles were fixed on. The village shop had run out of the little red ones so we had to make do with the leftovers from last year’s power cuts. It really looked rather Christmassy. I sent my wife back up the step-ladder to light the candles while I fetched the garden hose from the garage. Then we all stood round and watched the candlelight reflecting off the red apples and the draught from the partly opened window blowing the drips of wax on to the dogs. What better way of celebrating Christmas Eve --- picking wax out of Afghan hound coats?