Christmas Eve

Dark, mysterious and magical time of year now, as the sun dips low and the trees edging the quarry rattle and creak in the wind. I walk through the copse to emerge into the watery fields, where Katy breaks into
a joyous circling run, then stops, panting, to drink at the brimming pool. 

On my way to London the eve before solstice, I listened to Menotti’s Amahl and the Night Visitors, as I do every year on the days before Christmas, and drifted into another world – shutting out the noisy train. I’m always so moved by this opera, sentimental though it may be, with its tale of the Three Kings visiting a poor crippled child and his mother, and the blessings that follow. I heard it for the first time during my first year of
grammar school, where music and singing were studied and taught very seriously. There were the older girls, so grown up with – with what seemed to me to be such rich pure voices. I was captivated. Have you seen a child...the words and the music still bring tears to my eyes, and I am eleven years old again, enchanted by the mystery and beauty of Christmas.