I`ll tell you a tale about Christmas,
When its meaning was wonder and joy,
So I`ll have to go back to my childhood
When yours truly was just a small boy.

My story starts with the depression,
When the workers all went on the dole,
Of old England way back in the thirties,
And my Dad got a job, heavin` coal.

We were luckier than some, I can tell you,
`Cos we had a roof over our head,
There were plenty of folks who were starving,
And many who ended up dead.

Now Christmas don`t stop when you`re hungry,
Or you`re chilled to the bone with no heat,
For the sick and the lame and the homeless,
For the beggar who stands on the street.

No-one at home spoke of presents,
As for money, there wasn`t enough,
Our Christmas was a scrag end of mutton,
And a prayer that it wouldn`t be tough!

I remember it had just started snowing
Christmas Eve of the year thirty two,
We sat by the window and watched it,
As Ma dished up our potato`s and stew.

It was then that the miracle happened,
For my father had started to sing,
Hallelujah to Him in the Highest,
Halleluja to our new born King.

A strange light invaded our kitchen,
And it seemed like it opened our eyes.
Christmas ain`t about turkey and stuffing,
Plum pudding and juicy mince-pies.

If you`re suffering...ill, or you`re homeless,
Or you`re rich, and with servants abound,
Christmas comes to us all through the Spirit,
Of that Babe who lay sleeping so sound.

Now I often think back to my childhood,
To the squalor of poverty street,
Of my Dad, and my Ma and the children,
And a coal fire without any heat.

So I don`t count my Christmas in money,
Or the gifts that are put round the tree,
My Christmas is Mary and Joseph,
Their Son Jesus who died to save me.

Geoffrey Kennell.