Posts Tagged ‘Magi’

Chloe by Ken Skehan

While I’ve been snowbound, reading childhood books for the first time in decades – what were your top titles? – and generally fed up with time filler telly, I tugged off a bookcase a lovely little book that seems perfect for these conditions.

‘A Cotswold Christmas’ [Tempus Publishing Ltd, Stroud, Gloucestershire UK] is a delicious mix of historical anecdote, literary tradition and whimsy. Plus grand old photos including the actual River Severn frozen jagged ice bank to bank in 1940.

By kind permission of editor and Cotswold historian June Lewis-Jones, here’s the piece I wrote for the anthology:

‘Every Christmas I sense relief rising off my audiences like steam from a plum pudding. While you listen to a story, whining children and demanding mothers and the whole miserable debt-inducing race to shop, cook and shop again for the Big Day do not exist.

‘In the world of story, Christmas snow lies deep and crisp and even. Wolves howl in the approved manner, forests are satisfyingly mysterious. Ugly women become beautiful by the power of love and kindness (a magic that works in any world). A beggar discovers the meaning of generosity. And it doesn’t matter how fake my Babushka accent is, people laugh when she scolds the Magi and hearts melt when she offers the newborn Prince of Peace all the trinkets she’d gathered for the children she never had.

‘Traditional stories carry the identity of nations, the memories of communities, in myths, legends, folktales. This worldwide heritage contains powerful and moving reminders about what it means to be fully human. Morals and messages underlie every tale. Thoughtless choices have results you can’t imagine, or control. Beware what you wish for – you might get it! At the same time, every listener interprets the tale in their own way.

‘Storytelling is a spontaneous art form. No scripts, no reading out of a book. The storyteller is like a jazz musician – following a theme; drawing on artistry, tradition and adrenalin to make magic.

‘Christmas audiences can be merry, sour or stodged to the ears with festive fare. I have to assess quickly if the telling needs to be crisp and light, rich and romantic, or just over and done with as fast as possible! (…)

‘All year round I go for glamour. At Christmas the serious glitter comes out. Little black dresses, wild child evening wear (pink or peacock!) with swirling duster coats, red and green, and mega-sparkly earrings. Glitter eye shadows, bright lipstick. And, of course, the leopard-spotted or scarlet high heel boots. It’s the middle of winter, it’s England: people are in desperate need of cheering up!

‘In the Cotswolds, one audience can contain a mind-bogglingly mixed bunch: from fusty professors to shiny IT experts to tweedy young WI ladies. Invariably there are weary, wind-blasted farmers. Two golden rules apply: Do Not Get Between An Audience And Their Food; and, Don’t Start Later Than Nine-Thirty. Cotswold people work hard and drive long distances: come evening, they don’t appreciate being kept waiting for supper. By 9.30pm, they’re sleepy, energy for listening dwindles, and I’ve learned to wrap up by 10.30pm at the latest.

‘I lost my heart to the Cotswolds when I was eight years old. It’s a privilege to live here, and to work at what I love. Doesn’t matter if it’s a cosy country inn or a cruise liner-sized hotel all chintz and no taste. Doesn’t matter if it’s a glittering dinner party or a rickety village hall in some hamlet that’s not even on the map. Faces light up with joy and wonder, the atmosphere swirls with dreaming and laughter. Those winter tales and festive fables hold a power which calls to the true spirit of Christmas in everyone.

‘So, next November and December, I’ll be finding my way in the pitch dark, nursing my poor old car down ancient lanes, in gusts of rain, bouncing through puddles with potholes as deep as Australia. There’ll be skies quivering with stars, the smell of frost, bare branches against the moon. Several nights a week I’ll be coming home to hot chocolate, happy cats and (the secret of comfortable country life) my electric blanket!

‘It is very special to be a storyteller in the Cotswolds at Christmas.’

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