A Belhaven Hill Nativity

As usual, there are a number of surnames of pupils, or people linked to the school, embedded  in the story.

 

It was a cold, Black night as a bedraggled pair made their way towards the White glow of lights in the distance.

 

The Belhaven Hill promised land was suffering from a terrible, double dip recession and revenues were down. As a result, the governors had ordered a census of staff members in order to try and discover just who was (or wasn’t) doing what and who was in charge of key tasks. Savings, and possibly cuts, needed to be made.

 

So it came to pass that on a cold winter’s evening, the bedraggled, Rawson couple made their weary way towards the drawing room for a meeting. As they drew nearer, it became apparent the wife was being helped along by her husband. She was heavy with child and could not walk much further. They had been walking all through the night (the  girls’ house is deceptively Farr from the drawing room; and the way is sometimes lined with thieves and Roberts).

 

The man helped his wife to a hall chair and knocked on the door. Eventually the innkeeper (this place really does feel a bit like an inn at times) opened his door.

 

“Yes!” he boomed out in his characteristically gentle way and his voice reverberated around the Hall and shook the Bannisters. “Can’t you see that I am busy trying to work out how we can continue to afford posh teas and Mars Bars? I thought I told you that we are not full enough!”

 

The young man at the door lifted his eyes and entreated, “Sorry me Laird, surely you have room for us – as you can see, my wife is Weir-y and heavy with child. She is exhausted an’ I am Keen an’ we have tried everywhere else an’ no one will give us a place to stay or suitably flexible working hours. We think we are Dewar break.”

 

“Again. As I always say, I am sick and tired of demanding staff, pregnant women, maternity leave and especially maternity pay. I hate people who can’t be bothered. We have no room for you here and we have no Barnes available. However, I think you might find some space in the stables behind the school – we have recently had it refurbished and the young stable maid who was there has been promoted.”

 

The young man wept with relief and soon the couple were settled in the stables.

 

It was not long before the child was born. They wrapped him in Ferrand sacks and placed him in a manger made of Willough, (by that the only thing available). The room was lit by the Flame of a single candle. As he lay sleeping, the wind howled outside while the animals gathered in Huddles ton the floor.

The sheep went, “Bar-.”

“-low,” went the cows.

 

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door and in rushed a shepherd. Angels had passed on a message to him and had ordered that he bring a gift. He had followed the bright spotlight on the top of the stables. He was an untamed looking man from the fells with rough stubble and a wild stare in his eye (he did after all have twins to care for). 

 

“Sorry I am late,” he stammered, “I fell in a Brooke, in fact, a couple of Brooks and lost my way. But don’t worry, I have brought my gift. Here, it’s a ... Curry for you all!”

 

 

Later that evening, three wise men arrived to greet and Seymour of the infant. They had been drawn there from far afield, over difficult Rhodes and had also followed the bright spotlight above the roof of the stable block.

 

The first was a short man of indeterminable age. He wore a Peeked hat and had travelled all the way from the valleys of Wales. He brought with him a gift. It was the elixir of life (half empty unfortunately). “Robson of this on his chest and he will stay healthy forever,” he said and handed the gift to the parents.

 

The second wise man was a larger, jolly faced man, who shivered as we entered the stable and muttered to himself, “Brr, it’s blowing a Gale out there.” He had travelled from the Green hills of Yorkshire and he bore a limited edition, signed Elton John CD as a gift. It was gold and encrusted with precious, semiprecious and other Gladstones. “Let the child listen to this and he will be happy and no crying will he make,” he said as he handed over the gift, a tear of regret welling in his eye.

 

The third wise man was a tall, handsome young man from distant (and warm) southern lands. He had recently shaved off a very dashing moustache and he too bore a gift for the child. “Don’t bother with any of that wimpy stuff,” he sneered and lobbed a cricket Ball to the parents. “Watson doesn’t want to play cricket? Just make sure that the boy can catch and throw and he will be healthy, happy and fit, all his life.”

 

As the handsome, wise man from the south backed away from the child, an angel appeared. She was a new angel and not unaffected by the cold, she gave a little Clough before she began:

“People of the Belhaven Hill promised land, I bear good tidings of comfort and joy, of comfort and joy. This child is a sign of things to come; the school is good, it will thrive and will be full. So let us reJoicey and have a cheer for Belhaven Hill. Hip hip, de la Hey!’

And off she flew.