JEFF PRICE lives and works in Newcastle. He is the founder and organisor of the Poetry Vandals. 
        
        He currently stundying for the Masters Degree in Creative Writing at Newcastle University.
 

Christmas Day 1956

On this day, for once the family was agreed
The early mass was the best mass
No parish church for us on Christmas Day 
With it’s mangy Manger and mismatched models

My Brother and my sister and I 
Wanted to go to St Mary’s Cathedral
To be impressed and intimidated
By the serried rows of worshippers 
Below the towering painted ceiling
Beyond the fingers of the gothic arches
Where disgruntled stonemasons and plasters
Had left obscene messages
Out of the prying eyes of Priests
Scrawling their contempt closer to God

I wanted to stand beside the life size models
In the Nativity scene on the side alter
I was the eight year old who looked up to Joseph
No one was giving him any attention either
Mary was the Mother of God
Jesus was the Son of God
Joseph was the man who brought up someone else’s Son

Mam had laid our Christmas clothes
On the settee 
Next to the Christmas presents
The only day in the year
We wore an entire new outfit
Socks, underwear, shirt, shoes, tie, trousers and coat
With my Mother’s strict instruction to keep them clean
Or else
To be removed and stored away as soon as we returned
Though, as smartness was still the order of the day
We dressed in our now demoted second best clothes

The Trolley buses had the day off 
Westgate Road had a dusting of snow
As we walked down past the big lamp
We greeted everyone with:
Merry Christmas 
And were blessed in return with a
And the same to you
My Father would confiscate any sweets that were pressed in to our hands
It was important to have communion on Christmas morning
Catholic protocol demanded that you eat nothing before mass
Our hollow stomachs would grumble throughout the service
The sound drowned in a sea of singing

After church and before Christmas dinner
We could open our presents
Never a great deal, a sock stuffed with 
Mandarin oranges, monkey nuts in their shells
Chocolate money, an apple and maybe a toffee or two
There were no other surprises
My Sister has already perused the presents 
Searched the cupboards and the hidden places
So she could divulge the meagre contents 
I’m not telling you what you have got but you can wear it on your head

Once our Christmas feast had been consumed 
My Father demanded we cleaned all the plates, pot and pans
Your poor Mother has been slaving over a hot stove all day. 

He would inform us and if we protested
But Dad we are playing…

He would cut us short with a…
It doesn’t take a minute if we all muck in



Mary’s Girl Child

Mary I am afraid I have to tell you
I know your head’s in a whirl
But it’s not the little boy you expected
You have given birth to a girl

I was told by the Lord Jehovah
I don’t believe it, it’s not true
He said it was the Messiah 
Look! All his clothes are blue

I delivered hundreds of babies
Since before you were born
And I can tell the difference
When from the womb they are torn

Three wise men can not be wrong
I am positive, I got it right
They said the Saviour of the World
Would be born here tonight

Then God the Father spoke
My gift you would shun
Is this the thanks I get
After every thing I have done

She is the finest of your race
I am sorry, it has to be said
But if she’s not satisfactory 
I’ll send a man instead.



Christmas Shopping

Geordie boys with heads down 
Smash and grab raid for the wife’s presents
They are in and out faster than a randy dog
Leaving all other Christmas duties to her

The less fortunate are towed in the slipstream of a partner’s purse
Acting as reluctant and sullen bearer of bags

Feckless youths stalk the fringes of the Mall
Watching for the weak and wounded 
Shopping in other people carrier bags
CCTV records the crime but no one has the time 
To apprehend the petty villains
The shopkeepers don’t mind as long
As they have had the chance to rob you first



Countdown…

Seven days to go until Christmas Day
The festive decorations are up
Lights flash like snow in a headlight
The tree leans like a drunk at an office party

Five days to go until the school holidays
The task list grows like Jack’s beanstalk
We shop for cards, cake, nephews and nieces
Together, we face our first Christmas as orphans

We cleaned up after the school fare
The bottle from the bottle tombola drunk
Baby Jesus has been swaddled and cribbed
Seven days to go, time to put the sprouts on