The Christmas Spirit by Allison Hall

A Jamaican Tale

THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT A Jamaican Tale Retold by Allison Hall, © Text Copyright Allison Hall Illustration © Respective owners

One December afternoon a tired, hungry stranger stepped out of the North Star bus at the road that led into Sherwood. With a black umbrella tucked under his arm, straw hat, plaid suit, staff and Dulcimina grip, he strode proudly into the village. Nestled in the valley and surrounded by the thick cone green mountains, the village was just now becoming visible, as a thick fog had covered it earlier in the morning. Now in this village people hardly spoke to one another. Christmas was just two days away and the tall fir tree at the village square was not transformed into a Christmas tree. There were no ornaments of gold, white and red, and no star on the fir tree’s top. No nativity scene or gifts for children below the tree. The streets were not bushed and sidewalks were not white washed. Will there be no dressing up of Maas Joe’s donkey as Rudolph the red nose reindeer? Where were the John Canoe dancers? Where was the Christmas spirit? The stranger stopped at the shop of John Riley, the butcher. His house was the first one people encountered when they entered the village. “Good day sir,” he said. “I am hungry and in need of a place to rest for the night. Could you help me please?” he asked. “Yuh sure you’re in the right community?” asked Mr. Riley, as he stared at the man’s outfit and chuckled.

“Sure do. I do believe the people of Sherwood are all good people,” the stranger replied. “Good people weh! Well, I have no extra room and no food to spare.” Disappointed, the stranger plodded on. As he strode along, inquisitive villagers peeped behind curtains, doors, and even trees. Others stopped what they were doing and laughed at his strange clothes. Despite their unkind gestures, he greeted the curious villagers with the most warming pleasantries: hellos, howdies, how-di-doos, smiles and nods. But no one returned them, except some children who too were drawn to his attire. They stopped playing games and followed him, not daring to get too close. He smiled at them. “God bless you children.” They giggled. The stranger went on to the house of Maas Gussie, a farmer. “How-di-doo sir?” he said. “I am hungry and in need of a place to rest for the night. Could you help me please?” “Me nuh have no lodgings or food for strangers. Plus, is pon de floor me sleep,” Maas Gussie replied. “Drought kill off everything this year, suh food scarce. No lodgings nuh in this village, suh yuh betta keep moving on son.” And so it went throughout the village. No one had food or shelter to share. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla soon drew the stranger to Miss Maizie’s house, at the foot of the hill. There was smoke coming from the window of her outside kitchen and she was in the house singing a hymn. He knocked on the door and she peeked through the window, looking very surprised at his clothing. “Good day my lady! Something smells good. What might you be baking?” he asked.

“Potato pudding for the children,” she said. “And who are you sar?” “I am but a tired, hungry stranger in need of lodgings for the night,” he said. “People nowadays too wicked! I can’t just put a stranger in me house suh,” she remarked. “You know what the good book says about welcoming strangers? Well, I could be that angel you know.” “Oh please! Angels nuh look suh!” Miss Maizie exclaimed. “My dear friend, since you won’t share your pudding with me; at least give me a stone from your beautiful garden?” said the stranger. “I am going to use it to make some soup.” “What!” exclaimed Miss Maizie, and she flung the door open. “And I have no friends.” “What! A kind-hearted lady like you, have no friends! ‘Tis a shame.” “Stone can mek soup? How does that taste?” “Delicious my dear lady! And God can turn stones into bread too.” “Well, there is a stone under the prayer plant,” she said, pointing to a smooth, grey river stone. “Mek mi si yuh turn that stone into bread and mek de soup nuh.” The children burst out into laughter. “Oh I will my new friend. I will. But let me make the soup first. The bread will come after.” “Whoo are you?” Miss Maizie asked.

“Just a stranger who needs a bit of food and a place to rest,” he replied. “Now, could you please lend me a pot and a ladle?” Miss Maizie hurried into her house and brought a large cauldron and ladle to man. “Thank you madam and please do bring the potato pudding for dessert.” The stranger took the pot and off he went to the village square, with the children following behind. He gathered some wood and made a fire a little distance from the fir tree. Then he placed the stone in the water in the cauldron. The excited children peeked in the pot, but the only thing they saw was water bubbling away and a stone in its middle. He stirred the pot and smiled. Then he lifted some in the ladle, blew on it and then poured it in his hand middle. “Pickneys, today you’ll see how this stone can make the tastiest soup ever!” he gave out. The stranger tasted the soup again, and then said, “I think it needs a beef bone though? What do you think little one?” “My fada a butcher,” said a little boy. “Im have whole heap a beef bone, and beef too,” “You don’t say,” said the man. “Me a guh run and ask ‘im fi some for yuh sir.” And off the boy went. “And do tell him to come for some stone soup!” the stranger shouted. “A child really shall lead the way,” he said and smiled “My grandma puts pumpkins in her soup,” said a little girl. “An’ my papa put yam, dasheen and coco inna fi him soup,” said another little boy.

“Oh please run and ask your mama, papas, uncles and aunties for these for me. Tell them they are all invited to have a bowl of stone soup.” Off the children ran to their homes. Down the hills and across the meadow they ran. Through pastures and fields, parted with cut stones, they raced gleefully, to spread the news of the stone soup. A crowd soon gathered in the square. They looked puzzled, but none spoke. “What are you cooking?” said Aunt Bee, the dressmaker, breaking the silence. “Stone soup,” said the stranger chirpily. “This stone is no ordinary one. It was taken from a special place and makes the best soup ever.” “Stone soup! Inna all me years, I never hear anybody use a stone to mek soup,” said Mr. Riley. “A how that taste?” enquired a man. “Delicious! But it would taste better with a beef bone,” the stranger said, as he tasted the soup. “Well, si some here,” said Mr. Riley, handing the stranger a bag filled with beef bones and cuts of beef. “Corn and potatoes would make it taste even better,” said the stranger. “I can give you that,” volunteered a lady. “An’ me have yams, dasheens and cocos,” said Maas Gussie pulling his jackass with its long tail. The stranger stirred and tasted the food and kept saying it would taste better with a little more a this, and a little more of that. Soon everyone rushed off to fetch all kinds of seasonings and other ingredients for the soup.

Miss Maizie carried fruit cakes and puddings for dessert. Other villagers brought more food and utensils. The village band came with music. Alas! A long table draped in bandana lay in the village square, right under the fir tree. It was filled with food: puddings, fruit cakes, curried chicken, rotis, rice, loaves of bread, jugs of sorrel drinks and many bowls and spoons. The table groaned under the pressure from the many dishes. This was indeed a potluck feast. The stranger took the ladle, and with the help of Miss Maizie and others, shared soup for everyone. It was the most delicious soup ever. Tis true! They ate. They danced. They laughed. They cried. They hugged. They forgave. They did not even remember why they were angry with each other. After the eating and merrymaking they looked at the stranger. “A who send yuh here? Weh yuh name?” they asked all at once. “God heals,” said the man. “And God sent me.” “We know God heals. But weh yuh name. You must have one?” they asked “Are you a warner man sar?” Mother Rita asked. “A magic inna de stone?” asked Maas Bigga. “No, I am not a warner man and there is no magic in the stone,” responded the stranger. “Yuh bring back de Christmas spirit though and now everybody happy,” uttered Joe-Joe. “No! You brought back the Christmas spirit today. Because of you, the world’s most delicious soup was cooked and a village is now united. Your hearts were hard as stones, but today they are soft and warm like fresh bread.” Miss Maizie burst into tears. Everyone offered the stranger the best rooms in their homes to stay, but he declined and said he had other places to go. He promised to return again or Christmas morning, or send a friend. Then he smiled, gave Miss Maizie the stone and softly said, “You prayed madam.” He

took his grip, bid everyone goodbye and headed off. As he walked away a thick fog descended on the village hiding his view. The villagers were very puzzled. “What a man move like duppy!” said Maas Charlie. The perplexed villagers chatted late into the night, and then left for their homes. Everyone wondered who he could be. They were now even more excited about Christmas and looked forward to the stranger’s return. On Christmas Eve, Jonkunnu masquerade awakened everyone early in the morning with drumming and dancing.

The tall fir tree was decorated with colourful ornaments. It had

suddenly gotten so tall overnight, that it was very difficult to place the star at the top. But the villagers were not fussy. They were too excited and busy to worry about the star. They bushed the streets, whitewashed sidewalks and children hung socks by bedsides. The men made a merry go round and planted sticks in the ball ground for cricket match. And at midnight, when the last Christmas carol was sung at the mass at the church, a most astonishing thing occurred. A bright light from the Christmas tree shone across the village. It pierced through door and windows. The villagers rushed from the church, to the tree. The brightest star ever lay at the top of the Christmas tree, and a little below it was an angel looking down on everyone. Together, they beamed so much light, that it was difficult to look at them. Other villagers joined the onlookers and looked in awe. “Who put it up deh?” asked Maas Halford. “Could it be ‘im?” asked Mr. Riley. “Yes! He was the Christmas angel. God sent him,” remarked Miss Maizie. “Yuh really believe in those things Maizie?” said Maas Halford.

“Oh yes! God sent him fi heal us. I prayed that God would and he did,” replied Miss Maizie. “I don’t think he coming back yuh know,” said Mr. Riley. “No sah! God send ‘im to remind us seh ‘im spirit live inna we hearts,” rejoiced Mother Rita. No one really knew who placed the star or angel on the tree top. When the villagers questioned the bus driver and conductor about the stranger, they said the bus did not come by that day. The villagers did not care to find out any more, for they realised that forgiveness, kindness, generosity and love was the true Christmas spirit.

Authors Notes: The Christmas Spirit is a humorous retelling of the Stone Soup that has its traditional roots in Europe. This beautiful Jamaican incarnation of a classic story is punctuated with many symbols which makes the story so powerful. The Christmas spirit in the story symbolises the angels of Christmas or the . The Jamaican Patois or Creole is used in this story, as it is language of the folk. The language was formed when West African captives were enslaved and forced to speak English, the language of their British slave masters. Jamaican Patois has many English words or derivatives; however the pronunciation and vocabulary are different from English. English still remains the official language of Jamaica.