Play It Again Little Shepherds by Maggie Cobbett

Play It Again, Little Shepherds!

by Maggie Cobbett

The countdown is underway. Baubles, bright lights, crackers, department store Santas, excessive drinking and eating, going into debt – but no, surely ‘T’ is for tea towels at this time of year and we all know what that implies. Yes, the Nativity Play, which never fails to inspire tears of joy and laughter.

Who can resist the small lisping angel, halo askew, who announces the coming of the Baby Jesus? Well, you might be surprised at the competiveness and one-upwomanship that can strike in the run up to Christmas. Years ago, when I was chosen to be the Angel Gabriel, the halo I was given had gold paper on both sides so that I could turn round and make a dignified exit. The rest of the Heavenly Host had to keep their backs firmly to the wall and their mothers were furious. Accusations of favouritism flew around until the vicar, in despair, had to cycle to Woolworth’s for more gold paper.

Had things changed by the time my own children came along? Not that I ever noticed. Considerable lobbying took place in the weeks leading up to casting the main parts, with mothers falling over each other to offer their assistance. One woman I knew secured the part of Joseph for each of her sons in turn by offering the use of the family donkey, but only if Stephen, Stuart, Simon etc. could lead him into Bethlehem. The pecking order was soon established, from glorious angels bedecked with tinsel to humble shepherds trailing their fathers’ dressing gowns and mothers’ best tea towels. A mother one year was in tears because her son had been given the part of Third King, which made him an also-ran in her eyes. Another was furious when her daughter, as the Innkeeper’s wife, had no lines and was told to reject the weary travellers

with only a firm shake of the head. This, I discovered later, was because the previous child with the part had thought it rude to turn them away and invited them in for a ‘nice cup of tea’, reducing the audience to helpless laughter. Of course, we had bored shepherds picking their noses and shoving their tea towels into their dressing gown pockets, exasperated angels punching each other, Mary yanking the baby out of the manger by its foot, Joseph losing his beard and his temper and at least one of the Kings refusing to hand over his gift. Scenery wobbled, nervous children forgot their lines and were elbowed in the ribs by their neighbours, the donkey pooed on stage and the leading shepherd skidded to a halt just as the front row of the audience braced itself for the impact. None of this mattered. Mistakes were all part of the experience and no self respecting parent should care. Eyes fixed dotingly on our own children, we missed most of it anyway, at least until the video went on sale. I wish I had one of the time when our younger son, taking part in his first Sunday School play as the little lamb, broke from the restraining hand of the First Shepherd (his older brother) who was leading him down the aisle and disappeared. The play continued and I suddenly became aware that the congregation’s attention had switched from a hillside near Bethlehem to the pulpit. A small head appeared over the top and a piping voice began to sing, “I’m the king of the castle”. Everyone thought it was hilarious and ‘little lost sheep’ jokes flew around for months afterwards. There have been many discussions in recent years about the appropriateness of nativity plays now that people in our society hold many different religious beliefs or none at all, but I for one hope that this long cherished tradition will endure.

A Yorkshire girl through and through, Maggie Cobbett lives on the edge of the Dales. With five books to her credit, she also writes short stories, features and even the occasional poem. Her many travels, as well as careers in modern language teaching and television background work, have furnished an inexhaustible supply of inspiration. http://maggiecobbett.co.uk