Carol Singing Isn’t What It Once Was!
The Rectory
St James the Least of All
December 2023
My Dear Nephew Darren,
Carol singing is not what it used to be.
My fond memories of a group of choristers, muffled in scarves and overcoats, carrying lanterns, and walking from door to door in the snow, as they sang ‘While shepherds watched …’ had to be suddenly revised when I saw your own music group, in T-shirts inscribed with ‘Jesus loves You’, singing ‘Little donkey’, in your shopping centre. I suspect any money you raised would just about have paid for the electricity used to power your banks of electronic equipment. Singing in the main square of the Centre next to the fountain may have looked good, but it seemed to mean that the choirmen were obliged to make constant trips to the lavatory!
Here at St James the Least of All, carol singing is regarded as a staff perk for the choir; the year when the Boys’ Brigade tried to break their monopoly was suppressed with a ruthlessness that would have impressed Genghis Kahn.
Our annual carol-singing route involves months of meticulous planning. We find that a transparent collection box is vital, so that donors can see what earlier patrons have given. This means that those who are bound to put in notes must be visited first, ‘pour encourager les autres’. It also needs a detachable base, so that if coppers are given, they can be removed from sight before the next call.
Those homes that contain several children are visited just after bedtime, so that parents will give generously simply to get the choir to go somewhere else. Veiled threats to stay and sing more carols (unless they give generously) are usually very effective. Getting whoever looks the most innocent and photogenic to ring the bell and ask for money is a far more subtle way of ensuring a donation than planting any number of mafia lookalikes (such as our church treasurer) on the doorstep!
The choir always finishes its evening at the local pub, but again, the timing must be carefully managed. Too early and there will only be the landlord, his wife, and their Labrador to listen; too late and people will be so full of Christmas cheer that any carols will be hi-jacked and become the equivalent of back-of-the bus rugby songs!
Your Loving Uncle,
Eustace
