The following is a true account of an evening I spent in a small bedsit room in the Alfama district of Lisbon, Portugal in 1974.
December had thrown its chill cloak over Lisbon, the nights had turned towards Christmas, bone-cold, silent and dripping with pendulous stars.
I finished dinner around 8.00, and as I slumped into an armchair, my limbs heavy with food and my head thick with red wine, there was a soft knocking at the door.
I opened it and was confronted by five or six, small tousle-haired urchins, aged around 6 or 7.
Their leader was a cherubic Moreno boy, his hair tight with curls, black as pitch, framing a face that seemed to move like water in the light of the lantern he held.
He bade me ‘Boa noite senhor, Feliz Natal’ then gave a few hushed instructions to his companions.
After some preliminary shuffling and nudging, they began to sing with diamond clear voices that seemed to slice through the chill night air, sharp, falsetto and unutterably beautiful.
They sang of a child born in a stable; of a star hanging in the night sky, of The Virgin and the hot rancid breath of the beasts that stood over the infant.
As I watched and listened, it felt to me as if the tidings they were bringing were new, the joy still fresh.
A tiny, doll-like girl, took up a solo and sang in a voice so clear and pitched so high that one felt stripped and shriven of all sin.
As she sang, the others watched her with solemn eyes, lips pursed, ready to enter the chorus. Their heads seemed disembodied, floating in the night air like Botticelli spirits.
And looking at this ragged little bunch I believed all that they told me, for they were bone-thin with eyes that swam with disease and knew what it was to sleep on beds of straw.
After giving them what few coins I had and some thick slices of bread and jam, I closed the door and returned to my armchair.
I sat motionless for some time, listening to the chatter of passers-by in the street below, staring thoughtfully through the bare window at the quartered Iberian moon pinned against the black night sky.
Feliz Natal os meus amigos.
December 24, 2020 at 1:38 am
Not to embarrass or anything, but this was a marvelous piece.
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December 24, 2020 at 1:59 am
Thank you kindly sir. Merry Christmas to you and yours
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December 24, 2020 at 1:55 am
A beautiful story. Merry Christmas.
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December 24, 2020 at 2:00 am
Thanks John and a very Merry Christmas to you too!
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December 24, 2020 at 2:01 am
😊
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December 24, 2020 at 12:04 pm
That brought tears to my eyes, the image was so clear. The true meaning of Christmas in the voices of children. Feliz Natal!
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December 24, 2020 at 1:17 pm
I guess not all angels have wings, minha senhora. Feliz Natal para ti tambem! 🙂
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December 24, 2020 at 12:22 pm
A beautiful piece, mate. It shows your absolute skill. 🙏👍
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December 24, 2020 at 1:18 pm
Thank you my friend. Merry Christmas to you!
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December 24, 2020 at 1:33 pm
Back to you and yours. Be safe 🙏
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December 24, 2020 at 1:04 pm
Such beautiful imagery. Thanks for sharing this wonderful story. Merry Christmas.
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December 24, 2020 at 1:19 pm
You are very welcome, my friend. Merry Christmas to you and yours!
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December 24, 2020 at 3:15 pm
Such a beautiful story! Happy Christmas to you and your family!
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December 24, 2020 at 4:33 pm
Thanks Madge and a very Merry Christmas to you and to all your fellow mythical denizens of the deep!
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December 24, 2020 at 4:27 pm
How the devil are you? I’ve been more than a tad ill in recent months, hence I went into hiding. I’m still not the full ticket…a mind and body affliction…yet I hear from Rachel you’ve a new book out there, Lionel. Take it as read, I shall go get my copy. You and yours have a splendid Christmas. Regards, Mike
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December 24, 2020 at 4:38 pm
Mike, what an absolute tonic to hear from you, old horse! Sorry to hear you’ve been less than tickety boo of late my friend. When you feel up to it, give me a heads-up and I’ll call you on your ringing, speaking, mobile machine! Have a most splendiferous Noel and give my fond regards to Shirl and young George while you’re about it sirrah! Genuinely delighted to hear from you, mate. Put a smile on my devilishly handsome, Cockney chops you have! 😀
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December 27, 2020 at 11:49 am
As they say in Devon, ‘job done’. Unlike the utter filth I’ve been penning, your worthy book, the paperback that is…Kindle sends me mad…is on its way. After 11 months feeling like I’ve been kicked in the guts on a daily basis by the likes of Jacob Less-Wog’s cohorts I thought it for the best I commune with others of lefty persuasion rather than talk drivel to the receptionist down the docs surgery. Dear God, can that woman talk of doom and disaster. Anyhow, telephone contact would be great. Shirl threw into the equation that one can…not that I fucking knew…use Facebook to speak via live video on her iPad should that take your fancy? I trust you’ve had a fine Christmas. In the full knowledge that it would give rise to a deathly Boxing Day, I’d cooked the bum-blistering curry I’d yearned for yet officially not allowed, and ate the fucking lot, washed down with a bucket of wine. The next day’s suffering was worth the scoff, given that I’d not got shitfaced since the old King died.
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December 28, 2020 at 8:48 am
Morning old horse!
Just a head’s-up that the new book is based on the rocky relationship I enjoy with the children in my family and that all the nicknames I give them in the tome are factual 😀
Crimbo was quiet with no drunkenness and only the occasional violent brawl with the missus.
I’m glad you’re on the mend, dear boy. It’s probably down to the relief that Boris has finally got Brexit done and that our blue passports are already being printed in France…wait, what?
Facial to facial communication is right out I’m afraid. I’ve only just mastered pushing Button B in the phone box to get my threepenny bit back.
As for your doc’s receptionist, I wrote a ‘situations vacant’ spoof many moons ago based around these redoubtable ladies which I thought was rather good. But then I would do wouldn’t I.
I’ll drop you an email next week and we’ll put the world to rights on the ringing, speaking telephone machine. I mean, now that President Trump’s been cheated out of another four years at the tiller of HMS Planet Earth somebody has to!
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December 28, 2020 at 10:48 am
Good plan, Lionel. The dog and bone is fine by me. My guts still churn…impressively…but I’d have it no other way. 8 weeks in the summer months on a thing called FODMAP diet fairly fucked the old taste buds as anything edible was banned, then 10 weeks of reintroducing said edible side of scoff left me bloated like a hot air balloon on a windy day, praying a small child carrying a ‘pin’ might show up. I’ve had more pooh tests than Arsenal have scored fucking goals. Such joy. The bird at the quacks when taking possession of one such sample asked ‘Is it still warm?’ Fucks sake! I shall await your email. If it helps our landline is 01304 449136.
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December 29, 2020 at 5:06 am
Lovely job. I’ve lost your email, however. Could you send it via FB private message or sumfink?
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December 25, 2020 at 8:04 am
Not a laugh in the house. That was beautiful and touched me a lot.
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December 26, 2020 at 4:15 am
Cheers Weggers, Merry Christmas!
I can’t remember the last time I was touched a lot – Ed
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December 26, 2020 at 7:07 am
A dream situation, I know…
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December 25, 2020 at 12:09 pm
And they weren’t mugged for their pennies by Toby Dell? Phew!
Stay safe, lads and lasses, and come out swinging in ’21.
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December 26, 2020 at 4:13 am
It was his day off. Merry Christmas to you and the whole Connection family!
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December 26, 2020 at 6:19 am
Cheers Mate!
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