Open Writing

'As-ta ivver thowt abaht why it wor in t' little tahn o' Bethle'em wheeare it all started? Well, it come abaht this rooad ...

Ther' wor a joiner called Joseph, livin' i' Nazareth — that wor in t' north, tha knaws — nut all that far from t' Sea o' Galilee. But Joseph's ancesters wer' off-comed-uns — southerners, really. An' their native tahn wor a little place bi t' name o' Bethle'em, abaht five mile sahth o' Jerewsalem. Nah it so 'appened 'at t' Roman Emperor — a feller 'oo went bi't' name o' Caesar Augustus — decided 'at 'e'd better reckon up just 'ah much brass 'e could gather i' taxes — from all 'is conquered territories, like. So 'e gives aht an' order 'at all t' fowk mun bi properly registered — an' this meant 'at the' 'ad to go back ter wheeare the'r forefatthers belonged, does-ta see?

So that's 'ah it come abaht 'at Joseph set off on this long journey, traipsin' all t' way dahn ter Bethle'em, leadin' a donkey on which sat 'is wife Mary.

Well, yer can just picture 'em arrivin' i' Bethle'em, can't yer? Booath on 'em weary after all that travellin' — especially Mary, wi' all t' bobbin' up an' dahn on yon mooak. Ah wouldn't bi capped if yon donkey-ride didn't bring t' lass inter labour a while afooare t' babby wor dew — fer it wor born sooin after the' got theeare, tha knaws. An' Ah'll tell thi summat else. Ah allus see Joseph as a gentle sooart o' chap. Oh, a gurt strappin' feller, wi' rough carpenter's 'ands — but gentle an' kindly ... An' Ah bet 'e did yon journey as slowly as 'e could, just ter mak it a bit easier fer Mary ... An' that's why — ter my way o' thinkin' — when at last they ended up i' Bethle'em the' wer' t' last in t' queue. T' place wor throng wi' fowk — dozens o' families 'at 'ad come ter bi registered fer this 'ere Roman income tax business. An' ther' wor nowheeare fer Mary an' Joseph ter stay!

Ther' wor nobbut one deeacent-sized inn, an' when the' knocks on t' dooar, t' landlord oppens it, taks one look at 'em, an' 'e says: 'Sorry, lad. We'r full up!'

'Ee dear!' says Joseph, 'We've come monny a weary mile — all t' way thru Nazareth. An't' lass is expectin' — an' sh's near 'er time. Can't tha fit us in somewheeare?'

'Well, it 'ould mean shiftin' someb'dy else aht', says t' landlord. 'But 'appen if tha could pay fer it, an' mak it worth the'r while—'

'Nay', says Joseph, 'Ah'm nobbut a joiner, an' these days us joiners addle next ter nowt. Ah'll gi'e thi all t' brass Ah've got — but it'll nut amahnt ter much.'

Well, t' landlord taks another look at Mary, sees t' state t' lass is in, an' 'e suddenly bethinks 'issen an' says: 'Sither! Go dahn yon steps, an' tha'll come to a mistal. Tha can doss dahn theeare. Ah'll admit it's a bit mucky, but ther's plenty o' cleean straw — an't' beeasts 'll keep it nice an' wahrm fer thi. Tha can stay theeare till t' lass 'as 'ad 'er babby.'

Well, Joseph wor fair 'eart-sluffened 'at bein' offered a muck-'oile like yond ter doss dahn in, but it wor better ner nowt, so 'e thanked t' innkeeper kindly, an' led Mary dahn t' steps inter t' mistal. It wo'n't a wooden shed, tha knaws, same as the' show on Christmas cards, stuck aht in t' middle o' t' desert wi' a couple o' palm trees! No. It wor a sooart o' cavern, 'ollowed aht o' t' rock underneath t' inn ... An' the'd ter share it wi' a beeast or two, an' all. Nut t' sooart o' place a lass 'ould 'ave chozzen fer 'er bairn's bi'thplace. But Mary wor past carin', an' while Joseph tethered up t' donkey ('e'd feel 'at 'ooame, reight enough), t' lass ligged 'ersen dahn in t' corner on a bed o' straw. Joseph med Mary as cooasy as 'e could — an' though t' Gospils say nowt abaht it, Ah reckon ther'd be a feew friendly fowk abaht, an' a woman to 'elp as t' midwife ... An' later that neet, in yon bit of a mistal, Mary gev birth to 'er fust-born.

'It's a lad,'' the' cried — an', tha knaws, Jeewish folk 'ould mak even mooare fuss ower a lad bein' born ner wi do, 'cos they allus thowt 'at one day a lad 'ould bi born who'd be t' Messiah, t' Lord's anointed! Still, Ah dooan't suppooase the' thowt 'at this lad wor owt aht o' t' ordinary, nut when 'e wor born in a muck-'oile like yond — An' Ah bet the' wor a bit ta'en aback when Mary says: Ah s'll call 'im "Jesus", fer my little lad'll grow up ter bi t' Saviour of all mankind.'

*

Nah ther' wor a two-a-thri shepherds 'oo t' same neet 'appened ter bi aht i' t' fields near Bethle'em, sitting rahnd the'r campfire, keepin' watch ower the'r sheep.

All of a sudden, says Sent Lewk, these 'ere shepherds see t' sky breeten up wi' a gloorious blaze o' leet 'at shines all rahnd 'em. Well, the'r flaid ter deeath! An' while the're cahrin' theeare on t' grahnd, as weak as watter, an' all of a dither, t' Angil o' t' Lord says tul 'em: 'Nay, there's nowt ter bi afeeared on! Ah've come ter bring thi some reight cheerful neews — neews 'at 'll gladden all t' fowk 'oo 'ear it. Ther's a little lad just been born i' Bethle'em — t' royal city o' David, tha knaws. An' this little lad is t' Messiah, t' Saviour of all mankind. An' does-ta knaw wheeare tha'll finnd t' Babby? Tha'll finnd 'im in a mistal, liggin' in a manger, all wahrm an' cooasy in 'is 'ippins.'

No sooiner 'as t' Angil finished 'is message than t' shepherds 'ear wonderful singin' 'at fills all t' sky — a sooart of Allelewia Chooarus sung bi thahsands an' thahsands of angil voices.

'Glooary ter God' the' sing. 'Glooary in t' 'ighest 'eaven. An' peace on earth, an' gooidwill sent dahn from 'eaven ter men!'

But this 'ere 'eavenly visitation wor a bit ower-pahrin' fer t' shepherds. As Ah've said, at fust the' wer' flaid ter deeath. An' when it wor all ower, the' wer' that capped the' just gawped at one-another. Then one on 'em says: 'Na then, lads! Wi mun go an' see if t' tale 'at t' angil 'as telled us is reight! Wi mun go inter Bethle'em an' try to finnd this 'ere babby.'

'But what abaht t'sheep?' says another on 'em.

'Oh, 'ummer ter t' sheep!' says t' fust shepherd. 'This is summat aht o' t' ordinary — it's a message from t' Almighty! T' sheep 'll nut come to onny 'arm. It's nobbut a mile away. Come on, lad. Frame thissen!'

So off the' go, an' by an' by the' finnd this little mistal, an' Mary and Joseph, an't' babby liggin' in a manger.

'Can wi 'ave a peep at 'im?' axed one o' t shepherds.

'Aye, tha can that', says Joseph, glad of a bit o' company, like.

'Ee! I'n't 'e grand?' says t' shepherd. 'E's that bonny an' tender 'e's same as a neew-born lamb ... What do the' call thi, then, little feller?'

'We'r bahn to call 'im Jesus', says Mary. 'Nah, if thall excuse mi, it's time fer 'is next feed.'

So Mary sam's t' bairn up aht o' t' manger, an' sits 'ersen dahn ter feed 'im. An' off t'shepherds go, thrilled ter bits 'at the've seen t' little Lord Jesus ...

Well, later on Mary and Joseph 'ave a visit from a different sooart o' fowk altogether — Wise Men bringin' the'r precious gifts o' gowd, frankincense an' myrrh. Tha can read abaht that i' Sent Mattheew's Gospil. An' then ther's Sent John 'at tells us 'at when Jesus wor born it wor nowt less ner God Almighty becomin' flesh an' blood, an' dwellin' among us. But what appeals ter me, tha knaws, is this simple, 'omely tale telled bi Sent Lewk. It's same as if 'e's sayin' 'at t' Lord really cares abaht ordinary fowk — same as yon shepherds — an' fowk wi' no brass, an' none o' t' comforts an' luxuries wi tak fer granted. It's summat we'r apt ter ferget at Christmastime.