Caroling Quest - Christmas Nostalgia

    It was a guitar that we wanted more than anything – my brothers and I. Nothing fancy, just a small acoustic fit for the plummeting hands of three energetic kids of eight, nine, and ten.  I was the youngest.  It was already early December, and we knew that an expensive guitar wouldn’t likely be wrapped under the Christmas tree.  Our loving parents would have given all they could, but even in the late 1960’s money was not a throw-away commodity. We were in no way a poor British family, but certainly not affluent!  I had already received, for my November birthday, a Stylophone, the one advertised on the television, by Rolf Harris. I had wanted the standard one but received the Bass, not that I complained.  It was the greatest gift since my leather football the year before!  So with the guitar in mind, we sat down and formed a plan! We would sing carols to raise money for our cause!

    The tradition of carol singing in Britain dates back to the Middle -Ages when beggars would sing carols in the streets for food or drink.  Eventually the tradition led people door to door, and in our populated area of South-East England, the houses displaying brightly lit Christmas trees in the window were ripe for the picking!  We ventured out for our first expose in mid-December, a little early as Caroling didn’t usually begin until the 21st but we were anxious.

    The first few carols were almost a disaster, with my noisy Stylophone drowning our angelic voices into oblivion. With no volume control, I had to be ingenious, and a mitten over the speaker worked just fine. We always started with one polite ‘ding-dong’ on the bell, or not-too-loud knock at the door, then a small step back, and presto, we went into action. We decided, as the coppers and bobs, or shillings, grew that we were a perfect trio. Of course, having the Stylophone almost muted surely had the recipients of our choruses breathing sighs of relief. My brothers were both quoir boys at our local church, which certainly gave us an advantage. We passed a couple of other caroling groups, and detoured to new streets, not wanting to overuse the turf!  That first day was all but miraculous, and only a few turn-aways. These happened because, when asked, we had to reveal honestly that our cause was quite a selfish one, and not for charity at all.

    Within only a few days the local neighborhood was carolled out, and although the stash of coppers and shillings had quickly added to pounds, we needed to venture further a-field to meet our price goal. We summoned help from my mother, who agreed to drive us to other neighborhoods, and spend the good part of a few evenings sitting in the vehicle, waiting, escorting, and supporting our venture. We discovered that apartment buildings were our greatest hope, offering warmth in hallways, and many happy residents, who we learned, did not always have the opportunity of carolers knocking at the door. We were delayed at times in the elevator, not due to any mechanical cause, but rather the enjoyment that my brothers took in pushing all the buttons, riding up and down, and laughing as I frightfully screamed every time they jumped on the floor, shaking the contraption to what I thought would be our demise!

    On Christmas Eve, our caroling season was over! Money stashed in a hat. The counting began. We had more that made our quota!  Christmas would be extra special that year, knowing we had set a goal and accomplished it! The prize guitar was purchased as soon as the stores opened after Christmas. And to top it all off, we had spent a good two weeks spreading our own unique holiday cheer. It was a Merry Christmas indeed!