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It Came Upon the Midnight Clear
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Author:  MaryR [ 03 Dec 2007, 22:22 ]
Post subject:  It Came Upon the Midnight Clear

I did promise I would post the story that was printed in the FOCS magazine recently, as many of you don't receive the latter. I hope those who have read it already don't mind seeing it here.

It Came Upon the Midnight Clea


Gillian placed the last prettily-wrapped package under the large Christmas tree which glittered in the bay window and cast the warmth of its beauty on people passing by in the frigid night. She settled comfortably beside her husband Peter and stared into the coals glowing in the huge hearth.

“Our first Christmas with Robert,” she murmured softly. “But then, what else should Christmas be about but babies—and our love for them?”

“He will never want for our love,” Peter assured her, smiling tenderly at his beautiful black-haired, blue eyed wife. He knew what having her own family meant to her, after losing both her parents so young. He rose from the settee and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. Bed! It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow, with Joyce and her family here.”

Once upstairs, they leaned over the cot where Robert lay sleeping peacefully, his arms outstretched, little hands splayed like starfish. Suddenly, his eyes fluttered open and he lay there watching them. One could almost feel there was a message in those shining blue depths. Gillian, who had once been Gillian Linton of the Chalet School, reached down to stroke her son’s petal-soft cheek, hoping to lull him back to sleep. As she did so, Phoebe, their tortoiseshell cat, who had been nestled snugly among the bedclothes on their bed, stretched lazily and walked across the bed to peer into the cot. Robert turned his head and he and Phoebe gazed at each other a long moment.

With a soft mew, Phoebe jumped to the floor and ran to the door. They watched her silently, though they could not have explained why. She walked through the door, tail in the air, then returned a moment later to stand staring at them.

“If she had a hand, she would be beckoning with one finger for us to follow,” thought Gillian. Phoebe repeated her actions, then stood there expectantly. “She wants us to follow her,” whispered Gillian.

Peter stared at her. “Now where did that idea come from? Dogs do that, not cats! And why on earth should she want us to follow her anywhere?”

“I don’t know,” responded Gillian, but she picked up her son and he grabbed her hair and chuckled excitedly. This was an unexpected adventure. When they moved to the door, Phoebe shot off and ran down the stairs to stand waiting at the front door.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” said Peter. “I’m not going out there with you, Phoebe. It’s far too cold.”

“It’s the most blessed night of the year,” whispered Gillian. “Who knows what’s stirring in her? Whatever it is, I’m going to get Robert dressed. Even if it’s nothing, it won’t hurt him, or us, to parade through the streets for once.”

Sensing acquiescence on the part of her slaves, Phoebe settled upright on the doormat, her long, slender tail curled neatly round her front paws. Her amber eyes gazed at them with an enigmatic expression. The only oddity was the small, patrician head cocked to one side, ears pricked back as though hearing something inaccessible to her humans. The sight unaccountably stirred Gillian’s soul. Not so Peter. Still muttering to himself, quietly yet good-naturedly, he stepped into his boots and shrugged on his overcoat.

All three now wrapped up snugly, they let themselves out into the quiet street. Meekly they followed Phoebe, who set off up the hill with tail erect and nose pointing straight ahead, as though all her senses were focused on her journey’s end. Clasped safely in Peter’s arms, Robert gazed around curiously, cooing at the pretty candles set in front windows to welcome the Christ-child into the world.

There was a strange hush all around. Every tree and bush, every house and cottage, seemed to be waiting, hoping, breath held in suspense. Overhead, the black bowl of the heavens was studded with myriads of bright, twinkling lights—did angels dance up there, singing their songs of joy in the silence of space?

Phoebe turned down a side street and padded on sturdily, unerringly. She gave the impression of knowing exactly where she was going. Was she being led? Baby Robert cooed and gurgled to himself contentedly but his parents were speechless, unnerved by it all. Very soon, the houses were left behind. The moon shed its silvery light all around, lighting up fields, an occasional roof, long ribbons of water.

Suddenly Gillian broke her silence and exclaimed in astonishment, “She’s taking us to the riding stables! But she’s never been this far before. She must be worn out.”

Phoebe, however, gave no sign of tiredness, turning up a narrow track and following it until a large house appeared, its windows dark and empty. She slipped under a five-barred gate and plodded off along a path that led round the side of the house. Not being small enough to do likewise, her followers unlatched the gate, praying it would give not even a hint of a squeak, and sped after their cat. Eventually, they reached the outbuildings at the back of the house—here were stables and a large barn, also shrouded in darkness. Peter glanced at his watch. Almost midnight …

They walked slowly past the horse boxes. Curious heads were leaning out; liquid eyes, gleaming in the light of the moon, watched their passing. Surely all the doors should have been closed for the night by now. What was happening? The horses were all looking in one direction—at the barn doors, where Phoebe herself was now waiting patiently. Heart thudding, Gillian reached out and pushed the doors open. Phoebe slipped inside and they followed with some caution, almost afraid of what they would find. There was something decidedly other-worldly about all this.

Then, even as their eyes adjusted to the darkness, a single beam of pure, white light suddenly shone down through a small and dusty opening in the roof. It settled on a neat heap of straw in the very centre of the barn floor, bathing everything in its austere brightness. But what was this? They caught their breath in a gasp of wonder. All around, facing this heavenly light, were the kneeling figures of the cats and dogs that belonged to the riding stables. Their shining eyes were focused intently on that beam, as though waiting for something. A strange awe fell on Gillian and Peter and they stared at each other in astonished delight.

“It’s an old legend,” whispered Peter, the artist in him already wondering how to convey all this on canvas. “At midnight on Christmas Eve, all animals everywhere, in field or barn, fall on their knees and worship their Lord.”

“But how do they know?” asked Gillian, enchanted and mystified, totally overcome that they had been chosen to witness this.

A whinny was heard behind them. As though she had been given a sign, Gillian left the barn. She went to the horse boxes and threw each door wide open, knowing it was a dangerous thing to do—but utterly certain that the horses would be safe and not bolt. Even as she reached the end and turned, she knew what she would find. Every horse was kneeling on its front legs, eyes glistening and focused on what was happening inside the barn.

Legs trembling, she re-entered the stable—to stand staring in bewilderment. Phoebe was now standing on the heap of straw, fur silvered by the shaft of glorious and concentrated light streaming down on her. She was staring at them intently. What did she want? All at once, her little head seemed to move, indicating the straw, and they knew. As though a message had been delivered, they knew. Without a word, his face filled with reverence and awe, Peter stepped forward and laid Robert on the straw. Instantly, Phoebe relaxed. She lay down and settled against the baby, her job done.

But what happened next was something they would never forget. Still held in that queer, spellbound silence, they saw Robert’s head turn to his right. His tiny hand reached out and he cooed softly. To whom? But even as they watched, the straw beside him was suddenly flattened a little, as though something—or Someone—had been laid there beside their son. Robert’s eyes shone a most intense blue and he gurgled away happily to his unseen companion. Hearing a rustle, Gillian glanced around and saw that other creatures had crept in, wild creatures—squirrels, mice, hedgehogs, foxes - all kneeling, all held in silent amity by this wondrous happening.

The glorious light shining down on the inhabitants of the straw seemed to soften, and there, before the couple’s startled eyes, two silhouettes appeared on the barn wall. One was a man, leaning forward to lay his hands protectively on the shoulders of the other figure. This was a woman in flowing robes, hair unbound and falling round her face as she held out her hands in welcome to the invisible Presence there in the straw. The soft light bathed them both in a gentle radiance.

Gillian reached out a hand to Peter, who held it close in his own for reassurance, even as their eyes were still fixed unwaveringly on what was happening before them. With one accord, in an unspoken moment of communication, they too fell to their knees and worshipped. And she stored all these things in her heart. Like Mary, Gillian knew she would never forget. Their child had seen into Eternity. Robert himself would not remember, but he would be marked by this forever.

They returned home in silence, strangely bereft now that it was all over, but filled with awe and rapture that they had been so blessed. Even Phoebe seemed wrapped in solemnity. After all, she had been chosen to play a very special role in the night’s mysteries. She would get an extra portion of turkey that Christmas Day—and an honorary title: She-who-must-be-obeyed.

Author:  linda [ 03 Dec 2007, 22:30 ]
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Mary,

This is a beautiful story about the timeless miracle of Christmas. A wonderful start to the season of Advent.

Thank you for sharing it with us

Author:  Travellers Joy [ 03 Dec 2007, 22:30 ]
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Very nice, Mary. Thank you.

Author:  Lesley [ 03 Dec 2007, 22:32 ]
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Oh that is so beautiful.

*Tears in eyes*


Thank you Mary.

Author:  Squirrel [ 03 Dec 2007, 23:00 ]
Post subject: 

Thank you Mary - I enjoyed reading that :D

Author:  Elder in Ontario [ 03 Dec 2007, 23:12 ]
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I am one who had already read this in the FOCS magazine. I found it very moving then, and equally moving now - I'm glad to see it posted here. It is a wondrous tale, simply and beautifully told, with a relevance far beyond the world of Chalet School aficionados. Thank you for posting it here, Mary - as Linda notes, it makes a lovely start for the season.

Author:  Alison H [ 03 Dec 2007, 23:55 ]
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Lovely to read this again - thanks Mary.

Author:  Sal [ 04 Dec 2007, 01:01 ]
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That was really beautiful Mary thank you.

Author:  Sugar [ 04 Dec 2007, 01:40 ]
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Mary, that was beautiful. Thank you for sharing

Author:  JackieP [ 04 Dec 2007, 13:39 ]
Post subject: 

That was very beautiful and moving Mary, thank you for posting it here.

JackieP

Author:  PaulineS [ 04 Dec 2007, 14:03 ]
Post subject: 

Mary Thank you, may I use it wih the children at the Cathedral on the Sunday before Christmas?
I want to make a Christmas journey paoter with them and you beautifull story would fit so well.
Thank you again.

Author:  MaryR [ 04 Dec 2007, 15:44 ]
Post subject: 

PaulineS wrote:
Mary Thank you, may I use it wih the children at the Cathedral on the Sunday before Christmas?
I want to make a Christmas journey paster with them and your beautifull story would fit so well.

I am honoured and humbled that you would even think of it, Pauline. Of course you may.

In actual fact, someone else has just told me they used it in a worship service a couple of weeks ago in their church, and interspersed it with carols. They read it straight from the FOCS magazine. :D I didn't know about it all till afterwards. :oops:

Author:  Elbee [ 04 Dec 2007, 18:45 ]
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A lovely story, thank you Mary.

Author:  Ruth B [ 04 Dec 2007, 20:29 ]
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That was lovely Mary, thank you for posting it.

Author:  Fiona Mc [ 05 Dec 2007, 10:57 ]
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That was beautiful, Mary

Author:  Identity Hunt [ 05 Dec 2007, 13:29 ]
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Mary,
what an absolute delight of a story ! :D

Author:  Vikki [ 05 Dec 2007, 21:38 ]
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That was beautiful Mary, thank you.

Author:  Luisa [ 05 Dec 2007, 23:06 ]
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Thank you Mary.
I've spent all day looking for my tortie Burmese - this has eased the ache a little
Luisa

Author:  Rosalin [ 06 Dec 2007, 13:38 ]
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A really lovely story, thank-you Mary. I've gone all shivery.

Author:  Miss Di [ 07 Dec 2007, 03:11 ]
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That brought a lump to my throat. Thank you for sharing Mary.


(and now I must contact FOCS and ask where is my mag?)

Author:  Tara [ 09 Dec 2007, 00:51 ]
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I've only just realised this is here :oops:

Really lovely to see it again, Mary, (I love Phoebe) and how magical that people are using it in wider contexts. It's beautiful.

Author:  Cath V-P [ 09 Dec 2007, 04:02 ]
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I'm sorry Mary, I thought I'd responded but that was because I'd read it in FOCS and my mind - what there is of it - got confused. :oops: :oops:

It's such a lovely story, and that breathless beauty and expectation of Christmas Eve is just so right, and so sensitively presented.

Thank you Mary.

Author:  leahbelle [ 10 Dec 2007, 18:08 ]
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I loved this when I read it in the journal and I've loved reading it again, Mary. It's a beautiful story.

Author:  Kathy_S [ 20 Dec 2007, 05:03 ]
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Thank you, Mary.

I can so see this as a nativity play. :D

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