Christmas in the Wood

THE animals of Duchas Wood were getting ready for Christmas, the river Maine gleaming and shining down in the valley below. Coinin O’Rabbitt and his little sister Muireann were putting up little sprays of holly all around the house, their mother keeping watch on them all the while. Coinin was a young rabbit with the warmest of wild brown eyes and the whitest, the brightest of tails. Christmas was his favourite time of year: he loved everything about it from the putting up of the holly to the lighting of the candles in the windows, from the everygreen scent of the pines in the wood to the snowy peaks of the Reeks in the distance.

Coinin was settling a bit of holly on the framed photo of his grandad that had pride of place on one of the walls, The young Coinin loved his grandad, for his grandad was always telling stores of times past: the music, the songs and the dance, the firelight bright in the hearth. Not only that he was teaching Coinin how to play the fiddle, and one of Coinin’s favourite tunes was the lively, jaunty little hornpipe called which his grandad had written himself.

It was then that Murisheen O’Rabbitt, Coinin’s grandad came and admired their work, the old willow ware and the lustre jugs shining on the dresser, the garlands of holly trimming the shelves. He had brought a few sprays of ivy which he began to twine around the candles one by one. In a moment he was chuckling to himself and Coinin looked at him curiously. ‘I was thinking of the day we cleaned the chimney,’ Murisheen said with a roguish grin. ‘When all the soot fell on top of me, it was like I’d been down in the mines for years.’ Coinin smiled: he remembered the moment well.

In another part of the wood Sionnach O’Fox, his wife Luisne, and their cubs Ruairi and Ruan were hanging up a holly bough on their front door. It was an old green door that had seen many a winter come and go but the splendour of the holly bough made it seem bright and new again. ‘Our holly bough is like the circle, the magic circle of Christmas, ‘Sionnach said, his rich red coat the colour of the evening sky when the sun is going down in the west. ‘It is a circle that brings family and friends around us and so many memories too.’ ‘I hope Father Christmas brings me a sled for having fun in the snow,’ Ruairi said, and the very thought of it made his eyes light up with delight. ‘And wouldn’t mind a bouncy ball,’ Ruan said with the same eagerness as his brother. The O’Foxes lived in Pine Bank and as they stood to admire the holly bough, the pine trees rose up tall and strong around their little home, a few fallen pine cones still scattered here and there. In a moment the cubs were gathering up some of the pine cones putting them, in a basket and bringing them indoors.

Broc O’Badger and his family were looking forward to Christmas too, all of them cleaning and sweeping and tidying, for everyone knew that the O’Badgers had the neatest house of them all. Broc’s wife, Beibhinn was thinking of the annual Christmas concert that was coming up soon again. The concert was held in the clearing that was home to the tallest tree in the wood, a handsome silver fir. The ancient fir was at the very heart of Christmas for the animals of Duchas Wood which was why every family was expected to contribute sonething by way of decoration for it. ‘ The O’Rabbitts will have carrots, the O’Hares heathers, the O’Foxes pine cones, the O’Squirrells hazel nuts, but what is there for us to bring?’ Beibhinn asked. ‘Haven’t we the fallen apples we found in the orchard when the quarter moon was lying gently on its back?’ Broc reminded her.

‘We can bring a few of those and they will serve our purpose well.’ He smiled a reassuring smile and Beibhinn smiled too. In a moment he was stringing a lovely paper chain, red and green underneath the ceiling, the old fashioned wall clock beating out time on the wall, the young ones still busy at the table as they made a second chain to match the first. ‘I must give Bregon O’Badger a jar or two of my nice apple jam for Christmas,’ Beibhinn said. ‘He is getting on in years and it will be a nice treat for him at this time of year.’ ‘ That it will, my dear. That it surely will,’ Broc agreed for there was nothing he approved of so much as his wife’s generosity.

The very next afternoon many of the animals came together to decorate the fine old fir tree in honour of the Christmas concert that would soon be taking place. The O’Squirrells did most of the decorating for they were the only ones who could climb high into the branches and so it wasn’t long till they were hanging up the apples and the hazelnuts and the pine cones too. Coinin’s best friend, Giorria O’Hare had brought a basket filled with little bouquets of dried heather which Giorra’s mother made as decorations every year. Needless to say everyone admired them, for they were in their way like tokens of summer when the lark and the linnet sang in the bogs, and the muffled calls of the cuckoo were heard in the beech trees still. ‘It looks very nice,’ Coinin said as he and his friend looked up at the ancient fir that towered above them, its evergreen branches spreading gracefully on every side. ‘Still, I wish there was something more we could do with it.’ Giorria looked at him curiously as if willing him to explain, but Coinin said no more.

If Coinin was planning to play his grandfather’s tune at the concert, then

Giorria had in mind to recite a favourite poem

It was in a way the perfect poem for the occasion for all of the animals and their friends would be there.

The evening of the concert came, the magnificent fir tree towering skywards still, many of the older animals remembering times past, the younger ones making memories of their own.

The concert began when Smolach O’Thrush, a handsome little buff bellied thrush perched on the very top of the tree began to carol at the top of his voice, his sweet repeated phrases carrying far in the stillness then. After that Giorria O’Hare recited his poem about the importance of having friends, not just at Christmas but all year round, friendship the bond that bound all animals together and gave them good reason to smile. Then the O’Squirrells danced a set, Broc O’Badger playing the melodeon for them, everyone tapping their feet for the tune that he played was lilting and lively and bright.

Sionnach O’Fox held the audience spellbound with his magic tricks so that for a moment it seemed as if the twins Ruairi and Ruan had vanished into thin air but they soon reappeared inside his magic chest again. Then it was the turn of the O’Spideogs, the robins to perch on the fir and sing a carol of their own, their bright red breasts aflame, their sweet melodic warble filling the place with delight.

Granny O’Hedgehog sat in a rocking chair and told a story of Christmas past and everyone clapped when she was done. Then it was Coinin’s turn to take centre stage and in a moment he was playing his grandfather’s merry little Christmas tune. Coinin played as he had never played before, the bow skimming over the strings so lightly it was as if it had a life of its own. Before he knew it, all of the animals had formed a circle, a magic circle and were dancing round and round . . . the O’Rabbitts and O’Hares, the O’Foxes and O’Badgers and O’Squirrells too.

Even Granny O’Hedgehog was stepping it out with the best of them. Then something else strange and wonderful happened . . . It began to snow, a flurry of snowflakes tumbling down and down again till the fine old fir tree looked like a Christmas card, every part of it shining and white, the other trees gleaming and shining too. Coinin couldn’t have been happier for he knew that his music was the music of friendship and that was what Christmas was all about. The Cliff Callinafercy, Milltown, Co Kerry