Candlewax and Bells

A deep, dark night in the countryside, no traffic, no streetlights.   

Beckoned in by a solitary bell and the flickering of golden light from many candles we stepped in through the porch, past the enormous ancient wooden door and into the nave of the tiny church.   It was looking wonderful, with every deep, deep, windowsill filled with red-berried holly, ivy and lots of creamy-coloured candles. 

It didn't take long for the church to fill up, but that was mainly down to the diminutive size of the church!     Our elderly organist did her best and so did we.  The organ wheezed and creaked as the organist managed to include unplanned random notes here and there, but then so did the congregation.   It didn't matter, we had a wonderful time and those old familiar carols were belted out with such gusto that the organist struggled to keep up with us.

Afterwards we had coffee and hot mince pies, conversation, laughter.   It was a wonderful prelude to Christmas.       I enjoy 'Carols from Kings', but that polished performance cannot compete with the real pleasure and authenticity of that evening. 

Once again we tumbled out into the velvety black of night, clutching our torches, as we made our way back down the lane and home.