The crowning of the year: Christmas in New Haven
When I think about the Christmases of my childhood, I think of Christmas trees and snow and cookies colored with red and green sugar and Santa Claus and bustling crowds shopping at Malley’s downtown and brightly wrapped presents — but most of all I think of music.
For me, Christmas probably started some time in October when the Junior Choir at St. Thomas’s would begin work on the Christmas pageant. My mother was the director of the choir and she had us put on a full-scale pageant every Christmas Eve at the early service. Since I began singing in the choir as a very little girl, I moved up through the ranks as an actor in the pageant, starting out as a little angel with wings and gold tinsel in my hair, then advancing to a shepherd in some sort of brown robe with a towel on my head, then becoming a big angel, and only finally reaching the starring roles, Mary and the Angel Gabriel, when I was in my early teens.
Rehearsals were on Friday afternoons after school. I spent every practically every Friday afternoon of my childhood at the church. Learning hymns and anthems. Practicing the pageant. When I hear the music most children’s choirs sing now — and see what passes for a pageant — I know we were very lucky.
Advent started with the opening of the first window on the Advent calendar, and the hanging of the Advent wreath in church. This wreath had four purple candles; one lit each Sunday, until all four were burning on the Sunday before Christmas. We began the month singing dour hymns like “O Come, O Come Emanuel,” so you knew you were going to have to earn the joy of Christmas. It came slowly!
A few days before Christmas we held our neighborhood caroling party. Our neighborhood was a wonderful place. The houses were old and comfortable set in big yards with great trees like our horse chestnut and the Briggses’ cherry tree, which were as familiar characters in the neighborhood as the houses or the people. At the back of our yards was the woodsy East Rock Park and on the other side of Whitney Avenue was the mysterious Brewster estate, enclosed by a high stone wall, and St. Thomas’s, where we spent so much of our time.
I don’t actually remember who participated in the caroling except for the Boatwrights, the Briggses, and the Boldts. Did the Beehlers come? Or the Onsagers? Or the Millers? I don’t picture them being with us (although I do remember that Mrs. Beehler excelled at creating the most outrageous Halloween costumes!). Some people had to stay home or we wouldn’t have had anyone to sing for.
At any rate, we went up and down the streets, singing carols for our neighbors, and I loved singing with the grown-ups. Daddy and Russell with their deep voices. The women: Claire, and Mom, and Emily. And all the kids: Lea, David, Linda, Nancy, Diana, and me. As I remember it, we sounded great! I loved the surprised and pleased looks on the faces of the people when they came to their doors to listen and thank us. Even then I knew we were giving them a special gift and getting one back ourselves.
Two caroling parties stand out: One year we saw that the gates of the Brewster estate were open and we decided, daring each other, to go in and carol there. We walked silently down a long, long snowy drive. It was a moonlit night and very quiet. I remember feeling like we were all very small, even the adults, and had suddenly been transported back in time a century or two. When we reached the door of the huge stone house, someone knocked, and after a pause the door was opened slowly by an old butler in a tuxedo. We began to sing and he listened, then stepped back inside to let Mrs. Brewster know that we were there.
She was not displeased, I guess, because she invited us in to the big stone foyer to sing. I remember a broad curving staircase lined all the way up with potted poinsettias, but the house itself seemed lonely and dark. I think I remember Mr. and Mrs. Brewster sitting alone in chairs by the fire, but this image may come from a movie I saw later. Anyway, we gave them a selection of our best — we peasants from Whitney Avenue — and they seemed very happy that we had come. The excitement of our adventure warmed us all the way back home.
It may have been the same year, but I think it was another, when we ended the caroling at the Boldts’ house on Everit Street. They had a huge tree, heavily laden with lights, ornaments, and tinsel, which filled up one whole end of the living room. The grown ups drank something called hot buttered rum, which I thought sounded delicious and romantic, while we children drank hot chocolate, and everyone sang around the tree.
When Christmas Eve finally came, the anticipation we felt about Christmas morning was eclipsed by the excitement and fear of performing our pageant. The church was always more crowded than any other day except Easter and full of candles and greens. I was nervous, but at the same time I loved how magical the church was on that night.
I think I was around 8 when we first did “The Christmas Mystery.” I still remember processing into the darkened church holding candles, and all the songs have stayed with me, starting with “People look East, the time is near, of the crowning of the year.” We learned everything from memory, and the part of Gabriel was a big one because you had to sing “From Heaven Above to Earth I Come” as a solo in a spotlight, and, of course, you had to be commanding. Believable. Mary’s part was hard too because you had to stand up, clutching a plastic baby doll wrapped in rags, and say the Magnificat at the climax of the story. I don’t know how good we were, but I was always moved, so I don’t think we could have been too bad. And, with my mother directing, you can be sure we understood that we had to take it all seriously.
Linda was the best Angel Gabriel we ever had. She really threw herself into the part, telling the shepherds the good news about Jesus’ birth. I think I did a pretty good job as Gabriel, but I was better as Mary. I really loved the Magnificat, and later, when I was in college, I wrote a story that had that text woven into it.
After the pageant, we’d come home, and I guess we must have had a babysitter because, for my parents, the main event was still ahead: the midnight service sung by the Senior Choir. The whole choir would come back to our house after midnight and have a party in the basement, while we slept upstairs dreaming about Santa Claus. Often my mother and father had to wrap our presents in the middle of the night, after everyone had left.
On Christmas Day, we opened presents and played with our new toys and ate a big dinner and played in the snow, if there was any. I know I loved those aspects of Christmas too, but they don’t stand out in my memory nearly as vividly as the time I spent singing about Christmas with my family, my neighbors, and my friends. That’s what I loved most – and that’s what continues to hold us together to this day.
