Irish Culture & Heritage
A Christmas Story for the Baileo Hearth
Retold by Collette
Hundreds of years ago when Christmas day was held on the fifth of January, the spinning wheels all had to be put away, the making of fishing nets ceased and ploughs were stored in their barns, for no work of any kind must be done until the twelfth day.
It so happened there was once an old woman called Peggy, from Ballinacoole who was determined on finishing some spinning that she had started, so on Christmas Eve she said to herself “Surely, there’s nothing wrong with doin’ a bit of spinning to-night,” although she couldn’t help crossing herself at the same time.
When Himself and the rest were in bed, she called her oldest daughter, Morgane, to help her finish the spinning. Morgane was not in the least happy about helping her mother, for she had heard strange tales of things that happened on Christmas Eve and to people who did not cease their labours to celebrate the coming of the Christ child. In any case, the two began to spin and time passed until the clock struck midnight.
At that moment, old Peggy saw the wool she was pulling from the spinning wheel grow blacker and blacker until it was as black as tar. But Morgane’s wool did not change colour because she had only done what her mother asked her. Peggy dropped the wool quick, put away her spinning wheel and crept fearfully into her bed.
Morgane was left alone in the kitchen, and at first she was trembling with fright, but being a curious soul she wanted to see if the strange things she had heard about happening on Christmas Eve were true. “They say,” she thought, “that the bees come out of their hives to greet the Saviour’s birth; young calves kneel in adoration and myrrh comes up in full bloom to pay homage to the new born king.”
She threw her cloak over her shoulders and stepped out into the night. She saw that frost clung to the trees and a million stars shone in the heavens. Silence was all around; only broken by the distant sound of a fox’s cry. Morgane headed for the garden patch at the side of the house and stooped close to look at the spot where the myrrh root was buried deep.
As she stared at it, the earth began to stir and crack, and little shoots pushed up out of the ground. To her great amazement, the stalks and leaves grew bigger and bigger before her eyes; buds began to appear, and in a few moments beautiful white flowers were in bloom and the air was filled with their sweet perfume.
Morgane picked a small piece of the blossom, and she kept it for luck all her life.
She tiptoed over to the cow-house and peeped through the door. She heard a rustling sound and in the moonlight she saw that the young calves were indeed kneeling on their front legs in adoration.
Morgane knelt too and said a prayer to the Holy Child that was born amongst the hay.
But the wonders were not over yet, for as she returned to the house, she heard the buzzing sound of bees who had left their hives in winter. Their rhythmic sound sounded like a soft lullaby that drifted away over the hills in the night air.
Filled with wonder and hope, Morgane returned to the house. Always after that, when people would ask her if she believed in the old tales of Christmas, she would say “Of course I do for I have seen the wonders of Christmas for myself.”