Do people still go out Christmas caroling? It occurs to me that haven’t heard carolers in recent years. Maybe it’s a holiday custom that didn’t cross into the 21st century.
I can recall the fun of caroling from my (20th century) teen years. One long-ago night of Christmas carols stands out.
My Uncle Fred and Aunt Lillian had a home on the outskirts of Sugarhouse, a Salt Lake City suburb. I spent a big chunk of my growing-up-years there, playing with my cousin Kathy. Her cousin Melinda lived on the same street, and we were all the best of pals.
Kathy’s neighborhood—called “Mt. Aire Acres”—was ideal for caroling. A group of us gathered at her house, one December evening, to sing through the chilly streets.
Our unofficial music leader was my cousin Rick, Kathy’s elder brother, and newly married. He arrived with his bride, Cherre, and Excelsior, his accordion. (Rick is, to this day, the only accordion player I’ve ever known. His Lady of Spain is legendary!)
Our group included my cousin Marianne—our star soprano—and a half-dozen-or-so young friends and kinfolk. Bundled for the cold, we watched as Rick strapped Excelsior over his parka. He fingered some preliminary chords and turned to the door. We stopped chattering, followed him out and broke into our vocals, singing the songs of Christmas to Rick’s bouncy accompaniment.
Deck the Halls, Jingle Bells, Hark the Herald Angels Sing . . . we sang them all as we ambled along the snowy, slick sidewalks. The more we shivered, the louder we sang. It was good cold fun!
We were well warmed up—voice-wise, at least—when we launched into O Holy Night. This favorite brought out our best.
“O Holy Night, the stars are brightly shi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ning!” we warbled. “It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth.”
We gave our guts as we built to the climactic moment.
“For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. FAAAAAAAAAAAAAALL on your KNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!” we crescendo-ed—just as Rick slipped on a patch of ice. Down he instantly dropped, as Excelsior bellowed in distress.
Rick landed ON HIS KNEES.
Never was a reverent hymn so abruptly interrupted! We burst into laughter and couldn’t stop.
Rick managed to draw himself up to his proper 74 inches, and we resumed our trek over the treacherous sidewalk. We made every effort to continue, but our singing was spoiled for the night. Every verse got corrupted with giggles.
We soon gave up the perils of caroling and headed back to Uncle Fred’s, where we laughed again into our hot cocoa.
I still smile when I remember a Christmas Carol, accordion to Rick.
Oh what fun!
I remember Rick playing his accordion.
Not many people outside of my family know that my dad also played the accordion. He played polkas for us when we were little. What fun we had when he pulled out that gray case! He quit playing that fun instrument when I was around 10 or so. Don’t know why. My younger siblings never heard him play it and don’t believe me when I tell them about it.