Free Foreign Affairs by Patricia Scanlan

had all helped collect earlier in the day and draped it around the top of the crib and down the mountainside before placing the figures in the crib. After that it was tea-time.
    The smell of rashers and sausages sizzling on the pan made Paula’s mouth water. The turkey had been stuffed and now reposed on top of the cooker in its big roasting dish. Its bluey-veined
white breasts were covered with neatly arranged streaky rashers. As a treat, they were given fried bread and mushrooms as well, but after a few mouthfuls Paula could eat no more, she was in such a
tizzy of excitement. On the big black mantelpiece over the crackling flaming fire, she could see six long grey stockings waiting to be collected on the way to bed. She knew what would be in those
stockings in the morning, if Santa came. Shiny red pennies. Sweets. Balloons. Little round oranges and a juicy red apple.
    ‘Has he left yet, Daddy?’ she enquired anxiously.
    ‘Good gracious, what time is it?’ exclaimed Maura, looking at the clock on the mantel. ‘Time to listen to Santa on the wireless.’ She got up from the table and went into
the sitting-room and switched on the wireless. Up on the dresser, beside the delph, was a speaker, and the spellbound children heard a whistling howling gale as Santa asked his helper Aidan to give
the reindeers more hay. Paula’s eyes grew wider and wider as she listened to Santa reading out letters from girls and boys.
    ‘Don’t forget my nurse’s outfit and my surprise!’ she burst out.
    ‘And my helicopter,’ John exclaimed.
    ‘And my Cowboys and Indians set.’ Joseph was not to be left out.
    ‘He won’t forget,’ Maura reassured them. ‘Listen now, Santa’s getting ready to leave the North Pole.’ They sat listening as Santa mounted his sleigh and
straightened the reins. Then they heard the jingling of bells and Santa was on his way.
    It was time to get their faces and hands washed and to take their stockings, which Maura solemnly handed out to each of them. This was the moment for the last ceremony of the evening. In silence
they watched as Maura lit the big red candle that stood in a terracotta plant pot which was covered in tinfoil and decorated with holly and ivy. Placing it in the centre of the sitting-room window,
Maura said softly, ‘Let this light welcome your arrival this Holy Night, Sweet Jesus.’
    ‘Amen,’ they all responded.
    ‘And let it help Santa Claus find his way to us too,’ Joseph remarked firmly.
    ‘Let me look out, Daddy,’ Paula commanded. Her father lifted her up in his strong arms and she nestled close against him, loving the bristly feeling of his chin against her skin.
‘Where is he now, Daddy?’ she whispered.
    ‘Heading for Iceland now, I’d say,’ Pete said reflectively.
    Outside in the wintry dark Paula could see the beam of the lighthouse. She could hear the crash of the waves against the pier and the whistling of the wind as it blew around the gables and down
the chimney. Along the village she could see the flickering glow of candles in the windows of the other houses. Some houses even had their Christmas trees up and their twinkling sparkling lights
were like stars in the windows. Her daddy was going to decorate the tree when they were in bed. In the morning the whole house would be transformed into a magical wonderland and it would be
Christmas Day. Santa would have come and then they would go to early Mass while it was still dark and she would see baby Jesus in his crib and feel so tender towards the smiling child as she
listened to the story of His birth. Like her, Jesus was a special child. How
she
would love to have been born in a stable and laid on a bed of straw in a manger, with all those kings from
foreign countries coming to worship her with their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.
    ‘I think it’s time for bed, Missy,’ her father interrupted her reverie. ‘Have you got your stocking?’ Paula waved the precious sock at him. Soon it