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| " . . . here's a spinning wheel
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I've been collecting Christmas books from way back, starting from about the time that I could walk and talk. I could never dream to match Betsy Beinecke Shirley, Jock Elliott and George Meredith, but I now have approximately 250 festive titles filling out the modest holiday section of our home library. Apparently, Davey was my first.
Published in 1950 and currently out - of - print, used copies are rare and costly (around $100). Luckily, a few years ago, I was able to find an affordable copy as a Christmas surprise for my twin, so at long last, we each have one of our own. My mother's inscription, for readers of the future, continues:
"Everyone who has read it or heard it read has fallen in love with it. Please treasure it so that many others will be charmed by its beautiful story."
Davey and the First Christmas
Let’s pretend there was a boy, and Davey was his name.
Whose family lived in Bethlehem when Christmastime first came.
Davey had a special pet – a donkey small and gray,
And what the two of them did best was getting in the way!
Davey named the donkey Tim. He never rode him though.
Either Tim was built too high or Davey was too low!
Davey’s father had an inn where people came to stay;
And lots and lots and lots of them were coming there one day.
His father was as busy as six or seven bees!
So Davey said, “I want to help, can’t I do something, please?
Tim would like to help you, too. Find a job for us to do!”
“Listen, son,” his father said, “Last week you broke three jugs.
You scared my two best customers with your pet lightening bugs!
And though I loved the fish you caught – why leave them on my bed?
I’ve put up with your helpfulness as long as I am able.
So do me one big favor now, get out – and clean the stable!”
Davey sadly went and stood beside the stable door.
It hardly seemed that anyone could clean that dirty floor.
He and Tim both felt so bad they started in to cry —
But then (thought Davey), “Yes, we can! Well, anyhow – let’s try.
First, let’s chase those chickens out. That’s what we’ve go to do.
So Tim began to flap his ears while Davey shouted, “Shooooo!”
The chickens clucked and flew and ducked, they fluttered wild and scary,
Until their feathers filled the air like snow in January.
Yes, Davey chased those chickens out, He and Tim together.
But now he had to get a sack and pick up every feather!
You should have seen how hard they worked! They stacked up all the wheat,
They straightened up the harnesses till they were nice and neat.
They fought with spiders bravely till they chased out every bug.
And since we must admit the truth -- they broke another jug!
The very biggest job of all was stacking up the hay.
Davey climbed up to the loft and put it all away.
“Look, Tim. You see how high it is? I’ll make just one more trip.”
Then clear up by the stable roof his feet began to slip!
Down came the hay and Davey, too. The stable looked so queer –
All you could see was piles of hay – one sandal, and one ear!
Though hay stuck out all over him just like a porcupine!
He put the hay all back again and stacked it up with care –
But left one armload down below to fill the manger there.
So Davey’s work was done at last; and when it all looked neat
He picked some flowers to trim the barn, and some for Tim to eat.
“I hope it’s clean enough,” he thought. “At least I did my best.”
And feeling very, very tired, he curled up for a rest --
Who woke up Davey from his sleep? Just guess them if you can.
Mary was the woman’s name, Joseph was the man.
Mary said, “Oh Joseph, look!” This is a lovely place!”
Then, seeing Davey there, she said, with such a shining face,
“Your father’s inn had no more rooms, tonight we’re staying here.
So tell me now, are you the boy who cleaned the stable, Dear?
And did your donkey help you work? We want to thank him, too.”
Though Davey was still half asleep, his heart was glad clear through.
So that is how a little boy, two thousand years ago,
Stayed on to hear the angels sing, and see the Star aglow.
As soon as Baby Jesus came to use the manger bed,
Then Davey’s sack of feathers made a pillow for His head.
No one told Davey anymore that he was in the way. His work had helped get ready for the world’s first Christmas Day!
Poem by Beth Vardon
Illustrations by Charlot Byj (1920 – 1983)
Whose glow shall wake the sky
The stars shall bend their voices
And every stone shall cry
And every stone shall cry
And straw like gold will shine
A barn shall harbour heaven
A stall become a shrine . . . "
from the poem by Richard Wilbur
Next Fortnightly Post
Sunday, December 28th
Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blogs
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com
Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com
So many colorful details to scrutinize,
such as these jugs:
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