Merry Christmas Everybody (Song and lyrics)

The ultimate song  about a British Christmas:

Are you hanging up a stocking on your wall?
It’s the time that every Santa has a ball
Does he ride a red nosed reindeer?
Does a ton-up on his sleigh?
Do the fairies keep him sober for a day?

So here it is Merry Christmas
Everybody’s having fun
Look to the future now
It’s only just begun.

Are you waiting for the family to arrive?
Are you sure you got the room to spare inside?
Does your granny always tell ya
That the old songs are the best
Then she’s up and rock and rollin’ with the rest?

So here it is Merry Christmas
Everybody’s having fun
Look to the future now
It’s only just begun.

What will your daddy do when he sees
Your mama kissin’ Santa Claus
Ah ah

Are you hanging up a stocking on your wall?
Are you hoping that the snow will start to fall
Do you ride on down the hillside
In a buggy you have made?
When you land upon your head
Then you bin slayed.

So here it is Merry Christmas
Everybody’s having fun
Look to the future now
It’s only just begun.

IT’S CHRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITSMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS!!!!!!!

With love to Noddy Holder and Slade, for my favourite Christmas song (although for my sons, The Beach Boys Christmas Album reigns supreme, and we always play it when decorating the tree).

 

Peering into the Kitchen

It’s Christmas Eve and the kitchen is a mess
everything crusted with flour as more pastry is made
because someone has eaten all the mince pies already.

The jelly stuffed full of Rum soaked sponges has finally set
providing a foundation for our Christmas Trifle
and the Christmas Cake has been iced
with red rocketships rather than holly.

Meanwhile someone is melting dark chocolate
to make a Yule Log the way Grandad used to
and not looking guilty at all.

I smile and close the door on my adult sons as
their chocolate fuelled laughter resounds in my ears.
Christmas is finally here!

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem has appeared here for the last two years, but I want to share it once again! It describes our own little Christmas Eve tradition, where our two sons spend Christmas Eve in the Kitchen making Trifle and baking cakes and Mince Pies.

This tradition started any years ago, when I would leave the bulk of the Christmas baking until Christmas Eve, and have an all day marathon with my two little boys. By the time Daddy came home from work, they were happy and above all tired. Not over excited at all, so sleep came easy to them and Father Christmas (aka Dad) could drink his Calvados, eat his mince pie and fill those stockings.

The mess is a family joke –when they were young, somehow the house on Christmas Eve was littered with floury handprints…

After two lockdown Christmases, someone is able to spend Xmas with us once more. Hurray!!!!!

It is probably time to out the someone who always eats the first batch of Mince pies — it is our eldest son…….

Merry Christmas Everybody!

here is some British Christmas fun – from the Royal Navy as they came home from a long deployment  in December 2011. This video always gets me in the mood for Christmas.

Merry Christmas Everybody!

Father And Son

A wonderful seasonal poem from Glenys:

lifecameos

On Christmas Day after
the excitement of presents
Dad lies on the living room floor
on his side, head on hand as
baby brother leans backwards
and forwards rocking to and fro
on his chubby bottom against
Dad’s stomach, absorbed in his
new playskool toy with a
rolling barrel, levers to push.

He thumps on one lever, laughs
at its loud tinging noise, stares
in fascination as the barrel rolls
and rings, thumps the lever again,
murmurs excitedly to himself.

Dad watches as baby brother
plays, grinning broadly at this
intent little fellow, so engrossed
in his fabulous new toy.

Previously posted March 2017.

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Merry Christmas!

As children, we would go carolling around the neighbourhood. This carol was always a favourite:

O little town of Bethlehem,
how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
the silent stars go by;
yet in thy dark streets shineth
the everlasting light.
The hopes and fears of all the years
are met in thee tonight.

For Christ is born of Mary,
and, gathered all above
while mortals sleep, the angels keep
their watch of wond’ring love.
O morning stars, together
proclaim the holy birth,
and praises sing to God the King
and peace to all the earth.

How silently, how silently,
the wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts
the blessings of his heav’n.
No ear may hear his coming,
but in this world of sin,
where meek souls will receive him, still
the dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem,
descend to us, we pray,
cast out our sin and enter in,
be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels
the great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,
our Lord Immanuel!

Author: Phillips Brooks

Phillips Brooks was born at Boston, Dec. 13, 1835, graduated at Harvard College 1855, and was ordained in 1859. Successively Rector of the Church of the Advent, Philadelphia, and Trinity Church, Boston, he became Bishop of Mass. in 1891, and died at Boston in Jan., 1893. His Carol, “O little town of Bethlehem,” was written for his Sunday School in 1868, the author having spent Christmas, 1866, at Bethlehem.

Peering into the Kitchen

It’s Christmas Eve and the kitchen is a mess
everything crusted with flour as more pastry is made
because someone has eaten all the mince pies already.

The jelly stuffed full of Rum soaked sponges has finally set
providing a foundation for our Christmas Trifle
and the Christmas Cake has been iced
with red rocketships rather than holly.

Meanwhile someone is melting dark chocolate
to make a Yule Log the way Grandad used to
and not looking guilty at all.

I smile and close the door on my adult sons as
their chocolate fuelled laughter resounds in my ears.
Christmas is finally here!

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem appeared here last year, but I want to share it again! It describes our own little Christmas Eve tradition.

Many years ago, I would leave the bulk of the Christmas baking until Christmas Eve, and have an all day marathon with my two little boys. By the time Daddy came home from work, they were happy and above all tired. Not over excited at all, so sleep came easy to them and Father Christmas could drink his Calvados, eat his mince pie and fill those stockings.

The mess is a family joke –when they were young, somehow the house on Christmas Eve was littered with floury handprints…

Alas, last year and this year someone is elsewhere and baby bro (all 6 foot of him) is baking alone……

Robin in the Fig Tree

What are the words?
Bright, cheery red, bob-bob-bobbing?
My Robin has read Ted Hughes
he pulls worms fighting from the stiff soil
terrorises chickens, birds a hundred times his size
fights to the death for territory.
He is now lurking in our small unproductive Fig tree
that leans awkwardly out of a fake ceramic tub.
The pigeons by the pond look uneasy.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Winter Reveals 2

Trees stark against the sky
show signs of hard pruning
or scars of storm damage

Sunlight shafts through leafless woods
reveals which wild seeded
and which are straight lined planting

The artificial brightnesses of our Decembers
do not touch this hard solitude
as we all wait for the future

Copyright © 2021  Kim Whysall-Hammond

This is a reworking of a poem I wrote (and blogged) in 2017. I was never sure of the ending, and I like this version better.

I was inspired to go back to this poem by the weekly prompt at Earthweal, which is all about Nadirs and Zeniths.

To a Distant Friend

Winter has brought new fears
new covids, colds, and flu
will our jabs hold up?
can I hug at Christmas?
Will I get to see you?

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This little poem is a Flamenca poem.

The form comes from the Flamenco songs of the Roma people. The structure is a quintain; five lines. The number of syllables; 6-6-5-6-6. Challenging bit: The second and fifth verses share assonance; the rhyming of stressed vowels (equinox; thought) or words with the same consonant and a different vowel (night; naught).

It was written in response to Rebecca’s December Poetry Challenge at Fake Flamenco. She is asking for poems about winter — I’m afraid mine is a bit gloomy though…..

Go an give it a try!

Merry Christmas!

For those of you not in the UK, people here count how many days that they are into Advent before they hear this song (in the shops, on the radio). When you hear it, you have been Whammed……