St Nicholas And Other Tales by Paul Curtis (ereader manga TXT) 📕

giving.
So In the years following his death the St Nicholas legend grew.

As Christianity flourished within the Holy Roman Empire so did St Nicholas and by the year 450 many churches in the Eastern provinces of the empire in Asia Minor and Greece were being named to honor him and by the year 800 he was the most popular saint in the Eastern Catholic Church.

Such was his growing popularity as a Saint and his high regard amongst Christians that his mortal remains, which had been held in his church in Myra since his death, were stolen by a band of Italian sailors in 1087 A.D. and taken to Italy where they remain to this day, housed in the Basilica de St. Nicola in Bari.

The St Nicholas legend spread ever wider around the world and in 13th century France December sixth became the feast of St Nicholas or Bishop Nicholas Day
And as the his fame spread north his red bishops robe was replaced by more practical suit of clothes, still red, but trimmed with white fur and his bishops mitre was replaced by red fur trimmed hat.
Then By the end of the 15th century, St Nicholas was with the exception of Jesus and Mary the most popular religious figure in the Christian world.

Even after the protestant reformation when the worship of saints and relics was discouraged the people kept faith with Nicholas.

When in the 17th century the puritan Oliver Cromwell became Lord Protector of England he banned anything about Christmas the might be construed as enjoyable.
He banned any kind of feasting, drinking or dancing he even banned the hanging of holly.
In America the puritans went further by banning even the mention of St. Nicholas as well as gift-giving, candle-lighting and carol-singing.
But this only served to make people believe in St Nicholas even more


THINGS THAT GO BUMP, ELECTRICKERY AND OTHER DISASTERS

It was in the early hours of Christmas morning when I was awoken by a loud crash from the direction of the chimney breast.
I look arround and my wife who is a very light sleeper hadn’t stirred.
Now given the time of the year and the time of night someone younger or more impressionable might have thought it was Father Christmas about his work in the chimney.
However being a grizzled old cynic I thought it more likely to be either a burglar or perhaps the wind blowing over my chimney or even subsidence.
I lay awake for about ten minutes trying to work out what the noise was and hearing no further noises I decided it must have been a dream and went back to sleep.

A few hours later awoken suddenly again this time by three excitement crazed children dragging their sacks of presents behind them on thing was for sure there would be no return to sleep after this disturbance.
When the children had opened all their stocking presents they rushed off downstairs for breakfast leaving a scene of devastation behind them.

After breakfast I went back upstairs and showered and then went into the bedroom to dress for the day.
On opening the wardrobe door I discovered the source of the crash that had woken me up several hours earlier.
The rail in the wardrobe had collapsed and all the clothes were in a heap at the bottom on top of the shoes.
“So it wasn’t a dream then” I said to myself.
Five minutes later and wearing a slightly creased shirt I made my way back downstairs to what sounded like bedlam.

The rest of the morning went according to plan; the children opened their main presents from under the tree and disappeared off to play with their favourites.

By twelve o’clock the dining table was laid complete with my late mother’s best table cloth, Christmas napkins, party favours, best china, glassware and the brand new table centre while emanating from the kitchen was the sound of steam rattling the saucepan lids together with the mouth watering aroma of roasting Turkey.
In the lounge my wife was holding court with myself and her parents looking on as she was opening the few presents that still remained.
I left the group to go and boil the kettle for a drink as I entered the kitchen I looked at the electric cooker and there was one ring lit with nothing on it so I checked the other rings to make sure that the saucepan with the potatoes had heat under it which it did.
So I went to switch off the vacant ring only to discover it was already switched off.
Now there had been a little water spilled on the hob from where one of the pans had begun to boil over so I mopped up the spillage and using reverse psychology I turned the rogue ring on believing this would in fact turn it off, it didn’t it just tripped the breaker in the meter cupboard instead.
I went to the cupboard and reset the breaker and it tripped immediately.
So then we decided to wait for ten minutes before we repeated the exercise which ended with the same result.
It was decided that we could not use the cooker as it was just too dangerous.
With my wife almost in tears I said “it’s not the end of the world darling, and nobody died”.
So with true Dunkirk spirit we made the best of a bad situation.
As luck would have it the Turkey was cooked as was the stuffing, sausages and the Potatoes where boiled.
The remaining vegetables we were able to cook in the microwave and all we had to forgo were the roast potatoes and parsnips.
Now it wasn’t the most successful Christmas lunch we ever had but it could have been a lot worse.
“Bad things always come in three’s” I think we all thought it but equally all refrained from saying it out loud.

The next day, Sunday, passed off without incident for us anyway, my wife had to hit the stores in the Boxing Day sales to choose a new cooker.

Its late in the evening when, sitting down in front of the TV we see the news for the first time that day and we here the dreadful news about the Tsunami for the first time and even then it didn’t even hint at just how big a tragedy it really was.
Two hundred and fifty thousand dead in a heartbeat from Indonesia to sir Lanka and beyond and still counting.

We had our new cooker delivered on Thursday 30th December we were inconvenienced for five whole days.
Five days before normality was restored to our household.
Many of The survivors of the Tsunami will never have their lives restored to what they knew before Boxing Day.

Count your blessing, and make the best of what you have because it’s a lot more than many.


CHRISTMAS MOURNING

The Ronettes where playing on the radio, It was Christmas morning.
The children were rushing about like they’d had a caffeine injection; excitedly showing off there new toys while my wife was wrestling a turkey into the oven.
As I sat in my arm chair sipping my coffee my mind drifted back to the previous week.

The wipers swished rhythmically as they cleared the lightly beating sleet that was spattering the windscreen and the heater struggled to demist the inside.
All this was of no consequence as the car wasn’t actually moving.
It was the last Friday before Christmas and I was sat in a jam in the evening rush hour.
Half an hour I‘d been stuck in it and I was still only half a mile from where I worked.
I had time to take in the colourful and sometimes overly extravagant festive decoration on the houses which contrasted sharply with the meagre and tired looking display put on by the local council.
After another half an hour I reached the main road.
Nothing to see here through the wet steamy windows except the red tail lights of other frustrated drivers.
Twenty minutes after that accompanied by some over cheerful DJ on the radio I could see the roundabout.
The sleety rain was falling harder now and it was difficult to see through the murkiness.
After crawling to the roundabout I could just make out a flashing blue light which I suspected had nothing to do with Christmas.
As I got closer I could see it was attached to a police car which was blocking my exit.
Without any explanation the police had closed the road.
So I was faced with a choice, go back the way I came or take the exit off the roundabout which would take me in the opposite direction from where I lived.
I did the latter.
By the time I eventually arrived home I was in a black mood.
I shouted at the kids, moaned at my wife and tried to kick the cat.
My mood was not improved when my half cremated dinner was removed from the oven and what had once been gravy was now only a stain on the plate.
The weekend was spent doing all the pre Christmas stuff with the family and all too soon it was over.
When I returned to work on Monday I related my tale of woe to my workmate’s and we all had a big laugh about it.
Except for Harry, who lived locally, he just looked down at the ground grave faced.
Later, when we were alone, he told me the road was closed because a young woman had been knocked down and killed.
I was dumbstruck, I had no words just a feeling of shame at my selfishness.
A week before Christmas, she had died.
While I was cursing at being inconvenienced, ranting at being stuck in a jam.
A poor young woman lay dead in the rain soaked street.
Somebody’s wife and lover, also a daughter and mother and she was mourned by two children, a sister and a brother.

The sound of church Bells ringing out brought me back to Christmas morning and my family.
But I still couldn’t help thinking of other families for whom Christmas morning would be less joyous.
With the bells still ringing out I gave thanks for being alive.
Also I vowed to be more patient, more tolerant and more understanding in the future.
But I probably won’t keep it.


THE LEGEND OF ST NICHOLAS THE RED SUITED SANTA

Part three – The literal St Nicholas

After the demise of the puritans in Europe and America the St Nicholas legend went from strength to strength.
He has over recent centuries become known by different names for example in Holland he is known as Sinter Klaas and when the Dutch arrived in New York or New Amsterdam as it was then the red suited Sinter Klaas arrived with them but the name has since become Americanized into Santa Claus.

The first time the Name Santa Claus appeared in print was in 1773 but the first description of the most traditional image of Santa Claus was by popular author Washington Irving In his History of New York, published in 1809.

But he was finally immortalized along with his eight reindeer in 1823 in the poem “A Visit from Saint Nicholas” more commonly known to all of us as “The Night Before Christmas” written by Clement Clarke Moore an Episcopal minister.
Moore, who wrote the poem for his three daughters, depicted Santa Claus as a "right jolly old elf" with a supernatural ability to ascend up a chimney with a simple nod