PRIZE LIST.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18946, 17 December 1929, Page 11 (Supplement)

PRIZE LIST.

Humorous Topical Poem. First Prize: Miss June Townsend. 32, Swann’s Road, Avonside. Second Prize: Mies Iris Anderson, 56, Rochester Street, Linwood. Highly Commended: Miss Gladys Hodson, 491, Hereford Street. Drawing Competition. Pirst Prize: Miss Kathleen Holdsworth [(fifteen 132, Rske/street, Spreydon. See ©nd Prize (equal): Miss Lilian Wotton, Wharenui, Marlborough. Miss Janet Rive (fifteen years), 10, Cranford Street, St Albans. yery Highly Commended: Miss Denise Gerard, Snowdon. Miss Lesley Cossgrove, 74, Mersey Street, St Albans. Miss Beulah Jenkin, 79, Chester Street, City, IDommended : v Miss Joyce Noble, \ 17, Steven Street, Linwood. Miss Gladys Hodson, 491, Hereford Street. Miss Irene Palmer, 22, Manning Street, Lower Riccarton. Miss Jean Ellis, \ Strickland Street, Spreydon. Miss Fiona M’Leod, 46, Gracefield Street. Miss Evelyn Townsend, 32, Swann’s Road, Avonside. Rhort Story (eighteen years), “A Christmas in Poverty Street." Pint Prize: , • Miss Lorna Stokes (fifteen years), 101, Edward Avenue, St Albans. Second Prize: Miss Iris Anderson (fourteen years), 56, Rochester Street, Linwood. yery Highly Commended: Miss Marjorie Fraser (fourteen ; years), 21, Montreal Street, Sydenham. Highly Commended: Cyril Bradwell, Patricia Nichols, Alan Hewson, Rita Ivy Williamson, Edith Goode, Dorothy Campbell, Brenda Broughton, D. Shand, Doreen Thomas, Gladys Hodson, Claire Morton, Maud Jones, Gwen Puddle, Vesta Emanuel, Peggy Stanton, Dorothy Trousselot, Winnie Johnston, Grace King, Rona Woodham, Frances Henshaw, Colin Chambers, Dorothy Needham, Frances Lyman, Doris Brown, “ Dunstan,” Roma Sullivan, Muriel Pegg, Nonie Gardiner, Ted Anderson, Joan Collins. SHORT STORY (Under Ten Years). First Prize: Master Colin Rouse (nine years). (Address wanted.) Second Prize: Miss Gwen Nicolle (nine years), 402, Wilson’s Road, Linwood. yery Highly Commended: Master Jack Sinclair (nine years), t 24, Edgeware Road, City. Highly Commended: Daphne Lye, Alan Hunter, Jean Maclachan, Desmond King, Frank Brown, Bobbie Cranstoun, Patricia Hall, Dennis Houghton, Ken Morrison, Patricia Morrison, Eileen Clara Wilson, Sylvia Glastonbury, Richard Trott. SECOND PRIZE (JUNIOR). * Good Friday, my happiest day this 3'ear, dawned bright and clear. As soon as I had seen what a perfect morning it was I dressed quickly and went outside, where the sunshine was inviting me. I had a scant y breakfast that morning, for I was so excited. Later in the morning, about nine o’clock, I found myself in a train journeying to Timaru. Cattle grazed in the fields., and up in the trees the bellbird and the tui piped their melodious songs. It seemed to me as if it were the sweetest music I had ever heard, for I was so happy. The wayside was also very picturesque, and I found that everything could yield me pleasure. As the

train pulled in at the Timaru station I could hear the clock striking twelve. I was off the train almost before it had stopped, and I at once saw the pleasant face of my aunt, with whom I was to spend the day. She greeted me warmly, and then I accompanied her to her residence. It was surrounded by beautiful gardens, where flowers of ever-changing tints of soft rose colours and gold grew in abundance. At that time the sun shone fully upon the flowers, and they looked very pretty. The silence of the wood near by was stirred by the twitter of birds and the rushing of a stream which flowed swiftly over fern and moss. After luncheon I prepared to go to the gardens. When I arrived there a glorious sight met my eyes. The hot houses were laden with sweet-smelling, fragrant flowers. I explored the rest of the gardens also, and I found it was beautiful to walk in the shade of the trees and look at the flowers of many different colours. I then made my way to the beach, where people were enjoying a bathe in the calm Sea. T spent the rest of the afternoon in digging holes and building castles. About five o’clock I returned to the home of my aunt, and my uncle, who had arrived home just before me, began, in his usual way, to make fun of me. Before I went in the train back to my own home I was informed by both my uncle and aunt that I would be welcome at any time. I went home that night with a light heart, for I felt that I had enjoyed myself very much. Gwendoline Nicolle, 402, Wilson’s Road, Linwood. VERY HIGHLY COMMENDED (Junior). Last Saturday my mother decided to spend the day at Sumner. Soon all was ready and we started off. Later on in the morning we reached Sumner, the beach was crowded with people, everybody seemed gay and happy. I joined the host of children who were going in swimming. It was lovely lazing in the soft cool water, but upon hearing a call from the beach I hurried out of the water, dried myself, and consumed a hearty lunch. After lunch I gave my attention to the building of a mighty fortress on the sands. I first made a big pile of sand; after that I flattened out the top of the pile and made some turrets out of a few pieces of shell. My castle was then complete, minus the walls and gates. These were soon built. The gates consisted of two upright sticks, with two other sticks criss-crossed between them. My castle was indeed a beauty. At that moment my mother called me to her. “You can go for a climb on the rocks if you like,” she said, so off I went. I had a really lovely time climbing among the big boulders, pretending I was climbing Mount Cook. At last I reached the top and could see the boys and girls in fancy bathing caps splashing about in the lagoon. Suddenly I saw mother signalling to me, so I hurried down. When I reached mother she told me that we were going home, so I parted with the beach, but I shall always talk of that day as my happiest day this year. Jack Sinclair, 24, Edgeware Road, City.

ALL ABOUT ME. (By FATHER CHRISTMAS.) Bobby is only five and doesn’t know any better; but if other people have the same sort of ideas about me as Bobby has, it’s time I said a few words m self-defence. Last Christmas, Bobby was in bed, and X was waiting in the chimney, With a drum under one arm and a i eddy bear under the other, waiting for Bobby to go to sleep, when in Ca <? le - Bdbby’s mother. ‘ When I grow up,” announced Bobby, “ I’ m no t going to be a batcher, after all.” <t " No, dear, I shouldn’t,” said mother. And now off you go to sleep.” u Nor a bus conductor.” (( No, darling. Good-night.” t< When I grow up,” persisted Bobby, I know what I'm going to be. I’m going to be Father Christmas and have a huge great beard and a red coat, and climb chimneys and never do an .^ r - N^ vor^c except at Christmas-time.” . ever do any work except at Cnristmas-time ? ” Well, they say that listeners never hear any good of themselves ! But when I heard that, I let out a snort of indignation that made Bobby’s mother start, and say that if the wind blew down the chimney like that, they’d have to have a xed * -As if chimneys were not difficult enough to get down without fixing cowls to them! That was what people thought about me, did they? Just because Christmas only lasts a few days out of every twelve months they imagine that for the rest of the year I’m out of a job, taking a nice long holiday. Holiday! Bless me, I haven’t had a holiday for about two thousand years, and from the look of things I still shan’t have had one when another score of centuries have slipped by. I’m not complaining, mind you, because I don’t want what most people would call a holiday. Christmas is a good enough holiday for Mrs Christmas and me. I have to work a good deal harder than others. Just because the children never think of me except at Christmas-time (I wish they would! It s rather lonely sometimes when I know that not a single child in the world is thinking of me), they mustn’t imagine that I’m not thinking of them. I’m always thinking of them and doing my best to arrange things so that next Christmas shall be the best they have ever had. First of all, there’s the listening. Of course, I ve far too much other work to do to be able to spend a great deal of time listening, and Mrs Christmas takes a good deal of it off my hands. Gff my ears, rather. But every hour of the day throughout the year, from January to December, one of us is listening, and if we hear a boy or girl wish for anything—even if it’s only a secret, wish in their hearts—down it goes on the reference card, so- that, when Christmas comes, there’s no need to wonder what present I shall leave. All I need is to turn up the reference card, choose the biggest wish, and leave that. Perhaps you’ve never heard of these reference cards? There’s a card for everyone who believes in Father Christmas with their name and address and age, and wishes, and details of the presents they have already had, and the time they go to bed, and the size of their chimney, and whether they’ve a wireless (Oh that wireless. I think it was deliberately invented so that Father Christmas should trip over the aerial at Christmas.) All these cards must be kept up-to-date, and that makes more work for poor me. A lot of people, of course, grow up sooner or later and get foolish (“ wise ” they call it), and laugh at Father Christmas; and then their cards are taken out and torn into tiny pieces and thrown away. It’s a sad businss, tearing up cards. You can always tell when I’m doing it, because the tiny bits of torn cards go floating down to the earth as snow. Still there are always new cards to take their places. Every day the Stork comes to see me with a long list of new kiddies which he has just dropped down the chimneys, and every new kiddie means a new card to be written out. And then there are the presents. All the year I’m busy collecting them and making them into parcels and storing them ready for Christmas, and when you think of the millions I have to collect and tie up, you’ll realise that a year, isn’t too long for that job alone. And then there’s the gardening, too. It may never have struck you that Father Christmas has a garden. But he has, and when I tell you that it stretches all over the world, you will understand that it takes a bit of looking after. There are the Christmas trees for instance—millions of them to be planted and carded for every year, and no one but myself to do it. Every day I load up my sledge with rain clouds and sunbeams and go driving away to four them on the forests of Christmas rees, because if I don’t there would be no Christmas trees, and the kiddies wouldn’t like that. And it’s the same with the mistletoe, and the holly, and the currants, and raisins, and oranges, and figs, and nuts, and all the other Christmas produce that grows in my garden. They all want sun beams and they all want rain clouds. No work, eh? Bless my soul. There’s months of work in the holly alone. First there’s making the

berries—millions of them. Then each one has to be dipped in the sunset to make them red and shiny. I just manage to get them dipped in time, and then every single one of them has to be fixed on the tree. If the robins didn’t help me with that job, there’d be very few berries on your Christmas holly. All this, of course, means a lot of travelling, and travelling nowadays takes a lot longer than it used to. Whereas in the old days I could slip across and get a few sunbeams and be back in time for lunch, nowadays I rarely get back before dark, and that makes Mrs Christmas nervous. I always tell her, though, that with a couple of bright stars as headlights, there’s little danger of an accident.

It’s wireless that’s the trouble. There are so many wireless waves everywhere that the air’s hardly fit for reindeer, (If anybody tells you, by the way, that Father Christmas uses a motor-car or an aeroplane, don’t believe them. Only terribly wise people would say such a thing.) Not long ago, for instance, we ran slap into a tremendous commotion caused by 3YA, with the result that I missed the sunset, and had to bring back the holly berries, undipped. I haven’t mentioned anything like all the work I have to do, but I’ve said enough to show oil the Bobbies in the world that when I’m supposed to be taking a rest, I’m really working harder than ever. Yes, it is hard work, and if little Bobby is looking for a nice soft job when he grows up. let me tell him that he’d have a far easier time as a bus conductor or a butcher than he would as Father Christmas. No! When little Bobby is a man I shall still be much too young to think of retiring. There’s Mrs Christmas calling, so I mustn’t write any more. But if you run across young Bobby—he’ll be carrying a drum and a big Teddy Bear —you might tell him that I’m never out of work, and that as long as there’s a single boy or girl in the world who believes in Father Christmas, I never shall be! (Original.) Melba Connor, 359, Linwood Avenue. FROM REAL LIFE. As this story was the only one written from actual experience, Aunt Hilda has donated a special prize for it. The writer is only seven years.—A.H. Dear Aunt Hilda, —I am telling you of a Christmas in Poverty Street. My mummy has seven of us, and last Christmas daddy wasn’t working, and we had no nice toys, and our auntie told us to go to their place for dinner, and we did. I don’t want Father Christmas to forget me this year; mummy says he might as there are a lot of us and we may not get any pudding. I cannot write any more. I will say good-bye.—From a tryer, Clarice. HOW TO MAKE YOUR CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS.

Here are two little things for you to make for the Christmas decorations which will be simply lovely to decorate the nursery with. They are very easy, and look so pretty if you choose brightcoloured paper. The first is a new kind of paper chain. You will want long strips of thick, coloured tissue-paper about two inches wide. Mark the inches all along the bottom and then cut up at each mark for an inch and a half. Then turn the strip up the other way and make cuts the same length in between the first set. That’s all, but when you pull the strips out and give them a little twist, you’ll be surprised howpretty they look hung across the room.

The others are pretty little lanterns. For each lantern you’ll want a piece of thick, coloured tissue-paper, five inches long and four inches wide. Fold it so a.s to get a piece two inches wide and five long. Then, beginning at the bottom. folded edge, cut up to within a little of the top. Make the cuts very even, and cut the last strip right off for a handle. Then open out youi*paper and fold over at the top and bottom to form the little lantern. Fix the bottom and the handle with a touch of gum.

CHRISTMAS THOUGHTS. Happy are those people, young or old, who at Christmas time can find the true Spirit of Christmas. It is not as easy as the thoughtless ones may believe; for it consists of something more subtle than wishing hearty wishes to everyone you meet, and eating a prodigious dinner. In a serious way Christmas Eve must share with Easter Day the title of the most wonderful event of the year. If you do not wake on Christmas morning with the sense that something wonderful and holy and glorious has just happened, that something more beautiful than an ordinary daybreak is about to unfold, then you miss something of the real Christmas Spirit. Perhaps you did not snatch a moment to think of it on Christmas Eve, but were too immersed, as we are apt to be these days, in the business side, or the housekeeping side, or the holiday-planning side of Christmas. It was not for nothing that the ancient churches appointed vigils to be held on holy eves. In the ancient city of Bethlehem there is at this day, beneath the Church of the Nativity, a strange crypt—a natural cave which tradition says was the cave in the inn yard, once used as a stable, and venerated by millions of Christian pilgrims as the actual birthplace of our Lord. Some of the fiercest battles of mediaeval history were waged to gain possession of this spot, and thousands of Crusaders—kings, knights, princes, barefooted friars, and mail-clad Templars—flung away their lives to liberate from the Paynim rule this stable of Bethlehem, and the site of the Holy Sepulchre.

The piety of centuries of devout pilgrimage has overlaid the bare rock of the cave with costly hangings, adorned it with rich screens, and filled it with images and offerings. Innumerable silver lamps perpetually burn their scented oil before the traditional site of the manger. To my mind it would be easier to picture that first Christmas morning had the stall been left bare. It must be difficult to realise the simplicity of the great event among such a confusion of riches, just as it is sometimes difficult to find the true Christmas Spirit amidst the hurlyburly of Christmas trade and holiday making. There was long current a superstition that for one hour on Christmas Eve the domestic animals had the power of human speech granted them in memory of the ox and the ass who shared the stable at Bethlehem. It is a pretty tale, and could they so speak, and we could hear them, it would be well for us if they had nothing with which to reproach us. In Northern Europe a sheaf of grain is put out that the birds may peck their Christmas feast from it. Though our cattle and wild creatures have nothing like the rigour of the northern Christmas season, with its frost and snow, to face, it would be a pleasing and kindly custom to adopt did we include in all our bounties at this time a provision for our dumb friends. The true spirit of Christmas is all-inclusive, and shuts no one out. May it be with us all this year. YULE CANDLES. At one time Yule candles were as inseparable from Christmas in Yorkshire homes as holly, Yule cakes, cheese and Christmas cake. They were lit by the youngest member of the household with due ceremony, just as the redeeming sign had to be scraped on the cheese by the male head, the cake cut by the oldest female of the family,and the previous year’s log use d to light the new one. Until recent times it was the custom for rural shopkeepers annually to present to their patrons a couple of Yule candles, each in a highly-coloured box. Even the Reformation did not end this bit of Christmas ritual in Yorkshire, but to-day Yule candles are almost things of the past. A CHRISTMAS DINNER 250 YEARS AGO. According to the “ Diary of a Country Parson,” a Christmas Day dinner served at New College, Oxford, in 1773, began with “ Peas Soup,” which was followed by “ Two Fine Codds. boi’ed with fried soles round them, and oyster sauce.” Then “ Orange Pudding,” then a lease of wild ducks roasted, a forequarter of lamb with “ sallad,” and finally “ Mince Pies and a Fine Plumb Cake.” No mention of turkey or plum pudding, and the orange pudding was, served before the poultry and meat.

Illllllllllllllllllllll(lll!lllllllllllllli!lllllllllllllllilllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllltlll THE FAIRIES SAVE UP FOR CHRISTMAS. Did you know that all the year round the fairies save up for Christmas, just as you do. Well, they do, but not pennies, because they have no need for money! You’ll never guess what it is that they save, so I’ll tell you. # Just inside Jhe gates of fairyland is the fairies* savings bank, and every time a fairy returns to fairyland from doing her day’s work in our world she goes to Goblin Goodfellow, who looks after the bank, and tells him all she has done during the day. Then the goblin opens his books and writes down just how many kind things she has done. Then, when Christmas comes, each fairy has a present just as big as the kind things which the goblin has written in his books. . Now, there was one little fairy named Fernella, who was really rather lazy, for she would much rather swing in her cobweb hammock than work. When Christmas came, along went Fernella with all the rest to see Goblin Goodfellow. “What name?” he asked. “Fernella, please, sir,” said Fernella, timidly. The goblin hunted through book after book, and at last he shook his head. “I’m very sorry,” he said sadly, “your name isn’t written in any of my books.” Poor Fernella! She was sorry that she had been so lazy, for, of course, there was no Christmas present for her! Just then along came Fairy Melisande, and, seeing Fernella crying, she asked what was the matter. “Dear, dear, that’s bad! ” she said. “Never mind, I’ve got quite a nice, large present this year. You shall have some of it.” And so Fernella had a present after all! And the fairy queen got all the goblins to make up a special Christ-mas-tree for Melisande—just as an extra present, because she had been so kind! But Fernella made up her mind that she would stop being lazy, so that the next year she would be able to have a present that was really and truly her own. COOKED UNDER THE THAMES. To win a wager, an innkeeper, named Austin, “ cooked ” a Christmas pudding under the River Thames. He placed the pudding in an airtight tin, placed the tin in a sack of lime, and then sank the sack in the river, ten feet deep, at Rotherhithe. Three hours later it was found that the pudding had been perfectly “ cooked ” by the heat generated by the lime.

WHEN FATHER CHRISTMAS WAS LATE! Everybody knows all about Father Christmas, but I wonder how many of you have ever heard of Mother Christ mas?’ And yet she is ever so important, for if it is Father Christmas who brings all the presents to you, it is Mother Christmas who sees that they are all ready in time, and it is she who helps Father Christmas into his great red coat and ! sees that his slippers are nice and warm when he comes home. Now, one Christmas-time Father Christmas was rather late in starting, and so when he did go he was in a great hurry. Mother Christmas waved to him as the reindeers galloped along the Milky Way and then she went back into the house to tidy up. And then she found out that a dreadful thing had happened! Father Christmas had been in such a hurry that he had left a whole sackful of toys behind, and that meant that ever so many children would have to go without presents! “I’ll have to take them myself,” said Mother Christmas. “Dear, dear! I do hope none of the children wake up, for it would be a disappointment to them not to see Father Christmas. But there, better that than let them go without their toys.” And she put on her red coat that really made her look quite like Father Christmas, and off she started. It was very hard work for her because, of course, she wasn’t used to going down chimney-pots as Father Christmas was, but at last every present was delivered and she was able to go home again. Father Christmas was ever so glad when he came home to find that after all nobody had been forgotten, and I rather think that he tucked something specially nice into Mother Christmas’s own Christmas stocking, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was! SPARKS FROM THE YULE LOG. Christmas crackers were invented eighty years ago. Good King Wenceslaus. of Christmas carol fame, was a King of Bohemia. The turkey first became a Christmas dish in the reign of James I. It is against the law to send Christmas crackers through the post. The custom of sending Christmas cards started last century. The oldest name for Christmas is the Feast of Lights. The holly is one of the few trees found in nearly every part of the world. The turkey was originally a native of America! Some one thousand five hundred varieties of toys are used in the readymade Christmas stockings. The New Zealand Christmas Day begins twelve hours before the English, owing to the difference in time. Turkeys do not become hardy until they are three months old. Christmas crackers used to consist of a piece of coloured paper tied in the middle and containing sweets. No other country can compete with Britain in the production of Christmas cake. Nearly every country in the world contributes something to the making of a Christmas pudding. BEFORE THE TURKEY. In the so-called good old days alternate, or adjunct, to the boar’s head as a Christmas dish was the peacock. The preparation of the dish was no light matter. Any Mrs Beeton of the time would have given instructions as follow:—Carefully strip the skin with the plumage adhering; stuff with spice and sweet herbs; baste with yolk of egg; when roasted to a turn allow to cool and stitch up again in the feathers; gild the beak, stuff the same with cotton saturated in spirits, to be lighted when the carver begins operations. In the ancient banqueting halls the peacock—food for lovers and meat for lords—was served with befitting ceremony. A lady guest, considered most distinguished by birth or beauty, carried the bird to the table and placed it before the master of the house. Peacock eating among the nobility con tinued until about the time of William IV. SNAPDRAGON. “ Snapdragon ” is essentially and solely a sport for Christmastide. It seems to be out of harmony with any other occasion, and, indeed, it is never introduced except at this season. Possibly it is some lingering trace, some embodied tradition, of fire worship and devil worship—it suggests the days of Saturnalia, heathen priests and weud sacrifices in forest groves long before Christianity came to transform orgies into rejoicings for something beautiful and holy. A sense of sinister suggestion has always hung about it. Steel wrote in 1709:—“We got into a corner with a porringer of brandy and threw raisins into it, then set it on fire. This fantastical mirth was called * snapdraggons * — felt the sinisterness of it. The wantonness of the thing was to see each other looke like a demon as we burnt ourselves and snatched out the fruit.’*

CHRISTMAS SUPERSTITIONS. Married men must be careftlf frhctf choosing the holly for the home decoration. If smooth leaves predominate the wife will be mistress for the next twelve months; if prickly, she must play “ second fiddle ” to her spouse. Whatever you do. allow no new leather in any form to enter your house during Christmas week; if you do it is sure ta bring ill-luck with it. If you would protect your house from fire keep the charred remnant of this year’s Yule-log to light its successor next Christmas; and while it is burning see that there enters no person with bare feet or a squint, and, above all, no flat-footed woman. The first thing brought home on Christmas Day must be something green; and the first person to enter must be a male. Even a tomcat, it is said, can be relied on to bring luck with him! Any one who draws water from a well on Christmas morning draws a good fortune for his family. If a cricket chirrups on your hearth on the fateful day, you may look forward to the coming year without a fear, for of all luck-bringings at Yuletide the cricket is king. Many people keep open their ears on Christmas night for the crowing of the cock. “ When the bird of dawning singeth all night long, no spirit dare stir abroad during the coming year.” CHRISTMAS. (Original.) Oh, Christmas is a lovely day. With ships, and cars, and games to play. And nuts, and balls ,and acrobats, And all the best of new top hats. There’s trains, and bike, and best of things, And best of all, some songs to sing. But at the last, when it’s time for bed, We stop and think, and nod our head. Then on the morrow is Christmas day, With all the fun that comes to stay; And peas, potatoes, and puddings bright. And at the last we say “ Good-night.** A law Robinson, 304, Hills Road, St Martins. CHRISTMAS CONUNDRUMS. They often go out before the first guest leaves your party, but they aren't rude. Who are they? The candles on the Christmas tree. Goodness! Puss has stolen the turkey! We’ll describe the disaster aptly in one word; then we’ll cut out one letter and—lo and behold it becomes two words describing what the turkey is now! * Answer: A catastrophe. Take out one “a ’* and it’s a cat’s trophe (trophy). ► \ Puss stole one of the puddings, too, but it didn’t matter. Why?, It was just a trifle. And then puss, very naturally, felt ill, and she reminded us of a piano—like but different. Can you explain it?, A piano gives forth music. Puss—a sick mew. The other day Willie looked out of the window and cried, joyfully: “Snow! Snow! ” “ It’s snowsnow—it’s sleet,” said Jack. He meant, of course, “ It’s no snow—it’s sleet.” OLD NAMES FOR CHRISTMAS. The oldest name for Christmas is “The Feast of Lights”—a reference either to the lights in the heavens when Christ was born or to the fact that He was the Light of the world. “ The Festival of the Nativity ** is the next oldest name, and it is followed by “ The Feast of the Incarnation.” A quaint name, found in old carols, is “ Godde’s Daye.** “ The Day of the Manger ” is another. “ Yule ” is a name borrowed from a pagan feast held on December 22 to celebrate the passing of the shortest day—December 21. An old Irish name was “ The Glory Day ” —a reference, possibly, to the song of the angels —“ In Excelsis Gloria.” Another fourteenth century name was “Ye Goode Day.” In Bavaria Christmas was called “The White Day.”