Night Before Yuletide 2022

Written by Baroness Catharine Hawkwod da Barbiano, Angels/Altavia Yule 2022 (12/10/2022),

For Baron Uilliam mór MacGregor (Sir Liam) and Baroness Fara MacGregor

With thanks to Clement C. Moore for his original “A Visit from St. Nick"

Winner of the 2022 Barony of the Angels' Seraph Bard

== THE NIGHT BEFORE YULETIDE, 2022 for Baron Liam and Baroness Fara ==

‘Twas the night before Yuletide and all through the tent

Not a creature was stirring, not child nor parent.

The stockings were hung on the tent pole with care

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The young ones were nestled all snug in their beds

(Swords tucked beside themselves, of course)

While visions of baklava danced in their heads.

(Thanks to Mistress G, everybody in Angels loves Armenian food—and singing!)

Bar’ness Fara in her coif and Sir Liam in his cap

Had just settled in for a long winter’s nap,

When outside of the camp there arose such a clatter

They sprang from their beds to see what was the matter!

Away to the tent flap they flew fast as light

Tore open the ties, looked out into the night.

(“I said no more mead out there!” the Baron growled. “Armor inspection starts at 9:00 am!”

The Baroness clapped her coronet on her head. “Maybe it’s an owl.”

It wasn’t an owl.)

The moon on the breast of the bright river sand

Gave a luster of mid-day to objects at hand,

When what to their wondering eyes did appear

But a miniature cart and eight liv’ried reindeer

With a snapp’ly dressed driver so lively and quick

They guessed right away that he must be St. Nick.

(He drove a cart like the one Angel the mini horse pulls. Most of Caid doesn’t have enough snow for North Pole-type sleighs.)

More rapid than eagles his racers they came.

St. Nick whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

“Now Magnus! Visalius! Valentine and Jethro!

Constance! Liam! Bernard! Garrett and Tomaso!

To the top of the tent! Past the main camp’s great hall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

As dry leaves before Santa Ana winds fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the tent top the coursers they flew

(In one giant leap!)

With a sleigh full of gifts and St. Nicholas, too!

And then in a twinkling, was heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each reindeer hoof.

(“That can’t be good for the canvas,” the Baroness muttered as they went back in the tent.)

The looked at the ceiling, and then came the sound

Of a great roaring rip—St. Nick (and the reindeer!) fell to the ground!

(The reindeer took one look at the Baroness’ face and, no fools they, hurried outside. Santa wasn’t quite so quick on the uptake. He stood up and dusted himself off.)

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to each foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot

(with a faint clank of armor underneath).

A bundle of gifts he had flung on his back

And he looked like a merchant just opening his pack.

(Swords! Princess dresses! Cup covers and jewelry! And was that a new gambeson for the Baron?)

St. Nick’s eyes how they twinkled! Eyebrows wiggled merry!

His face mask more armor, so good and sure—very!

(His lowered his mask just long enough to take a selfie by their stockings, then pulled it right back up again.)

His droll little mouth was drawn up in a grin,

And the scruff of his beard spiked up stiff on his chin.

He had a broad face and a strong fighter’s belly

That shook when he laughed like he’d been to a deli.

He was lanky and tough, just a jolly young elf,

So they laughed when they saw him, him spite of themselves.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Let the B and B know there was nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,

Stuffed gifts in the stockings, then turned with a jerk.

(He looked up at the big rip in the ceiling, then Baroness Fara’s face, grinned, and pointed to a new pack of large curved needles in her stocking.)

And laying his finger alongside his head

(carefully, so he didn’t poke himself with a sword)

He gave a quick nod—and hurried out the tent door instead.

He sprang to his cart, to his team gave a whistle

And they all clattered off ‘cross the camp entrance trestle.

But they heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Yuletide to all, and to all a good night!”

— Catharine Hawkwod da Barbiano