Christmas Poem

Constantine Silver Band who play each Christmas Eve at Budock Vean Hotel

We hope you enjoy this poem by Kerry Vincent - inspired by The Night Before Christmas and many Christmas' spend at Budock Vean while playing in the Constantine Silver Band. 

 

 

 

T’was the night before Christmas at Budock Vean

The staff await magic. This Christmas regime.

The chairs are all placed near the pine tree with care,

Awaiting red jackets that soon will be there.

The children sat waiting, some ready for bed,

While visions of Santa Claus dance in their heads,

Each dimpled cheek, each wide-eyed happy face,

Christmas Eve.

A magic, you cannot replace!

 

When all of a sudden, the band will begin,

Striking up, with ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’

Meanwhile, in the window, lights silently shine,

As if hearing the band, they twinkle in time.

Huge baubles so carefully placed on the tree,

And presents wrapped tightly, begging to be free!

Then what to my wondering ears should appear?

But a song of Rudolf, Santa’s red nosed reindeer.

Now a toddler guest runs, so lively and quick,

Older siblings sat quiet, behaving for St Nick!

Unaware of the history, they sit all the same

But we are aware and remember their names.

A once tiny manor, owned by, in turn:

Richard Retyn, John Carne, and John Penwern,

The Longfields, then Penders in the first world war,

My thoughts turn to history, Christmas’s before.

 

The Dunstans, the Taylors , the years would soon fly,

I wish them ‘Merry Christmas’, salute to the sky.

Remember the Pilgrims? I surely do,

And the Whitesides,

I wish them a Merry Christmas too.

Then with applause, the band plays ‘Jingle Bells’

Adrenalins kicking in adults as well,

The sparkle and glitter, the warmth shining through,

And Martin Barlow: “Merry Christmas to you!”

The smell of the pine tress combined with mulled wine,

Shiny, silver instruments

From Constantine.

 

Homemade mince pies and warm sausage rolls,

A wish for the new year and loved ones to hold.

“Away in a manger, no crib for his bed”

Away from the glitter, my thoughts turn instead,

To the story we know, how Christmas would begin,

Of shepherds, and angels, “No room at the Inn”

To me, it’s a fact that is just crystal clear,

The Budock Vean always has welcomed me here.

No matter religion, no matter your faith,

There’s a warmth in the lobby,

This love laden space.

 

Some sing along, whilst others rest in peace,

But tradition means memories will never cease.

This hotel, once a church, in 800AD

At Christmas, a fact that so fascinates me.

I’ll breath it in, then I’ll bottle it tight,

Merry Christmas to you,

And to all, a good night!

 

Kerry Vincent

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