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loreena mckennitt - a child's christmas in wales, part four كلمات أغنية

for dinner we had turkey and blazing pudding, and after dinner the uncles sat in front of the fire, loosened all buttons, put their large moist hands over their watch chains, groaned a little and slept. mothers, aunts and sisters scuttled to and fro, bearing tureens. aunt bessie, who had already been frightened, twice, by a clock_work mouse, whimpered at the sideboard and had some elderberry wine. the dog was sick. auntie dosie had to have three aspirins, but auntiе hannah, who liked port, stood in the middle of thе snowbound back yard, singing like a big_bosomed thrush. i would blow up balloons to see how big they would blow up to; and, then when they burst, which they all did, the uncles jumped and rumbled. in the rich and heavy afternoon, the uncles breathing like dolphins and the snow descending, i would sit among festoons and chinese lanterns and nibble dates and try to make a model man_o’_war, following the instructions for little engineers, and produce what might be mistaken for a sea_going tramcar
or i would go out, my bright new boots squeaking, into the white world, on to the seaward hill, to call on jim and dan and jack and to pad through the still streets, leaving huge deep footprints on the hidden pavements
“i bet people will think there’ve been hippos.”
“what would you do if you saw a hippo coming down our street?“
“i’d go like this, bang! i’d throw him over the railings and roll him down the hill and then i’d tickle him under the ear and he’d wag his tail.”
“what would you do if you saw two hippos?”
iron_flanked and bellowing he_hippos clanked and battered through the scudding snow towards us as we passed mr. daniel’s house
“let’s post mr. daniel a snowball through his letter box.”
“let’s write things in the snow.”
“let’s write, ‘mr. daniel looks like a spaniel’ all over his lawn.”
or we walked on the white shore. “can the fishes see it’s snowing?”
the silent one_clouded heavens drifted on to the sea. now we were snow_blind travellers lost on the north hills, and vast dewlapped dogs, with flasks round their necks, ambled and shambled up to us, baying “excelsior.” we returned home through the poor streets where only a few children fumbled with bare red fingers in the wheel_rutted snow and cat_called after us, their voices fading away, as we trudged uphill, into the cries of the dock birds and the hooting of ships out in the whirling bay. and then, at tea the recovered uncles would be jolly; and the ice cake loomed in the centre of the table like a marble grave. auntie hannah laced her tea with rum, because it was only once a year

- loreena mckennitt

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