By Hugo Ignatius Throckmorton, aged nine
TO begin with, I should have been Joseph. But my father’s endowment is apparently less deserving than Barnaby Haversham-Finch’s grandfather donating the full cost of the new stables.
Anyway. Mary, a young woman played by Piers, was visited by the Angel Gabriel who told her she would shortly give birth to the Son of God. Joseph, her husband, was a mere carpenter so there was no question of putting the child’s name down for Eton.
There was also no-one at home to help, for which I pitied them because Magdelena at home is an absolute godsend and has taught me elementary Polish.
Caesar Augustus was conducting a census, which Daddy explained is like an audit, except checking where everyone was born and not who has undisclosed bank accounts in the Caymans like Uncle Rupert.
Joseph and Mary travelled to Bethlehem, which despite not being nearly as far as the Maldives they made quite the meal of. There was no room at the inn which the innkeeper was rather smug about, bringing to mind the headteacher’s assembly about not being allowed into the Royal Enclosure at Ascot.
Therefore, Jesus was born in a stable and laid in a manger. This gave him working-class credibility for the rest of his life, like the Young British Artists. It was simple accommodation without even an Aga. I personally was reminded of Tuscany.
Shepherds in nearby fields were told of his birth by angels and came to visit. Also, one is left to assume, gamekeepers. Later, Wise Men from the East followed a star to bring gifts of gold, frankincense derivatives and myrrh futures.
The story highlights themes of humility, faith and divine intervention and is celebrated by Christians around the world at Christmas. For example, we always go skiing.
