The annual Christmas pageant (for my American friends think: Macey’s parade without the giant balloons) is over for another year. The bands have hung up their tubas and bagpipes, the clowns are probably still wiping off the make-up, the fairies have gone to twinkle elsewhere, the weird giant toys are back in the warehouse and Father Christmas is safely ensconced in the Magic Cave.

There will be reminders in the city streets for a few days yet. For example, all the lovely chalk drawings on the roads, made by children who arrived at their vantage point about three hours before the parade started and had ‘nothing to doooooo’. And, the magic blue line that no one ever goes over while the parade is on, and which doesn’t need any policing: people just know what to do.

I’ve only ever attended a couple of pageants, as my family was the stay-home-and-watch-it-on-television kind. I assume my father’s thinking was: I’ve gone to the expense of having one of these newfangled television sets in my home so, by jingo, we’re not going to waste it by ignoring the telecast it has so cleverly provided, just to attend the real thing.

I clearly remember the first time I saw it. The day before the pageant I was playing with one of the girls from church. She said her family were going in and the girls were going to ride in the back of a ute (USA=pick-up truck). That was back in the day when we didn’t protect our kids with seat belts. I said I’d never been and, before I knew it, she’d talked her mum into letting me come along. I went home in a daze, still not sure how that had all happened.

We had a great time. There were three things that deeply impressed me. 1)Nipper and Nimble, the two giant rocking horses (oh how I longed to ride the white one!). 2)The Scotty bands. Bagpipes on mass, up close, were the most spine-tingling, electrifying things I’d ever heard in my life. They impressed me far more than Father Christmas, who looked rather red-faced (it was a hot day) and his hair didn’t look normal. 3)Riding in the back of the ute, the wind whipping through my hair, while I clung to the side terrified I’d fall out. It was brilliant.

Then instead of taking me home, the family went up into the hills to visit with another family. I think they might have been relatives. I had a great time with my friend, looking for fairies in the bottom of the garden, while the parents had a cup of tea inside. Then, I went into the house to find a toilet and I overheard the grown-ups talking. The lady of the hills house asked my friends’ mum what I was doing with them. Mrs C said, “She wheedled her way into getting an invitation, now we’re stuck with her until this afternoon. I’m sorry.”

The light and shiny joy was sucked out of my day. I couldn’t eat any of the lunch. I felt that I didn’t deserve to have any, seeing as I wasn’t supposed to be there. I wasn’t comfortable playing at my friend’s house any more and the friendship waned. The following year, when I was invited by someone else to go to the pageant, I said, “No thanks. I’d rather watch it on TV.” My father positively beamed. It wasn’t until many years later that I finally went to another one and kicked myself for missing out on all the fun.

For those who took their children, or grandchildren, this year, I hope you had a brilliantly happy, magical day. Don’t let anyone steal the light and shiny joy out of your hearts.