Twas Christmas Eve in the Barmaid’s and a goodly crowd was there.
Electric Ted, Big Ron, Old Les, Young Tim and Rupert ‘Bear’.
Me and Les on pints of ale, while Ted had a crafty gin,
When the bar room door opened and a white-bearded man strode in.
He went up to the bar and asked for a glass of sweet sherry.
A strange drink to order in our pub, quite extraordinary.
Landlord Bill, he seemed to know the old bloke and gave him a wink.
I noticed the bearded stranger didn’t offer to pay for his drink.
He sat on the settle, next to the log fire, raised his glass and wished us ‘good cheer’. I asked ‘are you a local mate?’. He replied’ No, I’m not from around here’.
We returned to our supping. It was Rupert Bear’s turn to buy.
When the old man had vanished, he’d gone in the blink of an eye.
‘He was a funny bloke’ says I ‘not saying good night or so-long’.
The rest of them grinned at each other and hummed an old Christmas song.
At closing time we all tumbled out, me with my neighbour Ted.
The snow had started falling, and I’d a bit of a fuzzy old head.
Ted said a brisk walk would do us both good, as we slipped towards home, all uphill,
The snow was falling faster, I was starting to lose the will.
We’d walked for a couple of miles, and my head was starting to clear.
When all of a sudden a strange rushing noise, in the distance I thought I could hear.
A sleigh hurtled past, in a snow flake flurry, pulled by nine massive reindeer.
Could have reached out and touched them as they flew by, if I hadn’t been frozen with fear.
And there, sat in the sleigh, was the bloke we had seen in the pub.
I could not believe what I saw, and gave my eyes a quick rub.
As they rushed past the old man shouted merry Christmas to everyone.
And then as if by magic, the sleigh and the old man were gone.
We walked on home, our heads bent low, not saying a single word.
I was trying to work out what was it that I’d seen and heard.
I got home and crept into bed, where the light of my life had laid down her sweet head.
She did not stir an inch as I snuggled up close, I thought, shall I tell her my tale?
Best not I considered, she too might suggest that I’d had too much Christmas ale.
I awoke Christmas Day, and looked out on the fields, snow covered, all white and serene,
And tried to work out, if last night had been real, or merely a Christmas Eve dream.
In the Barmaid’s Bosom on Boxing Day, the regulars all in their places.
And none of us spoke of the stranger we’d seen, but we all had a grin on our faces.
l Dave Bradley is the BBC Hereford & Worcester sports correspondent