The Stars At Night Are Big And Bright

It was cold as they crossed the fields. Hoar frost was sparkling on the grass in the small circles of light created by the several oil lamps carried by a group of men well muffled against a winter-night.
They didn’t have far to walk. Maybe 20 minutes from their lodgings in a once historic vicarage across the fields to Bockleton Manor. Readers who call England their “old country” and hail from Worcestershire or Herefordshire may recognize the name. It has been on record in one form or another since the Domesday Book was published in 1086.
The group of men now huddling through the cold and dark of a 1942 pre-Christmas night have little knowledge of the history. All they know is that the manor, now looming massive in the fragile light of moonrise, is a temporary “home” for children in care of the Birmingham Royal Institution for the Blind (BRIB). The children had been evacuated from bomb threatened Birmingham in the early months of WW2 with boys re-located in Kinlet Hall, Shropshire; the girls in Bockleton Manor or Court.
The motley group now knocking on the ancient front door is mixed bag of conscientious objectors, some religious, some political, agnostics and few atheists. Their bunkhouse at the old vicarage is operated by Quakers and they are on hand this evening to offer pre-Christmas entertainment for children and BRIB staff – and the Lord of the Manor and his family if they were in residence and cared to attend. Ushered into the entrance hall then led to the great hall where they were to perform, the nondescript group of a dozen or so was viewed with curiosity and a touch of quizzical amusement. The thoughts were unspoken but obvious: What on earth is this rag-tag-bob-tail crew going to do to pleasingly entertain a large group of blind children, their discerning teachers and a handful of upper-crust gentry?
They had no way of knowing that in what looked like a clean but disheveled gang of ditch diggers, crop-harvesters and general farm labourers were a concert pianist, two classical violinists, a former conductor of the Welsh Junior Symphony Orchestra, four magnificent voices from Welsh Chapel choirs – one bass, one baritone, two tenors, two cast members from the long running British vaudeville show The Fol-de-Rols, and a few writers
The ‘‘Fols” started as a seaside beach show in Scarborough, Yorkshire in 1911, and grew to become one of the most famous and best loved year-round touring shows in Britain until the 1970’s when changing times and tastes rang down its final curtain. It was once written of the Fols that their shows always “had an air of class about them” – and that is what the two former Fols were determined to deliver to this audience of blind children and their mentors.
Together with the musicians they had scripted a close to two-hour show featuring favourite songs old and new, piano and violin solos, classical and popular duets, skits with emphasis on loud slaps, bangs and shouts and terrible puns which brought laughter and cheers from the children – and groans from the adults. There were touches of Christmas throughout the concert, it being that time of the year, but it wasn’t overwhelming.
When the final chorus was sung and the cast had taken its bow, one of the blind school teachers said the children would like to say “thank you” by performing a song they had learned by heart and could sing without accompaniment.
The Great Hall seemed to pause in time. The girls grouped around their teacher waiting for their cue as we wondered what an all-girl choir of blind children, bright faced and best dressed, might sing. “Hark The Herald Angels Sing” seemed an appropriate guess.
We waited. Teacher gave them a note and in joyous voice, the girls of the Birmingham Royal Institution for the Blind sent the ancient walls of the manor echoing with the unexpected but then popular song “The stars at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas” with the triumphal three hand claps that followed each short verse.
Seventy-five years later I can still recall the magical sound of that sheer, unexpected burst of joy, the answer of 50 or so blind children to adversity.
On the walk home, the hoar frost had thickened on the grass, the sky was clear, the moon bright enough to light our way without lanterns. And the talk was on the girls, some very young, some in their teens, who had chosen for their “thank you” an upbeat, happy song about big bright stars they had never seen and never would see.
As if on cue our group stopped and looked beyond the moonlight to the stars, then walked the rest of the way home in thoughtful silence. I know all this because I was there, a minor but privileged player, in a joyful Christmas story with a moral to be treasured and remembered.
And I hope, for all of you who read this piece, the next few days will lead you to a Christmas as bright and lasting as the stars.


  1. It is in such stories that the spirit of Christmas may be found, not in the glitz and blaring carols of our commercial establishments.

    Goodwill towards men!

  2. We’ve heard this story before but never having the impact of today. Though resulting from the horrors of the war, imagine not having had that experience or not being able to share with us. Merry Christmas Jim, with love Jim and Erika

  3. Great story dad. I’ve shared it with the kids and hope Kate might read it to her little ones at bedtime. They ask me to sing them a song when I’m visiting and put them to bed so I guess I better learn “Deep in the Heart of Texas”!

    Cheers, Andy


  4. A wonderful remembrance for you, JIm and a story that needs to be told and retold . Thanks for this and we will share it with friends .

    Christmas hugs, and all the best. from Marilyn and Glenn

  5. Jim – Our stars will always shine brightest as long as you write , Merry Christmas and Enjoy your Holiday Festivities , Peggy and Mel Massey

  6. Thank you Jim. Although Christmas has come and passed, the same with the New Year 2018. Trust that all went well for you and I do look forward to more of your writings. Kind regards – Terry Stephen –

  7. Hello Jim I am a Bockleton resident and came across this piece by accident whilst researching the history of Bockleton . I would like to include it in a folder that I am making up on a ‘Brief History of Bockleton’ which is going to be available for people to purchase as part of a fundrasing event coming up soon. Do I have your permission to use it please? Were you one of the people staying at the Old vicarage which is now called Cockspur Hall? You may also be interested to know that Colonel Prescott who was the last of his line to live in Bockleton Court, sold it to Birmin. He and his sister moved to the estate managers house after modernising and extending it which is the house I nowlive in and is called Bockleton Court as the Colonel transferred the name to this house and included a covenant in the sale of the old Bockleton Court that the name could not be used for that house . It became the Bockleton Study Centre but has now been sold on to a private buyer as, dueto austerity measures, the council could no longer afford to maintain it. This was very sad news as I used to love hearing the children playing especially when they were taken outside at night time in the pitch black which issomething they had never experienced before having been brought up in a city where is always light pollution.
    i do hope that comment reaches you.
    Kind regards


    1. Wendy: You have my permision to use my piece on Bockleton Vicarage. I spent the best part of two years there when it was operated as a centre for concientious objectors. The administrators –manager, cook and kitchen staff – seemed to be Quakers. We “inmates” were assigned there by the coursts. Most of us (I’m guessing at 40 or 50) were pacifists – but not all. We had two or three Welsh Nationalists, at least one Communist but most of us were of various religious faiths . I lost touch with the old vicarage after the authorities moved us out to make room – we were told – for merchant marine crews recovering from North Atlantic trauma. Good luck with your venture.

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