By Sheila Connolly: St.Mary’s, Newhouse, Barton

Ours had been the last plane to land that night and there was only a skeleton staff on duty. It was a relief when our courier arrived, a tall, dark, handsome university student of about twenty-three called Johannes. I remember him telling us about their Christmas customs and that if anybody wanted to attend Midnight Mass, the best place to go would be the "schwarze Kirche" down in Brasov. He further explained how we could expect to see a few decorated Christmas trees, but no cribs, except in church. If we did see a carol singer, he or she would carry a short stick with a star attached to the end of it and, while singing would do a little dance and tap you on the shoulder with the star.

I don't remember too much about the rest of that day, except that the whole resort was covered in at least two feet of snow, with more forecast for the following few days! The following day, Christmas Eve, I retired to my room about ten o'clock and at about a quarter to eleven, I rang down to Reception to order a taxi to take me down into Brasov. "Not possible, with regret" was the reply I kept getting. I thought there must be some misunderstanding here, as there were always about four or five taxis standing outside our hotel. But one of the receptionists took me to the door of the hotel and explained that this snowstorm was so severe, that no taxis would be leaving the hotel to go anywhere tonight! It was alarming how quickly the weather had deteriorated! There was a savage wind blowing, the temperature outside was freezing and the snowflakes were so thick, you couldn't even see across the road! I had tried everything, but the weather had won.

I sat down at the desk in my room and started to write to my favourite Aunt back in Dover, who I knew was seriously ill. She had always been a great letter writer and had asked me to tell her all about my trip to Romania, so I eagerly grasped the opportunity to turn this unprecedented evening into, at least, a partial success.

I was well on with writing the letter when I heard someone knocking gently on the door. “Oh, that's good”, I thought, “Reception must have found me a taxi driver willing to take me into Brasov after all”. But no, before me at the door stood a blond-haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned boy, aged about twelve. He smiled at me and started to sing what was presumably, a Romanian Christmas carol. He had a beautiful voice and, as he sang, he began to dance from side to side, then turning round, he tapped me with the star on my left shoulder. I was absolutely enchanted and when he stopped, I thanked him in all the languages I could think of ... in French, German and Italian! He made no reply, but kept on smiling at me all the time. His was a radiant smile, and I kept on talking to him and asking him who he was and where he lived. I gestured to him to wait for a moment while I dived back into my room to get some money from my purse. He peered, smiling, round the door. I pressed the money into his chubby left hand, kissed him and wished him a very Happy Christmas. He smiled radiantly at me once again, turned and skipped happily away down the long corridor waving his star-tipped wand, and disappeared into the gloom at the far end, leaving me speechless.

I was just closing my door, when I was practically sucked across the corridor by the woman opposite whipping open her door. "How did you order that carol singer to come to your room?" she asked brusquely. "I didn't," I replied. "The only thing I've been trying to order tonight was a taxi to take me into Brasov." "What do you want to go there for?" she asked. "Surely you've finished your Christmas shopping by now!" "Yes, of course," I replied. "I wanted to go to the 'schwarze Kirche'. "I've not heard of a department store by that name!" she said. "That's because it's not a shop, but a church," I replied. "It means the black church. It was built out of the local black granite by the Austro-Hungarians around the turn of the century." "So, why did you want to go there at this hour?" she asked, puzzled. "Because it's Christmas Eve, when I always go to Midnight Mass," I replied. "This is the first time I've missed in 32 years." "Oh," she said. "Well, I still say, how did you get him to come to your door, when, he didn't knock on anyone else's door! You knew him! You were talking to him as if you knew him!" she insisted. "I can assure you, madam, I have never met him before in my life”. And then with tongue in cheek, I added, “As for him choosing my door, I am sure he would have been equally delighted to sing and dance for you as well, if you had only opened your door to him." She disappeared, disgruntled, back into her room.

On the way down to breakfast, the others said I should thank Reception for sending the carol singer up to my room. He must have come from our hotel, as he showed no signs of having trudged through the blizzard before arriving outside my room. So, I went to the Reception, wished them all a very "Happy Christmas" and thanked them most sincerely for sending the carol singer up to my room. They looked puzzled, shrugged their shoulders and said:- "Do not understand! No carol singer in this hotel!" Then, I thought, he must be the son of one of the waitresses or the kitchen staff. So, in the dining room, I went through the same procedure and the waitresses again looked perplexed, shook their heads and replied: "Sorry! Regret --- but no carol singer in this hotel!" During the remainder of our stay I made further enquiries, but always with the same result. Ever since then on every Christmas Eve, I ask myself, just WHO was that very special boy, who visited me and sang so beautifully, then disappeared without a trace? I can never forget his smile or his voice. He made my Christmas!