The following was accidentally left out of the Christmas short story supplement.

By Cathryn Balfour Swain, Adult Honourable Mention

(Deck the halls with boughs of holly)

It was that time of year again. Ever since the October half-term I had, like parents everywhere, been searching anxiously through the school bags. Not for the report cards (that's another story altogether) but for the note about the school play.

What costume would I have to provide this time, and how quickly? I pitied the poor mother who had to make a porcupine costume for the Thanksgiving play - I bet she sat up all night with a box of cocktail sticks when she got that message.

Recently returned from England, this year my twin girls have already played the role of flames in a school play about Samuel Pepys and the Great Fire of London. That costume was quite easy - masks made at school, and orange and yellow clothes with streamers pinned to the sleeves.

Many kids were cast as rats and fleas for the plague scene. I heard that some mums complained to the headmaster when reading "Your child has been cast as a flea in the summer production". But the fleas had the best song. And the last laugh.

For summer drama camp we had to make a stove costume and footstool as the girls were cast as enchanted objects in a Disney style "Beauty and the Beast" musical extravaganza. After an initial panic we found that strapping on a suitably decorated cardboard box or a cushion did the trick in no time.

I digress. Traditional nativity plays are usually not too challenging for the mummy costume department (though I was glad to avoid making a hobby-horse style camel for the wise men the year that the girls played second and third inn-keeper.) Who doesn't have a white sheet and some tinsel for an angel costume, or a stripy dressing gown for a shepherd complete with tea towel headdress? I remember the note "Please provide toy sheep" once triggered a brisk trade in Shaun the Sheep toys in Woolworths. Making a cardboard crown for a king is no challenge at all for the mum whose children have been through nursery and primary school. But it's just a question of time isn't it?

I once read a book which begins with the central character (harassed working mother) "distressing" some Marks & Spencer mince pies to make them look homemade for a bake sale. I recognised myself at once.

So what was it going to be this year? I was secretly holding out for a speaking part. After years serving an apprenticeship of angels, but never Gabriel, or shepherds (one year even off-stage as there was such a crowd of them), would I finally get to see the names of my little darlings in the programme while they were still young enough to be swept away by the magic of Christmas?

I wasn't holding my breath. Cynical perhaps, but it's hard not to notice the correlation between size of part in school play and amount of hours spent by parents volunteering at school.

Finally the day came. "Please provide a completely red outfit for your child", I read on each note. Intriguing¿ Were they to play Santa and Mrs Claus?

I started to get excited, perhaps they were to be the central characters this year. I could just imagine the gingerbread set and a host of elves making wooden toys. Or maybe it was one of those "alternative" themes which brave teachers try from time to time.

Didn't Emma Thompson's character make lobster and octopus costumes for the underwater nativity in the movie 'Love, Actually'.

In fact that would be most suitable for a Bermuda play. St Matthew meets SpongeBob. I could see it in my head - a coral reef setting with a starfish over the stable and a chorus of angelfish. It made perfect sense. Casually I asked how the play was going. "Fine thanks, Mum".

I tried another tack, "What's the theme of the Christmas play this year?"

"Usual Jesus stuff, Mum." No fish then. No option but to come straight out with it. "Why red outfits? What parts are you playing this year?" I asked.

"We're holly berries," the girls replied.

"Holly berries?" I tried not to splutter into my tea as I heard myself speaking in that indignant "A handbag?" tone from The Importance of Being Earnest.

"And what do you do in the play?"

"We cluster together with the other holly berries."

"OK," I muttered, completely lost for words. No opportunity for stardom this year then. I remembered some of my favourite moments from past plays - a kindergarten Joseph who refused to hold Mary's hand; a toy donkey that brayed when its ear was squeezed and got stuck on bray mode in a tender moment; a mischievous innkeeper who nearly spoiled the story (perhaps disappointed at not playing Joseph) by saying "Come on in we have plenty of room."

Quick thinking Joseph improvised that they'd be happier in the stable and got the story back on track. A comment from a little brother in the audience that the gifts of the wise men (the usual gold, frankincense and myrrh) were rotten presents for a baby who would rather have a dummy or a teddy bear. Adorable, if not always tuneful, renditions of Away in a Manger (once printed on the programme as Away in a Manager). Squeaky recorders.

Tinsel haloes. Cardboard crowns.

Tears and laughter. Tradition. The rehearsals continued. The day of the nativity play arrived.

Crowds of parents in the school hall, many with professional looking video equipment, waving as their children took up places on the stage. I couldn't see the holly berries. The story unfolded and the magic descended. Gabriel told Mary the good news and comforted the shepherds. A little girl with a tin foil star on her head led Joseph and Mary to the stable. Baby Jesus was born. The shepherds came to wonder and the kings brought their gifts.

Finally, in came the holly berries with their padded red costumes skipping around and clustering, as promised, while they sang: "Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la¿"

Despite the casting the girls were, as ever, stars in my eyes. A comic moment and a chance to wipe away the tears. And a sing-a-long finish in traditional style "We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year".