Halo, halo...

SINCE it is still the season of Advent, though that thought may little be considered this expectant Christmas, it should be recorded that the United Reformed Church in Darlington essayed an altogether better fist of making the paths straight than did the borough council.

Business side of the ring road, the town slithers about its Sabbath shopping, A&E via A-over-T; not even the ramps of the pedestrian underpass are cleared of a white Christmas’s self-evident hazards.

On the slightly less frantic side of the street, the URC has been altogether more conscientious, its approaches all cleared, the welcome as warm as the morning is cold.

The church is in Northgate, a few yards from the former Salvation Army citadel outside which a For Sale notice still hangs. They’ve marched off to Springfield, on the town’s northern outskirts, a new headquarters on a site where the URC’s locally famous Green Hut once stood.

Though its future is undecided, the old citadel will probably become a restaurant or fast food outlet. Almost everywhere else in Northgate is. Probably it’ll be Nepalese, just about the only member of the United Nations not so far represented.

At the URC, a cosmopolitan church that still retains a slight Scottish accent, it’s the morning of the Junior Church’s nativity play, an occasion much anticipated.

“It always makes Christmas for us,” says Maranny Jones, one of the elders.

There’s a resplendent tree, a star above the chancel, a fluffy sheep – possibly that unfortunately named Lamb Chop character – on the sanctuary step, a couple of tiny chairs a bit reminiscent of Goldilocks and of porridge (though not, of course, of Porridge).

A dozen Junior Church members form the cast, angels most of them, so much tinsel – tinsel-topped and trackie bottomed – that incorrigibly I’m reminded of the old joke about tinselitis.

More accurately, I’m reminded of the punchline. The first bit’s long forgotten.

Another youngster appears to be wearing a martial arts suit, a kung fu fighter proclaiming peace and good will.

A couple of outfits might reasonably have strayed from the Strictly Come Dancing Christmas Special, a couple of haloes so magnificent that they themselves could have promoted a festive song and dance number.

“Halo, halo, who’s your lady friend…”

The first two angels appear to be on night shift, nothing much happening, reminiscing about the good old days.

“It was a bit hot in that fiery furnace with Shadrach, Meshach and Abendigo,” says one.

“Yeah, but I had to cope with Daniel and those lions,” says his mate.

“Yes,” says the other, “we got some good jobs in those days.”

The really big one, of course, is about to appear on the eastern horizon.

Dot Thompson, one of the Junior Church leaders, ponders the nature of angels, apologises that she hasn’t yet got her wings – “I ordered them off the internet. It’s amazing what you can get on the internet these days” – supposes that she herself is an angel and asks her mum in the congregation for confirmation.

“Only when you want something, dear,” says her mum. Mum’s learned her line perfectly.

The Christmas message – “the definition of an angel is someone who announces the message of God’s eternal love. I want to challenge each of you this morning, are you a Christmas angel” – is accompanied by some rousing congregational carols and by Zoe Mather, a dab hand on a resounding organ.

The cast also sing, quite charmingly a carol to the tune of Frere Jacques.

Angels singing, angels singing Peace on earth, peace on earth It’s delightfully and memorably done, each of them a bright shining star. A lovely occasion; as ever, angel delight.

THERE it would have ended, the carolling and the columning, had not the Reverend Tjarda Murray – Darlington’s Dutchborn URC minister – just returned from a two-month sabbatical to the black townships of South Africa.

“Everyone asks if we enjoyed the holiday. It wasn’t a holiday, though it was a very good time,” she says.

Tjarda’s been visiting the Edendale township – home to around a million people – since the early 1980s.

Another world, some might say, and some might simply suppose the real world. Now she works closely with St Martin’s Anglican church in Edendale.

Back then it had the highest infant mortality rate in Africa, which must have been saying something, while white families two miles away had access to private schools and private health care.

Now, after apartheid, some things have improved. Now there may be a stand pipe for every two or three houses, maybe even an outside toilet.

Those who can afford it even have electricity.

Many can’t. Another problem is that the post-apartheid economy has flooded the South African market with cheaply imported goods, especially from China. Forty eight per cent of Edendale’s population is now unemployed, hanging around bars and street corners.

Then there’s HIV Aids.

Tjarda returned with the aim of asking the Darlington church to give £50 to one young woman, Martha, recently diagnosed as HIV-positive and whom St Martin’s had tried to help.

The elders suggested that all the retiring collections at Christmas should help Martha and Grace, born blind.

Thanks to a £200 grant, Martha has by her own labours been able to build a wattle and daub house on her own plot of land. Now she’s a daytime carer for 15 youngsters, would love to grow her own produce but can’t afford to fence the land.

“The cows, goats and chickens are very fond of Martha’s grass,” says Tjarda. “£60 will fence her in, and greatly broaden her horizons.”

Grace has had an education programme planned, but is unable to pay for it. “They are very poor,” says Tjarda. “Many will celebrate on Friday but it will not be very different from other days. A small amount can make a life or death difference.”

That, too, may be the angels’ message this Christmas.

■ Donations to help Martha and Grace may be sent to the Reverend Tjarda Murray, 138 Woodland Road, Darlington DL3 9LR. Cheques should be made payable to her.