The Christmas tree at the front right of the sanctuary was beautiful and had presents piled high beneath it. The platform was prepared for the annual Christmas program, with curtains (sheets) strung across the back, along the sides, and across the front. There were colored lights just visible across the ceiling at the front of the platform. The little church was crowded (standing room only and much of that taken) and an air of excitement and anticipation filled the air. Another Christmas evening at Quakertown Church was about to begin. For many years this annual event, held the evening of Christmas Day, was looked forward to with expectancy, and for many, it was the happy ending to the Christmas season--but for some of us, it was Christmas.
Quakertown Church services were held in a building located on Col. Ledyard Highway in Ledyard, which had once been home to a one-room school. The Church was founded by my grandfather, Stephen Watrous, a Rogerine Quaker who had gone to a revival meeting in New York and while there had a “Pentecostal experience.” After his death, his son Maxon Watrous ministered in the church, and later, when Uncle Max moved on to other places, he turned it over to his brother Fred. Uncle Fred was our pastor throughout my childhood. The youth leaders during the years when I was growing up were my cousin John Crouch and his wife, Alice. She was a New Yorker whom John had met through Zion Bible Institute.
Many, if not most, of the congregation’s members were family (our community was similarly structured). I never fully realized the “specialness” of this until years later when many of our family had sold to outsiders and moved to other states and I began attending another church with my husband. By the time that I, and perhaps others, realized what we had lost, it had slipped beyond our grasp.
On Christmas evening we had prayer, sang some of the glorious Christmas carols, and then the little children began saying their pieces. For the adults, this was a fun time since no one ever knew what the little ones would do or say. They had been “practiced” to go up on the right steps, go to the middle of the platform, say their pieces; then the girls would courtesy and the boys would bow and they would leave the platform by the left steps. However, when they arrived (if they did) at the correct place on the platform and looked out at all the faces in the audience, it often happened that they were spooked, forgetting their lines or forgetting why they were there at all, or sometimes becoming real hams and loving all the attention they got. There were times when one of them would take the “opportunity” to recognize family and friends and would wave and say, “Hi, Mom!” or “Hi, Daddy!” There was always an adult to prompt them if they forgot what they were supposed to say, but sometimes they would respond, “That’s not what I’m supposed to say,” then look confused by all the laughter that erupted. There were times when they did everything perfectly but went off the wrong end. A few even took a short-cut by jumping off the stage--while some would just stand there transfixed. No matter what they did, they all received applause.
Now, from the children’s point of view, things appeared a little different. I remember enjoying the rest of the program much more after my piece was over. Actually, I don’t think I have improved on that with time. I still do not like getting up in front of an audience. I would much rather be “back stage.”
After the individual pieces, the older children would often do special things like skits, musical numbers, etc. Then the teens and young adults would take over, and they always put on a wonderful play--sometimes having written it themselves, as well as arranged for costumes and special effects and lighting.
Preparation for the plays would begin weeks before, with the selection of a play, the choosing of who would take which part, and the distribution of scripts. Regular rehearsals were scheduled, and at some point in the last week, someone would get a ladder, take it up onto the stage, and open up the attic (above the sanctuary) and hand down boxes containing decorations, costumes, etc. No matter what the play was, the story of Jesus’ birth--with the angels, shepherds, and wise men--was always included in it somewhere. We used white sheets to make the angel costumes--and wire (from hangers) with tinsel wrapped around it for wings and halos. Often men’s bathrobes were used for the shepherds’ robes, and we had a supply of staffs with crooks, already made--but if we needed more, the boys could make them up. Wise men were more of a challenge, and we had to make up crowns, etc., and then gifts for them to present. (I remember thinking how lucky the older kids were to be able to “dress up” and perform, and I looked forward to being in the plays when I got old enough.) Much of the credit for the success of these plays and the rest of the program was due to the leadership and patience of our youth leader Alice Crouch.
There would always be music in the plays, and often a small chorus waited “back stage” to act as the “host of heavenly angels” that joined the one angel proclaiming the birth of Christ: “Glory to God in the Highest and on earth peace, good will to men.”
Someone would man the lights from behind the curtains and during the shepherds’ scene would turn off all regular lights and turned on blue lights for night and an electric star at the back top of the stage. The shepherds would use a flashlight under red or yellow tissue paper for the fire by which they warmed themselves. A spotlight might come on when the angel appeared to proclaim Christ’s birth, and then it would go back to night (blue lights) when the angels left and the shepherds discussed what to do next. Sometimes the wise men would come from the back of the sanctuary marching up the isle, as though from a far country.
After the play was over and the clapping subsided, the young people would come down from the stage and start handing out the gifts from under the tree. These were usually from the Sunday School teachers to their students, or from the students to their teachers, or just gifts someone wanted someone else to get. There were gifts for our pastor and our youth leaders. As a child, I knew that even if we couldn’t afford any gifts at home, I would still get something at the church Christmas Program.
When the gifts were all given out and opened and people started to leave, the pastor (Uncle Fred) and his family would be at the door wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and giving each of us an orange and a small colorful box of Christmas candies. No matter how cold it was outside, I would always walk home from those evenings with a warm feeling inside.
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