Every year there seems to be just one moment that sums up Christmas for me. I never know when it will come, in fact, it usually takes me by surprise. Arriving back at home after spending Christmas with one of our sons I had almost given up hope that there would be such a moment this year. The rail journey up from Plymouth was pretty dreadful, with a heavily overcrowded train, and the sobering news that a part of the delay had been caused by “a fatality”. (If you hear that on a railway journey it usually means that somebody has taken their own life buy throwing him or herself under a train.) Consequently we were not in a terribly happy mood when we arrived home….just relieved and thankful that there trip was over.
As we made ourselves a meal, however, we did what we usually do when we are cooking, and listened to some music. My wife put on a CD of Aled Jones. If you are not British you might not know his name. Many years ago he made a reputation as an unbelievably wonderful boy soprano. After a pause he made a career for himself in music, but usually as a presenter rather than a performer. The unearthly purity of his childhood voice settled into an unremarkable but competent tenor. It was probably about ten years ago, however, that somebody had a brilliant idea. Jones made a CD of himself as an adult, accompanying himself as a child, re-issuing the disc he made in his boyhood prime, cleverly melding two recordings us a duet.
Suddenly my attention was grabbed by the recording of the theme music to the film The Snowman. That treble voice was absolutely riveting, and I understood then the profound metaphorical significance of the image conjured up by “We’re walking in the air”. Not, “We might in our imagination,” nor even “perhaps one day we will be able to”, but “We are walking in the air.” Transcendence really is possible. The actual experience is affirmed by the young Aled Jones, and as a listener there was no possibility but to believe himAled Jones,
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