T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the shack,

not a meter was stirring, not even on the rack;

The finals were hung by the chimney with care,

in hopes that St. Nick would tune them right there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

while visions of moonbounce danced in their heads;

and Mama with her handheld, and I with a trap,

had just settled our brains with a high voltage zap.

 

When out on the tower there rose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bench to see what was the matter.

away to the window I flew like a high tension flash,

tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,

gave the glow of tubes of days long ago.

When what, to my wondering eyes should appear,

but a miniature sleigh, with mobile amateur gear;

with a little old ham, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment, it must be Saint Nick.

 

More rapid than McElroy his keying it came,

and he listened and he tuned and called them by name:

“Now Dasher! Now Damper! Now Phasor and DX’en”

“On Common! On Coupled! On Doner and Blitzen!”

“To the top of the shack to the top of the wall”

“Now Dash away, Dash away, dash away all!”

 

As dry days before Field Day do fly,

when they meet with the forecast and never comply,

so up on the shack top the signals they flew,

with the sleigh full of gear, and St. Nickolas too.

and then in a band opening, I heard on the roof,

antenna work by a ham on the hoof.

 

As I drew in my head and was tuning around,

down the feedline came St. Nicholas with a bound.

He was all tangled in coax, from his head to his foot,

and his checksheets were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of gear he had flung on his back,

and he looked like a contester opening a six-pack;

His handheld – how it crackled!  The signals did vary,

his equipment made noises, his QSO was quite merry.

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a Mho,

and the beard of his chin was white as slow scan snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

and the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a round little belly,

that shook when he laughed like the roll of a tele.

 

He was chubby and plump, a right old elf,

and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

soon gave me to know I had not QR-zed.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

and tuned all the finals, then turned with a jerk,

and keying his finger aside of his nose,

and giving a nod, up the feedline he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, his handheld gave a whistle,

and away they all flew, like the down on a thistle’

 

But I heard him exclaim ‘Ere he faded out of sight’

 

               
“Happy Christmas to all

               

                       
and to all

                       

                          
     A good night!”

                                K1YPP

                                

Written about 1981 for a ham radio newsletter for the ’85 Repeater in Derry, NH. I didn’t bother to copyright it, but appreciate credit.

Dennis, K1YPP