It wasn’t the midwife, the mother-in-law or the maiden aunt

who were the first visitors to the new-born saviour.

It wasn’t the doctor, the postman or the favourite uncle

who were the first to gaze upon the new King’s face.

 

Instead it was, well, it was (and I’m almost ashamed to say it),

it was the shepherds.

Shepherds – they are so dirty, but then again they are never near clean water

and they are so smelly – a constant reeking of ‘sheepiness’

– it just goes with the dirtiness, really.

And they’re not just physically unclean – that wouldn’t be so bad –

but they’re ritually unclean –

they can’t observe all the hand-washing which the Jewish religion calls for.

And they don’t go to the temple often enough.

I mean, if they could have done that,

that would be a way round this whole problem,

but they’re out with their sheep, day and night, night and day,

never letting their eyes off their beloved flocks.

So there’s no hope for them.

You know, don’t you, that shepherds really are the pits of society.

They’re on a par with donkey drivers, tanners, sailors, butchers and camel drivers.

They’re terrible people – they’re beggars and gypsies and tramps and con men and thieves all rolled into one.

You know they can’t give evidence in court, don’t you?

Because everyone assumes they’ll lie. It’s in their nature. They can’t do anything else.

They are nothing and they’ve got nothing – except sheep