An English Literature tutor from Tettenhall in Wolverhampton has risen to the challenge in rewriting the classic Clement Clarke Moore poem to make it relevent for 2025 and Wolverhampton.
The poem, written in 1823 in New York, is the classic Christmas card story. Santa is depicted as landing on roof tops in a sledge pulled by flying reindeer and entering people`s homes down chimneys.
The poem - over 200 years old - also gave us the names of the flying reindeer, The poem was originally titled "A Visit From Saint Nicholas" but modern parlance has retitled it either as "T`was The Night Before Christmas" or "The Night Before Christmas" with mutatiions into film, song and books.
However, it`s not relevant to modern times because the poem depicts Santa as smoking a pipe and many areas are now designated smoke free zones.
Plus not many people have working chimneys. Or roof tops on which a herd of flying reindeer can land.
And the arguable ill treatment of reindeer would be a concern with their repatriation to either Cannock Chase or Dudley Zoo.
And a prosecution by the RSPCA.
"It was to counter these issues that I decided to rewrite the poem into three versions" said Serena Fiore (pictured), a spoken word poet who runs Swift Tutors in Wolverhampton. "I have a love of the English language, storytelling and literature and felt that the time was ripe to bring the tale kicking and screaming into the modern age, set it in Wolverhampton and give it a local dialect."
Serena, who has performed in Words of Wisdom and All You Need Is Love (and a Microphone) in Wolverhampton, wrote 3 versions of the classic poem including one set in Wolverhampton.
"Santa`s iconic red outfit isn`t as ancient as many believe. Before the modern era, depictions of Santa Clause and Father Christmas showed him wearing a variety of muted colours including green and brown. Everything changed in the early 20th century when a major advertising campaign helped define his appearence. The cheerful, red suited Santa quickly became the most recognisable version worldwide, proving how strongly marketing can shape cultural traditions that now feel timesless. Santa Claus was never red until Coca Cola made it" said Serena.
"Here`s the thing. Everything you think you know about Santa comrs from a poem in 1823 by an American - Clement Clark Moore. His Poem "A Visit From St Nicholas" introduced the reindeers, gave them their names and Santa coming down the chimney. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer? He was a free colouring book that was given away by a Chicago store in 1936 and the poem was turned into a popular song - the one that we still know to this day.
So get this - everything we know - or think we know - is either an American poem from 1823 or 1936. It needs to be brought up to date. The original poem is nearly 200 years old and Rudolph the Red Nosed reindeer is a colouring book nearly 100 years old. It`s time to bring Santa kicking and screaming into the 20th century. "
Serena famously represented Wolverhampton in Octovber for a 48 hour performance spoke a thon at the Cave Community Hub for charity in the Kingfisher Shopping Centre ibn Redditch. She has also been instrumental in turning her evocative poems into songs using AI with musical collaborators - plus being the lead English GCSE, A Level, KS2/KS3 and 11+ tutor at Swift Tutors in Wolverhampton and helping adults and children raise their academic excellence.
Here is Serena`s version of the Christmas classic and a proper bostin addition to any Christmas collection which celebrates local language, identity and tradition. With playful rhyme, cosy atmoshere and a generous diose of Black Country spirit, its a festive treat for families, schools and anyone who loves the magic of dialect storytelling.
A Visit from Saint Nick – Wolves Edition (Radio Cut)
’Twas the night before Christmas, round Wolver’am it were calm,
No sirens, no shoutin’, not even a bloke kickin’ off in the chippy queue—bam.
The dog were flat out, snorin’ louder than Molineux on derby day,
An’ the cat couldn’t be bothered to judge us—Christmas miracle, eh?
Stockings were hung on the radiator, gas bill already a joke,
If Saint Nick wants open fire, ‘e can chip in, that’s all I’ll say, me duck.
The kids were in bed, still scrollin’ TikTok half asleep,
Dreamin’ of PS5s, trainers, an’ Wolves actually keepin’ a clean sheet.
Me missus in pyjamas, me in me old gold an’ black,
Sayin’ “last brew, then bed”—three brews later, still sat on me back.
When suddenly outside there come one ‘ell of a bang,
Like someone hittin’ a pothole on Stafford Road at full whack—clang!
I shot up thinkin’, “That’s it, someone’s nickin’ me bins,”
Or worse—the Amazon driver’s ‘ere with a parcel that ent even ours again.
I pulled back the curtain, peered out with care,
Moonlight on frost, Tesco bags blowin’ everywhere.
An’ there on the drive—parked dodgier than owt—
A sleigh. An actual sleigh. Hazard lights? Course not, why would ya.
Eight reindeer standin’ about, lookin’ confused,
Like they’d missed the ring road an’ ended up lost near New Cross Hospital, stressed an’ abused.
An’ a little old bloke, round as a keg,
Movin’ quicker than a winger on loan with somethin’ to prove, fair play to ‘im.
I knew straight off—no need for clues—
That were Saint Nick, an’ ‘e looked like ‘e’d ‘ad a few.
Shoutin’ at reindeer like a gaffer at half-time,
“Dasher, wake up! Dancer, yow ‘avin’ a laugh? Prancer, that’s shocking, get in line!”
“Vixen! Stop messin’! Comet, keep left!
Cupid, Donder, Blitzen—if we’re late again, I’ll put yow all on the bench, I swear!”
Up on the roof they went, bangin’ an’ crashin’,
Sounded like Wolves tryin’ to play out from the back under pressure—smashin’.
Then down the chimney—no helmet, no plan—
Came Nick in a cloud of soot like ‘e’d just escaped an old Black Country pub ban.
Covered head to toe, filthy as owt,
Like ‘e’d rolled down Chapel Ash after a night out.
Big sack on ‘is back, stuffed full of gear,
Looked like ‘e’d hit the Wolves Megastore, Aldi middle aisle, an’ B&M clearance in one go this year.
Eyes all twinkly, grin wide an’ proud,
Red cheeks, shiny nose—‘e’d definitely been on the mulled wine crowd.
Big round belly wobblin’ when ‘e laughed,
Like jelly in a trifle after someone’s carried it wrong from Asda car park—daft.
Smelt of smoke, mince pies, an’ summat stronger than tea,
Which explained ‘ow ‘e thought park-in’ that sleigh there were fine, honestly.
I stood there frozen, didn’t know wot to say,
An’ ‘e winked like “arright, mate—yow keep this quiet, yeah?” Fair play.
Didn’t say a word, just cracked on with the job,
Fillin’ stockings faster than Wolves fans empty a pub when VAR gets involved.
Then ‘e stuck ‘is finger by ‘is nose, gave a nod like a gent,
As if to say, “Cheers, bab—tell Jeff Shi I called,” an’ off ‘e went.
Up the chimney ‘e shot, like ‘e’d done this before,
Jumped back on the sleigh, no cup o’ tea, no biscuit, no more.
An’ as ‘e flew off, shoutin’ loud through the night,
“Merry Christmas, Wolver’am—an’ up the Wolves! Good night!”
You can hear Serena reasding her poem on The Ian Henery show
Black Country Xtra on Black Country Radio
Monday 22nd December at 6pm
With Linda Harper Hocknull & Barry Harper
