The musical magic of Christmas

It came upon the midnight clear,

That glorious song of old,

From angels bending near the earth,

To touch their harps of gold:

Harps of gold, you will note. Not ukuleles. I can imagine, on that first, tremendous Christmas Eve in the starlit heavens over the Holy Land, the Angel of the Lord checking the play list for the Angelic Choir's performance and clearing a few points.

"Not the ukuleles, then, Almighty?"

"Not tonight, Gabriel" says the Almighty. "It's a bit of a special event. More your harps-of-gold sort of scene."

"Harps of gold it is, then," says Gabriel, ruefully running his celestial biro over the list, deleting all the great ukulele numbers. Out goes My Little Stick of Bethlehem Rock. In comes Gloria in Excelsis Deo.

Two thousand years or so roll by and, a few days ago, I find myself at my first public appearance with the Strummers, the ukulele orchestra which, you may recall, I joined some months back.

The venue is an old folks' home where 30 extremely senior citizens on an assortment of trolleys and chairs sing along to a succession of Christmas medleys and old-time hits, belted out by eight of us armed with with ukes, kazoos and jingle bells. It's not exactly the 02 Arena but even Steeleye Span had to start somewhere.

Our audience is at that stage of life when we tend to get a bit careless with our dressing, which may explain why the undoubted hit of the afternoon is that charming old Scottish lament, Donald, Where's Your Troosers?

Now, I fully accept that playing in a ukulele band is not the pinnacle of musical achievement and that I really should have persevered with the piano and cello all those years ago.

We strummers are also aware that some folk look down on ukes. Only a few days ago, University Challenge invited the teams to identify a series of classical tunes played on the ukulele.

"Magisterial, isn't it?" sneered Jeremy Paxman, a man for whom the term "supercilious" might have been invented.

Yet if Paxo or anyone else were blindfolded, I guarantee they would not be able to tell a uke being played fingerstyle from a violin being played pizzicato, or, for that matter, a celestial harp.

But here's the twist. Over the past few years harps of gold, despite divine endorsement, have entirely vanished from the musical scene, while the resurgent ukulele has captured the hearts of millions. I can't think of another instrument which can be picked up and played so quickly. James Blunt bought and mastered one in a single afternoon. The rest of us may take a little longer but hundreds of newly-formed ukulele bands and orchestras testify to the cult of the simple. Simple chords, simple songs, simple pleasure.

It's a pleasure easily shared. In the hospitals, hospices and care homes of England strummers like our lot have been spreading Christmas jollity. Some of those in the audiences, slowly submerging into the mists of dementia, may no longer recognise their spouses or children but, beyond any rational explanation, still know the words to You Are My Sunshine. Such is the magic of music that sometimes even a twenty-quid uke can be pure gold.

Back to the shepherds' fields 2,000 years ago. The sky suddenly blazes with glory and music. An old shepherd, blinded by the light, asks his grandson: "What the hell's going on?"

"Looks like angels bending near the earth," replies the boy.

"And the music?"

"They're touching their harps of gold."

"Harps of gold?" says the old man. "I could have sworn it was a ukulele."

Have a very merry one.