Chad Jingle O'Sullivan and 50 Years of Questionable Engineering and Christmas Chaos
NADOLIG? PA NADOLIG?
Christmas? What Christmas?
Chad Jingle O'Sullivan is the unlikely star of my new Welsh Christmas animation, NADOLIG? PA NADOLIG? But his story actually began around fifty years ago, with my mother's bright idea, my father's questionable engineering skills and a homemade Advent castle that was something of a miracle to have survived!
What started as a family Christmas tradition has now become a miniature comedy featuring four rather grumpy Welsh fairy folk, one relentlessly cheerful American elf and an alarming quantity of fiery ginger beer.
It All Began with My Mother's Bright Idea
In 1971, my mother spotted a castle-shaped Advent calendar in a magazine and decided that our family needed one.
Not a little one, of course. She had something considerably grander in mind.
My mother was always coming up with clever ideas. She had a wonderful ability to imagine what could be done, although working out how to bring those ideas to life wasn't necessarily her strong point.
And so the job fell to my father.
Off he went to his shed.
Now, my father was many things, but a master craftsman wasn't one of them. This, however, never stopped him from having a go.
And to give him his due, he built the castle.
There was, however, one small problem.
My father was an accountant, and apparently he couldn't count to twenty-four.
The castle had eighteen ordinary doors and two cellar doors. Twenty altogether.
My mother, quite reasonably, wanted to know where the other four were.
Rather than make four more doors, which would have been the obvious solution, my father decided to compensate by adding little soldiers that popped up when you pulled a string.
Well, that was the theory.
In practice, they had a rather unfortunate habit of falling straight back down again. Not exactly the finest defence force a castle could hope for.
Quite why he didn't simply make four more doors remains a mystery. Perhaps he'd run out of wood, perhaps he'd had enough, or perhaps he'd decided Christmas should arrive four days early.
But my mother wasn't deterred.
A Castle Full of Christmas Surprises
Every December, she would hide a little gift behind each door for us children to discover.
When we were small, there were miniature cars, crayons and all sorts of little treasures. As we grew into teenagers, the contents changed to lipsticks, eyeshadow and popping candy. The castle grew up with us, although I'm not sure my father had anticipated his medieval fortress eventually becoming a miniature cosmetics counter.
And the gifts were only half the fun.
Every year, my mother added more decorations around the castle. What began as a simple Advent calendar gradually developed into an increasingly elaborate Christmas display.
She was never one to pass up an opportunity to add another little figure, ornament or festive embellishment.
Then, as the years passed, grandchildren began to arrive.
Suddenly, all those little toys and decorations surrounding the castle were replaced with soft toys, apparently for safety reasons.
A perfectly sensible precaution, of course, although I have a sneaking suspicion it was also a rather convenient excuse for my mother to go out and buy an entirely new collection of Christmas decorations.
The castle became surrounded by a growing army of cuddly creatures, all gathered together to celebrate Christmas.
Even the family dog liked to join in, settling himself amongst the soft toys as though he were another of the decorations.
I suspect he thought the whole display had been arranged especially for him.
And so the castle continued to evolve, from a childhood Advent calendar filled with little cars and crayons to a festive gathering place for another generation.
Unfortunately, the decorations weren't the only things becoming more elaborate.
So were my father's improvements.
The Castle That Defied Engineering
My father was never one to leave well enough alone.
Every year, he'd dream up another ingenious addition to the castle. Unfortunately, the ingenuity generally ended somewhere between the idea and the finished article.
The little pop-up soldiers were a case in point. Designed to make up for the missing Advent doors, they were supposed to spring proudly to attention when you pulled a string.
Then there was the portcullis.
In theory, a magnificent working entrance that could be raised and lowered.
In practice, it spent most of its time stuck halfway, presumably trapping an imaginary medieval army on whichever side happened to be least convenient.
The buzzer was another triumph.
I seem to remember it either blowing a fuse or losing a wire. Whatever happened, it certainly wasn't a reliable method of announcing visitors.
And then there were the doors.
Some of them had a rather worrying tendency to fall off.
Over the years, bits of the castle were knocked off, other bits came loose and the general structure began to show its age.
In fairness, it was becoming rather authentic.
Real castles have survived centuries of sieges, bombardments and invading armies.
Ours had to survive my father's annual improvements.
And somehow, it did.
Behind those innocent little doors was an equally alarming collection of electrical wiring, with wires cut and spliced together in ways that would probably make a modern electrician reach for the nearest fire extinguisher.
Looking back, it was perhaps just as well that the soldiers couldn't stand up. They might have needed to evacuate the building.
But despite its many engineering shortcomings, the castle became a much-loved part of our family Christmases.
My mother continued to fill it with surprises and surround it with an ever-expanding collection of decorations, while my father continued his heroic struggle against the laws of mechanics.
As children, we looked forward to discovering what was hidden behind each door. As teenagers, the surprises changed. And when the grandchildren arrived, the castle found itself surrounded by soft toys, with the family dog happily installed amongst them.
It was never just an Advent calendar. It was something that grew and changed alongside our family, acquiring new decorations, new memories and the occasional structural injury along the way.
My mother provided the imagination, my father provided the engineering challenges, and the rest of us enjoyed the results.
It was gloriously imperfect.
And it was ours.
Fifty Years Later — The Restoration
Sadly, over the past decade, the castle had been left in my mother's garage, gradually falling into wrack and ruin.
By the time I decided to rescue it last year, it was looking rather sorry for itself.
The castle had survived fifty years of Christmases, questionable engineering and bits falling off. I wasn't about to let it disappear into a pile of firewood.
My husband, Pat, and I set about restoring it.
The wiring was removed and new lights added, the structure was given some much-needed attention, and I added four new windows along the top, finally bringing the total to twenty-four Advent openings.
It had taken around fifty years, but my mother's original idea was finally complete.
The castle was standing.
The doors were staying on.
And, rather remarkably, the portcullis was no longer the least reliable thing in the building.
Everything was looking good.
And then I had another idea.
Enter Chad Jingle O'Sullivan
While working on the castle, I began wondering what else I could do with it.
Initially, I thought about creating a naughty Christmas elf, inspired by the mischievous elf tradition, who would cause trouble around the castle throughout December.
But as the idea developed, something didn't quite fit.
Over the last month or so, I began thinking about Welsh fairy folk instead.
After all, this was a Welsh castle. Surely it should have its own ancient inhabitants?
And what could possibly be more irritating to four rather cantankerous Welsh fairy folk than an excessively cheerful American elf arriving to teach them how to celebrate Christmas?
And so Chad Jingle O'Sullivan was born.
Loud, enthusiastic, spectacularly unaware of his surroundings and utterly convinced that everybody adores him, Chad arrives in Wales determined to spread Christmas cheer.
The fairy folk, meanwhile, would quite happily send him back across the Atlantic.
Unfortunately for them, Chad doesn't understand Welsh, cannot recognise an insult and interprets every attempt to get rid of him as a gesture of affection.
Every attempt to discourage him simply encourages him further.
And so begins a twenty-four-day battle between American Christmas enthusiasm and Welsh fairy-folk stubbornness.
From One Generation to Another
Looking back, there's something rather wonderful about how this castle has evolved.
My mother had the original idea, my father did his best to build it, and together they created something that became part of our childhood Christmases.
Fifty years later, Pat and I have repaired it, made it safe and given it another life.
And now I've added my own contribution: four Welsh fairy folk, a very irritating American elf, and a cellar stocked with Emrys's Breath, an exceptionally fiery, non-alcoholic Welsh ginger beer.
My mother always had clever ideas that she couldn't necessarily bring to life herself. My father was always willing to have a go, whether he knew what he was doing or not.
And perhaps that's why the castle is still here.
It was never perfect, but it was made with imagination, determination and a fair amount of improvisation.
And I've simply continued the family tradition.
Although, unlike my father, I'm hoping my soldier stays upright, the doors remain attached and nothing blows a fuse.
Fifty years later, the castle is finally ready for Christmas.
Unfortunately, so is Chad Jingle O'Sullivan.
The Adventures Begin — 1st December
Join Chad and the Welsh fairy folk for twenty-four days of miniature Christmas chaos, followed by a special Christmas Day finale.
One castle. Four Welsh fairy folk. One American elf.
Absolutely no peace on Earth.
And a Word About the Animation…
Before anyone comments on the quality of my animations, I should probably point out that they're crude, clumsy and, at times, downright terrible.
I'm certainly no animator, and I suspect the professionals will be watching through their fingers.
But in keeping with this castle's fifty-year tradition of “Let's have a go and see what happens!”, I've decided to throw caution, and possibly good judgement, to the wind.
My father couldn't build a soldier that stayed upright, his portcullis had a mind of its own, and half the doors fell off. So it seems only fitting that fifty years later, his daughter should produce animations of equally questionable quality.
After all, why break with family tradition now?
What we lack in technical ability, we more than make up for in enthusiasm, imagination and a complete disregard for knowing what we're doing.
And if my father taught me anything, it's that not knowing how to do something is absolutely no reason not to try!
So please enjoy the chaos, forgive the animation, and remember — it's not supposed to be perfect. It's supposed to be fun.
You're welcome, Wales!
Starting the 1st of December:
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Hip Hip Hurray 25:
Thank you for visiting. Till next year!!!
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