The author reflects on her time, in the 1960s, as a member of the Junior Anglican Young People's Association. The group leader, Dave, arranged for the group to sing Christmas carols at a local nursing home and the experience was upsetting and confusing for a young girl. "I feel this nightmare called a home is not right for the bedridden. A din of complaints and unworldly sounds emit from the white swaddled figures lying on narrow mattresses book-ended between metal headboards. .... Discomfort escalates to anxiety and waves of claustrophobia: the air is loaded with smells and pierced with cackles". "For years after, I drive past the nursing home and feel guilt, or disgust. The outdated establishment that offered cold comfort to the lonely and forgotten is now demolished. Christmas carols remind me of Dave, the untidy, big-hearted volunteer who knew about warm comfort for the suffering at Christmastime".