I am a member of a Male Voice Choir in the South Wales valleys. There are about 50 of us, maturing gently but developing a thirst during practices.

This is a story about our accompanist, Dilys Williams. Forty years she has been sitting at her piano. No husband, so no children. Plays another piano in chapel on Sundays – not the organ, though – an organist would require an emolument.

Dilys plays for us on Tuesdays and Fridays, then walks back home alone. Christmas is a busy time, with several carol concerts, and extra practices to get each performance just right. Christmas is also a time of celebrations, high spirits, even romances. But not for Dilys.

Early December we had some snow. Practices cancelled, choristers absent – a bit stressful, but not Dilys. Rain or shine, day or night, she appeared as usual. On this one night the wind was blowing, sleet was blasting around the corner of the hall behind the chapel. Dilys was glad to get into the shelter of the porch. Some snow flakes followed her in, so she carefully turned and shut the door behind her. Through the next door and into the hall, dimly lit and nobody there.

Except … a figure sitting opposite her piano, dressed up as Santa Claus. One of the choir members? No. But he seemed to know his way around.

“ I heard the rehearsal has been cancelled tonight” he said. “So I thought I’d get in some special singing practice. They tell me you’re the best accompanist in the Valleys”. Dilys glowed a little with the compliment, but she was also puzzled and concerned. Had they cancelled the practice without telling her? How did this Santa Claus know? Was he just a partygoer in off the streets for a warm?

She didn’t have much time to think, because the character said “Right, let’s get started. Have you got the music for Oh Holy Night? “ Yes she did, and it was her favourite Christmas carol. It would do no harm, and he wasn’t behaving like a drunk. Not if he was serious with this music. So she played.

He had a fine tenor voice, he knew all the words as well as the tune, and he didn’t need much practice to reach the standards of the better voices in her choir. So she played her best. More songs came and went, the sleet turned to snow, her own Father Christmas complimented her on her playing then produced a Thermos flask and poured a cup of hot chocolate with something extra to ‘warm her bones’, as he put it.

She played and played, and Santa’s voice soared and serenaded. Long into the night they practised, and he exhorted Dilys to add her own reedy notes to the harmonies.

The minister and his team dug their way through the snow the next morning. They found Dilys... asleep at her piano, all alone, but carefully wrapped in a warm red blanket. Nobody believed a word she said, of course, but nobody claimed the blanket or the Thermos flask.