
How large was that audience? Well, estimates vary–all the way from 750 million to one billion. And I was one of them, folks.
Oh how well do I remember the early morning of July 29, 1981, when my mother came into the bedroom at 3:30 AM to get me up so that we could watch the wedding of Prince Charles and Diana Spencer live on my parents’ color TV. (The festivities began at around 10:30 AM British Summer Time, which is 7 hours ahead of Mountain Daylight Time, thus the unearthly rising time.) All I had at my apartment was a little black-and-white set, so we’d decided that I’d come over and spend the night and then get up with her. (I think my dad was working his night shift at the Post Office so he was out of the picture, in more ways than one—there’s no way he would have gotten up to watch it, I’m sure.) I remember groaning when she woke me up and saying, “I don’t want to do it” or something equally graceless, to which she said, “What? You don’t want to get up? You want to miss this?” So I heaved myself out of bed and we watched the whole thing. I have to say that my most vivid memory of the ceremony itself was thinking that the train on Diana’s dress looked kind of . . . strange. Like a hugely-long apron stretching down the aisle. Sorry! For some reason Diana did not consult me about the design of her gown. I also remember watching her climb out of that Cinderella coach and having to pull all those yards of silk out after her. Just as I thought, ‘Wow, that dress is really wrinkled,’ the commentator of the moment said that the dress had been made of heavyweight silk that would shed its wrinkles quickly. Well, maybe so.




Hey! Who says Leroy Anderson is “lightweight,” anyway? That is, “containing little serious matter”? Just because his music is accessible and fun, with clever sound effects, does that mean it’s not worth our time? Okay, enough with the questions, Let’s get to some answers.
For all you grammar geeks out there, the answer is “both,” depending on the line in the song. It’s quite clever wording. In the first line “jingle” is an adjective, then, in the second line the bells are told to jingle, so the word is now an imperative verb. Isn’t that cool?
Let’s get the two guys out of the way first. Here’s what I found: the names are common in old French carols, where they are rendered as “Guillô” and, well, “Robin.” The French version of “Willie” is pronounced “Gwee-yo.” Robin’s name is “Ro-bɛ̃,” with that funny-looking “e” being fairly nasal and the “n” not really being pronounced at all—it’s just a marker for the nasal sound. Everybody got that? Anyway, I’m sure if I dug around long enough I could discover why these two names are sort of generic, but I’ll leave it at that, because there’s more ground to cover here. You can just figure that Willie and Robin are like Jack and Jill, or Jim and John, or Lucy and Ethel. (But see the note at the very end of this post about the alternate names that Karl Jenkins used in his arrangement of this carol.)
When you see the title of the English Christmas carol “See Amid the Winter’s Snow,” you have to ask yourself the question in the title of this post.