“My husband served with the U.S. Army at the port unit in Casablanca, serving the three air bases in Morocco from 1960 to 1963. We lived in the center of Casablanca near the ocean and about 20 minutes from the air base on the edge of the Sahara desert. Morocco is certainly one of the most beautiful countries I have been in; however, it did not offer much in the way of Christmas that I was used to. We had beautiful palm trees, poinsettias grew wild, and you could get a huge bunch for much less than a potted one in silver foil in the states.
Early on Christmas Eve, I went shopping for a last minute gift for my husband at the French department store, a block from our apartment. Christmas carols streamed over the loud speaker system (in French) and there were ‘Joyous Noel’ banners hanging throughout the store. The windows were not decorated like in downtown Canton department stores when I was a child… I became very homesick for some sign of Christmas.
On Christmas morning about 8 a.m., I heard the bells of Cathredale du Sacre-Courer. I am sure the bells rang every day but the traffic and other sounds drowned out the beautiful sound of the bells. I went out on the balcony and looked down, there were no cars just a few donkey carts plodding along, with drivers in the garb I am sure St. Joseph wore on that first Christmas day. Across the street in front of a small grocery store were three men in a very animated conversation, also in the flowing robes of centuries ago.
As I listened to the bells, I almost felt like I was back on Garfield Street in Canton, listening to the bells of former parish, Sacred Heart just a block from the house where I grew up. It was a touch of Christmas I never expected in this land far from home.”
— Frances Anne Hernan of Canton
