The five last words.

Wouldn't it be great if the home movies of the fifties and sixties had a sound track in addition to the pictures? But even without the sound, it is still fun to review those old movies with our kids, now grown into their forties.

Our eight kids were forever dreaming up parades and processions that I filmed. In the beginning, Patricia, the oldest, was the one leading very proper nun-like May processions, and, later, marriage ceremonies. In time Michael, the oldest boy, became the producer of pageants. He assembled the participants, wrote the script, and provided the props. What resulted were lovely tableaux that tell much about the heavily Catholic atmosphere in which our kids were raised.

We were lucky enough to live in a big, old colonial house with six rooms off a center hallway on the first floor, and another five rooms upstairs. So we had lots of room for parades around the house. The Christmas Eve event was the most colorful. The strongest child was usually the donkey that bore the Virgin Mary, the youngest daughter, from door to door down the center hall of the house. Michael was Joseph, knocking on each door seeking shelter for the night. Tom and Frank were shepherds. Behind the doors, Mom and I, and a house guest or two, were the innkeepers, having no room at the inn. The movies of this annual event invariably show Michael banging his hand down in frustration at being turned down. You can see him saying "Darn," but only if you know that that is what he said. Eventually, the holy couple found a stable our living room - where they would put the baby Jesus in a crib that I had erected.

Another home movie shows a memorable burial ceremony for a black-and-white guinea pig that had died. All of the kids wore something black and proceeded, single-file, down the driveway to the back of the barn where a grave had been dug for the deceased. The youngest child carried a piece of wood on which was painted "Here Lies Micky." Sound would not improve this film sequence, because it was conducted entirely in silence, as befits a proper funeral.

One of the most poignant films is of the Passion play that Michael, then ten, put on with the aid of his brother, Tommy, nine, who portrayed Jesus. Patricia was Mary. The children sawed up some old boards they found beneath the barn and nailed them together in a rough semblance of a cross, about six-feet-high with a four-foot crossbar. Tom was to carry this rude cross in the procession, but first he had to don proper attire - jockey shorts and an old sheet. Michael had made a "crown of thorns" by cutting up a rose bush. In addition, Michael had painted a rough picture of Jesus on a piece of old sheeting. This was, of course, to be used by Veronica to wipe the face of Jesus.

With me filming, the procession wound its way from the kitchen, through the dining room, then the den, and finally the living room. Along the way, using a piece of clothesline, Michael gently, but historically correctly, flogged Tommy. We paused in the center hall for Veronica to wipe Tommy's face. In the living room, Michael put the crown of real thorns on Tommy's head, then proceeded to pretend to nail Tommy to the cross. Then we all knelt down and prayed.

The reason I wish that we had had a sound track for that particular scene is that we would be able to hear what Michael said as he put the crown on his brother's head. As Michael screwed the crown down, some thorns bit into Tommy's brow. In the movie you can see Tommy wincing and saying something. But what you can't hear is Michael's chastising Jesus: "You're not supposed to complain."

Francis E. Moore is a retired chemical engineer from Attleboro, Massachusetts.