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Tales of Christmas Past
Dec. 26th, 2021 01:18 pmAn online journaling friend recently listed some memories of her Christmas' past and it made me want to write down some of my own. Unlike her, my memories do not go back as far as two years old, but I think I was about four when the first memory jumps out at me.
At the time, we lived in three rooms, sharing a bathroom and kitchen with an elderly couple across the hall. They were in what had been the servants quarters of a rather grand Georgian house in Dublin. We had a beautiful living room, with a bay window big enough to take a huge round mahogany dining table. In winter Mum used to close the tall wooden shutters across that bay at night, to make the room warmer. No central heating in those days. Heat was provided by a peat fire in a huge fireplace, with an over-mantle that antique dealers would have killed for, even in those days. The Christmas memory I want to write about, however, was celebrated in my little bedroom instead.
I remember waking up on Christmas morning that year to discover my bedroom ceiling covered in balloons. I don't remember the presents. I knew Santa had been, of course, because the sheet of Christmas wrapping paper over the fireplace was torn. What I do remember is the cosy feeling of the three of us in that little room all day. Looking back, I wonder if I was sick that year. We were in the pre measles vaccination era, and Mum said I did catch both ordinary and German measles at some point during the first four or five years of my life.
The following year is more memorable, because that was when Santa brought me a dolls pram. For months I had been dragging around an old shoe box on a loop of string around the house, with one of my dolls tucked inside. I was taken to Clerys department store in the city, ostensibly to see Santa in his grotto, but also to look at dolls prams. My Mum used to smile when she recalled that I went along a whole line of prams, only to fall in love with a big white and maroon Silver Cross pram (the most expensive one). My dad was not well paid and I do not know, to this day, how they managed to afford that pram, but it was there on Christmas morning. There were even a few little presents heaped inside it. I kept and loved that pram until I was eight years old.
By the time I was six we had returned from Ireland to England and were living in a two bedroom flat, in the top two floors of a small Victorian terraced house in Leeds. Although we had a sitting room, in winter life moved into the kitchen, which was smaller and easier to heat. I say it was small...there was plenty of room for a big square table against one wall.
My present memory for that year was a dolls house. Now, when I say dolls house, don't imagine a beautiful MDF two story affair with all mod cons and working lights. Money did not stretch to that, so my parents did what they always did, they got stuck in. My dolls house was a four room bungalow, made from a cut down wooden tea chest (big square box that loose leaf tea used to be imported in), with two overlapping panels of presswood board forming the gabled roof. To access the rooms you removed the roof panels. Each room had been decorated with real wallpaper, no doubt left over from other people's decorating efforts. This had, of course, been stuck down with the obligatory flour and water paste and I replaced it myself several times over the years. Furniture was sparse; lovingly made by my mum from balsa wood, glue, love, and old match boxes. I remember a bunch of flowers in a pot (matches with the head cut off and the ends coloured with wax crayon, sitting in an old plastic bottle top) and the windows had 'glass' in them. When I talk of windows, there were no frames. The windows were simple oblongs cut in the side of the box, with cellophane stuck over them. Mum used to tell the story of how she had insisted on the cellophane. They were still working on the project at four o'clock on Christmas morning. My dad had tried to argue that it was late and I would not notice, but apparently the first thing I did on seeing the house (Ahem...two hours later) was to check whether the windows had 'glass'. I played with that dolls house for years.
This has turned into a list of presents, which was not my original intention. Christmas was always an intimate affair in our home, with just Mum, Dad and me. We never travelled to others for the event, mainly because we had no car and all our relatives lived in other towns. Nobody came to us, because they had no transport either and we had no room to put them up if they could come. No public transport on Christmas or Boxing Day meant they would have to stay.
Turkey was not a thing in those days, so we had a chicken, with all the trimmings of course. (No cranberry sauce.) I don't remember ever going out of the house on Christmas Day. The time was always spent listening to the radio or, in my case, playing with new toys while Mum and Dad smoked and chatted. I don't remember party games ever being a thing in our house either and, as an only child, I was used to entertaining myself. Christmas tea, with sandwiches, trifle, and Christmas cake, was obligatory.
I do remember my mum taking me to see a pantomime a couple of times, when I was about seven or eight. The Grand Theatre in Leeds used to put on the most wonderful ones and I remember seeing Babes in the Wood one year and Cinderella the next. Babes in the Wood had an incredible aerial ballet. All the lights dimmed and then huge luminous butterflies (girls with gauze 'wings' attached to their arms) zoomed out over the audience. Sixty years later I still remember that scene, because we were right up in the 'gods', (the cheapest seats) so they were on a level with us. That they were girls was very clear to me, because one came right up to the edge of the balcony and smiled at the awestruck seven year old me, before zooming away again. I don't remember much about Cinderella, but I do know that a big pop star, Lonnie Donegan, played Buttons. It's not in my memory, but Mum said that I used to stand in the back yard, with a biscuit tin lid as a guitar, and sing Cumberland Gap, one of his big hits.
I could go on to describe later years, but I think as we grow older the magic fades. As I age I realise that what I remember most is not the acquisition of presents, but rather the effort and largely annonymous love that went into them. (Presents were never tagged. All my presents were from Santa and were hidden away until the big day.) Budgets were scrimped and time and effort was expended, to ensure that I had a Christmas full of wonder and joy. That's something I never realised as a child, but is what can reduce me to tears as I look back now.
If any parents are reading this, know that it's not the things that make Christmas. Toys are grown out of or broken. It's the love and wonder that remains and will be cherished most in later years.
END
At the time, we lived in three rooms, sharing a bathroom and kitchen with an elderly couple across the hall. They were in what had been the servants quarters of a rather grand Georgian house in Dublin. We had a beautiful living room, with a bay window big enough to take a huge round mahogany dining table. In winter Mum used to close the tall wooden shutters across that bay at night, to make the room warmer. No central heating in those days. Heat was provided by a peat fire in a huge fireplace, with an over-mantle that antique dealers would have killed for, even in those days. The Christmas memory I want to write about, however, was celebrated in my little bedroom instead.
I remember waking up on Christmas morning that year to discover my bedroom ceiling covered in balloons. I don't remember the presents. I knew Santa had been, of course, because the sheet of Christmas wrapping paper over the fireplace was torn. What I do remember is the cosy feeling of the three of us in that little room all day. Looking back, I wonder if I was sick that year. We were in the pre measles vaccination era, and Mum said I did catch both ordinary and German measles at some point during the first four or five years of my life.
The following year is more memorable, because that was when Santa brought me a dolls pram. For months I had been dragging around an old shoe box on a loop of string around the house, with one of my dolls tucked inside. I was taken to Clerys department store in the city, ostensibly to see Santa in his grotto, but also to look at dolls prams. My Mum used to smile when she recalled that I went along a whole line of prams, only to fall in love with a big white and maroon Silver Cross pram (the most expensive one). My dad was not well paid and I do not know, to this day, how they managed to afford that pram, but it was there on Christmas morning. There were even a few little presents heaped inside it. I kept and loved that pram until I was eight years old.
By the time I was six we had returned from Ireland to England and were living in a two bedroom flat, in the top two floors of a small Victorian terraced house in Leeds. Although we had a sitting room, in winter life moved into the kitchen, which was smaller and easier to heat. I say it was small...there was plenty of room for a big square table against one wall.
My present memory for that year was a dolls house. Now, when I say dolls house, don't imagine a beautiful MDF two story affair with all mod cons and working lights. Money did not stretch to that, so my parents did what they always did, they got stuck in. My dolls house was a four room bungalow, made from a cut down wooden tea chest (big square box that loose leaf tea used to be imported in), with two overlapping panels of presswood board forming the gabled roof. To access the rooms you removed the roof panels. Each room had been decorated with real wallpaper, no doubt left over from other people's decorating efforts. This had, of course, been stuck down with the obligatory flour and water paste and I replaced it myself several times over the years. Furniture was sparse; lovingly made by my mum from balsa wood, glue, love, and old match boxes. I remember a bunch of flowers in a pot (matches with the head cut off and the ends coloured with wax crayon, sitting in an old plastic bottle top) and the windows had 'glass' in them. When I talk of windows, there were no frames. The windows were simple oblongs cut in the side of the box, with cellophane stuck over them. Mum used to tell the story of how she had insisted on the cellophane. They were still working on the project at four o'clock on Christmas morning. My dad had tried to argue that it was late and I would not notice, but apparently the first thing I did on seeing the house (Ahem...two hours later) was to check whether the windows had 'glass'. I played with that dolls house for years.
This has turned into a list of presents, which was not my original intention. Christmas was always an intimate affair in our home, with just Mum, Dad and me. We never travelled to others for the event, mainly because we had no car and all our relatives lived in other towns. Nobody came to us, because they had no transport either and we had no room to put them up if they could come. No public transport on Christmas or Boxing Day meant they would have to stay.
Turkey was not a thing in those days, so we had a chicken, with all the trimmings of course. (No cranberry sauce.) I don't remember ever going out of the house on Christmas Day. The time was always spent listening to the radio or, in my case, playing with new toys while Mum and Dad smoked and chatted. I don't remember party games ever being a thing in our house either and, as an only child, I was used to entertaining myself. Christmas tea, with sandwiches, trifle, and Christmas cake, was obligatory.
I do remember my mum taking me to see a pantomime a couple of times, when I was about seven or eight. The Grand Theatre in Leeds used to put on the most wonderful ones and I remember seeing Babes in the Wood one year and Cinderella the next. Babes in the Wood had an incredible aerial ballet. All the lights dimmed and then huge luminous butterflies (girls with gauze 'wings' attached to their arms) zoomed out over the audience. Sixty years later I still remember that scene, because we were right up in the 'gods', (the cheapest seats) so they were on a level with us. That they were girls was very clear to me, because one came right up to the edge of the balcony and smiled at the awestruck seven year old me, before zooming away again. I don't remember much about Cinderella, but I do know that a big pop star, Lonnie Donegan, played Buttons. It's not in my memory, but Mum said that I used to stand in the back yard, with a biscuit tin lid as a guitar, and sing Cumberland Gap, one of his big hits.
I could go on to describe later years, but I think as we grow older the magic fades. As I age I realise that what I remember most is not the acquisition of presents, but rather the effort and largely annonymous love that went into them. (Presents were never tagged. All my presents were from Santa and were hidden away until the big day.) Budgets were scrimped and time and effort was expended, to ensure that I had a Christmas full of wonder and joy. That's something I never realised as a child, but is what can reduce me to tears as I look back now.
If any parents are reading this, know that it's not the things that make Christmas. Toys are grown out of or broken. It's the love and wonder that remains and will be cherished most in later years.
END
