A Childhood Christmas Eve Memory
THE THIRTEENTH CHILD
OF FIFTEEN CHILDREN
‘The table was laden with coloured crêpe paper, paste made from flour and water, and scissors. Mum cut the crêpe paper into strips and we children plaited three colours together into long chains. The fire crackled and spat angry sparks onto the rug.
A gust of wind heralded the older brothers coming in. A grotesque head dangled from a golden-feathered body – from somewhere, no one knew where, they had found a cockerel. And not only that: one of them held a sack aloft and out of it peeped holly branches heavy with berries.
Soon the excitement built. Taking it in turns to pluck the bird, the brothers then singed the remaining stubs, while we girls collected up the mounds of feathers, giggling as fun-time took over and we threw them at each other. Mum was cross, but only for a moment.
Time for a last stir of the Christmas pud – make a wish – Oh, I do want that doll! So pretty with its pink frock and bonnet!
Delicious smells from the oven – mince pies all ready for Santa.
In comes Dad, all merry and singing carols. Mum tells him off. He smiles and like a conjuror brings out from under his coat a bottle of sherry. The golden liquid catches the light. Mum forgives Dad.
‘Please can we put the decorations up now?’
But no. Mum will not waver from tradition.
The crib is up, a lovely cave made from crisp brown paper with icing sugar for snow – did it snow in Jerusalem? And twigs for trees. The shepherds are there, and the animals, and Joseph and Mary. Soon baby Jesus will arrive and lie in the cradle. Then the kings will come, but that is days away and will mark the end of Christmas, so I don’t want to think of them.
Potatoes to peel, sprouts to prepare, bacon rolls to make, stuffing to mix – all the girls receive a job, even the three youngest of which I am the eldest at eight years old. Besides us three there are four more girls and three brothers at home. Two brothers were already married by that time with families of their own. They would visit soon. And, never forgotten – three brothers, unknown to me as they died before I was born. But their names were special, as we mentioned them each night in family prayers.
Time for socks. All bathed and shivering from cold, we see the socks, all in a row – what will they contain when Santa fills them and hangs them on the bottom of our bed? Ooooooooh – so excited.
Off we go. Fight over the army coats that cover us, but give in and snuggle together to keep warm – four in a bed.
Creaking door opens. Tightly close my eyes. Feeling that I will burst with a mixture of fear of the bearded man who I am convinced has entered our room, and the excitement at having presents!
Not quite dawn: we can wait no longer. Orange peel, nutshells and gold-coloured foil strew the bed. All treats devoured, and the moon is still in the sky. Feeling sick, we try to get off to sleep. Will the doll appear at the end of my bed in the morning?
The parcel is the right shape. I can hardly breathe – but no. But it doesn’t matter! I have a magical set of yellow and red weighing scales! So happy. I love them!
Now it is time. We run towards the living room / kitchen of the old army hut we live in. The red tiles are cold to our feet, but we don’t care. Our eyes feast on the magic of Christmas – our own grotto. Every bit of the ceiling and the top of the walls are draped with our paper chains. Tinsel hangs over it, glittering and shimmering in the light. In the corner a holly-bush Christmas tree, hung with baubles and Christmas crackers. Carols ring out from the radio. Mum greets us all with a hug. Happiness clothes me. It’s Christmas Day, 1953!