Memories of the early 1960’s – Christmas

For a child Christmas is a magical time filled with tinkling sleigh bells, elves and anticipation. One of my most vivid Christmas memories is being allowed to help decorate the huge pine tree that had mysteriously appeared in the front room. Normally our time was spent in the back room where large French Windows looked out into the garden and the front room was kept for best, the door firmly closed.

Behind the closed door there was a piano, the top a forest of silver cups from years of bird show wins. Before the big day Mother would get all the cups down and laboriously polish each one to a shine. Sometimes I would be allowed to help and I still can’t smell sliver polish without being transported back to that room, all those silver cups and the black stains the polish would leave on my hands.

The Christmas tree dominated the room infusing it with a smell of pine. Beside it there were faded cardboard boxes, some taped up with sellotape where they’d begun to fall apart. Inside, packed carefully in tissue paper older than I, were delicate glass baubles passed down to Mother by her mother. With great care Mother unpacked the balls and the bells that tinkled when they moved, their patterns in pale pink, blue, green and purple on shining silver. There were tiny glass birds on metal clips for the ends of branches. All were too precious for a little girl to touch but I was allowed to put handfuls of lametta, thin strips of shiny, silver, on the lower branches.

The top of the tree was reserved for a fairy made by Alex using a small doll, lots of lace netting and some tinsel or beads. The fairy was the only new decoration we ever had but each year she, or at least her outfit, would be replaced. Everything else, the baubles, tinsel, paper lanterns, and fairy lights were bought before Alex or I were born.

Those fairy lights were a long string of candle flame shaped bulbs in primary colours on thick black wire. If just one bulb was broken or loose they wouldn’t work at all so Mother spent a long time testing them and searching for the culprit or culprits when, inevitably, they didn’t light. When, eventually, they were on the tree and switched on our little front room was transformed into a fairy tale, at least in the eyes of one little girl.

Once, Mother took me to see Father Christmas in a big department store in town. There are vague memories of a long queue, excitement at the grotto with sparkly fake snow and a sudden shyness when my turn came to sit on Santa’s knee. There may have been tears. Mother may have got cross and wagged a finger. It was my only visit to Father Christmas as far as I remember, but I could be wrong.

When the big day finally arrived I would wake to a pillowcase filled with presents at the end of my bed. There were never any Christmas lists in our house but somehow Mother always managed to buy the exact thing I wanted most of all. One year I remember a Tiny Tears doll that cried real tears when you squeezed her tummy, another a Sindy doll.

It felt as if I was the luckiest little girl in the world with my pillowcase full of presents although, by modern day standards, I probably got very little. There were certainly no electrical gadgets or must have toys that had to be queued for. Many of my presents were hand made, knitted jumpers and cardigans, a dress sewn by Alex, a marble game crafted from wooden offcuts by Pappy. There might be some Lego bricks, a toy car, puzzle or doll and there was always a selection box of sweets, a colouring book and pencils or paints. Those colouring books were some of my favourite presents giving me hours of fun.

Christmas Dinner was my least favourite thing. The big drop leaf table in the dining room was pulled out and opened to full size. Extra chairs were found and a fancy Christmas table cloth spread out. Once this was done there was hardly room to move in the room. For once the whole family would gather, Mother, Dad, Pappy, Nannie (Mother’s mother) Alex and her husband.

At the best of times Mother piled way too much on my plate and mealtimes always seemed to end in tears because I couldn’t eat it all. At Christmas Dad cooked. He’d been a chef in the Air Force during the war and was a butcher by trade but his portion sizes were, if anything, even larger. Often there was so much food it became a voyage of discovery, when one thing was eaten something else was found hiding underneath. Then, just when I thought it was over and my stomach was full to bursting point, there would be Christmas Pudding, made months before and fed with brandy.

Once the meal was over the adults would retire to their armchairs and gently snooze the afternoon away while some old black and white film went unwatched on the TV. Meanwhile I would happily sit on the floor with my colouring books and puzzles. By modern day standards they were simple times where expectations were low and always exceeded. Perhaps simplicity and family gathered is the true spirt of Christmas.