Classic Christmas Stories (4 page)

by Mike McCarthy

I
T'S CHRISTMAS EVE, AND you're a child again, in the
happy, care-free days of long ago.

Outside, the snow is gently falling, and the thermometer hovers below the
freezing mark. Inside your house it's warm and cozy with a great fire blazing in
the front parlour, while from the kitchen, where your mother is busy with the
finishing touches of preparing for Christmas, the most delicious and tantalizing
whiffs of gingerbread and fruit cakes are waft to your nose. You busy yourself
with helping or getting in the way, but the minutes tick by slowly and your mind
is in turmoil caught between the disbelief of the bigger boys in Santa Claus and
the stories of lumps of coal or stones in the stockings of those who have lost
their faith in the jolly old gentleman.

The Christmas Tree, a stately fir has finally passed your mother's critical
inspection, and now stands in a far corner of the parlour awaiting the fall of
night to be decked in all its beauty, a symbol of the true beauty of this the
most wonderful of all the great feast days.

The hours drag by slowly but at last it's supper time, and you sit down to a
meal of salt fish or watered herring—Christmas Eve is a day of strict fast and
abstinence—remembering the old proverb, “a fast before a feast.” Of course
you're too excited to eat very much and can't wait until the table is cleared,
so you can begin decorating the tree.

Your community has no electricity so you must do the best you can
with glittering tinsel, artificial snow and coloured tree ornaments of
every size and colour, to change your fir tree to a magical symbol of the
splendour of the Christmas Season.

And of course you can't possiby forget to tune in to radio station V. O. N. F.
for the final instalment of “Jonathan Thomas and His Christmas on the Moon” just
to find out if Jonathan Thomas, The Man in the Moon and his talking horse have
really rescued Santa Claus and Jonathan Thomas's teddy bear, Gus, from the
clutches of the Wicked Old Witch of Rumplestitch, and the evil Squeebubbles. But
everything turns out fine and you can go back to putting the finishing touches
on the tree.

Finally the job is finished and with the glittering golden star placed on the
very top of the tree, everyone stands back to admire their creation. Then, in
the golden glow of the parlour hanging-lamp, the glittering tinsel and
shimmering ornaments creates an atmosphere of almost mystical beauty, and there
is general agreement it's the best tree ever.

But tonight is a special Christmas Eve for you, for tonight you are allowed to
attend your first Midnight Mass, and though the hours pass slowly, at last the
church bells ring out and you eagerly don your “outdoor clothes, ” and go with
the other members of your family, to the church on the hill, wondering secretly
in your heart if you will find your Christmas Stocking filled on your return
from Midnight Mass.

It's a strange sensation for you entering the church with its flickering altar
candles, and the kerosene lamps dimly lighting the long aisles of the
church.

The Christmas Crib with Mary and the Christ Child is set up before the side
altar, and the scent of fresh evergreen boughs mixing with that of burning
candles and incense recalls the story of the three Wise Men and their gifts of
gold, frankincense and myrrh, and suddenly you have an “epiphany, ” or swift and
sudden insight into the true meaning of Christmas, and the great mystery of a
God, made Man.

Then from the choir loft the organ swells and the choir's rendition of “Adeste
Fideles” welcomes again the birth of the Christ Child, and when the priest reads
the short and simple Gospel account of the First Christmas, you know, small as
you are, that the glittering tree standing in solitary splendour in the front
parlour, and the gifts and the good food are but the externals to the true
meaning of this special day that shows
God's love for his
people, and at Holy Communion when you receive the Blessed Sacrament, you feel a
new and special relationship with the Babe in the manger, who has come to redeem
all of mankind.

Then Mass is finished and after a short visit to the crib you go outside where
the priest and people are exchanging Christmas greetings. Then, its home again,
accompanied by a few friends and relations to the first feast of the festive
season. Ham, home-made blood puddings, a roast of pork or beef or mutton, a
special pot of soup, and of course thick slices of home-made sweet bread covered
with “cow butter, ” and the first generous helping of your mother's special
Christmas cake, with a glass of hot grog for the adults, to ward off any
chills.

Now, with the needs of body and soul satisfied your eye-lids begin to droop,
and you go up the creaking stairs to your bedroom, more asleep than awake, but
determined that this year you'll stay awake and solve once and for all the
nagging question of Santa's true existence.

But somehow you rest your eyes for a moment and the next thing you know it's
morning, and in the first dim, grey light of December dawn you race down the
stairs with the terrible unexpressed fear that maybe— just maybe—he forgot your
house this year, but no, your heart gives a mighty leap of joy, for there is
your stocking bulging with “goodies” and underneath it, that beautiful store
bought slide that you've been wanting for so long. It's a perfect Christmas
morning, just one of the many of the happy Christmas days of the long ago.

by Jessie B. Mifflen

“W
AKE UP; WAKE UP; Father Christmas was here.” It was
my sister—my senior by little more than a year—who called me as she jumped out
of bed to go downstairs and see what surprises he had brought.

I didn’t need a second call; indeed I had been too excited to sleep for most of
the night and had at midnight heard the nearby chapel bell peal out the joyful
tidings that it was Christmas. Only the fear that Santa, or Father Christmas as
we were taught to call him, had not yet arrived at our house had prevented me
from getting up and going down then.

We gave a hurried call to our very small brother and waited impatiently for him
to join us. We had no fears now that Father Christmas had not come, for the
little one had heard the reindeer on the roof. Actually there was never any
doubt that he would come, for every Christmas Eve right after tea one of his
helpers would come to the front door and call out loudly, inquiring how many
children were in this house and whether they were good. We invariably were, of
course, at this particular time, so we knew that we should find a just reward on
Christmas morning.

Our parents would also get up at the same early hour, for they had to light the
kerosene oil lamp in the sitting room, as it would be a long while before
daylight. Nor was ours the only house in the neighbourhood with lights burning
at this hour, for the scene was repeated and wherever
there
were children it was one of the most exciting times of the Christmas
season.

How delightfully bulging the stockings looked as they hung from the mantle!
They would not, of course, contain anything like the elaborate presents that
children receive today, because money was scarce in Newfoundland outports in
those days and anyway it would have seemed like wicked extravagance to spend so
much on pleasure. There would always be a shining coin in the toe of the
stocking. There would also be an orange, for oranges were not then included in
the daily diet of children in remote outports and were regarded as treats for
special occasions. There would be nuts and candy—not the common or garden
variety candy like all-day suckers or molasses kisses, but delicious
mouth-watering confections such as vivid yellow and shocking pink heart-shaped
coloured transparent candy figures of varying designs and sizes. There would
probably be a pencil case, a game and a small toy or two. Under the tree would
be the larger presents—perhaps skates or a doll or useful presents like a new
dress or gay cap and scarf, and always a book.

Sometimes of course there would be disappointments, for we did not always get
what we asked for in our laboriously spelled out letters to Santa, especially if
we had requested a baby brother or sister. We got many of the ideas for our
requests from mail-order catalogues and on autumn nights after lessons were done
we would pore over them, picking out all the things we would like to have,
though we knew better than to ask for the extravagantly priced luxury items
displayed therein.

In those days people didn’t start doing their Christmas shopping months before
the season. In fact, in most of the stores the Christmas stock was put out only
a week or so before Christmas—just long enough for Father Christmas to have time
to make his selection on his pre-Christmas Eve reconnoiterings.

Since often it would be the middle of the night when we made our appearance to
see what Santa had brought we usually went back to bed after we had looked at
the presents, taking a favourite toy with us. As no one was inclined to sleep we
would arise much earlier than usual and have breakfast by lamp light so there
would be time to play before church, for we were not allowed to forget that
Christmas was essentially a religious
festival and
at 11 o’clock on Christmas morning we left our toys, rather reluctantly I’m
afraid, and went off to church. The sacrifice, I am forced to admit, was made
less painful if among our presents was a new article of clothing which we could
wear on that occasion.

The first heralding of the Christmas season, as far as children were concerned
was the commencement in November of practice for the Christmas school concert,
which was always one of the highlights of the season. In those days there was no
radio, no television, and in small towns no movies except occasionally a magic
lantern show, put on, perhaps, by a visiting clergyman and featuring Biblical
scenes or pictures of the Holy Land, designed to uplift rather than entertain,
so the school concert at Christmas was a big event in our lives and there was
great rivalry for a part of it. The programme included such items as solos and
recitations, drills and dialogues, exercises and singings, as we called any
vocal item in which more than three or less than twenty people took part.

The concert usually took place two or three nights before Christmas and there
was always a half holiday in school.

We wore our best dresses—sometimes the ones that Santa Claus brought us a
little in advance, which would, for the rest of the winter be our Sunday
dresses. We left off our long johns for the occasion, thereby running the risk
of catching our death, for the school in which the performance was held was
heated only by a pot-bellied stove and of course most people came on foot, for
there were no cars in our town at that time.

During the intermission homemade candy was sold for 5c. a bag— horrible
concoctions for the most part, as I remember them. Then, at the close of the
concert came the most thrilling part of all when Father Christmas appeared and
dispensed presents to all the children from the large tree set up on the
platform. He would come in through an entrance at the end of the school or hall
and go bounding up the aisle ho-ho-hoing all the way in a manner frightening to
the very young. I well remember how terrified I was the first time I went to
such a performance, much too frightened to go up and collect my gift when my
name was called.

Because the performers in the Christmas concert were always children the affair
ended as soon as the presents had been given out, so it was not followed by the
usual tea or games in which adult concerts
concluded, and
tired but happy the children wended their way home and to bed, joyful in the
knowledge that this pre-Christmas visit of Santa was but a foretaste of
wonderful things to come.

It was hard to go back to school the next morning and settle down to work for
the two or three remaining days before the Christmas holiday and I’m afraid we
didn’t accumulate much knowledge in that period. There was always a half holiday
on the last day, and while we were in the lower grades a feature of the last
session was the dispensing of apples by the teacher, four of the older pupils
having the enviable job of walking up and down the aisles and passing one out to
every child.

I remember on one occasion when I was very small, I had placed my apple on the
desk while I was putting on my coat and one of the big boys ran off with it,
which assumed the proportions of a catastrophe, although an apple was not really
a great treat for me. In spite of his early start in crime, the boy grew up to
be a respected citizen but I never see him without thinking of my stolen apple
at that Christmas season.

The making of the Christmas cake was always an exciting part of the
pre-Christmas activities and all the female members of the family assisted in
its production. The candied lemon and citrus peel would be cut up in small
pieces, the raisins and currents and other delectable ingredients measured and
floured, and part of it, I am afraid, sometimes surreptitiously slipped into our
mouths. Since there was considerable stirring to be done, almost everyone took a
turn at it. Finally, the cake was ready for the oven and for the long slow bake
in the big black iron bake pot, with usually a small portion in a baking powder
tin for “tryer.” When it was in the oven, the kitchen doors had to be kept
closed and the family was warned to walk softly lest the cake sink, but nobody
minded because it was part of Christmas. The cake was put away until Christmas
Eve when it re-appeared to be iced and decorated with “hundreds-of-thousands” or
tiny coloured candy and was the “piece-de-resistance” for the Christmas evening
tea when it was set in the centre of the table on a high glass plate looking
much too attractive to be cut up and eaten.

Another pleasant feature of Christmas was decorating the Christmas tree which
had been cut in the nearby woods. It was usually set up and decorated after tea
on Christmas Eve, tea being the traditional one in Newfoundland outports on
Christmas Eve, of roasted salt fish and hot
mince pie, and all
the family got in on the trimming act. Many of the decorations were homemade but
none the less attractive and there were gay coloured candles, lighted for only a
short time each day because of the fire hazard.

The highlight of Christmas day was the mid-day dinner. Turkey was a rare bird
in the distant outports of Newfoundland and usually didn’t figure on the
Christmas menu. Instead, there might be a duck or a lordly rooster well fattened
for the occasion, followed, of course, by a dark, rich, heavy Christmas pudding
which nobody really wanted because of having eaten so heartily of the main
course, but which everyone sampled nevertheless, because after all Christmas
only came once a year. After dinner the children played with their Christmas
games or toys and tried out their new skates or sleds until the time came to
light up the Christmas tree at dusk.

Christmas night ushered in a gay social season, which continued until
January 6th. During that time many of the grownups went “jannying” or
“mummering” every night.

On the last night of the season the mummers were always out in great numbers
and the feasting and merry-making reached a peak. The small fry would be allowed
to stay up a little later than usual, and even after we went to bed we would
sometimes creep out to the head of the stairs so as not to miss any of the
excitement going on below, or if it was a moonlight night scrape the frost off
the windows so that we could watch the antics of the mummers going by. It is of
course an illusion, but somehow it seemed that there was always moonlight during
the Christmas season. As we finally drifted off to sleep the jingling of the
bells which the mummers sometimes carried with them and the gay tunes they
played on the accordion as they strolled homeward in the moonlight mingled with
our dreams and became part of the magic of Christmas.