Clinton News-Record, 1984-12-19, Page 3ws afeatures
Bayfielder°s share their best memories
Christmas part in Huron County
N NEWS -RECORD, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 19,198! --Page 3
By Elva Metcalfe
Christmases that I remember. When it
was suggested that I write about a
memorable Christmas I immediately
thought of Christmas in the old stone house
on Highway 21 (then known as the Sauble
Line).
Here lived our grandparents, Mr. and
Mrs. John Watson. Our grandmother, a frail
little lady, always planned to have the whole
family for this most important day of the
year.
The family consisted of nine children,
seven of whom were married and lived in
the immediate area. When this group
gathered, there were often as many as 40. I
being the first grandchild lost my position as
number one, while the youngest each year
was replaced by another baby.
Our home was the adjoining farm so here
we usually arrived first. Christmas weather
then always seemed very cold and often
stormy. I remember my father in his buffalo
robe coat, mother and us children in our
warmest clothes for the ride. We were really
packed in on the hay covered floor of the
sleigh, drawn by a team of horses. I
remember frozen cheeks and noses having
to be rubbed with snow on arrival.
The greeting was warm, both grand-
pa is welcomed us at the doors with this
greet g, "Christmas Box on You." I have
never heard this since - could it be from
Yorkshire, Grandfather?
The smells of roasting goose and chicken
and all the other goodies being prepared in
that wonderful big kitchen were welcoming
indeed.
When all the families arrived and were
duly welcomed, it was time for dinner at
noon. Adults at one table, children at
another, and of course everyone ate too
much.
Then to the large room which today would
be called the family room, where an enor-
mous tree that reached to the top of that 15
foot ceiling, sat there in all its glory.
Homemade decorations, real candles and of
course the angel on the very top.
Excitement was high since we had had to
wait all that time for the big event of giving
and getting presents. Our grandmother in
her chair gave out the gifts which were
handed to her by the tallest man present.
This room was a beautiful old room, three
large windows with the wide sills off old
stone houses, two doors opening into a large
centre hall. The most interesting feature
was an enormous painting (painted right on
the plaster) on the end wall depicting a
scene of an oasis in the desert, with what ap-
peared to be pyramids in the background.
The colours were desert colours. This pain-
ting was left intact until two years ago when
it was papered over. We never did know who
was the artist.
After gift giving, the women did cleaning
up, washing dishes (no dish washers then -
no women's lib either). Men played euchre
and children played with new toys and
games.
Finally, all adults gathered in the parlour,
where an aunt presided at the organ and
everyone sang old Christmas songs,
favourite hymns and many old time
numbers. They raised the roof.
An early supper ( chores had to be done )
consisted of left over goose and chicken and
great bowls of orange and banana Jello, this
being a treat.
The older grandchildren. three of nor
rL)
i
family, were allowed to stay overnight. The
two youngest of the Watsons, being our age,
we were friends and we could stay up until
midnight. After another snack we were off
to bed, with a feather mattress to be lulled to
sleep by the whisper of the wind in the pine
trees surrounding the house.
End of a perfect Christmas Day.
Christmas in Huron County
By Jean Campbell
Down the land and through the woods
To Grandfather's house we go
The horses know the way
To draw the sleigh
Through the white and drifting snow.
We go up the fourth concession
Soon we are at Grandpa's place
What a welcome! What a dinner!
Grandma has prepared.
Dusk is falling, we are bundled
Into the sleigh, bells jingling,
We go home, tired and happy, into bed
With memories of a fine day.
Another Christmas to remember was the
one I spent in Toronto, waling down to
Nathan Phillips' Square, with vendors along
the way roasting chestnuts. My supervisor,
Emma Egger, handed me a bag and said,
"At home in Switzerland, we had roasted .
chestnuts each Christmas Day."
At the Square we were entertained by
Wally Koster, choirs and many musicians:
We can't all go home for Christmas, but
we can write a letter to the home folks - and
say - Merry Christmas, God Bless Us
Everyone.
One Christmas in Wales with Manuela
By Arlene Kok
When Doris Hunter asked me to con-
tribute my recollections of a Christmas in
Wales; as part of her feature on Christmas
in other lands, I cheerfully answered,
"Sure."
However, when I began to cast about my
mind I found it a far more difficult task than
I'd first imagined. Perhaps I hadn't thought
of Christmas past in many years. But, when
forced to do so, I came to realize that I had
no really early recollections whatsoever.
Although I Aid remember many earlier hap-
penings, it seemed none of them had to do
with Christmas. Until, the one of the "Doll
and the Orange.",
I suppose I was already seven or eight. My
early childhood in post-war Britain,
although spent in a small Welsh country
town, no doubt had a significant effect on the
festivities of Christmas, so closely intert-
wined that are with the ability to provide.
Now, whether the Christmas of "the doll
and the orange" being the only vivid
memory, had to do with .p rise in the coun-
try's economy in general, or was due to my
war -widowed mother's remarriage in
specific, I can only guess at.
However, I woke early that Christmas
morn to the weight of my stocking at the foot
of my bed. A large, long wool sock filled with
nuts, sweets and a strange huge .orange
ball..:stamped "Jaffa." I'd never seen an
orange before. It was fascinating, it's col=
our, texture and exciting aroma were all
unknown to me then. Later there was the
doll, quite the loveliest thing I'd ever seen.
Pink plastic, cupid -bow mouth, dressed in
baby blue and white hand -knitted
clothing ..fit fora princess!
The doll was indeed a rosy confection,
pink and white and blonde, a lovely English
rose! I immed'ntely named her "Manuela,"
after the hei ins' . of a just -read story set
in Spain.
"Star filled prairie heavers"
Her Christmas debut
By Katherine Williams
Christmas Eve. It has gotten dark early
and the snow glitters as it reflects the
twinkling of the Star -filled prairie heaven.
Over my Sunday clothes I am wrapped up
warmly for .the three -block walk to church.
Still, the bitter cold bites my cheeks and
licks the feeling from my fingers and toes.
The snow squeaks underfoot. The entryway
is filled with stamping feet and muffled
greetings and the smell of wet wool.
Gramma is already sitting at the organ
play.,ig a prelude as we file into our pew.
She wears a dark green choir robe that
smells faintly of mothballs and perfume.
The servicu.tarts. Mary, with a red ruffle
peeking out from under her blue robe, and
Joseph, his moustache coming 'unglued
from his eight-year-old face, march down
the aisle, carrying a plastic doll wrapped in
swaddling clothes. The wisemen, the
shepherds, the angels - all reenact the first
Christmas eve.
Reverend Carey reads Luke 2:1-20. We
sing a -arol and then come the recitations
from the rest of the Sunday School. The last
one is a little girl who is practically small
enough to have played Jesus. But there she
stands, curled and scrnibbed and starched
and ironed on the chanel steps.
She twists from side to side in excitment.
Her chubby hands fly to her face and she
giggles at being the centre of attention. She
waves at her Mommy.
Mrs. Carey prompts her in a stage
whisper to remind her why she's there and
she drops her hands and clutches the hem of
her dress, whispering out her lines that are
lost in the murmurs of admiration from the
crowd.
When at last she has finished, the tiny girl
lifts her skirt right over her head to hide her
berry -red cheeks from sight, revealing her
dimpled knees and Lacey Christmas
drawers.
As laughter is a form of prayer, everyone
prays very hard for a few moments.
Reverend Carey lifts the child, who is
delighted at the way her recitation has been
received and holds her in his arms
throughout the last carol and the benedic
tion.
As the church begins to empty and good
wishes fill the air, I make my way up to the
organ where Gramma is pulling out all the
stops.
War prisoner remembers
,By Eric Earl
Christmas 1942 - Stalag VIII B Lamsdorf
Upper Silesia Germany Working Camp -
with one compound of Air Force prisoners of
war, approximately 1,000 men from all
allied air forces, 25,000 men from all nations
in the camp.
Christmas Eve 1942 - the Germans relax-
ed a little on this day. The lights were left on
after the usual "Lights Out" time and each
barracks of 250 men put on their own
Christmas dhow.
I belonged to a quartet that sang the tunes
that were popular at the time. We jumped
out of washroom windows into the next bar-
rack, sang three or four numbers and mov-
ed on to the next concert. Each time we
were rewarded with a couple of cookies or a
cup of tea. We put on 18 shows that night.
Christmas of '42 was the only time we
received a full parcel of food to ourselves. If
we did receive a food parcel it usually had to
be shared by six to eight other prisoners, so
there wasn't too much for anybody.
That Christmas we received a Canadian
food parcel. It contained sugar, tea, coffee,
salmon, butter, biscuits, meat, condensed
milk,, jam and chocolate. And it contained a
Christmas card from Canada.
After living on Swede Soup, Black Bread,
mouldy potatoes and mint tea, this was a
real treat and as I remember it, to use a
modern expression, everyone "pigged out."
I remember sitting with my buddies and
writing the time on the back of the card as
we wolfed down each treat. Needless to say,
we were a sad looking crew on the following
morning.
That was Christmas 1942. No church ser-
vice, just a big feed.
I spent two more Christmases in the
prison camp, but I don't remember
anything special about them.
Christmas images in South Africa
By Sari Machen
Is there such a thing as a South African
Christmas? I think not.
There are fleeting images we all share.
The wonder of the tree, carols, rich English
foods and the joy of giving.
The paradox in South Africa is the heat.
Christmas f 1Is in mid -summer when
coconuts and peaches are ripe and
watermelons and fruit punches mingle with
cold turkey and hot brandy -sauced pud-
dings. Chistmas Day is spent outdoors with
friends and relatives, as close to a swimm-
ing pool as possible. Preferably one with a
few watermelons bobbing in the water to
keep cool!
Then there are the Christmases which I
remember which have no bearing on our
English traditions, but remain spiritually
true Christmases. Camping at the Wankie
Game Reserve, close to the Victoria Falls in
Zimbabwe, and visiting a small chapel on
treacherous primitive roads. Singing carols
to a cacophony of animal sounds. The
hyenas particularly enjoyed our singing.
There were also the occasional beach pic-
nics where the children could show off their
presents, and the adults could relax.
On second thoughts, I was wrong,
Christmas is always typical no matter
where you come from. It is a time of
remembering our good fortune and sharing
with others.
Mrs. Santa (my dear Aunt) was puzzled, it
should have a good Welsh name surely?
Myfanwy? Gwyneth? Bronwen?
But, "Manuela" she remained, because I
already knew that when I grew up I would
run off to Spain to become a famous
Flamenco dancer.
I confess I remember nothing of the rest of
the day for Manuela and I spent it in our own
little world, meticulously peeling, squirting,
quartering and eventually savouring the
wonderful "Jaffa" orange. I had not yet
learned of Valencia!
Now, for the truly memorable account of a
Welsh Christmas, I urge you all to read
Dylan: Thomas', "A Child's Christmas in
Wales," and wish you all the many blessings
of a "Nadolig Llawen" (Merry Christmas)
in lovely Huron County..
OP
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