I didn't hail from a religious family, so for us the season meant good food, parties, games, songs and the hope of a present or two.
We didn't have much - in fact we'd never had much, so anything the season brought our way was reason for rejoicing.
Dad was a bricklayer and when the colder weather arrived work was always scarce. He'd hope for snow to provide the opportunity to make those few extra shillings shoveling the storefronts and drives of the upper class families in town.
Somehow my parents managed to provide a present for everyone in our large brood. I'd always be happy to receive the Bumper Book for Boys Christmas annual. It was a wonderful book, full of short stories, games, jokes and sports trivia. One year I was thrilled to get a football (that's soccer ball for you North Americans) and we'd all find an orange in our sock, which was considered an exotic fruit and especially mouthwatering treat.
Best of all was dinner. My mother had a well-earned reputation for being a fabulous cook who made a wonderful Christmas pudding. We never dined on goose (too expensive) or turkey (distinctly North American fare). No, we had stuffed capon - in other words, a great big castrated rooster!
Mum was also a great baker and every year she'd carefully place a sixpence in the Christmas cake. While only one child had the joy of finding the cherished coin, the cake was so delicious the rest of us didn't mind the loss.
I would repay Mum for all her efforts by lending my voice to my cousins' caroling team (nobody noticed I sang off-key) and using the coppers thrown in my direction to buy her a small bottle of Evening in Paris cologne for Christmas. She was the best smelling Mum in town.
We didn't decorate our house for the holiday season, but would have a small evergreen tree with candles glowing on the branches during the evening. We'd make sure to blow them out before going to bed, but it still amazes me more houses didn't go up in flames.
We thought it fortunate that Dad was a veteran of WWI, because that meant we'd be invited to a Christmas party put on by the local Legion. We'd enjoy tasty treats, play games and receive a token gift such as a pen.
Once I signed up with the RAF and was sent overseas for the duration of WWII, my Christmases in Burma were quite different from those in England. For one thing, the fare consisted of the usual curry, but we took great pleasure in the tradition of our sergeants acting as waiters and serving up our meals.
That's not to say we didn't partake in some festive delicacies. The best Christmas pudding I ever tasted was while in India, sent to a fellow airman from his family in Australia. We also received parcels of goodies from the Red Cross and the Salvation Army.
Players tobacco company gave out tins of cigarettes and as a non-smoker, I would trade them for bottles of beer gifted by Burton Brewery. Local tea plantation owners would hand out little wooden crates of tea and one year I posted mine to the girl next door who would eventually become my wife.
Around Christmastime entertainers came out to the jungle to put on shows. I particularly remember George Formby, who brought his wife along with his ukulele. He received cheers for insisting that the officers sit at the back of the theater and the lower ranks up front. I also recall a visit from Hollywood actress Paulette Goddard, but we didn't get to see her beauty up close since she chose to dine with the officers.
On Christmas day we'd all participate in a squadron football match, which was invariably played in either sticky heat or rain and mud, but we'd quaffed sufficient Burton's beer by then that the weather didn't bother us in the least.
I'll always remember my first Christmas in Canada with my wife after having joined the Metro Toronto Police Force. We were missing family back home, but my father-in-law managed to cheer us up. Rationing had finally ended in England and he sent over in the post a small tin of Quality Street Chocolates, which made our day. In fact my wife still has that little tin.
That first year I was invited to a Turkey Shoot at the police firing range. No doubt they were unaware I was a crack shot back then and I imagine some were quite surprised when I came away winning three turkeys. I wrote back home that our first Christmas in Canada had been particularly "fowl".
Happy Christmas!
Ed
