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The Magic of Christmas

 

Christmas was a time when the whole of our large family gathered together during the 1920s and early 1930s. For weeks beforehand mother had been busy making mince pies, jam tarts, small cakes and, early on, the rich Christmas cake and plum puddings. I always looked forward to the pudding making as I was allowed to watch and to give the traditional stir and wish. Silver charms and threepenny pieces were put into the pudding mixture, together with a generous helping of brandy or rum, according to taste. Finally, when all was done, I was allowed to lick out the bowl - how scrumptious. Mind you, I preferred cleaning out the bowl after making chocolate cakes - they were my favourites and mother's speciality. I have never tasted better.

 

A large piece of home-cured ham was boiled and a large turkey selected of about twenty-two-pounds. Then, on the morning of Christmas Eve, father went to a specially marked spot in the vegetable garden and dug up a two-pounds biscuit tin, what on earth did that contain, you may ask? The answer - new potatoes, which when they had been originally lifted in the previous June were immediately placed in the air-tight tin and buried. This kept them tasting as fresh and delicious as the day they had been interred.

 

On Christmas Eve evening I reluctantly went off to bed, helped on my way by the age old threat that Father Christmas would not come until I was asleep. A large pillowcase was placed outside my bedroom door and downstairs, on the kitchen table, were set a glass of milk and a mince pie. I always knew on Christmas morning that he had called because, apart from the presents, he had left the empty milk glass and just a few crumbs of pie on the plate - he was too busy to wash up obviously.

 

As an only child, I awoke early on that special morning at about 6am, eager to see what Father Christmas had brought. I remember one year at Holme Farm, the patience of my parents was sorely tried. Normally they did not mind me waking them up at such an unearthly hour to show them my new toys, but this year was different. I had received two super presents - A scooter and a large box of paints. The sort which held rows of paint tablets, each labelled with the name of the colour. These paints were often loose in their settings until moistened by the paint brush, first dipped in water. This box contained at least 30 different colours. Well, I insisted on trying to ride my scooter around the bedroom and, inevitably, I bumped into the box of paints, scattering them all over the dark patterned carpet. I can still see my poor father as he crawled around the bedroom floor, with his weary eyes still full of sleep, recovering the paint tablets and desperately trying to match the colours with the names on the box, but, as always, his annoyance was short lived and he was soon entering into the spirit of the festive season.

 

Christmas Day was one of the few occasions when we did not eat a cooked breakfast. Usually we attended 8 o’clock communion at All Saints Church and then made do with cereals or porridge followed by toast and marmalade or jam. I did not claim that we had NO breakfast. We were all hearty eaters in Lincolnshire.

 

I then played with my toys until about 11a.m. when I was ordered upstairs to be washed and changed ready for departure to Brook House, where Grandpa and Grandma Brown lived. I recall that we set off on foot in the early years with me in my pram or push-chair, but later we went by car. This was not through idleness, we all enjoyed walking, but on the way there we were loaded with presents for other members of the family and on the return journey were bringing back our own gifts from them.

 

The presents were all set out upon a large extending dining table in the Morning Room. Upon arrival the adults exchanged greetings and enjoyed a cup of coffee or a glass of sherry. There were also plates of mince pies, nuts and raisins and boxes of crystallised fruits scattered about, which helped to keep the children quiet as we eyed the gifts in eager anticipation, trying to guess what the parcels bearing our names contained. Every child received a present from the Grandparents, plus one from each of the other six members of the Brown family. This meant that there were presents on display for two Grandparents, seven adult sons and daughters and up to seven or eight grandchildren (more came later) At that time there were also six son and daughter-in-laws. You can imagine that the table was full and the larger presents overflowed onto the floor below.

 

At the magic hour of mid-day the ladies departed to the kitchen and dining room to assist in the final preparations for dinner, whilst the men supervised us opening our presents. Oh, the excitement and cries of delight! I can only remember a few of them now, but one was a set of lead soldiers modelling the drum and fife band of the Coldstream Guards. They were still played with by my children and grandchildren. Another, which I received from my late Uncle Bernard Dawson, was a fascinating sand operated toy. As I recall, you filled a hopper at the top with fine sand. Beneath two trucks were joined by a piece of string passing over a pulley. The trucks ran up and down on parallel tracks and the length of string was adjusted so that as one truck was at the top the other was at the bottom. The top truck triggered off a catch which allowed sand to pour into it. When it was full, down it went pulling the other empty truck up. As the full truck reached the bottom it triggered another catch causing it to tip its load out onto a tray, meanwhile the second truck was being filled at the top. And so the process kept repeating so long as there was sand in the hopper.

 

The only danger was if the tray at the bottom was removed. On this particular Christmas Day I whipped it away whilst the trucks were still operating as I wanted to tip the sand back into the hopper. Before I could put the tray back two trucks of fine sand had been discharged onto the green chenille tablecloth. I definitely was NOT popular. It meant that everyone’s toys had to be removed from the table onto the floor and the cloth carried carefully outside to be well shaken by my father. I had no more sense that to persue him crying “Don’t throw that sand away” I wanted to use it again. For this I was shaken harder than the cloth.

 

I was not the only one to be punished on Christmas Day. One year my cousin Philip Brown had received an air gun as a present and when they went outside after lunch to try it out he shot part of the heel off his brother’s shoe. His protest of “Well, I did not hurt him. I aimed at the shoe”, was of no avail.

 

At 1p.m. We all sat down to dinner of enormous proportions at the huge mahogany telescopic dining table in the large dining room. Between 1926 and 1934 the number sitting varied between twenty three and twenty five. Quite a party. In the kitchen was a live-in maid, Alice Dodds, who served the family well and faithfully over many years. She, like many of the family mentioned, are unfortunately no longer with us.

 

After dinner the party would split up. Grandpa departed to the Morning Room for a snooze. Woe betide any foolish person who thoughtlessly intruded. Grandma retreated to bed. The ladies assisted with clearing the table, washing up and then preparing the Dining Room for the next meal. The men retired to the drawing room. My father with Uncles Fred, Bernard and Herbert played Pontoon or Solo. They only gambled mildly but the air was soon thick with cigar smoke and ringing with laughter. Uncle Bernard was a devil for teasing and one player, who shall be nameless, was not a good loser and also hated being teased. Consequently he had his leg pulled unmercifully and by about 4p.m. tempers were sometimes becoming a little frayed until one of the others calmed him down and the spirit of Christmas prevailed.

 

At 5p.m. we were all called back into the dining room for high tea. After the enormous lunch we had consumed I often wonder where we put it all. There were cold ham, tongue, turkey, green salads, mince pies, jam tarts, fruit salad and cream trifle, lashings of bread and butter and finally a huge Christmas cake. I still enjoy my food, but the quantities we ate in those days now amazes me.

 

After tea, the men and children departed to the Morning Room to pack up their presents and place them in the respective cars, whilst the ladies again repaired to the kitchen and cleared the dining room. I have great respect for our ladies who worked so hard to make our Christmas so successful, although I suspect that we did not fully appreciate their efforts at the time.

 

Now the spare leaves of the extending table were removed and a large space was cleared next to the piano, whilst the chairs were arranged around the walls. When all was ready we trooped back in and prepared for the evening entertainment. No radio or television in those days. We provided impromptu concert using our own talents, which were many and varied. Aunt Ethel played the piano, Aunt Flo and my mother sang ballads and sentimental songs, Uncle Bernard sang comic songs and provided over the years a variety of humorous entertainment. I particularly remember one of his songs “The Great American Railway” in which we were all invited to join in. He would start the first verse which went as follows:-

 

In Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-one

Now my story is just begun

Now my story has just begun

On the great American railway.

Chorus;

Patsey Atsey, Odley Aye

Patsey Atsey, Odley Aye

Patsey Atsey, Odley Aye

On the Great American railway.

 

Uncle would then point to a member of the audience and we had to make up the next verse. For example:

 

In Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-two

I know you won’t believe it’s true

But Auntie Flo went down with ‘flu

On the Great American Railway

And perhaps the next verse;

In Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-three

Tonight when we were having tea

My cousin threw a mince pie at me

On the Great American Railway.

 

And so on until either we had all had a turn or were obviously running out of ideas. A good unsophisticated party game even today.

 

On another occasion, he read to us a small book entitled ‘The Specialist’ this was a humorous account of the adventures of an earth closet builder. I have a copy in my possession. It was even funnier when read by Uncle Bernard in broad Lincolnshire dialect. In those days most of our houses still had E.C.’s The chestnuts possessed a two-holer – one for adults and a lower one for children.

 

Other members of the family produced surprise items in the form of recitations, monologues, conjuring tricks and short sketches. Most of them were closely guarded secrets. Cousin Audrey and I made our first foray into the world of amateur dramatics at the 1930 or 1931 party. My mother had done quite a lot of this sort of thing in her youth and she unearthed a little dialogue entitled ‘The Village Gossip’ which she persuaded us to perform. I recall that the script was hand written in an exercise book and depicted a humorous dialogue between the lady village shopkeeper and a garrulous female customer. It went down very well at our party and the next day Grandpa Brown said that he wished to see us at Brook House at 10a.m. before we went following the Blankney Hounds. He came straight to the point, as he always did, and announced,” You two are doing that sketch of yours at the old folks tea at the Y.M.C.A. next week “. No asking whether we were willing please note. Nor any arguing that we were nervous as we had never appeared on the stage in public before. It never occurred to us to refuse. When W.H.B. said, “You do it”. We did it. Anyway it turned out to be an even greater success than the first time and over the next two years we gave repeat performances at a number of parties and concerts.

 

To return to Christmas night, half way through the concert, believe it or not, and interval was called, during which plates of ham sandwiches and the remainder of the mince pies and jam tarts were handed around, to be washed down by large cups of tea or coffee.

 

But all good things must come to an end. So at around 10p.m. the party ended and we wended our separate ways home to dream to the pleasure still to come on Boxing Day.

 

by Henry Brown