Throwback Thursday: Cork boy’s heartache over Christmas solo

What are your most cherished memories of the festive season growing up? Christmas Eve, and the excitement reaching fever pitch? Almost more thrilling than the actual day itself! Wondering what Santa might you get?

If you were old enough, perhaps it was carefully wrapping those presents and bringing them to the tree or the room dedicated to The Gifts of Christmas. (Nothing of course to be opened until the next morning.)

Or maybe the opening of the Crib, or Midnight Mass. Singing carols for the neighbours. The Holly Bough being brought home and dipped into by everybody, young and old alike, the smaller ones searching for their special puzzle and cartoon pages, the older seeking out the tales of festive seasons gone by, and smiling as they remember when they too were young.

The Holly Bough is – gosh, 127 years old now, and the firmest of continuing traditions at a time when so much is changing all around.

Christmas cards used to be such a huge part of the lead-up. Who remembers the excitement of those sheaves of envelopes coming through the letterbox? And the increase of visits from the postman, sometimes three or four a day, to cope with all the good wishes. Frantic cries from Mum as she opened one and realised she had forgotten to send that relative a card herself.

Dad, of course, absented himself from such ceremonies, but children get involved from an early age, choosing their own penny cards in the local post office or general store and addressing the envelopes with much care to their best friends.

It was a long-lived era, but one which, alas, has now almost disappeared, replaced by emails, texts, WhatsApp, and video chats.

Throwback Thursday reader Fintan Bloss has sent us a vintage card, from his uncle, Frankie Buckley, to his mother in 1949, along with the message within it.

“He would have been 28 at the time,” said Fintan. “He took his final vows as a Redemptorist (Brother Berchmans) in September 1953, and went to India in May 1954. He died on August 31, 1968, and is buried in Mount St Alphonsus, South Circular Road, Limerick.”

Thank-you for sharing that treasure, Fintan.

Another reader, Tim Cagney, also has some wonderful memories of childhood Christmases.

“One of my favourites was paper chains, which were attached to ceilings, using drawing-pins. You might then suspend balloons from them.

“Blowing up the balloons was a somewhat tricky exercise – my own late mother always had a fear that you might inadvertently suck it down your throat!

“You could buy real holly – with berries – from the shawlies down the Coal Quay.

“A supply of ‘Christmas Drink’ would be delivered to the house – a wooden crate, containing bottled stout (for my father), Tanora and lemon soda for the rest of us,” recalled Tim.

“The latter beverages came in large bottles, fitted with siphons, which added a touch of fun when dispensing the contents. A bottle of sherry and/or whiskey, ‘in case someone called’.

“Dad used always treat himself to a drop of sherry with his Christmas dinner. My mother – a tad more abstemious – shared the Tanora with myself and my younger brother.

“Dad was also rather fond of spiced beef, so it had to form part of the festive cuisine (the rest of us hated it). On one occasion, Mam carried the beef into the dining-room, at which point a teddy-bear (seated beside my brother’s plate, ready to partake in the repast) fell backwards off the table.

“We all decided the bear was displaying his distaste at the spiced beef, and laughed our heads off.

“The shop windows of Cork always, of course, provided an air of magic – particularly the toy shops,” added Tim.

“Places such as Kilgrew’s and Day’s presented the eyes of awestruck youngsters with a cornucopia of playthings.

“There was also the traditional visit to Santa, a representation of the Great Man being provided in most of these emporia.

“My favourite was Day’s. A photo of my brother and I – taken there with Santa – hung in our living-room at Gardiners Hill for many years.

“The quality of the parcel in Day’s also seemed to be of superior quality to packages handed out in other stores. I seem to remember they were brown in colour, and contained high-quality trinkets.

“I once got a gun there. It was an air-powered toy rifle, which propelled a cork with a most realistic ‘bang’. If I fired the cork from the bottom of our stairs, it had sufficient potency to send the missile all the way up to the door of the ‘spare room’.

“Moreover, the acoustics on the landing lent themselves perfectly to the authentic-sounding reverberations of the weapon.”

Tim continued: “Prior to Christmas, of course, there was the obligatory task of writing letters to Santa.

“Con (my brother) and myself were polite little boys, of course, and always started our letters with ‘Dear Santa, I hope you are well’, before launching into our demands for gifts.

“These were found on Christmas morning stuffed inside old nylon stockings (no tights, in those days!) There was always an orange in the toe – I never quite knew why.

“Larger presents were usually placed under the bed. These consisted of things such as board-games, mechanical toys and books.

“One year, I got a train set. In those days, they were made of painted metal, and driven by clockwork mechanisms, which had to be wound with a key.

“Con’s list was always topped by a request for a teddy bear. By the time he had outgrown Santa, I reckon he must have had a collection greater than the entire output of Steiff! (A German toy company founded in 1880, which claims to have made the world’s first teddy bear).”

Tim said: “Another favourite toy, in those days, was a gun. These usually replicated the celebrated Colt 45 of cowboy fame, and were fitted with rolls of percussion-caps, to deliver the requisite bangs.

“One Christmas, Con, myself, and Dad each armed ourselves with a Colt and had a ‘shoot-out’ in the living-room, which soon became filled with realistic-looking smoke.

“Afterwards, we invaded the two-tier tin of Afternoon Tea biscuits and washed-down the confectionery with Tanora.

“As for the dinner, this consisted of the mandatory turkey, ham, Brussels sprouts and – as previously mentioned – the dreaded spiced beef.

“Christmas pudding would be served later in the day, as Mam considered we’d all be too full to attempt eating it immediately following a rich dinner.

“I used to love plum pudding, especially during the preparation process, where it would simmer on a low gas flame in the kitchen for hours, filling the entire house with heavenly aromas.”

The fun as a child continued after Christmas Day, recalled Tim.

“St Stephen’s Day would usually be devoted to playing with Christmas toys, or, in my case, reading. One year, I got Treasure Island, and in some strange way, the exploits of Long John Silver and his cronies seemed to blend well into the Christmas spirit!

“Part of the day would, of course, be spent dishing out pennies to the Wren Boys. I always considered their musical efforts as dire, totally unworthy of monetary reward, but Dad always observed the traditional custom.”

Great memories, Tim, thanks for sharing them.

And here is a more poignant story from Brian Cronin. You will remember that last week he told us about singing in the Christians school concert. But there was an added twist to that tale...

“I was chosen for a solo and the song I chose was Little Boy Blue. I practiced morning and evening until I had it word perfect and still remember the words of the first verse:

The little toy dog is covered with dust,

but sturdy and staunch he stands;

And the little tin soldier is red with rust,

And his musket moulds in his hands...

“My Mum, for some reason, found the song quite emotional and was very supportive of my choice.”

Brian recalled: “It was particularly cold and frosty on the night of the concert and we were well wrapped up as we headed up the Lower Road, and inside my overcoat I wore a blue outfit to match my song.

“My Mum had even knitted me a blue scarf, which was more than welcome on those chilly nights.

“The weather forecast that morning predicted snowfall as well as a severe frost and sure enough, snow started to fall - pitter, patter - as my Mum and I walked along.

“On arrival at the College, I found a seat for my Mum in the front row of the crowded hall and scuttled around to the back stage to join the other boys waiting in the choir.

“Peering around the curtains, I could see my Mum sitting down below waiting in anticipation for the concert to begin. My three sisters and several of their friends from St Angela’s school came along too as word had spread that I was going to sing solo that night. I was going to be a celebrity!

“Just as we were about to go on stage, Mr O’Callaghan beckoned me over with dreadful news. Due to the severe frost, the amplification in the hall had broken down and as I had a ‘drawing room voice’, he was afraid that the sound wouldn’t carry around the large hall.

“So, I would have to wait for another day to sing my Little Boy Blue. I took my place in the choir trying hard not to show the devastation I was feeling inside.”

What a sad moment for a little boy.

Brian said: “Later, as we headed for home, it was clear that my Mum was very angry as she could tell how I was feeling. She gripped my hand tightly as we walked along and I can still hear her voice and what she said, ‘If your father was still alive, he would never have allowed that to happen’.

“My father was gone from us only two years by then, and it was one of the few occasions that she ever spoke about him as she found it too difficult.

“So, my little Toy Dog no doubt gathered even more dust from that night on as I didn’t have the heart to sing him ever again, and that was that was his only outing on that Christmas of 1953.”

Oh Brian, how heartbreaking! All readers of this page will sympathise with your experience!

Meanwhile, reader Mícheál Kenefick has contributed an interesting addition to the story of the famous Christmas Truce in 1914 during World War 1, when German and British troops ceased firing, shook hands, and sang carols together.

“Do you know, the very first official ceremony to acknowledge this gesture of humanity didn’t take place until 2008!” said Micheál.

“On November 11 that year, a plaque was unveiled in the French town with the German-sounding name of Frelinghien. Both German and British troops attended a mass which included the singing of Stille Nacht. A barrel of beer was then rolled from the Germans to the British, as happened in 1914.

“Wonderfully, the grandsons of two soldiers who shook hands in 1914 are both military men and that handshake symbolically took place again. They were Major Myles Stockwell of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers and Oberstleutnant Joachim Freiherr Von Sinner.”

Mícheál, heartfelt thanks for sharing this. At least that demonstration of common humanity on Christmas Eve, 1914, was acknowledged at last.

It’s something we should all keep in mind this festive season.

May you all have a very happy Christmas, and if you recall any festive memories you would like to share, then send them to us.

Email jokerrigan1@gmail.com. Or leave a comment on our Facebook page; www.facebook.com/echolivecork.