Nostalgia: The most wonderful time of the year again

IT’S that wonderful time of year again when memories of Christmas past flow into my mind, giving me a warm, magical glow inside.

I’m transported back to my childhood, at home with my Mam, Christina, my father John, and my two little brothers Timothy and Thomas. We all loved Christmastime, including our lazy cat, Fluffy.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, every nook and cranny in our house was scrubbed and polished immaculately by Mam till it shone and sparkled quite unlike any other time of the year. It was father’s job to fetch the decorations from the attic where, in an old tea chest, they had slumbered peacefully for the whole year.

For my brothers and I, a year was a very long time indeed, and the sight of the decorations made us giddy with excitement.

A spirited debate would follow between Timothy and I over who should be in charge of these precious decorations, and no matter how much we’d try, we couldn’t agree and inevitably a fight would erupt, until Father would yell: “Stop it! Santa won’t bring ye any toys if ye’re bold”.

As quick as a flash we’d gather ourselves together and settle down.

It was a great struggle at times to be good during the year since Santa had last visited us but we’d all agree to keep the peace and let Mam be the first one to open the tea chest to reveal its glittering treasures.

As Bing Crosby sang his Christmas songs from our big old mahogany record player he added to the festive atmosphere.

One of our favourite decorations was the crib. Our crib was a very special one — there was none like it in the entire world. Fashioned out of plywood, each Christmas it needed a little repair job to keep it in a respectable condition for the Holy Family, the shepherds, the three wise men, a donkey, a cow, two sheep, and a miniature version of Fluffy.

The figures were sculpted out of Marla and cardboard with special silver paper reserved for Baby Jesus.

Loose strands of cotton wool and dabs of watercolour paint here and there put the final touches to our crib which was given pride of place in the front window for all to see.

Before another decoration was taken from the tea chest, my brothers and I had to help father with the Christmas tree which he had purchased in the Coal Quay.

It was a tight squeeze to push it through the sitting room door, but we persevered, following father’s commands like a brigade of army troops. 

“Move it to the left a bit,” he directed; “No, no, move it to the right!”

And after much effort, the Christmas tree finally stood proudly in a stone-filled bucket that was wrapped with red paper, in the corner between the piano and the front window, waiting to be dressed as its fresh pine scent gently perfumed the air.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Mam purchased ample supplies of multicoloured paper and ribbons, balloons and tubes of glitter and glue and from these we created our own sparkling masterpieces that were hung on the branches of the Christmas tree and on the walls and ceiling.

Glittering streams of shiny tinsel were wrapped around the branches like a scarf, and sparkly Christmas balls and bells were hung, that twinkled in the light, transforming it into a dazzling centrepiece.

Then there were the Christmas lights. From an old cardboard box, Father would gently unravel the long, tangled electric wire, carefully tease apart the coloured bulbs, and deftly drape them around the Christmas tree, from top to bottom. And from a ball of cotton wool that Mam had given to each of us, we plucked small strands and threw them on the branches like snowflakes.

Father would scoop Thomas up in his arms, raising him up to place the shiny golden star, that Timothy and I had made, on the crown of the tree.

Then the moment came we all had been waiting for — turning on the Christmas lights! Oh, the excitement of it! As I was the eldest, I was chosen to do this very important job, which I relished. “Are ye all ready?” father would ask, which was met with a rapturous “Yes!”, before he’d turn off the sitting-room light. Then, in the darkness, I’d take a big, deep breath before flipping the switch and suddenly the room would be illuminated in a beautiful twilight glow of glorious multicolours which was met with a big: “Ahhhh”. Thinking back now, it was such a magical time.

And so it is that every year I’m transported back to that wonderful place that’s deep in the heart of me. I now know that as we decorated our home for the biggest celebration of the year, we were being decorated on the inside by our loving parents who shared with us the Christmas spirit of love through their wonderful simple ways.

Happy Christmas.