Besides eying the
toys in the window at Arnold’s
toy shop, many hours were spent compiling a wishful shortlist whilst perusing
the shiny pages of Mam’s Christmas catalogue in the glow of a coal fire. Even
the little ones had no difficulty with this pastime. £19 19s 11d might have
been beyond their comprehension but an uncanny ability to stub a sticky finger
on the most expensive toy in the catalogue was not.
December: it was
time to scrounge a sheet of Mam’s best Basildon Bond and send a singed note up
the chimney for Father Christmas.
The arrival of the
Twydall Green Christmas tree always brought great excitement, as did making a
Christmas card at school for our parents. Along with a calendar, the card was a
useful counter to the damage a poor end of term report could have on Father
Christmas’s generosity.
Christmas was well
and truly on the way when Dad brought out the faded decorations we’d had for
years. As usual, we wouldn’t see them up until next morning as Dad wouldn't put
them up till we’d cleared off to bed, though we went in good heart after
hearing him pass sentence on a sorry old tree bereft of wax berries.
‘Bin it. We’ll get
a real one.’
Overnight the
decorations went up, along with a few balloons, the new paper chains we’d made
and the had-for-years raised cardboard, glitter sprinkled Christmas scenes that
were pinned to the walls.
And when Mam sorted
out our had-for-years Pifco tree lights and decorated our first real Christmas tree…
…we were
happy to line up in front of it for a photo.
 |
| Gerard, Andrew, David, Michael |
The last day of
school… toy day! Pupils were invited to bring a toy in and everyone seized the
chance to play with some other kids’ stuff, like The Magic Robot (someone always brought The Magic Robot in on toy
day).
By mid-afternoon The Magic Robot lost its enchantment, mainly due to repetition of the questions yet partly due to the discovery that it was magnetically rigged. Miss Rusted brought the excitement to the boil again when she opened our post box and dished out the cards, including one from her to each and all, ensuring nobody got left out. Then she led us across the playground to the hall for a full assembly, where choirs of angels sang in exultation one last time before Lord Dismiss us with Thy Blessing brought proceedings to an end. With that out of the way it was back to our hut for a quick hands-together-eyes-closed before a Merry Christmas from Miss, chair on desk, grab toy, card, calendar, school report, duffle coat and WHOOSH!
At home, our excitement mounted as carollers started calling. Most sang a couple of carols
before knocking politely, but Mam always waited for a third carol before she
reached for her purse.
Christmas Eve: our Mike’s seventh birthday. After a
day of high tension (Christmas Eve was always a day of high tension) it was
time for bed. Bunk beds enabled me, Dave, Mike and Andrew to share a bedroom
but as willing as we were to go up the wooden hill, sleep was difficult. Hot
water bottles that usually finished up at our feet were shoved to one side, so
as not to disturb the white mesh stockings with red trims that we’d placed at
our feet. Wide awake, we chatted excitedly until we heard what sounded like a
scraping noise on the roof.
‘Shh! Did you hear that?’ We all swore we did. Ears strained though the silence… sleigh bells. Reindeers, surely! Oh, ecstasy! And we didn’t imagine those noises either; we all heard them!
Heart thumping minutes passed without another sound, indicating Father Christmas had gone because he knew we were still awake. After a short inquest murderous threats were made to whoever made the noise that spooked Rudolph and scared Father Christmas off, with hell to pay if he didn’t come back again. Just who was to blame provoked a rowdy squabble that was quickly snuffed out by a more familiar noise at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Get to bloody sleep!’
Christmas Day. Sometimes we woke early. Sometimes we woke very early. And sometimes…
‘Shh! Did you hear that?’ We all swore we did. Ears strained though the silence… sleigh bells. Reindeers, surely! Oh, ecstasy! And we didn’t imagine those noises either; we all heard them!
Heart thumping minutes passed without another sound, indicating Father Christmas had gone because he knew we were still awake. After a short inquest murderous threats were made to whoever made the noise that spooked Rudolph and scared Father Christmas off, with hell to pay if he didn’t come back again. Just who was to blame provoked a rowdy squabble that was quickly snuffed out by a more familiar noise at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Get to bloody sleep!’
~
Christmas Day. Sometimes we woke early. Sometimes we woke very early. And sometimes…
‘What the bloody hell is
going on! Get back in your beds!’
A phenomenon unique to Christmas morning occurred when we woke up feet first. If our toes came into contact with a still empty stocking, the feet returned to slumber. However, if the feet felt something like a stocking full of goodies, a pulse fired to the brain brought instant consciousness. Oh what a glorious moment to leap out of bed, switch the light on and exclaim ‘he’s been!’
A phenomenon unique to Christmas morning occurred when we woke up feet first. If our toes came into contact with a still empty stocking, the feet returned to slumber. However, if the feet felt something like a stocking full of goodies, a pulse fired to the brain brought instant consciousness. Oh what a glorious moment to leap out of bed, switch the light on and exclaim ‘he’s been!’
Weeks of pent up excitement erupted as we tore into
our stockings.
‘Cor!’
Bringing a squeal or whoop if a longed for item was
found amongst the nuts and the tangerines.
‘Wow!’
Only after close examination of our own things did we
show any interest in each other's presents. As always, somebody got a watch and
of one mind we asked the time. As always, we’d then suffer a torturous
wait for the new watch to tick round to a parentally acceptable hour but when
the strain got too much...
Whooosh! The front room door was nearly taken off its hinges. Bursting into the room we shrieked with delight and did a bare footed, pine needle defying jig upon seeing piles of presents neatly arranged. After a rapid identification of each pile we were off… arms flailing and hands tearing at the wrapping paper. Instinct led us to the much yearned for presents first, with joyful and triumphant yells when correct. In no time at all the front room was awash with wrapping paper and packaging. Euphoric, we tore into selection boxes and munched chocolate bars for breakfast.
In due course a smiling Mam appeared with little Garry, putting in a performance of surprise and patience as one thing after another was thrust under her nose for approval. Then Granny appeared, followed by Dad. Bleary eyed and feigning mock surprise, he was woefully short on patience. ‘Oh, very good,’ quickly became an irritated grunt and he made us an offer we couldn’t refuse when he invited us to play ‘Let’s clear up the mess.’
Whooosh! The front room door was nearly taken off its hinges. Bursting into the room we shrieked with delight and did a bare footed, pine needle defying jig upon seeing piles of presents neatly arranged. After a rapid identification of each pile we were off… arms flailing and hands tearing at the wrapping paper. Instinct led us to the much yearned for presents first, with joyful and triumphant yells when correct. In no time at all the front room was awash with wrapping paper and packaging. Euphoric, we tore into selection boxes and munched chocolate bars for breakfast.
In due course a smiling Mam appeared with little Garry, putting in a performance of surprise and patience as one thing after another was thrust under her nose for approval. Then Granny appeared, followed by Dad. Bleary eyed and feigning mock surprise, he was woefully short on patience. ‘Oh, very good,’ quickly became an irritated grunt and he made us an offer we couldn’t refuse when he invited us to play ‘Let’s clear up the mess.’
 |
| Me aged 9 Christmas 1964 |
Amongst other things I was now the proud owner of a
Medieval Fort, a pair of roller skates and Enid Blyton’s The Island of
Adventure. Owning a pair of skates was particularly pleasing, as I could
finally go down Milsted Road
on two skates and not a single skate that I’d borrowed from somebody. Or so I
thought. More often than not I'd end up loaning one of mine to one of my brothers.
Paul Parker: “Remember John
Bull Printing Outfits? Rubber letters that you picked out with tweezers and
composed words – that’s if the letters didn’t ping out of the tweezers and get
lost forever. I’m sure the early Gillingham
programmes were composed using a John Bull Printing Outfit!”
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