Lanterns made at home were never as good as the ones made at school, probably
because we were restricted to crayon and sellotape. Not to worry, a tanner
secured a pack of gummed, coloured strips from Forbuoys and with the help of brothers
Dave (7) and Mike (almost 6) Lynch Paper Chains were in business.
‘A
nice addition to our decorations,’ I thought, when Dad agreed to put them on
the ceiling but the task, as always, was only done once we’d departed up the
wooden hill to bed. A disappointment, certainly, but it was always a thrill to
get up in the morning and see our front room adorned in balloons and decorations
and now, paper chains.
Once
more we attended Bowaters’ Christmas party, this time with an added bonus. Mam
said Dad and several of his workmates had been recruited (probably on a promise
of free beer) as Santa’s helpers. What's more they were to be dressed as schoolboys. I
couldn’t imagine Dad dressed as a schoolboy but it was so. Wearing short
pants, a cap and a big grin on his face, Dad, alias
As
good as it was to see Dad clearly enjoying himself, the novelty of what followed
wasn’t without some sadness. During the endless wait to be summoned,
alphabetically, to receive presents from the man in the white beard, kids took
it in turn to sit on the knees of Santa’s helpers and receive badges and sweets.
Seeing other kids sitting on my father’s knee was bewildering, as my brothers
and I had never had that privilege.
Christmas
Eve: Michael’s sixth birthday.
Dean
Hunter, who lived a few doors away, had me and my brothers aghast when, at the
end of Mike’s birthday party, Mam invited everyone to choose a chocolate
decoration off the Christmas tree.
‘I’ll
have that one,’ said Dean, quick as a flash.
I
liked Dean but right then, in that moment, my feelings toward him weren’t particularly
cordial.
It was left to Mam to rescue the situation. ‘Except those,’ she said, of the four large
Father Christmas decorations she’d bought special for me and my brothers to
have on Christmas Day.
Christmas
Day
A
John Lennon string puppet, made by Mam yet delivered by Father Christmas, was
impressive. I’d have been happier with a pirate or a cowboy, but a string
puppet was definitely a step up from a freckle faced glove puppet I owned,
named Horace.
Even
more impressive was an electric train set, a gift to us all. Not just
a train set but thanks to Mam’s amazing talents, the full layout of track,
station, people and scenery, mounted on a six foot by four foot base.
Wow!
And
sometime that day, while baby brother Garry guzzled on his bottle, me, Dave,
Mike and Andrew chomped on a large chocolate Father Christmas: each.
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