More Christmas Memories

            Father Christmas wasn't as jolly as the American Santa Claus--perhaps because he lived during a depression.  Most of my early Christmases were during the depression.  England was trying to recover from economic instability after the Boer War in Africa.  As children we enjoyed Christmas even though we didn't have much in the way of presents and toys. 

            A few weeks before Christmas, Mother would buy several rolls of tissue paper, and we'd spend many evenings making paper chains to hang across the front room.  They were hung from corner to corner and fastened to the ceiling in the center of the room with a large paper bell.  Small sprigs of holly were placed at the top of each picture in the room.  The red holly berries added more color to the already colorful chains.  A bunch of mistletoe was hung in the doorway of each room.  And if you were caught standing under the mistletoe by one of the opposite sex, he was supposed to kiss you--not your brothers of course. 

            The mistletoe was used by the ancient druids in many of their pagan rites.  It was considered by them to be a sacred plant to ward off sickness and the powers of evil.  They always hung bunches of it over the door at the front of every building.  The druids lived in Britain before the time of Christ.

            We never had a Christmas tree.  They were used in the stores in later years, but never in the houses.  However, there was the yule log.  A yule log was a thick branch or trunk of a tree which was brought into the house and placed in the fireplace to burn on Christmas Eve and throughout the Christmas day.  This was a tradition brought to England by the Romans.  They used large tree trunks in the huge fireplaces of the ancient castles.  

            Oh the excitement of Christmas, to hear the Church bells ringing from every steeple, and the many church groups going from street to street singing Christmas carols. It was a time to visit relatives and friends.  They were always invited in to taste a little Christmas pudding or fruit cake, and a drink of wine, cider or ale.  Lots of our relatives and friends were quite merry when they arrived at our place after having made quite a few visits on the way.  Of course, this changed when we joined the church.  Many of our acquaintances stopped calling when they couldn't be entertained in the traditional manner.

            Christmas puddings, however, continued to be a family tradition.  Most every family always made these puddings.  Mother always started buying ingredients, a little every week, for months before.  Then about the middle of November, Mother would require our help to take the seeds out of the large muscatel raisins, chop the candied peel, dice the figs, chop the suet, wash the currents, chop the nuts, and beat the eggs. 

            When all the ingredients were assembled they were put into a large pan and mixed thoroughly with a little wine or ale--according to how much mother could afford.  In later years she used a little cider.  Then we were all lined up to take a turn at stirring the mixture.  This was a tradition.  After all of us had taken a turn, Father would take the wooden spoon and finish the job.  He always dropped a six pence into the mix, and all of us hoped we would be lucky enough to find the six pence in our portion of pudding on Christmas day.

            The puddings were put into six or eight bowls, a piece of wax paper placed on the top, then a clean white cloth covered the top, which was tied around the rim of the bowl with string.  There were usually about six to eight of these, and they were steamed for six hours.  How good they smelled!

            Christmas was a time when we had our stomachs full.  Dad had a chicken coop at the top of the back garden.  He always had a few chickens, and in the winter time when they stopped laying eggs, they were food for the table.  Two of the plumpest were always saved for our Christmas dinner.  They were stuffed with delicious dressing. 

            Sometimes Mother would take us Christmas shopping with her. I remember one time when mother turned us loose in one of the downtown arcades--which were like present day malls--while she did some other business.  The small artificial Christmas trees were just coming into fashion, and the glittering Christmas ornaments that went with them.  How I wished we could afford one of those.  I picked up a beautiful blue glistening bell, and I suppose I squeezed it too hard.  To my dismay it shattered in my hands. The sales lady came hurrying over and chastised me severely--and threatened to call the police.  However, she let me escape.  I learned the lesson that Mother was always trying to impress upon us--never touch things that didn't belong to us.

            Our Christmas presents weren't too exciting.  If we got a very small surprise like a few crayons, or a paper puzzle, an orange, and a few sweets and nuts or an apple in our stocking, we felt we were lucky.  Even though some of our friends were blessed with expensive toys, I don't remember every worrying why.  We just accepted the fact that that's the way it was.

            There is perhaps one Christmas I remember more that any other.  I was older--about eleven years old.  It was the time I received my first store-bought doll.  Times were getting better and my older sister had started working for a doctor and his wife as a maid and a nanny.       

            As I stated before, my father had a small chicken coop at the back of the house.  All the chickens had been killed one by one except two.  These two were spared to provide our Christmas dinner.  It had been my duty through the year to feed and water the chickens, and these last two had become my special pets.  I used to dress one in a shawl and tie a handkerchief over her head and carry her around the yard.  She would squawk a little but would eventually settle down and enjoy being carried around.  She got so that when I opened the coop door she would run to meet me and croup down at my feet.  You can imagine how I felt when I knew that she was to be our Christmas dinner. 

            That Christmas morning we crept down the stairs to see what Father Christmas had brought us.  As I opened the parlor door, a bright fire burned in the grate, and my eyes wandered to the mantelpiece where my stocking was hung.  Above the stocking, on the shelf, was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen.  It had blond curls, deep blue staring eyes that never moved, and a cloth body.  I couldn't believe my eyes at first.  As I took her down and cuddled her in my arms, I was the happiest girl in the world.  I learned later that my sister had sacrificed some of her first wages to help buy the doll.  I was so happy that when we sat at dinner I forgot we were eating my pet hens.  

Perhaps she looked something like this.

Grandma's Christmas Pudding

Servings 6

Prep Time: 1 hour
Cook Time: 3 1/2 hours

Modernized version

1 cup grated carrot

1 cup grated apple

1 cup ground raisins

1 package diced dates

1 cup stale bread crumbs

1/2 cup glazed fruit mix, ground

1/2 cup butter or margarine

1 1/4 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon cloves

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 cup pecans

---

Place all ingredients in a large bowl and mix well. Batter will be very stiff. Spoon into a buttered quart jar, 3/4 full. Place lids and bands on jars. Set in a large kettle with boiling water 1/3 way up container. Bring water to boil again, turn to medium heat, steam for 3 1/2 hours. 4 times the batch makes 7 quart jars. 

Life in Eastville, Bristol England and the Infamous Christmas Doll

Shortly after this time (the previous post), we moved into the suburbs at the other side of town. It was called Eastville. There was a large park not far away called Eastville Park. It was a very delightful place to play in and to take walks. 

Eastville Park, Bristol



Eastville Park today

There was a large lake at the lower end with a waterfall and swans gliding gracefully around. In the summer evenings a band would entertain us.

There was an outlet at the lower end of the park and by following a narrow path through a glade and by another waterfall we would come to "Snuff Mills", then through a meadow to "Frenchay Common". It was a long walk for little feet but when we grew older it became our favorite rendezvous.

Snuff Mills Restored

Up the hill from the park, past Farmer Owen's cow pasture, was an old rustic church and every evening just at dark the chimes from the old belfry would ring out across the still air, "Now the Day is Over".





It was like a beautiful benediction, especially if we were passing after a quiet walk through the country lanes. I used to feel such a sweet sense of peace fill my soul, as though in the words of the poet, "God's in His heaven, all's right with the world". 

Church of the Holy Trinity built in 1857. This may or may  not be the church mentioned but it is in the area.

At this time, England was experiencing a bad depression and our Christmases were very meager. I well remember my first doll. I thought it was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen. It had blond curls, deep blue staring eyes that never moved, and a cloth body. Conditions were beginning to improve so we were each given the choice of one good toy.



The night after Christmas we were left to entertain ourselves while Mother and Dad went to visit some friends. We all sat around the open fire playing games and watching the flames dance up and down. This occupation was a little bit tame for my brother Herbert so he reached for the long handled toasting fork which always hung by the fireplace and with which we toasted our bread before the coals. He stuck the fork into a rubber toy which belonged to the baby of the family, rubbing it in the soot at the back of the chimney and daubing it into our faces. Finally he tired of this sport and spying my doll sitting on a chair, he stuck the fork onto the back of her and held her for a brief moment in front of the flames just to tease me. What he didn't realize was that the face was made of wax and began to melt. He was horrified when he saw what he had done and I was broken-hearted. Just then our parents came home and poor Herbert got his desserts. I could tell many stories like this but there isn't room or time to write them.


"Now the Day is Over" Full Text



1 Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the sky.

2 Now the darkness gathers,
Stars begin to peep;
Birds, and beasts, and flowers
Soon will be asleep.

3 Jesus, give the weary
Calm and sweet repose;
With Thy tenderest blessing
May our eyelids close.

4 Grant to little children
Visions bright of Thee;
Guard the sailors, tossing
On the deep blue sea.

5 Comfort every sufferer
Watching late in pain;
Those who plan some evil
From their sins restrain.

6 Through the long night-watches,
May Thine angels spread
Their white wings above me,
Watching round my bed.

7 When the morning wakens,
Then may I arise
Pure, and fresh, and sinless
In Thy holy eyes.

8 Glory to the Father,
Glory to the Son,
And to Thee, blest Spirit,
Whilst all ages run.

Amen.

 

My Earliest Recollection

My earliest recollection is of living in a little cul-de-sac under Park Street in the center of the city. In England in the winter time, it gets dark about 3:00 in the afternoon and sometimes on stormy days it is dark all day long. One afternoon about five o'clock, I was playing  in the street and a drizzly rain was falling. I happened to look toward the underpass and in the semidarkness I saw a dark, hooded figure coming toward me. I thought of the terrifying stories of bogey men I had heard and I fled toward the house in a panic. Mother was slow to open the door upon which I was frantically beating with my fists. When at last she opened it, I fell in almost faint with fear. This neighborhood was very rough. People used to get drunk and fight in the streets.

There was an old cathedral close by (Bristol Cathedral), built about the ninth century. The bells were tolled every night. I used to lie in bed and listen to their mournful sound and I felt so sad and afraid. I was afraid of the dark, of people, of thunder and lightning. In fact, I was afraid of everything.

One evening Mother and Dad were going out so they had my sister, Annie, take me with her to a Christian Endeavor class. This was an auxiliary of the Church of England. Annie used to attend this class once a week. I remember sitting in a room with quite a number of older children. The teacher was a sweet, gentle lady with a soft voice. She took me upon her lap while she told the story of the Good Shepherd, who left the ninety and nine to search for the sheep that was lost. She said that the Good Shepherd was Jesus Christ and that he really cared for us and if we ever felt lost or lonely we could pray to Him and He would hear us. She spoke with such a quiet conviction that I believed her and the seed of faith was planted in my childish heart that night that has continued to grow through the years.

My Story

(Back row: Herbert Henry, William Albert, Walter John, Frederick George. Front row: Alice and Henry)

I was born on the 13th of October, 1898, at the close of a momentous century. My parents were Henry Ernest Neal and Alice Yard. Like Nephi of old, I can say they were goodly parents. Our family consisted of the following: Annie Lillian (1893), Herbert Henry (1896), John Walter (1897), Hester Alice (myself, 1898), William Albert (1899), Walter John (1901), Frederick George (1903), and Arthur (1894). John Walter and Arthur died in infancy.

River Avon today


The city of Bristol, in which I was born, is situated on the banks of the River Avon and the River Frome, its tributary. It had a population then of about 600,000 people. It is a very old city and was often called the City of Churches.  Some of the cathedrals and churches dated back to the Ninth Century. The original walls and parts of the old Bristol Castle were much older than that.

River Frome today

 

My Grandma's Life

This blog is dedicated to a woman who greatly influenced my life and the life of many others. Hester Neal Harris was an amazing woman and I can't wait to see her again someday.