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

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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.