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CHRISTMAS 2020

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mw0njm. said:
nico.
I just love christmas time.
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I used to but not the hype brainwashing and the apathy that surges now, but my memories keep me going and the Christmas spirit that burns in me. I am looking forward to see which Carols people put.
 
I remember in our early marriage lives and being " hard up " making my daughter a dolls house from old draws from a dressing table. I made stairs and put scraps of wallpaper in each room, we bought some fittings and I hinged together so it would close up. We finally went to bed at 6.00 am Christmas morning only to be awakened at 7.00 am.
 
chrissweep said:
I remember in our early marriage lives and being " hard up " making my daughter a dolls house from old draws from a dressing table. I made stairs and put scraps of wallpaper in each room, we bought some fittings and I hinged together so it would close up. We finally went to bed at 6.00 am Christmas morning only to be awakened at 7.00 am.
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i think they were appreciated more being made by mom and dad instead of shop bought then. Chris
 
Nico said:
I am on full ramble now, see what you have done. One of mum and dad's friends gave me a flock santa boot with dolly mixtures in, I couldn't understand where the other boot was. Their long standing friends who sent little gifts to me which would fill up my stocking. It must have helped. Like a tiny blue bakelite coffee set. I loved the cardboard sweet shops and post office sets. And painting and colouring books and stencils. And the feel of the stockings with chocolate in, white mesh with a red top, scrunchy crinkly. It slowly dawned mum and dad never gave each other anything. Not till I was in my teens and I asked what dad was getting mum and he said "note,". Mum said "don't I do enough already? " But I think that started them.
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You are so lucky to remember such happy memories. I can just about recall my teens, nothing much before that. ( everybody say ahh )
 
Nico said:
I am on full ramble now, see what you have done. One of mum and dad's friends gave me a flock santa boot with dolly mixtures in, I couldn't understand where the other boot was. Their long standing friends who sent little gifts to me which would fill up my stocking. It must have helped. Like a tiny blue bakelite coffee set. I loved the cardboard sweet shops and post office sets. And painting and colouring books and stencils. And the feel of the stockings with chocolate in, white mesh with a red top, scrunchy crinkly. It slowly dawned mum and dad never gave each other anything. Not till I was in my teens and I asked what dad was getting mum and he said "note,". Mum said "don't I do enough already? " But I think that started them.
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:grinning:
 
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I liked the big Smartie tubes I am sure they are smaller now. We all got a small Smartie tube once wrapped in a hanky like a cracker, a surprise off Father Christmas at school after we all did our class plays. I was about 7 or 8. Our class did one where the fairies presented the toys to Santa to be given, all in pretty dresses and paper wings and the naughty elves made the toys jump about. I was a toy soldier. One year we did the Nativity. Another Peter and the Wolf. And we sang We will Rock you rock you ro-ock you. And Pretty Robin Can You Tell Why We Love You So? I got a star because we had to write a poem on the word Christmas, Nan helped me as she loved 'poowertery'. I can remember R is for Reindeer who pull Santa's sleigh, I is for icing on the cake, so gay. Nan put that in. I put this on before but we made calendars from paper plates with a picture cut out or Cheese Spread boxes, and doylies. For our mums. Dads never got anything. I was most insistent that I had to make two, and they let me. One for Nan. Or she would have been miffed. Till one year she threw it away, That was it.
Another memory spilling out of the Old Ball Hotel they were playing White Christmas, over and over and we went mad with ding dongs. Deep snow, unable to stand up, a snowball fight with my mate his cousins his auntie and uncle and his parents. His dad was the rowdiest. A resident called the police they were very good natured just asked us to disperse as quietly as people were trying to sleep.
 
CHRISTMAS NIGHT

In our semi in Streetly, we have two downstairs rooms as well as the kitchen. One is the dining room but throughout the war - which came to an end a year or two ago - it has always been used as a living room as well. That's how we're still using it and perhaps it's how it always was, even pre-war. I can't really remember. There are two comfy armchairs on each side of the fireplace for Mum and Dad, the faithful wireless is in the corner, there are a couple of bookcases, a sideboard, my grandpa's grandfather clock, lots of knickknacks everywhere and of course a dining table in the middle where you can do your homework, write a letter or read a book or newspaper. The other room, the lounge, is rather more special with a nice carpet, a couple of comfy settees and armchairs as well, a standard lamp. It is the posh room and not used often, just on a Sunday afternoon - and, of course, at Christmas. It would usually be daft to have a fire in both rooms and so it is quite special to be in there on a weekday if Christmas falls in the middle of the week. It does in this year of 1947.

The lounge is the one which is decorated at Christmas. A tree in the front window laden with all the pre-war decorations, little glass globes, tinsel which is going a bit yellowy through age, electric fairy lights and little candles which I have always wanted to light but have never been allowed to. Streamers from the central lamp fitting, a sort of white glass bowl with faded pink flowers painted on it, suspended on little chains from the ceiling, Christmas cards on the mantelpiece and windowsill, those tissue paper balls, bright red or green, which you open out and hang on the wall, holly perched here and there and a sprig of mistletoe in the middle of the room. And of course a cheerful fire in the grate. It's the colours of the Christmas decorations which I love. They don't still take my breath away when they come out of the carton, like they used to when I was younger, but it's still so special to have such bright colours in our house. The only time I see colours like that is now and again in a book - or perhaps the flicks when I'm taken to see Snow White or Henry V or The Four Feathers. Or some pictures of our garden which Dad took before the war and which now live in a drawer and I can hold them up to the light from time to time and wonder at them.

There is a crowd of us here later on Christmas afternoon. My brother, back from Italy after nearly 5 years away, his fiancee, Mr. and Mrs. T. who are her parents, my elder sister and Mr and Mrs B and their young daughter from next door. At some stage Dad and Mum disappear, saying that they are going to get a bit of supper prepared. The nattering continues unabated. Eventually we are summoned and we file into the dining room.

It's a bit of a shock. Dad announces that we are going to have a Tramps' Supper. The room has been transformed. It is lit by a dozen candles jammed into the top of Davenport's beer bottles. The glow from those on the table reveal that the tablecloth is this week's Birmingham Mails with the odd page from the Mirror spread around for good luck - my brother likes to have that newspaper because of Jane and Cassandra. Over the table is strung a washing line which is laden with articles of laundry of varying degrees of intimacy amongst which a pair of my mothers 1930s knickers, now much the worse for wear, loom large. All these items are topped by a string of sausages. Dad and Mum are dressed accordingly and with the odd front tooth blacked out. Dad is resplendent in vest, waistcoat and ancient flat cap normally only seen during gardening. Mum has an old head scarf on – nothing too unusual in that – but this is her scruffiest and this time has curlers peeping out from under it.

The effect is pretty spectacular and in particular Mrs B sits down at the table with tears of laughter rolling down her face and takes minutes to recover. Then it is cold meat, pickles, potato left over from lunch and all the sort of stuff which we always have on Christmas night. Everyone is talking. Laughter, chatter and good cheer. My dad's language gets a little fruity as the meal progresses – possibly the influence of the now empty Davenport's bottles – and receives gentle guidance from Mum: "Remember the children, dearest..." He reverts to his normal more restrained and considerate self. But doesn't stop enjoying himself.

I look at Dad at the far end of the table, sitting by the side of his son's future father-in-law, a Welshman who is always kind to me and whom I have come to love.

“Would you care for another slice of turkey, Rupert?", Dad asks courteously. I look at these two men who are so dear to me and think, for absolutely no reason which I can imagine, that I must always remember this moment. And I always shall do.

Chris

(Postscript from 22nd November 2020. It is my dad's 121st birthday today.....)
 
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what lovely memories chris...bought a tear to my eyes...not least when i read about the 1930s bloomers :D

lyn
 
ChrisM said:
CHRISTMAS NIGHT

In our semi in Streetly, we have two downstairs rooms as well as the kitchen. One is the dining room but throughout the war - which came to an end a year or two ago - it has always been used as a living room as well. That's how we're still using it and perhaps it's how it always was, even pre-war. I can't really remember. There are two comfy armchairs on each side of the fireplace for Mum and Dad, the faithful wireless is in the corner, there are a couple of bookcases, a sideboard, my grandpa's grandfather clock, lots of knickknacks everywhere and of course a dining table in the middle where you can do your homework, write a letter or read a book or newspaper. The other room, the lounge, is rather more special with a nice carpet, a couple of comfy settees and armchairs as well, a standard lamp. It is the posh room and not used often, just on a Sunday afternoon - and, of course, at Christmas. It would usually be daft to have a fire in both rooms and so it is quite special to be in there on a weekday if Christmas falls in the middle of the week. It does in this year of 1947.

The lounge is the one which is decorated at Christmas. A tree in the front window laden with all the pre-war decorations, little glass globes, tinsel which is going a bit yellowy through age, electric fairy lights and little candles which I have always wanted to light but have never been allowed to. Streamers from the central lamp fitting, a sort of white glass bowl with faded pink flowers painted on it, suspended on little chains from the ceiling, Christmas cards on the mantelpiece and windowsill, those tissue paper balls, bright red or green, which you open out and hang on the wall, holly perched here and there and a sprig of mistletoe in the middle of the room. And of course a cheerful fire in the grate. It's the colours of the Christmas decorations which I love. They don't still take my breath away when they come out of the carton, like they used to when I was younger, but it's still so special to have such bright colours in our house. The only time I see colours like that is now and again in a book - or perhaps the flicks when I'm taken to see Snow White or Henry V or The Four Feathers. Or some pictures of our garden which Dad took before the war and which now live in a drawer and I can hold them up to the light from time to time and wonder at them.

There is a crowd of us here later on Christmas afternoon. My brother, back from Italy after nearly 5 years away, his fiancee, Mr. and Mrs. T. who are her parents, my elder sister and Mr and Mrs B and their young daughter from next door. At some stage Dad and Mum disappear, saying that they are going to get a bit of supper prepared. The nattering continues unabated. Eventually we are summoned and we file into the dining room.

It's a bit of a shock. Dad announces that we are going to have a Tramps' Supper. The room has been transformed. It is lit by a dozen candles jammed into the top of Davenport's beer bottles. The glow from those on the table reveal that the tablecloth is this week's Birmingham Mails with the odd page from the Mirror spread around for good luck - my brother likes to have that newspaper because of Jane and Cassandra. Over the table is strung a washing line which is laden with articles of laundry of varying degrees of intimacy amongst which a pair of my mothers 1930s knickers, now much the worse for wear, loom large. All these items are topped by a string of sausages. Dad and Mum are dressed accordingly and with the odd front tooth blacked out. Dad is resplendent in vest, waistcoat and ancient flat cap normally only seen during gardening. Mum has an old head scarf on – nothing too unusual in that – but this is her scruffiest and this time has curlers peeping out from under it.

The effect is pretty spectacular and in particular Mrs B sits down at the table with tears of laughter rolling down her face and takes minutes to recover. Then it is cold meat, pickles, potato left over from lunch and all the sort of stuff which we always have on Christmas night. Everyone is talking. Laughter, chatter and good cheer. My dad's language gets a little fruity as the meal progresses – possibly the influence of the now empty Davenport's bottles – and receives gentle guidance from Mum: "Remember the children, dearest..." He reverts to his normal more restrained and considerate self. But doesn't stop enjoying himself.

I look at Dad at the far end of the table, sitting by the side of his son's future father-in-law, a Welshman who is always kind to me and whom I have come to love.

“Would you care for another slice of turkey, Rupert?", Dad asks courteously. I look at these two men who are so dear to me and think, for absolutely no reason which I can imagine, that I must always remember this moment. And I always shall do.

Chris

(Postscript from 22nd November 2020. It is my dad's 121st birthday today.....)
Click to expand...
Such fantastic memories. That could be our house, bar the supper, (mum used to come in with the tea cosy on her head to see if dad noticed when he was glued to the telly) and we had no nicknacks. Such an apt way to remember your dad.
 
ChrisM said:
CHRISTMAS NIGHT

In our semi in Streetly, we have two downstairs rooms as well as the kitchen. One is the dining room but throughout the war - which came to an end a year or two ago - it has always been used as a living room as well. That's how we're still using it and perhaps it's how it always was, even pre-war. I can't really remember. There are two comfy armchairs on each side of the fireplace for Mum and Dad, the faithful wireless is in the corner, there are a couple of bookcases, a sideboard, my grandpa's grandfather clock, lots of knickknacks everywhere and of course a dining table in the middle where you can do your homework, write a letter or read a book or newspaper. The other room, the lounge, is rather more special with a nice carpet, a couple of comfy settees and armchairs as well, a standard lamp. It is the posh room and not used often, just on a Sunday afternoon - and, of course, at Christmas. It would usually be daft to have a fire in both rooms and so it is quite special to be in there on a weekday if Christmas falls in the middle of the week. It does in this year of 1947.

The lounge is the one which is decorated at Christmas. A tree in the front window laden with all the pre-war decorations, little glass globes, tinsel which is going a bit yellowy through age, electric fairy lights and little candles which I have always wanted to light but have never been allowed to. Streamers from the central lamp fitting, a sort of white glass bowl with faded pink flowers painted on it, suspended on little chains from the ceiling, Christmas cards on the mantelpiece and windowsill, those tissue paper balls, bright red or green, which you open out and hang on the wall, holly perched here and there and a sprig of mistletoe in the middle of the room. And of course a cheerful fire in the grate. It's the colours of the Christmas decorations which I love. They don't still take my breath away when they come out of the carton, like they used to when I was younger, but it's still so special to have such bright colours in our house. The only time I see colours like that is now and again in a book - or perhaps the flicks when I'm taken to see Snow White or Henry V or The Four Feathers. Or some pictures of our garden which Dad took before the war and which now live in a drawer and I can hold them up to the light from time to time and wonder at them.

There is a crowd of us here later on Christmas afternoon. My brother, back from Italy after nearly 5 years away, his fiancee, Mr. and Mrs. T. who are her parents, my elder sister and Mr and Mrs B and their young daughter from next door. At some stage Dad and Mum disappear, saying that they are going to get a bit of supper prepared. The nattering continues unabated. Eventually we are summoned and we file into the dining room.

It's a bit of a shock. Dad announces that we are going to have a Tramps' Supper. The room has been transformed. It is lit by a dozen candles jammed into the top of Davenport's beer bottles. The glow from those on the table reveal that the tablecloth is this week's Birmingham Mails with the odd page from the Mirror spread around for good luck - my brother likes to have that newspaper because of Jane and Cassandra. Over the table is strung a washing line which is laden with articles of laundry of varying degrees of intimacy amongst which a pair of my mothers 1930s knickers, now much the worse for wear, loom large. All these items are topped by a string of sausages. Dad and Mum are dressed accordingly and with the odd front tooth blacked out. Dad is resplendent in vest, waistcoat and ancient flat cap normally only seen during gardening. Mum has an old head scarf on – nothing too unusual in that – but this is her scruffiest and this time has curlers peeping out from under it.

The effect is pretty spectacular and in particular Mrs B sits down at the table with tears of laughter rolling down her face and takes minutes to recover. Then it is cold meat, pickles, potato left over from lunch and all the sort of stuff which we always have on Christmas night. Everyone is talking. Laughter, chatter and good cheer. My dad's language gets a little fruity as the meal progresses – possibly the influence of the now empty Davenport's bottles – and receives gentle guidance from Mum: "Remember the children, dearest..." He reverts to his normal more restrained and considerate self. But doesn't stop enjoying himself.

I look at Dad at the far end of the table, sitting by the side of his son's future father-in-law, a Welshman who is always kind to me and whom I have come to love.

“Would you care for another slice of turkey, Rupert?", Dad asks courteously. I look at these two men who are so dear to me and think, for absolutely no reason which I can imagine, that I must always remember this moment. And I always shall do.

Chris

(Postscript from 22nd November 2020. It is my dad's 121st birthday today.....)
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Chris you know how much I love your diaries, and this was no exception... I felt I was there with you. I've just got one thing to say...more! more!
Lynn.
 
Nico said:
Such fantastic memories. That could be our house, bar the supper, (mum used to come in with the tea cosy on her head to see if dad noticed when he was glued to the telly) and we had no nicknacks. Such an apt way to remember your dad.
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Nico, I had a Dad like that! And I tried VERY hard not to be the same(most likely went to far the other way but there were no complaints).
 
chrissweep said:
Try Jamie Cullum's new album, ' The Pianoman at Christmas ' , it's a worthwhile addition to Christmas listening, if you like jazz that is.
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We didn't half appreciate some days off from work then, only the two usually, when I was a trainee rep (I never made it). We all bunced in and bought some booze and it was kept locked in the metal cupboard in my little office (Nico Crachit). And at New Year we had what was left, all scrabbling for Dubonnet. Yuk! We were not allowed tapes playing then in case the customers heard over the phones. One good looking rep came back early on Christmas Eve. He said the women in various car dealers and estate agents were trying to rip his clothes off, his shirt was out his tie round his back and he had lipstick on him. He was frantically trying to clean it off. Another year a rep defied Ebenezer Scrooge and Jacob Marley and brought his guitar in. We sang carols in harmonies. I loved that. Then we all slipped and slided over to the Old Stag at the back with the two under managers. At 2pm Ebenezer Jeffcoat sent GBH Marley to get us all back. No body would come back, not even the two managers as all the other offices were partying or having nibbles. The one said they can't sack everybody. It was a pleasant blur but so rammed I was lifted off my feet at times. With about five deep at the bar. All good natured. It was a well run Irish family owned pub. It was my first time in there. I was just 17. You know what I mean....I recalled a huge Victorian mirror over the fireplace surrounded by fairy lights, a well stocked smart old fashioned polished bar, ceramic bottles with whiskey in, like a striding Bombadier or a Grenadier, and Falcon shaped bottles and jugs with the leaping stag on, and the Bell' s bell and Babycham bambis And a stuffed stag's head under an oriel window with a Rudolf red nose. They played Merry Christmas Everybody over and over interspersed with Irish songs on the juke box like The Rose Of Castlerea where the landlord came from. Then we got the nod, about 4pm when the front office was locked, we're going back or they will lock us in the pub. I became a regular after that.
 
As a 70's child and 80's teenager, my Christmas songs are Slade, Merry Christmas Everyone and Wham! Last Christmas, though I do find Last Christmas hard to listen to since George Michael's sad death.

My Christmas this year will be a quiet one, we have no children and my mom lives in South Wales so we won't be seeing her, but will phone on Christmas Day, my husband's parents are both dead, and his immediate family are high risk so our phone bill will be sky high ringing all of them.

My tree and decorations are already up, just waiting for my husband to put the ceiling decorations up. I have two Christmas trees this year, one in the corner of our living room, where our presents will go and one in the living room window with a snowman and train.

I've always loved Christmas, even in the 70's we didn't have a great deal, but mom and dad always worked hard to make it a magical time, my nan and granddad, auntie and uncle would stay at our house Christmas Eve, it was a real house full as until I was 9 we lived in a small two bedroomed terraced house. My dad, granddad and uncle would all go to the pub, I would be packed off to bed early "else Father Christmas won't come"and as I was dropping off to sleep, if hear them all singing downstairs.

Then, waking up on Christmas morning and finding a pillowcase at the bottom of my bed. Yes! He's been! I'd quietly open the presents in there and wait until mom opened my bedroom door and say "Merry Christmas bab, let's go and see what Father Christmas has brought you".

I'd race down the stairs and everyone was up and waiting to see me. Then we'd hand out our presents and open them which was always exciting, mom would put on Christmas songs while we were doing that and dad would make breakfast. After that, I'd get dressed and be taken for a walk in the park or one special Christmas on my new bike, while dinner was cooked, we'd come back and have dinner, listen to Christmas TOTP and The Queens speech, then dad would say it was time for me to have a nap, so I'd either go back to bed and start reading my new book or annual, or be tucked up in the chair and I'd fall asleep watching the lights twinkling.

I'd wake up in time for supper, which I actually prefer to this day to Christmas dinner, Turkey sandwiches,pickles, onions in vinegar and Christmas cake. Then watch Morecambe and Wise and off to bed afterwards while the grown ups enjoyed a few drinks and a sing song.

Lovely, magical times with wonderful people.
 
Nico said:
I could go on forever:laughing:, Nan always wore her nice dress on Christmas day, 'me posh frock' it was though. Replaced her pop beads with glass ones. She got out a pewter boat shaped dish with punched holes in, threw a box of Quality Street in it, put her string of 10 cards up. When Grandad was alive he decorated their place with the paper bells you open out. I still like them.
He used to buy a small real tree till I was five for us at our house and some lights, all of twelve. They reminded me of little ice lollies. We had bakelite stars and icicles on ours that were supposed to reflect and didn't, foil crimped dangly tinsel, silver one side coloured the other that you twirl.It used to get squashed. A proper fairy with wings. Baubles not all round I liked the long pointy ones. and chocolate penknives and things in foil. The decorations had a special smell in their box. Dad's Rolls Royce and wherever mum worked at the time's childrens' Christmas party. I went to please them I think. And the panto. I liked that, and seeing Father Christmas at The Co Op, Woolworths and Owen Owen. Which was very special. It didn't occur to me as a child he was in 3 places and the sleigh ride to toy land didn't really move.I was afraid of the life size reindeer in Owen Owens.Great Gran took my hand and placed it on one under hers, a poignant memory. Mum got fed up as the prices went up and the rubbish plastic present usually noisy you were given. But I loved it. The tree house, with little windows and doors. "What lives in there mum?." "A mouse!" I have just started to give those Christmas decorations away to the grandchildren. Loved the Christmas service the crib with real straw, the Christmas story, something Dickenzian on TV, carol singers. Salvation Army. Am stopping for a bit, give someone else a chance!
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What a lovely idea Lyn. Hubbie and I are staying at home on our own, to stay safe. But it makes me take time to reminisce. I well remember Christmases at my Nan and Grandad's in Minstead Road, Erdington (overlooks spaghetti junction now). The whole family was there - aunts, uncles, cousins, all crammed in. Four of us kids sleeping top to toe in a double bed. I was told I had to make sure I stayed asleep or Santa wouldn't leave me any presents. I hid under the bed clothes for hours, worried I would miss out. Mum and Dad didn't have a lot of money, so Mum made things like a bright green shoulder bag which I treasured for years. Dad was amazing at making things out of wood. He made me a doll's cradle and the most beautiful working model of a clothes mangle (which I still have). We may not have the freedom we are used to this year, but we can communicate with family and we do have HOPE round the corner.
 
SmethwickGirl said:
As a 70's child and 80's teenager, my Christmas songs are Slade, Merry Christmas Everyone and Wham! Last Christmas, though I do find Last Christmas hard to listen to since George Michael's sad death.

My Christmas this year will be a quiet one, we have no children and my mom lives in South Wales so we won't be seeing her, but will phone on Christmas Day, my husband's parents are both dead, and his immediate family are high risk so our phone bill will be sky high ringing all of them.

My tree and decorations are already up, just waiting for my husband to put the ceiling decorations up. I have two Christmas trees this year, one in the corner of our living room, where our presents will go and one in the living room window with a snowman and train.

I've always loved Christmas, even in the 70's we didn't have a great deal, but mom and dad always worked hard to make it a magical time, my nan and granddad, auntie and uncle would stay at our house Christmas Eve, it was a real house full as until I was 9 we lived in a small two bedroomed terraced house. My dad, granddad and uncle would all go to the pub, I would be packed off to bed early "else Father Christmas won't come"and as I was dropping off to sleep, if hear them all singing downstairs.

Then, waking up on Christmas morning and finding a pillowcase at the bottom of my bed. Yes! He's been! I'd quietly open the presents in there and wait until mom opened my bedroom door and say "Merry Christmas bab, let's go and see what Father Christmas has brought you".

I'd race down the stairs and everyone was up and waiting to see me. Then we'd hand out our presents and open them which was always exciting, mom would put on Christmas songs while we were doing that and dad would make breakfast. After that, I'd get dressed and be taken for a walk in the park or one special Christmas on my new bike, while dinner was cooked, we'd come back and have dinner, listen to Christmas TOTP and The Queens speech, then dad would say it was time for me to have a nap, so I'd either go back to bed and start reading my new book or annual, or be tucked up in the chair and I'd fall asleep watching the lights twinkling.

I'd wake up in time for supper, which I actually prefer to this day to Christmas dinner, Turkey sandwiches,pickles, onions in vinegar and Christmas cake. Then watch Morecambe and Wise and off to bed afterwards while the grown ups enjoyed a few drinks and a sing song.

Lovely, magical times with wonderful people.
Click to expand...

smashing memories and i do so agree about the cold turkey and pickle sarnies :D :D

enjoy
 
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