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Christmas preparations past and present
- Thread starter Vivienne14
- Start date
Richard Dye
master brummie
My wife and I both buy calendars. Her’s is functional my is with big pictures usually of sailing ships!
Time Traveller 66
master brummie
Yes nothing like writing it down . At least you know where to look.
Time Traveller 66
master brummie
If ypou mom approved that was all that mattered.i remember the litle calender that you bought at school to stick on your design but can not remember the price of them when i took the finished cal home after completion mom thought it was brilliant.
Time Traveller 66
master brummie
Nice they still make some beautiful calendars. The pictures you could frame on some of them.i get a large calendar and diary free from the agriculture suppliers each year
pete
Brummie a long time ago
master brummie
Our local fire station comes round each December with a calendar very much emphasising their activities. Price is what you want to donate. It is usually a fit looking fireman and an equally fit young lady, both in full firefighting regalia. (Equal opportunities here). Keeps us both happy, and they get a good donation. We might need them one day.i get a large calendar and diary free from the agriculture suppliers each year
pete
Andrew.
Godber
master brummie
I remember doing just the same thing.
One family's plans didn't come to fruition by Christmas Day. Let's hope Sage lived a long and happy life !
Time Traveller 66
master brummie
What a lovely story for Christmas .
superdad3
master brummie
Reminds me of the posts under Benjamin Zephaniah which mention what was probably his most popular poem called "Talking Turkeys". Here's the first verse again - very appropriate to the cutting:
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas
Cos' turkeys just wanna hav fun
Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,
Don't eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate, an not on your plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I'm on your side.
I got lots of friends who are turkeys
An all of dem fear christmas time,
Dey wanna enjoy it, dey say humans destroyed it
An humans are out of dere mind,
Yeah, I got lots of friends who are turkeys
Dey all hav a right to a life,
Not to be caged up an genetically made up
By any farmer an his wife.
Before the war, my family always had holidays on a farm in the South Hams area of Devon. The outbreak of war and rationing led to a mutually beneficial arrangement between us and the farmer's wife. She would select the plumpest bird out of whatever flock they had – usually goose, sometimes turkey - do the necessary and then after preparation which included plucking and stuffing with all sorts of tasty ingredients, would parcel it up in brown paper and consign it to the tender mercies of the GPO. This worked well up until, I think, the Christmas of 1943: there was a particularly mild spell at the critical time, the postal service was erratic and by the time the bird reached us it was stinking to high heaven. Great disappointment, an urgent burial in the garden and immediately after Christmas a letter of gratitude to Devon saying just how wonderful and tasty it had been. That was the moment when I realised that a fib is acceptable if it means that the feelings of others are protected.
There was no chance of a repeat the following year. At around the time that our goose was festering on its journey to the Midlands, the farmer and his family were pitched out of their farm, together with everyone in the surrounding area, to make room for the US Army to set up a training landing ground on the beach at Slapton, in anticipation of their arrival at Omaha Beach the following June. And so again it was a Black Market cockerel which we sat down to on Christmas Day 1944, shared with a visiting G.I. who, come to think of it, might well have passed through Omaha himself and was now back here, convalescing at Pheasey.
Thank you, Mrs. Cumming, for some lovely Christmas dinners and I'm sorry we can only see half of your face.
Chris
There was no chance of a repeat the following year. At around the time that our goose was festering on its journey to the Midlands, the farmer and his family were pitched out of their farm, together with everyone in the surrounding area, to make room for the US Army to set up a training landing ground on the beach at Slapton, in anticipation of their arrival at Omaha Beach the following June. And so again it was a Black Market cockerel which we sat down to on Christmas Day 1944, shared with a visiting G.I. who, come to think of it, might well have passed through Omaha himself and was now back here, convalescing at Pheasey.
Thank you, Mrs. Cumming, for some lovely Christmas dinners and I'm sorry we can only see half of your face.
Chris
Time Traveller 66
master brummie
Great poem very sad loss especially just before Christmas RIP and condolences to his family.
All this talk of turkeys and chickens reminds me of an amusing story, although at the time I didn't think it was. I was living in Tadcaster at the time and a friend of mine lived in a nearby village. They reared about thirty chickens each year at his brothers farm opposite, to give to friends at Christmas. When it came time for them to be killed and dressed ready for the table, they were in need of urgent help. I volunteered not knowing what to expect. It was a real production line. He went to the farm, killed them off and then deposited them by the back door. My job was to hold them in a large boiler of boiling water for about twenty seconds which made it easier for his wife to pluck them. Everything was going well. But disaster struck. As I dipped one of the birds in the water, it was still alive. Water, water everywhere. And me wit this bird frantically flapping it's wings. I hadn't a clue what to do as I had never killed anything before. It was a good job Frank came back at that moment. Needless to say, I never volunteered again
mw0njm.
A Brummie Dude
i think you would flap if some one dunked you in boiling water
Time Traveller 66
master brummie
Flap and scream in whatever order . I do that if the shower is too hot.
In post-war Britain, rationing was still in place but, for some, availability of certain items must have been very welcome. Mistletoe had an abundance of berries - have you got yours yet ? (Keep those comments clean please, we have younger readers !!)
Throughout my life I've tried to keep the sight of what's on my plate and the image of living creatures as far apart as possible. Either my Mum and Dad had similar sensitivities despite the need to feed a family in the most difficult circumstances, or they recognised them within me.
At some stage during the war Dad created a small chicken run in the back garden to provide a supply of eggs. It was stocked with half a dozen fluffy chicks. These rapidly grew, a few eggs started to appear and over time the population slowly dwindled for reasons of which I was blissfully unaware. Before I really noticed it there were just two or three left – one, a gentle, aimless little creature who was a pet and enjoyed the name of Matilda. She was a Rhode Island Red who was always a bit of a disappointment to me because my favourite colour was red and she was nothing more than a slightly reddish brown. There were also a couple of White Leghorns remaining. One of these was a vicious brute who tended to rush at me with comb a glowing, angry red and peck my legs.
One day before Christmas – and it was probably 1943 – Dad and Mum appeared around the lounge door to show my sister and me our forthcoming Christmas dinner: a very dead White Leghorn, head dangling over the piece of brown paper it was being carried on. My immediate reaction was to identify it as my tormentor.
"Oh no, no, not at all" said Mum. "It's a different one completely. One of Dad's friends at the Hardwick Arms got it for him".
Dad didn't contradict her and I didn't argue, I didn't really believe what I was being told and, to be honest, I wasn't really very bothered. Christmas dinner was, as usual, a great treat. And I don't remember ever getting my legs pecked again.
(I'm trying to remember what happened to Matilda. I think that she was allowed a normal lifespan. Eventually, though, she was succeeded in 1946 by two piglets which Dad and a neighbour acquired as a joint venture. Desperate measures were necessary to supplement the meagre food ration which dwindled even further after the end of the war and lasted for years. But nevertheless, in our house pork never superseded chicken or turkey or goose on Christmas Day which remained the gastronomical highlight of the year – as it probably still is for many).
Chris
At some stage during the war Dad created a small chicken run in the back garden to provide a supply of eggs. It was stocked with half a dozen fluffy chicks. These rapidly grew, a few eggs started to appear and over time the population slowly dwindled for reasons of which I was blissfully unaware. Before I really noticed it there were just two or three left – one, a gentle, aimless little creature who was a pet and enjoyed the name of Matilda. She was a Rhode Island Red who was always a bit of a disappointment to me because my favourite colour was red and she was nothing more than a slightly reddish brown. There were also a couple of White Leghorns remaining. One of these was a vicious brute who tended to rush at me with comb a glowing, angry red and peck my legs.
One day before Christmas – and it was probably 1943 – Dad and Mum appeared around the lounge door to show my sister and me our forthcoming Christmas dinner: a very dead White Leghorn, head dangling over the piece of brown paper it was being carried on. My immediate reaction was to identify it as my tormentor.
"Oh no, no, not at all" said Mum. "It's a different one completely. One of Dad's friends at the Hardwick Arms got it for him".
Dad didn't contradict her and I didn't argue, I didn't really believe what I was being told and, to be honest, I wasn't really very bothered. Christmas dinner was, as usual, a great treat. And I don't remember ever getting my legs pecked again.
(I'm trying to remember what happened to Matilda. I think that she was allowed a normal lifespan. Eventually, though, she was succeeded in 1946 by two piglets which Dad and a neighbour acquired as a joint venture. Desperate measures were necessary to supplement the meagre food ration which dwindled even further after the end of the war and lasted for years. But nevertheless, in our house pork never superseded chicken or turkey or goose on Christmas Day which remained the gastronomical highlight of the year – as it probably still is for many).
Chris
Radiorails
master brummie
At one time I had a vicious white leghorn. We soon got rid of him after a period of time. Me and a chum of mine decided on a name for the bird. It was O8209 and as we had no idea what the real O8209 sounded like this was thought to be suitable.
BCT bus enthusiasts will recognize the name.
BCT bus enthusiasts will recognize the name.
Time Traveller 66
master brummie
Great post . Love these old adverts and the prices.
Interesting that in the Woolworths ad (bottom right) it's labelled a "phonograph". I'd have called it a record player. It had 3 speeds, I think, 45rpm, 33rpm and 78 rpm (?)
I would say most peculiar Viv. In the same advert they have stereo systems. else I would have thought it was a pre-war advert, as I can never remember hearing the term phonograph other than for items in the 30s or before. I would have expected it to have a horn if it was a phonograph
Richard Dye
master brummie
Phonograph is a US/Canadian term used for such a device. With Woolworths being a Canadian and US company I am not surprised at the description.
richardinwales
master brummie
Its that time of year again so all my very best wishes to you and your families
hi richard ive just started a thread for members christmas wishes so if you would like to repost yours link is below
CHRISTMAS WISHES 2023
a thread to post your christmas greetings folks so wishing all of our members and staff on bhf a very merry christmas :) have a good one and here is one of my favourite little videos from 1963 that reminds me of my childhood christmasses
birminghamhistory.co.uk
mw0njm.
A Brummie Dude
The phonograph, gramophone, and modern record player are all devices that play analog sound recordings. The phonograph plays from tinfoil wrapped around a metal roll. The gramophone plays metal or shellac disc-shaped records. Finally, the modern record player plays vinyl records.
Phonograph vs Gramophone vs Record Player – The Differences – Record Player Expert
recordplayerexpert.com
Be prepared !
Source: British Newspaper Archive
Source: British Newspaper Archive