C
Colin Richards
Guest
Coral Island Christmas
With the Second World War finally over, life again took on a semblance of pre-war normality.
Despite rationing still maintaining its austere grip on Britain’s economy, Christmas 1946, was one of the most memorable of Colin’s life.
“I’m ready for bed Mom!” The seven year old called from the back kitchen, he had just finished using the small square of old towelling, that was kept as a dish cloth, to wipe a quick circle round his face.
His left hand clung tightly to the elastic waistband of his elder brothers cut down pyjamas that hung off his slight frame. He hopped from one bare foot to the other, as an icy draught sliced under the back door, across the worn patternless linoleum.
“It’s only half past six.” Violet his mother said smiling as she entered the kitchen tucking loose strands of her greying hair back under the colourful headscarf tied up in a turban.
“I know, but I’m really, really tired, and the sooner I go to bed the sooner Santa will be here.”
Again Violet smiled looking at the young boys excited face, and thinking of the previous Christmas’s when the Gollywog, and Teddy bear had been given new clothes made from old dresses.
‘Have you washed your neck?”
The excited youngster nodded vigorously. His mother’s expression told of the disbelief, but she let the lie go. Well, it was Christmas.
Virginia!” Violet called loudly to Colin’s sister. There was no reply.
“Virginia!” she called louder, dragging out the syllables in an almost sing song fashion. Her demand for the eleven-year-old still went unanswered.
“Where the devil has that girl got to?” Violet's frustration was obvious. “If she’s snuck out, I’ll give her what for when she gets back.”
Colin smiled inwardly at the pleasurable thought of his irritating sister being walloped with the dreaded boiler stick.
“I expect she’s sneaked out to Sheila’s house, and I heard you tell her she was to stay in.” Again he wriggled with pleasure knowing he was laying the poison on even thicker.
Wiping her hands on the flowered apron, Violet bent down and kissed the youngster on his cheek. “Go on then, up you go, and make sure you go to the toilet before getting into bed.”
With both hands hanging onto the oversize trousers he dashed up the flight of linoleum covered stairs.
The light bulb on the landing had expired in 1940, at the first firing of the anti aircraft guns, sited at the rear of the Kingsbury Road house. Its replacement after so many years had never been contemplated.
Up into the blackness the youngster raced. He had to be quick enough to reach the toilet light switch before the demons of darkness grabbed him.
The three top steps swung to the right. And as the nervous Colin reached the turn. A huge white ghostly figure leapt out of the darkness lunging towards him.
His terrified scream followed his falling body, as he tumbled head over heels back down the thirteen stairs, and into the hallway below.
The peal of laughter from his sister as she tore off the bed-sheet, made his humiliation even harder to bear.
It took several whacks from the boiler stick by the enraged Violet on Virginia’s backside to begin to placate the unhurt boy.
Tears dried and finally in bed, a special dispensation that meant Colin didn’t have to hide under the blankets, was that the bedroom light was left on.
Waiting for Father Christmas, and interpreting every allusion of noise to his imminent arrival seemed to go on forever. His appearance must have taken place when Colin closed his eyes for those few moments. For suddenly the stockings on the small mantelpiece of the unlit bedroom fireplace, were bulging with nuts, oranges and apples. The new shiny pennies were always tucked right into the toe.
Jumping up Colin squealed. “Mommy! Mommy! He’s been. Father Christmas has been. Come quick!”
Leaning over the side of the double bed, he shared with his sister, his searching eyes alighted on the two neatly wrapped gifts at the foot of the bed. The brown paper had been decorated with painted Christmas trees, snowmen, and stars.
Mommy, Mommy! Come and see, I got real presents as well.“
The Cowboys gun and holster was as real as the one Hopalong Cassidy and Roy Rogers used every Saturday morning at the pictures, but R.M Ballentynes book took Colin further than any other present he had ever received previously.
The South Seas coral island became as real a place to him, as school or home. The young men shipwrecked there seemed closer to him, than his brothers, and sisters.
It was a world of wonder and adventure that made the pulse race, and the mind expand.
An introduction to a passion that has never left him.
With the Second World War finally over, life again took on a semblance of pre-war normality.
Despite rationing still maintaining its austere grip on Britain’s economy, Christmas 1946, was one of the most memorable of Colin’s life.
“I’m ready for bed Mom!” The seven year old called from the back kitchen, he had just finished using the small square of old towelling, that was kept as a dish cloth, to wipe a quick circle round his face.
His left hand clung tightly to the elastic waistband of his elder brothers cut down pyjamas that hung off his slight frame. He hopped from one bare foot to the other, as an icy draught sliced under the back door, across the worn patternless linoleum.
“It’s only half past six.” Violet his mother said smiling as she entered the kitchen tucking loose strands of her greying hair back under the colourful headscarf tied up in a turban.
“I know, but I’m really, really tired, and the sooner I go to bed the sooner Santa will be here.”
Again Violet smiled looking at the young boys excited face, and thinking of the previous Christmas’s when the Gollywog, and Teddy bear had been given new clothes made from old dresses.
‘Have you washed your neck?”
The excited youngster nodded vigorously. His mother’s expression told of the disbelief, but she let the lie go. Well, it was Christmas.
Virginia!” Violet called loudly to Colin’s sister. There was no reply.
“Virginia!” she called louder, dragging out the syllables in an almost sing song fashion. Her demand for the eleven-year-old still went unanswered.
“Where the devil has that girl got to?” Violet's frustration was obvious. “If she’s snuck out, I’ll give her what for when she gets back.”
Colin smiled inwardly at the pleasurable thought of his irritating sister being walloped with the dreaded boiler stick.
“I expect she’s sneaked out to Sheila’s house, and I heard you tell her she was to stay in.” Again he wriggled with pleasure knowing he was laying the poison on even thicker.
Wiping her hands on the flowered apron, Violet bent down and kissed the youngster on his cheek. “Go on then, up you go, and make sure you go to the toilet before getting into bed.”
With both hands hanging onto the oversize trousers he dashed up the flight of linoleum covered stairs.
The light bulb on the landing had expired in 1940, at the first firing of the anti aircraft guns, sited at the rear of the Kingsbury Road house. Its replacement after so many years had never been contemplated.
Up into the blackness the youngster raced. He had to be quick enough to reach the toilet light switch before the demons of darkness grabbed him.
The three top steps swung to the right. And as the nervous Colin reached the turn. A huge white ghostly figure leapt out of the darkness lunging towards him.
His terrified scream followed his falling body, as he tumbled head over heels back down the thirteen stairs, and into the hallway below.
The peal of laughter from his sister as she tore off the bed-sheet, made his humiliation even harder to bear.
It took several whacks from the boiler stick by the enraged Violet on Virginia’s backside to begin to placate the unhurt boy.
Tears dried and finally in bed, a special dispensation that meant Colin didn’t have to hide under the blankets, was that the bedroom light was left on.
Waiting for Father Christmas, and interpreting every allusion of noise to his imminent arrival seemed to go on forever. His appearance must have taken place when Colin closed his eyes for those few moments. For suddenly the stockings on the small mantelpiece of the unlit bedroom fireplace, were bulging with nuts, oranges and apples. The new shiny pennies were always tucked right into the toe.
Jumping up Colin squealed. “Mommy! Mommy! He’s been. Father Christmas has been. Come quick!”
Leaning over the side of the double bed, he shared with his sister, his searching eyes alighted on the two neatly wrapped gifts at the foot of the bed. The brown paper had been decorated with painted Christmas trees, snowmen, and stars.
Mommy, Mommy! Come and see, I got real presents as well.“
The Cowboys gun and holster was as real as the one Hopalong Cassidy and Roy Rogers used every Saturday morning at the pictures, but R.M Ballentynes book took Colin further than any other present he had ever received previously.
The South Seas coral island became as real a place to him, as school or home. The young men shipwrecked there seemed closer to him, than his brothers, and sisters.
It was a world of wonder and adventure that made the pulse race, and the mind expand.
An introduction to a passion that has never left him.
