Memories Of Christmas' Past
I must be getting old. Christmas no longer has the charms it once did. Now, all of the adult concepts of "budgeting" and "responsibility" - not to mention "credit" - get in the way too much to enjoy the day. But as always, I remember the day from years gone by with fondness.
Before this goes any further, it must be noted that, by and large, Australians are mostly secular in the celebration of such days. The statistical observation of Australia as a "Christian" nation is not entirely correct, unless one counts our nominal celebrations of Easter and Christmas, over Chanukka, Ramadan, Kwanza - insert the name of any relevant period of celebration here - as being "Christian". These days to most modern Aussies, are more then anything an excuse to have a day or several days off, drink copious amounts of beer, consume too much food, and do very little else.
Depending on the weather.
If it's hot, we might fill up the wading pool and haul the television out into the yard. There, we will usually lie in the wading pool, under a beach umbrella, watching the Boxing Day cricket test... Never say we're lazy. Things just have to be worth the effort of doing something about it :P
But if you're expecting stories of Church services, life-sized reproductions of the Creche installed in the front yard, and a lot of Silent Night, Holy Night, you're barking up the wrong blog. Instead, our Christmases were about getting together for one of the few times a year we could all make it, maybe giving a gift to show that we did indeed think highly of each other even if we only saw everyone a few times a year, and a lot of good-natured teasing. They were about swimming in the afternoon after Christmas lunch, getting sunburned, and then coming home to eat big slices of cold water melon. They were about family and fun and appreciation that we had each other, rather than observing a supposed event that meant very little to any of us.
When I was a child, I knew the Christmas story. It didn't interest me much, but I knew it. For me, and I'm sure for most of my other cousins and relatives, it meant our one chance for the year to spend the day at my Aunt and Uncle's beach house on Coochiemudlo Island, in Brisbane's Moreton Bay, and to see cousins who we would likely not see again until the next family event - perhaps even not until next Christmas.
When you're a child, Christmas morning always means getting up early. Always. But the years we went to the island meant getting up even earlier, so that we could make the drive from Brisbane to Victoria Point in the Redlands Shire, and catch the early ferry across from the mainland to Island. We'd open our presents at home - the ones from "Santa" and from Mum and Dad, knowing there would be more to come later in the day from other relatives as well.
Mum and Dad packed up the car with whatever we wanted to take with us, and we'd drive to the jetty, parking the car as far as we could from the entrance. Dad always said he didn't want to get the paintwork scratched, or the doors dented by a careless driver or passenger, so it was better to stay as far away from the entrance as possible, since everyone wanted to park there. Luckily, there was a huge old trolley cart on tracks from the top end of the jetty right out to the water. It was big enough that it could take the assorted paraphenalia from an entire ferry load of passengers at one time, including children, so anyone who was clever enough to climb aboard usually did so, while a number of able-bodied adults pushed it along the tracks. As far as I know, that old trolley still does that same job, as it has for the last hundred-odd years.
My sister, Dad and I would usually rush to sit outside in the open air for the ferry ride across the bay, but Mum was most often inside. She said it was too cool out there for her, but I loved the salt tang of the air and water that splashed up. Usually once we arrived on the island, my Aunt or Uncle were there to pick up everyone from the jetty in stages, or we caught a courtesy bus run by a few locals who didn't mind shuttling people back and forth occasionally.
From that moment on, we spent the day chatting and catching up, eating homemade rum balls, White Christmas and apricot brandy balls, showing off the latest gifts we had received that morning from the immediate family, and trying the find the coolest spot to sit it. The pile of gifts under the Christmas tree was piled higher as each family entered and added their presents on arrival.
Before long, it was time to get the table ready for lunch. The kids mostly stayed out from underfoot while the women brought out the prepared food, and the men moved the tables and unstacked the chairs so we would all have a place to sit. I don't think I've seen so much food in my life as at a family gathering. Cold and hot roast chicken,
sliced ham, seafood platters complete with mudcrabs caught by my uncle in the waters around the island, coleslaw, potato salad, green salad, bean salad, 3 or 4 different cheeses, scalloped potato bakes, corn cobs cooked on the barbeque...
There was usually at least 3 or 4 plates of everything along the table, so there a minimum of "pass the potatoes, please". So much food was on the table that there was seldom room to put your plate, and never enough room to move properly. Everyone ate and drank far more than was really good for them, but it was easy to do when everything tasted so good. I don't think many meals have tasted that good since then, and I know that really is nostaligia talking, but it's true nonetheless. Everything was made a little more special for being shared with loved ones, so it had the extra special ingredients of love and care.
When we were full to about bursting, it was time to clear away the food and tables, and wash and put everything away. The we had to find a spot around the tree for the handing out of presents. There was usually a small gift for everyone tied to the tree - usually a decoration for our own tree, or something similar - handed out by my Aunt. This gave my uncle time to get into his Santa suit to pass out the rest of the gifts to everyone. It was so much fun to watch as everyone opened the wrappings and then thanked the giver on the spot. There was the usual mix of well thought out gifts, and junk that usually rendered a hastily covered "wtf?" face, but we usually had enough manners to thank everyone regardless.
Later in the afternoon, it was time to rest and let lunch settle in our tummies. While most of the adults had a siesta in the afternoon, most of the kids and teenagers waited barely the required hour and went to the beach on the sheltered side of the island. It was only a short walk down the road, so we went in swimsuits with towels slung over our shoulders, through the park and out onto the sand and into the still water.
We'd all swim for a couple of hours, collect shells, dig for pipis or just walk along the beach for a while. Ir was such a pleasant way to spend an afternoon. When we were tired of the water, we'd wander back up to the house into a full-blown game of backyard cricket, joining in to fill out the field postions and bat our turn when it came up. We had all kinds of rules for the game, and there was not too many arguments over who played where. The otto bin usually played keeper, anyway, to avoid arguments, and we tried not to have too many "magic" field positions. That is, the ball bouncing off a lawn chair, barbeque or garden hose being considered out. The batsman hitting the house, the car, or my aunt's best pot on the full, though, was an automatic out, unless the damage could be blamed on the dog, the wind, terrorists, or El Nino.
((Image courtesy of Nicholson of "The Australian" newspaper: www.nicholsoncartoons.com.au ))
It was declared "drinks" by late afternoon, when dessert was being served. The tables were once again filled, surely groaning under the weight of yet more food. Trifle with sherry, pavlovas, caramel tarts with banana and cream, cheesecakes and an enormous bowl of fruit salad with cream to pour over were all expected to be consumed. While we didn't go much for tradition any other time of the day, we had to have Christmas pudding, flamed at the table and complete with several real silver lucky sixpence to make a wish and possibly crack a tooth on. And there was never the need to make a choice between custard or brandy butter with the pud; you had both. And of course, no meal was complete without tea or coffee. I don't think I've had a homemade pudding since then, either. If any of us were still
capable of movement after "drinks", play usually resumed until it was time to go.
We all had to leave by the time the last ferry for the day departed for the mainland, so we gathered our belongings and left the few who stayed for the extra days - immediate family, usually - to finish the game, or just relax and unwind for a bit. Even though we were leaving behind the gifts we had taken over for the others, we were bringing back ours from them, so it usually evened out. If there was an enormous quantity of food left over, it was piled onto people as the left. My aunt was "needing the room in the fridge back", and I can imagine she just didn't want to look at it any more *grin*
It was always a special day, and while nothing was ever perfect, memory only improves it. We've seldom all gotten together like that in more recent times, unless it's for a wedding (not even then usually, it's much too costly these days to invite all the relations), or more likely, someone's funeral. There, you catch up with the loved ones you should have been seeing in happier circumstances, looking for and then quietly ignoring the signs in others' faces and figures that prove you're not the only one looking and feeling older. And we make jokes about only getting together for weddings and funerals, promise to call... but things happen... The kids change schools, your family moves town, someone gets divorced, someone else has kids...
Time.
Don't you just love it?
