Letter From The Other Side from Cynthia

Dear Del,

The sounds of the ‘Sugar Plum Fairy’ tinkling about, ‘Silent Night’ and painful to the ear renditions of ‘I’m Dreaming Of A White Christmas’ issuing out of the shops, plus the aroma of summer mangoes, peaches, tomatoes and strawberries filling the air means it must be Christmas. If we include cherries glistening in their boxes, flanked by pineapples, avocado pears and melons, we know that salad days are here.

I am trying to get myself into the festive mood and finding it difficult.

Teddy and I put our Christmas tree up in front of the fireplace and decorated it with some care this year. I even purchased new decorations. The old ones were perhaps more tired of trying to appear festive than I am. However I do appreciate the pine scent the tree wafts through the house.

It wasn’t of course without its problems because it was bigger than it looked in the field and took quite a while for us to get into the house without knocking down a light fitting or two. Then the job of balancing and anchoring it well enough in our brass bucket to prevent it falling on some small person who may happen to tug at a glistening bell or bauble was quite a effort..

After we were satisfied with the tree, Teddy realized his wallet was missing and we spent about sixteen frustrating hours trying to find where he had dropped it. I didn’t panic as you may think I might because after all these years I’m usually certain he will have lost whatever it is we are searching for in some obscure place around the house or car. This was in the car, wedged between the seat and the door strut. ‘But I looked in the car!’ He wailed. Men do that when you find things they can’t.

As I sat in the shopping mall last week eating a rather unremarkable lunch, I was able to peer over the railing of the mezzanine floor and watch the store Santa Clause where he was trapped behind a fence with two elves and a long line of waiting mothers with children.

Even from where I watched I could see the perspiration glistening on his forehead as the hot lights shone down on his red cap. He waited for each child to come to him with enormous equanimity. Some of the children who had a great deal to say for themselves before they reached him were suddenly overcome with shyness as they approached the man in red who might, or might not, grant their most heartfelt wishes.

Others became loud and cheeky when mothers who thought their child had taken up enough of Santa’s time tried to intervene and drag them away.

One little sweetly faced thing jumped on Santa’s toes in her frustration and when told not to do it again by her embarrassed mother defiantly repeated her act, only I think she jumped even harder the second time.

I would have been happy to empty my unappetising meal over her head if I thought my aim was good enough, but refrained.

Those poor Santa’s not only have to look ridiculous and feel unbearably hot but probably have the hardest of clients anyone has to deal with.

The amount of food piled high precariously wobbling about in overfilled shopping trolleys makes one wonder if everyone is feeding the five thousand or if the population is expecting a famine next year.

When we were younger, the shops closed for a few days and we used to stock up quite a lot, but they hardly close at all now, so I really don’t see the need to buy so much.

I miss a great deal of the old traditional Christmas’s we had as children. It was simpler, not as commercial, but still seemed to hold such a lot of magic for us.

I think I see some of that magic reflected in our grandchildren’s faces when they go out in the evenings to see the houses decorated with lights and storybook characters. Perhaps one day our little ones will look back on their Christmas’s with nostalgia and say as we do ‘it’s not like in our day’.

My Christmas’s as a child always revolved around the church services, bell ringing and having to listen to the same sermon at least twice. But I loved the music and the thrill of waiting for the sixpences in the puddings and perhaps a sip of sherry from my father’s glass as he napped on the couch after his heavy dinner.

One of my favourite memories is the year there was panic in the Vicarage when the organist felt a peddle of the harmonium organ give way as she pumped away energetically during the choir’s last practice before the big day.

This was a disaster. Without the organ the Christmas services would be lacking the music everyone enjoyed so much and in truth needed to help them carry the tunes. It was a large country parish and the people sang with great gusto, some with very little variation in their notes. The wheezy instrument definitely helped to smooth over the affect.

My Dad spent hours the day before Christmas day with it in pieces all over the church floor and my mother popping in every now and then to unhelpfully wring her hands, remind him of the time and tell him he would have to have it fixed soon.

Eventually after having removed a couple of dead and desiccated mice (obviously the story of church mice is true) and a dustpan full of assorted moths and spiders, he was left with three screws he couldn’t find places for but the strap was replaced with some webbing and all was well with the bellows for the midnight and Christmas Day services to go ahead as usual.

This year Teddy and I will enjoy Christmas Eve with our younger son and his wife who live along the coast a few miles from us. I was delegated the task of making the pudding and sauces and custards for that get-together. ( Gluten free of course.)

On Christmas Day we shall have another meal with our older son his wife and children, Monica our daughter and her husband and family, salads and ice-cream cake for me to prepare for that day. (Vegetarian and egg free of course for these members of the family.)

Naturally Aunt Alice and Uncle Rodger will be there. They have already enjoyed numerous Christmas lunches put on for the old folk by community groups. He has been busy in the workshop of the retirement village making a little wheelbarrow for me to put a pot plant into and is from all accounts bursting with pleasure with his efforts. I have already purchased a small gardenia to put in it.

I expect he will bring his own cutlery as usual and Aunt Alice will advise anyone within close proximity of the stove how everything should be done.

You will observe from the above, cooking for the family presents its problems.

In other words Christmas will be much the same as last year.

Boxing Day we shall be exhausted and hope to deflate in our chairs to watch the Boxing Day test match…after we have celebrated our son-in-law’s birthday.

Then we do it all again for New Year.

Teddy and I wish you, and all you contact through your programme and in other ways, a time of peace and love and a renewal of our faith in one another.

Kindest wishes and regards, your ‘flower child friend’

Cynthia.