Due to the impending Christmas Season and by popular demand from my readers I have decided to give our inept provincial government a rest. Believe me this is a huge sacrifice on my part, but what the heck! its Christmas.
Yesterday I talked about my school years and the romance of young lovers. Today I’m taking you back to Christmas morning in 1947. I was seven years old and truly believe in Father Christmas (Santa to you Colonials). My mother died when I was a baby and I was living in the care of my eldest sister and husband in the little town of Beaminister, (bet you thought I was going to say Bethlehem) which is located in Wiltshire, England. On Christmas Eve I hung my stocking at the foot of my bed, was tucked in and soon fast asleep. For me it was the most exciting time of year. Our little farm cottage was decorated with streamers and a tree. The mantle piece festooned with Christmas cards. But no sign of presents under the tree, well there wouldn’t be would there? at least not until Father Christmas came down the chimney later that night.
On Christmas morning I awoke in the early dawn, in the dim light I could just see my bulging stocking at the foot of my bed. However, the rule was no presents to be opened until everyone was up. I could have hurt myself possible burst a blood vessel before that happened. How could anyone expect a little boy to go back to sleep, to not touch his stocking. Who could wait for what would surely be an eternity before daylight and Christmas day began. That’s when I came up with an amazing idea. While I waited for morning to arrive I could at least look at the presents in my stocking, I wouldn’t open anything just squeeze the parcels and try to guess what they were. Then I could put everything back in the stocking and no one would be the wiser. The plan was foolproof, right? wrong. With the contents spread out on my bed I saw all the usual things that were never wrapped, an orange, a new penny, crayons, a pencil and a ruler. Not the most exciting of items, they were for school. I squeezed a few packages but couldn’t guess what was in them. As I was carefully repacking my stocking I hit a serious snag. Amongst the gifts was a Mars Bar. Today that might not strike one as a great temptation, but in1947 chocolates and sweets were still rationed from the war years. In my world, chocolate was extremely rare to non-existent. To this point in my life I couldn’t recall ever having a whole chocolate bar all to myself. Could I possible wait until everyone got up before I eat it. No of course not it was an impossible ask of a wee boy. But then I hit on another foolproof plan!! No one actually knew I had a Mars Bar, Father Christmas had left it for me. Neither my sister or her husband could possibly know what was in my stocking. I could eat the bar and it would never be missed. I ate it then carefully hid the paper wrap. You can probably guess in some strange and mysterious way my sister knew and asked about the missing bar. It would be a few more years before I fully understood why my plan had failed.
Foot note- No I didn’t get into trouble, something to do with my child like faith in what adults told me!!!! Worth thinking about Eh?
Did I lie? or did I lie because they lied??????
God less and keep reading.
irishroversbooks.wordpress.com 