We moved from Killarney to St. James back in the fall of 1957, when I was but a tender lad of nine.
I was not happy to leave my beautiful little town of Killarney, where all my friends lived, to reside in the big awful scary city (like Oliver going to London), but it didn’t turn out nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be.
Really missed that lake though...
Christmas was huge for us. My dad particularly loved hunting for just the right tree — it had to be perfectly balanced with no branches missing, so he could meticulously decorate it with family help, coaching all the while on how to hang that tinsel just right.
While writing today’s column, doing a brain search for interesting memories of Christmases past to share with you, I came to a sudden and somewhat surprising revelation: I can’t recall even one of the Christmas gifts I received during all the years we lived there. I have loads of Christmas memories, yes, but none of the gifts received.
I think I’m correct in recalling that when I was a little kid in Killarney, at least two gifts come to mind.
One was a big red fire truck I really wanted, and the other was a Roy Rogers gun and holster set (double, and cap guns at that), which I was absolutely thrilled with.
I got into a bit of trouble with those guns later that summer when I clonked Marilyn Lyons on the head with one of them. Self defence, I swear. I mean, it worked for Roy. No, that didn’t turn out well, and I have no doubt she is still plotting revenge.
The strongest memories from back then are the family gatherings; the big dinners, always a big treat, my brother Bob coming home for Christmas. Then, there’s that memory when Bob had moved back home for a bit, and on Christmas Day, he allowed me to take his 1959 Buick Invicta convertible (white with a red interior) down Douglas Park Road and back — alone (I was probably around 15) — and while turning back into our lane, I rubbed the whole side of it down the bumper of a parked car. Bob was fine with it. I still shudder.
Another strong Christmas memory is our family going across the back lane for our neighbours’ (the Baileys) annual Christmas gathering, where I first, reluctantly, tasted both black olives and smoked oysters. Gah!
Also highly memorable — this from Christmas dinner at home — was grabbing the largest turkey drumstick I could find and taking it to my room to share with my drooly Cocker Spaniel, Skippy. We’d alternate bites until it was gone. Man, was he happy!
My dad had a Christmas tradition that perhaps some of you share, or might want to add to your repertoire. He did not like winter. He loved summer and greenery. As soon as people threw their Christmas trees out, he would go gather as many as possible and freeze them standing in rows between the house and garage so when he looked out the kitchen window, he’d see a forest of green instead of frozen tundra.
Gotta admit, it was pretty. Gave Skippy lots of trees to pee on. A win-win all around.
No question, gifts are nice — and much appreciated — but it was the people, fun, food and love that made those Christmases so memorable. Or... maybe all I got was socks and underwear and who’d want to remember that?
Sincere best wishes for a loving, memorable Christmas to you and yours!
Yes, even you, Marilyn Lyons.
Comments or feedback, love to hear from you!
lmustard1948@gmail.com
