'The joy of Christmas in bygone days… this special time of year brings back happy memories'

Ted Vibert

By Ted Vibert

I HAVE always liked Christmas-time as it brings back so many memories and experiences – and I love seeing the look on the faces of young children when they are being held in the arms of their parents watching the lights going on in town or when they meet Father Christmas and are whispering their special desires for the gift they really want more than anything in the world.

It’s a magical time for them.

This time of the year also makes me think back to my parenting days when we had four little ones – two boys and two girls – all under the age of eight. And even now, 50 years later at this special time of the year, I am reminded of one magical moment, the memory of which has remained with me ever since.

We were living in London back then in the mid-fifties. Our house was a traditional pre-war semi-detached three- bedroomed home in a pleasant tree-lined street. We had a dining room and a lounge and in each room there was a fireplace in which my wife or I would lay up each day with crushed-up newspaper, kindling wood and coal all ready to be fired up later in the afternoon when it got really cold. The chimney from these fires went up though to the bedrooms on that side of the house, which also heated a large airing cupboard.

This chimney played a pivotal role in convincing my children that Father Christmas would come to our house that year and leave them their presents.

My wife and I were facing a crisis. We had arranged to take them all to the local supermarket Christmas Grotto on the Saturday morning just before Christmas Day. However, it snowed heavily and we couldn’t go. My children were very worried that as they hadn’t been able to see Father Christmas to tell him what they wanted they might miss out. And even if he did come, how would he know what they wanted?

So, as Baldrick would say to Blackadder: “I have a cunning plan.”

I’d noticed during some building renovations that a workman upstairs near the airing cupboard could communicate with his mates working downstairs by talking into it. The enclosed space in the chimney amplified the sound and you could hear things quite clearly in the lounge. Perfect for the plot.

We told the little ones that because they hadn’t been able to see Father Christmas, “Daddy has telephoned him” and he was “making a special journey on his trip around the world at four this afternoon and would stop off at our house to talk to them and they could tell him what they wanted for Christmas.”

At 4pm my wife herded them into the lounge and they sat cross-legged in font of the fireplace. Father Christmas came into their lives with a deep “HO HO HO” voice and a whinny from Rudolph, the sound coming down the chimney.

Deep-voice Daddy Christmas asked each one by name to call up the chimney and tell me their name, how old they were and what they wanted in their stocking and they all did so. It was clear that the plot worked perfectly because when I slipped back into the lounge their faces wore that wonderful look of excitement and awe, eyes wide open with excitement as they told me about what I had missed.

So convinced was my youngest daughter, who was four at the time, that when I said my goodbye because “Rudolph and I have to keep going on our journey around the world to look after all the children”, she rushed to the window and was convinced that she saw Father Christmas and Rudolph up in the sky.

I’ve been fortunate to spend Christmases in several different countries and, wherever it has been, the same magic exists in young children’s faces when they see Father Christmas.

At the opposite end of the globe in Australia it’s high summer with temperatures nudging the top 80s. During our first Christmas in Sydney we saw that everyone walked around in shorts and T-shirts and the efforts that the shops make to convince everyone that it is a white Christmas was impressive. Shop windows were full of silver tinsel and cotton wool to imitate ice and snow.

In one large shopping centre a school choir was singing all the traditional carols so loved by all who enjoy Christmas. As newcomers to Oz we were amused when everyone in that choir dressed in the sort of gear they would wear on the beach, gave a spirited version of “In the bleak mid-winter, icy wind may blow. Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone. Snow had fallen, snow on snow. Snow on snow. In the bleak mid-winter, long, long ago” and beads of perspiration from the heat were bursting from their faces.

Many families in Australia spend Christmas on the beach. They’ve given up the lunch of turkey, sprouts, roast spuds and Christmas pud and opted for a lunch of crab, lobster, cold ham and other meats and exotic salads carried to the beach in an ice-cooled “Esky” with appropriate wines and beers kept cold by ice packages bought at any garage passed on the way there.

I can assure you that this experience, combined with surfing with the kids in warm seas where there’s a good wave rolling in every 20 seconds, is as close to heaven as you could get.

Christmas is a time of magic for the young ones. Let’s hope we can keep it that way forever.

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