"Dreams - Really Do Come True" - A Book By Gordon Beard

Christmas

As Christmas approached that year, I watched my dad come in after dark with the six-foot tall top of a fir tree, carefully selected from the local wood, Callas. My mother had a galvanized bucket filled with soil from the garden ready and they planted the tree together.

Soon the branches were bedecked with tinsel and, on the end of each branch, a tiny metal candlestick was attached with a miniature brightlycoloured candle inserted into each. As days went by and spare cash was saved, the branches were covered with chocolate Father Christmases, wrapped in silver paper, and pink and white candy mice - a great treat! -suspended by their string tails. Much to our delight, little packages gradually appeared with name tags on which I proudly read out to my baby sister Madge. What made it so exciting for us was the fact that these items were always added after our bedtime, so, each day, we would rush down to see what new item had appeared. Shortly before Christmas my mother approached the head teacher Miss Caroll (wonderfully named for Christmas) at the nearby Church of England school and made arrangements for me to start on a temporary basis, (mornings only) from January till March. If satisfactory, I would be able to attend full time after my 4th birthday on 17th. This was a very exceptional case as only in a few instances had children been accepted at four and a half years of age.

I was duly invited to attend the special Christmas party at the school and soon made an impression on my infant teacher, Miss Bacon, by firing impertinent questions at her. “Why have you written 1927 on the Blackboard when it is still 1926?” I asked. “That is in preparation for next term, Gordon,” she replied, with barely concealed laughter at my impertinence.

About six to eight weeks before Christmas, in the evenings, mother would get out all the necessary cooking ingredients, the mixing bowl and the large wooden spoon and, watched by six excited children, begin to make the Christmas puddings. This was all part of the joy of the celebrations. Marks and Spencer did not sell them ready made just yet and few would have been able to afford them even if they had, nor would they have wanted to forfeit the ritual. Out would come the flour, currants and raisins; the peel which one privileged child would be allowed to grate, the glazed cherries, the cooking apples and almonds, the eggs, well-beaten with a fork and the traditional pint of “Old beer” sold at the pub especially for this purpose. Then, finally, the children’s faces lit up, as out would come the hoard of silver three penny pieces that had been washed and stored away from the previous year. Each child was given the privilege of tossing one into the mixture with their eyes closed, making a wish as they did so. Then each child’s hand would clasp the wooden spoon and stir, as they wondered: do wishes ever really come true?

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