|Castle ruins, by Ann Walsh|
I was brought up in my grandparents' house, which was paradise for a child, but a health and safety nightmare. A few weeks ago, BBC Radio 4 serialised Dodie Smith's "I Capture The Castle", and I laughed with recognition in lots of places. My own childhood home was damp, dingy and draughty, but until I started school and visited the lovely new houses lived in by other children, I didn't know any better.
For a child, my old home ticked all the fairy-tale boxes, especially at Christmas. An enormous, real fir tree would be set up, tall enough to nearly touch the ceiling in the largest room. Every picture in the house had sprigs of holly and ivy perched on top. One year, my father relived his own youth by showing me how to make table decorations, and garlands of evergreens to swag up the bannisters. Bright with holly berries and variegated foliage they all looked lovely, but were so prickly, they didn't mix well with party balloons!
I remember my childhood Christmases as brightly lit and very hot, because there were always so many visitors. We'd be crammed into whichever room had the best fire going. Chairs were drawn up in a semi-circle around the hearth and we'd drink gallons of tea. My grandparents both signed the pledge as children, and the only alcohol in our house was an elderly bottle of Courvoisier VSOP. It gathered dust for 364 days each year, until it was brought out on Stir-Up Sunday to add a wickedly foreign (yet traditional, which made it okay) flavour to the homemade mincemeat, Christmas cake and Christmas puddings. I swear that bottle of brandy never needed replacing, in all the twenty-two Christmases I lived at home!
|By Kris de Curtis|
To keep a satisfying blaze going in an open fireplace, you need a good draught, so while we stuffed ourselves with heroic quantities of mince pies, sausage rolls, cheese scones and Christmas cake, our faces got scorched while the mats (no fitted carpets in those days) rose and flapped in currents of cold air rushing into the room from under the doors.
Once our visitors left, all the lights except those on the tree would be turned off, and we'd sit in the firelight until it was time for bed. Then we ran the gauntlet of draughty hall and freezing bathroom, while down in the kitchen our stone hot water bottles were filled with boiling water and swaddled in yards of cloth, like feverish babies.
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As it's Friday, why not sample some other blogs on the theme of holidays? My fellow Wild Rose Press author, Tena Stetler, is joining in the celebrations on her blog with a piece called Christmas Decorating - Not for the Faint of Heart, while Nancy Reece is writing about Home for the Holidays on her site, and Arianne Cassini's blog is called Three Ways To Beat Holiday Hell With Christmas Cheer.
Why not drop in to each of them, and say Christina sent you? :)
Finally, a prize draw! What are your favourite childhood memories of Christmas? All comments left on this post will be entered in a draw on Friday, 11th December. The winner will receive one copy of each book in the Princes Of Kharova series (His Majesty's Secret Passion, Her Royal Risk and Heart Of A Hostage), so be sure to let me know what you liked best about the festive season when you were little!