Remember Christmas
I remember Christmases so many years ago when as a young child the excitement of it all was almost too much to bear. I remember simpler times when milk came in billy cans, a small tin with a handle used originally to boil water and make tea, as well as for the milkman to pour your share of milk from the urns, so one could carry it back up to the homestead. I remember the smells from the kitchen early in the mornings; a mixture of cooking food, burning wood and the aroma of kerosene from the lamps used for lighting. I remember the ruggedness of the country; it made kids stronger of heart and soul and perhaps shaped the mind just a little. Some would perhaps say not for the better but I still believe the values from my childhood, as harsh as they may have been, did more for me than today. I remember arising at 4.30am to go into the fields looking for mushrooms, the strong smell of cowpats one had to dodge while doing so in the half-light of dawn.
I remember the crispness of the smells in the air, almost burning the inside of the lungs with its freshness, the imagination that ran wild in every corner of the mind. The magnificence of the enormity of all things around me like trees that seemed to reach forever up to the sky, distance that went on forever to the horizon and what was over that horizon, the possibilities while a little scary seemed endless to a child. The sanctity of the rivers, bays and inlets where one would dream of pirate days gone by and conquest of riches and adventures so vivid one felt like you were actually living them. I remember while very young being at a small farm and witnessing the birth of a calf; what a wonder, a site to behold for one so young such as I. The sites and sounds of a farmyard are a constant distraction to any child. I remember later on another farm the awful yet strange sensation of, having put milk on my hand feeling the suction of a calves mouth and tongue, particularly the roughness of the tongue.
I remember an added Australian flavour was that we always left a bottle of beer for the milkman and dustman to make sure they took great care of our needs in the coming New Year. They must have been very lucky people in those days to collect so much beer over Christmas… I remember sometimes the vastness of the food for just one day and others time perhaps a little leaner than the years before, but oh what a collection. Ham, turkey, chicken, various sauces and asparagus spears, the aromas all mingling and tantalising the senses. The Christmas mix lollies and the nuts of all kinds; it was like a wonderland of benevolence all on this one memorable day of the year. I remember the decorations all over the room from wall to wall, some sparkling some just plain colours, but oh what beauty they portrayed and always in a corner somewhere, the star the Christmas tree. A symbol of so many things and I remember it being in many shapes and types sometimes it would be a real tree, others a plastic version, but always the decorations would turn out different each year. Sometimes a faerie would hold pride of place atop the tree, other times a star, and in later years of course along came a variety of lights of varying degrees of abilities to flash or not and to be clear or of colour, what marvels did these visions stir in such young minds and dare I say such old minds as ours today.
I remember times when learning the lessons of life that my mother would tell me of either my father or herself having gone without something in order that we children might enjoy a small extra something on Christmas morning. I remember Christmas cake, mince pies, steaming hot Christmas puddings with cream or ice cream and always the hidden silver coins, the excitement of the magic discovery of the hidden fortunes, the simplicity of how it ever got inside the pudding in the first place.
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