Our Christmas began with the arrival of the food hamper, mother had paid for throughout the year. It always contained weird and wonderful things, all treats. A day set aside for making ceiling decorations with sticky back shiny paper, the tree decorated, a cheer when the lights worked.
Christmas eve building up the excitement, the chicken cooking ready for sandwiches after midnight mass at our local church, the highlight for me, all the hymns we all knew by heart. So sandwiches, and bed straight after with our hot water bottles.
Waking to our stockings, mother’s old ones, filled with sweets, fruit, nuts, crayons, all manner of trinkets. Breakfast never needed. Best clothes on, off we went to morning service.
Once home, presents to open, exciting new toys and toiletries, pretty peach creams and bath salts.
Lunch a grand affair, the table decorated, more food than we could eat and damson wine in an eggcup. We felt so grown up even though I never enjoyed it. Washing up done, everyone collected in the living room by a roaring fire, parents to snooze, we children to play quietly with new toys.
Teatime was tinned ham and salad, tinned fruit, trifle and condensed milk,
Christmas cake taking pride of place. The television would be switched on to watch the pantomime followed by Billy Cotton show. I still remember we all joined in with Wakey Wakey, and the Morecombe and Wise show. Chestnuts roasting under the fire basket, a sneaky grab of the liqueur chocolates.
Finally exhausted off to bed with our trusty hot water bottles, what memories of a Christmas in Wales
