SIMPLE AND JOLLY

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 76, Issue 303, 23 December 1933, Page 7 (Supplement)

SIMPLE AND JOLLY

OLD-TIME CHRISTMAS RITUAL OF DINNER. It is of the out-of-fashion, the real Christmas dinner of which I. am thinking; the kind that the family gathering sat down to when 1 was a little boy, writes W. Teignmouth Shore. Grandpa was at the head, and grandma, in lace cap, huge camcu Arooch and f other things appropriate, at the foot of the long table. Along the sides, fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters, cousins; mostly grown-ups, but leavened with youngsters. The feast began with soup; turtle, real or mock. I said that I did not like soup, because I knew that I was not going to be given any out of the stupendous tureen that stood before grandpa. I said this so many times that itt the end J came to believe that I really did not care for it. Turbot and Boiled Turkey. Then a huge flat fish upon a huge flat dish was set before grandpa. Carving in those dark ages was done upon the table by the host, except in very select circles. Turbot—of which a minute portion came my way’, with none of the tender white skin; but I was told severely that lobster sauce was not good for little boys. Oh, how I longed to be a big boy. They laughed when I said that I wished I was a girl, this remark being inspired by the aggravating fact that a girl cousin, in a very' big sash and with a big bow on her head, who was only a little less little than I was, received a small blob of sauce. She was offensively priggish; ignored me with a superior grin. I loathed her. Then turkey time. Boiled bird, we being Irish.. With Brussels sprouts, swamped in melted butter; floury boiled potatoes; celery sauce; a. boiled ham. By thc time grandpa had served the last helping, mine, the first one served, had nearly’ done with her “little lot.” Aly allotment always seemed meagre to me, hut I consoled myself with thc joy approaching—pudding! A huge pudding, snowed with sugar; bristling with white almonds; topknotted with a sprig of berried holly; surrounded by blue blazes! Grandma carved it. I did not wonder then, though I do now. that anyone had any room left for pudding. Some of them even had room for a second “go.” I had always an aching, anxious void; but second helping was “not good for little boys. ’’ The Checked Appetite. I can still taste in memory the fine fare of long ago. It is one of the ironies of my life that, when I had an appetite, “Hold, enough” was said to me, when I knew well that I did not hold enough. Aly appetite for pudding has grown small now when there is none to say ‘ ‘ No! ” Last Christmas I watched a small boy putting away three helpings of pudding. Happy lad! I knew’ that his pudding was not as good as that of which I was stinted when 1 was young. But he did not know that; ignorance was his bliss The pudding was not the only sweet. There was always an apple pie, to be eaten with hot custard. There was always a well-wined jelly. There were always creamed meringues, of which I was allowed a mere one. The. vinous jelly was denied me. How little did those grown-ups know of the agony they inflicted upon a boy so easily to be pleased. Then climax! Dessert! Oranges, grapc-s, apples, nuts, almonds and raisins, candied fruits! By this time the vigilance of the elders was somewhat blunted. I had not to ask for what I desired; I just took it, plucked the unforbidden fruits. To me thc dessert was always the happiest time of the banquet, and I filled myself to thc full. And—l sipped my half-glass of port wine with the solemnity of a connoisseur! Is any other wino so delicious as that of youth? None. Alaturity dims its glow and dulls its sparkle. Wines! Sherry at the commencement; port and niadeira at the close of the good old Christmas dinner. In between, claret and champagne. Finale; the oldest uncle proposed the health of grandma and grandpa, using the wonted terms. Grandpa responded, tolling the tale at which all had often laughed before and concluding with the old toast, “Alay you never have a pain that champagne will not cure!” They were simple days, those; and simple ways. But how jolly they were? Putting It Right. “What did my father say when you told him you were going to take me away from him this Christmas?” “He seemed to feel his loss keenlv at first, but I squared things with w good cigar.” Golfer (to wife): “If you don’t stop chattering while I am playing, you will drive me clean out of my mind.” Wife: “That wouldn’t be a drive; it would only be a short putt! ”