Christmas Eve Memories.

Christmas Eve Memories

By Poet and Author Tom Ryan.

I have heard many emigrants declare that Christmas Eve is always remembered by those with a special nostalgia and affection and maybe with a tinge of loneliness for the joys of yesteryear, in the homeland.

I can empathise with them, for I remember one Christmas in London, in the World Cup year of 1966. On that Christmas Eve, I recall passing by many English homes, with their gaily illuminated Christmas trees in the windows and feeling not a little nostalgic for Christmas Eve in Thurles, my hometown and wondering what the craic might be like, ‘a long way to Tipperary’.

One of my most memorable Christmas Eve’s was as a boy of five years, trying desperately and unsuccessfully to keep awake in my bed, beside that open hearth fire and waiting for the embers to die down, so it would be safe for ‘Santy’ to descend with his presents and hoping that I could have a ‘heart to heart’ chat with him.
I tried so hard to keep awake, but ‘Santy‘s’ appearance eluded me, as it continued to do for a couple of other magical years. However, disappointment always gave way to sheer delight the following morning, when I realised, he had brought me the set of trains and tracks, which I had asked for by letter, communicated to that generous giant, dressed in red, residing permanently at the North Pole.
Oh what magic! Oh what joy!

Earlier, on that Christmas Eve, my excited mother had been to the grocer for the messages, and the butcher for a goose or turkey, latter that would tide us over the Christmas period. She traditionally received a nice ‘handsel’ (Latter a gift given at Christmas in gratitude for continued custom and rarely practised today), of an iced, colourfully decorated Christmas cake, from the local corner shop.
My father would have brought me to a pub/grocery premises, where I would have been treated to lashings of lemonade and orange and colourful biscuits. He too, received the ‘handsel’ of a free pint for his continued custom and I, a sixpenny piece or a ‘bob’ (a shilling) for just being a good boy, whatever that meant.

On Christmas Eve, my mother put up the decorations which consisted of holly and ivy and the placing of a candle in our front window, making our home seem, to my brothers and me, a jolly colourful fairyland.
In not so affluent times people in the fowl business contributed to the local Christmas income, by employing “pluckers”, latter employed to remove feathers from soon to be consumed, Christmas turkeys and geese.

Down the town, this Christmas, the older townies from New York, London, Dublin, and from nearer home will be rambling around the streets of their childhood, in quest of old friends, remembering memories of other days spent in the hotels and pubs in the town.
There will be music in the pubs and old melodies like “White Christmas”, which I first heard sung in a local cinema, by Bing Crosby; will be again resurrected. Carol singers in the main street will sing their carols for local charities and our wonderful Christmas lighting, all over the town, will illuminate our streets and our hearts and also the hearts of non-returning emigrants, to whom we will send photographs via social media.

Later, folks will attend midnight Mass to hear the choir sing all the old Christmas favourites, “Joy to the World”; “Oh, Holy Night”; “While shepherds watched their flocks by night” and of course, “Silent Night” which enthrals all age groups. In a hushed and emotional congregation I have known so called “hard men” to be in tears at such a hallowed gathering; though, perhaps, it might have been their first visit to a church for a long time.

Of course Christmas is a time to remember the folks who went before us and the innocence and simplicity of yesteryear. It can be a lonely time for some. But I hold, that the whole message of Christmas is ‘joy to the world’.
Commercialism aside, this is the real Christmas. People say Christmas is now every day, meaning that today everybody has full and plenty all year round. However, I loved Christmas, even when I had not a penny in my pocket and my parents at times not much more. It never stopped us enjoying the ‘Spiorad of Mi Na Nollag’, (Irish – Spirit of December) and on Christmas Eve, as a child, I enjoyed watching all the toys and Annuals in shop windows on Christmas Eve and made fervent wishes and prayed to ‘Santy’ for my heart’s desire. I was always, like so many other children of that time, ecstatic with whatever little gift ‘Santy’ was good enough to bring me on Christmas Eve.
I learned very early one of life’s lessons – ‘there is nothing so wonderful or exciting as looking forward to something’ and that ‘seldom’, is always truly wonderful. Maybe in life, today, ‘much is too little for some’ and ‘much today wants more’.
More is never enough, but the joy of a child on a Christmas Eve, in a happy home, is more magical than anything even ‘Santy’ could bring. In the eyes of a child, Christmas should truly celebrate another Child, latter born in a humble stable two thousand years ago.

“Nollaig fe shean is faoi mhaise dhiobh”, (Irish – Merry Christmas to them), particularly to those who could not make it home to Ireland for Christmas Eve or are in prison or hospital, but who undoubtedly will carry the spirit of all their Christmas thoughts and feelings, deep in their hearts.

Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.