We asked readers to share memories of Christmases past. Here are some of the submissions.
Yes, the goalie gear was under the tree
This year, my lovely wife Rose gave me a large framed reproduction of a photograph (which I have attached) of me as a 10-year-old with my first set of goal equipment. One of sisters found the original while going through a bunch of our late Mum鈥檚 photographs.
It was the winter of 1959-60 in Saskatchewan. I decided that I wanted to be a hockey goalie, much to my Mum鈥檚 chagrin as she was afraid I would get my teeth knocked out by an errant puck (fortunately goal masks were becoming popular).
Christmas was coming and I asked for goal equipment for Christmas. The Christmas tree was up and decorated by early December and gifts were added slowly around the tree.
I kept checking to see if any gifts for me were large enough to contain goal pads. As Christmas grew closer I began to worry that goal equipment was not going to happen.
I asked my Mum and Dad if there was still a chance to which they both responded that the goal equipment was under the tree! I checked again and again and came to the conclusion that they were pulling my leg.
Christmas morning came and there was a mountain of gifts for everyone including my very first set of goal pads and a chest protector.
They had been under the tree the whole time, however under the tree had meant that my Dad and Mum had actually hidden them in a small crawlspace that was under that part of the living room where the Christmas tree stood.
Stephen Reichardt
Victoria
Seventy-five years ago, Christmas in wartime
Although it is more than 75 years ago, it was a Christmas I shall never forget.
The war had been raging for more than three years and so many of our cities in the U.K. were ravaged or almost totally destroyed.
It was, I think, the Christmas of 1942. I was part of the women鈥檚 team of an anti-aircraft battery stationed on the north coast. That particular morning, which just happened to be Christmas Day, we were roused from our beds well before dawn, fed a hasty breakfast and with our packed gear, were loaded into trucks.
Our Orderly Sergeant came round with a paper bag which he handed to each of us with a stern warning, 鈥淒on鈥檛 eat that now, that鈥檚 your Christmas dinner!鈥�
Inside, a doorstep-sized cheese sandwich and a block of bread pudding. Bread pudding by army standards was made when enough stale bread, left over and rejected by the troops, was gathered up, the mold cut off, and the remainder soaked over night.
In the morning it was drained, mashed and mixed with dried eggs, dried milk, any sweetener available, and if we were very lucky, some dried fruit, then baked into a solid block. Such a treat!
Into the trucks, towing our mobile guns behind us, we were off to bolster the defences of another battered city.
Once there, we drove past the rubble of houses destroyed in the previous night鈥檚 bombing. Any spark of Christmas spirit that we had tried to fan seemed to disappear when we noticed small Christmas trees with hand-made decorations lying in the road, blown out of the bomb-damaged homes.
But even at that low point, as we passed people, exhausted 鈥� and now homeless, still, they gave us a 鈥榯humbs up鈥� or made the 鈥淰鈥� for victory sign and we knew that they would not be beaten 鈥� that hope lived in them.
Luckily on that Christmas night, few bombs were dropped and though we stood by, we were not in any real action. Our brown-bag dinner was eaten in the dark, bitter cold. Christmas came a little late that year.
Barbara Fosdick
Victoria
Fond memories of the turkey, Phillip
It was 1944 in England, and food was rationed and meat especially hard to come by.
We had always eaten a turkey for Christmas, but knowing this would be difficult to obtain in December, we, that is my mother, stepfather and grandparents decided in late summer to purchase a live one and keep it til鈥� Christmas.
We built a pen, that is the men did, as I was only 10, in our fairly large back garden, picked up our live young turkey which we named 鈥淧hillip,鈥� whose famous namesake is still alive to this day, and started to feed it on a daily basis.
We all became quite fond of Phillip so, as Christmas approached, it was time to dispatch our Phillip which none of the family could do to a pet!
Living in Surbiton, Surrey, not exactly the countryside, I think it was my stepfather who took Phillip to our butcher who did the dastardly deed.
My grandmother cooked Phillip and presented him on the festive dining room table as we all tearfully eyed our potential meal which none of us felt like eating.
Hunger eventually won out and over the next few days our Christmas turkey was consumed but not with- out some regrets, a few tears and a sad goodbye.
Antony Merry
Sidney
New baby makes Christmas different
Christmas 1973 and our first Christmas with a new baby. We were invited to my sister-in-laws not far from our Langley home. Mary was an excellent cook and often served large dinners. She made it all look so effortless.
This Christmas we came and our small baby was asleep. I put her in her cot in the master bedroom.
Mary鈥檚 son was about five at the time. He was told not to wake the baby. Sure enough as we sat down to have dinner, she started crying and out came Raymond, Mary鈥檚 young son.
鈥淚 was just touching her to see if she was sleeping,鈥� he said! We brought the baby to the table and took turns holding her as dinner progressed.
It was Mary鈥檚 usual excellent dinner of roasted goose and all the trimmings. My brother-in-law, always the jokester, said 鈥渨atch out for the buckshot, Joanne, Mary shot this one!鈥�
We enjoyed that Christmas being with a family that already had four sons and thought nothing of a new baby and the newly fussing parents!
Joanne Enns
Pender Island
No Santy Claus? You must be mistaken
Having no family to share Christmas with in Victoria, we used to invite others who were also alone, for dinner on Dec 25. About 20 years ago, we shared turkey and the trimmings with 12 friends 鈥� the eldest was 102, the youngest a four-year-old boy. The little fellow arrived with his parents, and a truck he had received from Santa.
As we recalled past celebrations during dinner, I asked our oldest guest to tell us about Christmas in Saskatchewan. She told us of life on the farm, the daily chores, the father who was fighting in the First World War, and that Christmas was a very quiet day with none of the extravagance we now know. And then she announced: 鈥淔irst of all, there ain鈥檛 no Santy Claus.鈥�
Fortunately, our little friend had left the table to play with his truck, and didn鈥檛 hear her comment. The rest of us just smiled. And carried on with dessert, and more stories. We all knew she was wrong, of course.
The memory is special because three of those old friends are now gone. And of course this year, those old stories are even more special.
Judith Hodgson
Victoria
The Robot B-9 Christmas tree
The silver aluminum branches and needles sparkled against the darkness of our living room window. Round and round the three-foot artificial Christmas tree revolved on a base made of an upside-down operating room light fixture sprayed liberally with fake snow.
To conceal the constant grinding of the small motor gears hidden beneath the base, Percy Faith鈥檚 Christmas album Christmas Is played on repeat day and night. The lights and motor control for the tree was a rudimentary toggle switch that allowed us to turn the tree and lights off or on and spin in either direction.
This was the very memorable Christmas of 1966 鈥� the year that my father created our one-of-a-kind, unique rotating artificial Christmas tree display. It was also the beginning of my extended families鈥� annual ribbing about the tree. My brat boy cousins who ranged in age from four to 14 named our tree 鈥淩obot B-9鈥� after the popular tv series robot in Lost in Space.
While the adults teased my dad for his futuristic seasonal display and the older kids mocked the straggly silver confection, as a small child, I was beyond mesmerized and delighted. I sat for hours watching the lights, deco- rations and artificial icicles rotate in Christmas wonder. I knew of no one who had an artificial tree at the time and especially no one who had one that rotated. Robot tree or not, the ingenuity of my dad and his imaginative creation made my childhood Christmases not to be forgotten.
Lynda Weller
Nanaimo
A Christmas quarantine in 1947
We were a family of six in Kirkland Lake, Ont. in 1947: My mother and father, myself, age 10, my brother Mar- tin, 14, and the seven-year-old twins Patricia (Pat) and Robert (Bob).
Early in November Pat came down with scarlet fever. At that time when contagious illness like scarlet fever occurred, the family was quarantined for 21 days.
No one could visit or leave the home, except our father who could continue his employment with the telephone company. They placed a very large red sign on our front door indicating the home was under quarantine.
Our mother was nine months pregnant and had to leave the home and live with an aunt. Baby Douglas was born on Nov. 24.
A few weeks after Pat became ill, each of us was infected. a few weeks after the other. Bob was infected, then me and then Martin.
We were quarantined from early November until after Christmas.
Our grandmother came to look after us. She was crippled and in a wheelchair, a more remarkable and wonderful person we could not have asked for and managed the household while our dad was at work.
Dad worked extra hard and I think as much overtime as he could get to enable him to provide us with one of the best Christmases we could have imagined. We think he was able to find the closest gift that each of us had asked for and of course we had a new baby brother. The new baby and our Mom were able to return home.
We all felt we had a very special Christmas. Fortunately none of us appeared to suffer any serious after affects of scarlet fever. It was a Christmas we all remember very well, and this year with COVID-19 made me think of many in similar situations.
Carl Bolger
Saanichton
