CHRISTMAS DINNER

Wairarapa Times-Age, 31 December 1938, Page 7

CHRISTMAS DINNER

EVENT OF GREAT IMPORTANCE IN PAST YEARS

ENJOYING THE FEAST.

BIG FAMILY pATHERINGS

It is out-of-fashion, the real Christmas dinner of which I am thinking; the kind that the family gathering sat down to when I was a little boy, writes W. Teignmouth-Shore. Grandpa was at the head, and grandma, in lace cap, huge cameo brooch, ' and other things appropriate, at the foot of the long table. Along the sides, fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters, cousins mostly grown-up, 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 in the end I came to believe that I really did not care for it. Then a huge flat fish upon a huge flat dish was set befbre grandpa. Carving in those dark ages was done upon the table by the host, except in very select circles. Tiirbot —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 brown bow on her head, who was only a little less than 1 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 the time grandpa had served the last helping, mine, the first one served had nearly done with her “little lot.” My allotment always seemed meagre to me, but I consoled myself with the joy approaching —pudding! THREE HELPINGS OF PUDDING. A huge pudding, snowed with sugar;’ bristling with white almonds — top-knotted with a sprig of berried holly; surrounded by blue blazes! Grandma carried 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.” 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 I 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 was 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. WINES AND TOASTING.

Then climax! Dessert! Oranges, grapes, 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 the dessert was always the happiest time of the banquet, and I filled myself to the full. And—l sipped my half-glass of port wine with the solemnity of a connoisseur! 'ls any other wine so delicious as that of youth? None. Maturity dims its glow and dulls its sparkle.

Wines! Sherry at the commencement; port and madeira 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, telling the tale at which all had often laughed before and concluding with the old toast, “May you never have a pain that champagne will not cure!”