ON BOXING DAY IN THE MORNING

New Zealand Listener, Volume 2, Issue 29, 12 January 1940, Page 42

ON BOXING DAY IN THE MORNING

by

Ann

Slade

T was three in the morning of Boxing Day and we were all perched on Sheila’s bed at that wide-

awake stage that precedes sheer exhaustion. Sheila’s gold head on the pillow was very bright in the glow of the reading lamp. The rest of us were in shadow. Someone said, "It’s a shame to keep this child awake. Come on $ off to bed, you wretches." But Sheila begged at:once, "O, don’t go. Please don’t go. I’ve been so miserable all day. I’m terribly glad you woke me up." "What did you do with yourself?"

"I had Christmas dinner with a person I loathe, and hated every mouthful." "How beastly," I sympathised, "Let’s all tell the wretchedest of strangest Christmas dinners we’ve had." We’d all crept into our thirties, except young Sheila, and lived in odd holes and corners-*" You begin, Nancy." "Right," she said, and leaned forward into the light. * % » NANCY’S STORY ae was during my trip to see relatives in Ireland. I was due to visit an Uncle in the south and by some mistake there was no one to meet me at the station. It was

night, so the only thing to do was to trudge through snow to the little village which was about a mile away, and put

up at the local pub. "It was all rather eerie and bitterly -cold, but when I got there the place was lit with lamps and candles and a great fire flung its glow on the low ceilings. There appeared to be quite a gathering-mostly men. When I came in they were all in loud argument, but the moment I spoke to the landlord they fell silent and looked me up and down with far from friendly glances. "One of them came forward and spoke to

me and immediately I found myself the subject and centre of furicus debate. Some seemed to. be giants in that uncertain light, and their faces were so fierce and dark I had a job to pretend I wasn’t scared. I really did think they’d set about me. It was only when I said my father was Irish that the excitement seemed to die down, and after a slice of cold chicken I got safely to bed. "In the morning it was all explained to me. It seemed an English paper — the Daily Mail or some such one — had published an article in which a _ theory was put forward that Christ was a hunchback. For days

not only the papers but everything English that came into that village had been torn to little bits and burnt in a great bonfire. My London accent nearly earned me the same fate, and I thanked Heaven for the circumstances of an Irish parent." * * x PADDY’S STORY "c ES, Ireland’s a queer place to get off the beaten track in," said Paddy, "I believe my weirdest Christmas Day was there, too: I was doing all the small villages with a show. "Playboys" and "Playgirls" of course we were called, and every mother’s son for miles around had saved up half a year to come.

"We played on the night of Christmas Day and afterwards we were given a supper in the queerest sort of hall. All the houses were mud and whitewashed, terribly poor-looking but cosy enough inside, with rushes on the earth floors and peat fires glowing. "This hall seemed rather the shape of an attic, with sloping roof’ almost to the floor and rafters. "T had to stay behind to put some *costumes and props away and when I came at last I entered by a wrong door-a few steps leading down instead of up. I found myself in a gloomy cavernous place round which were stacked what looked to be dinghies of every size, "Of course I heard the fun up above me and ran up. But the dinghies puzzled me-we were ever so far from a coast. ‘But what are all the little boats downstairs?’ I inquired. ‘Sure,’ ‘said the local undertaker, ‘They’re

not boats, yer must be thinking, but coffins!’ " % * * "But what did you eat?" someone said. "O, pork, of course," said Paddy, "The best pork and *taties and buttermilk I ever tasted anywhere. Your turn, Susan." * * * SUSAN'S STORY 4 MINE?" laughed Susan. "Mine was in the Rockies. "My sister and I spent six months trailing through America, you know, with an old Ford we bought for £15. We were mad to see a certain canyon where there was a natural bridge. We took the car as far as we could and had to clamber the rest. "It was pretty hard going and we got absolutely ravenous on the way back. We’d been hours without anything and we knew

all we had left ‘in the car was a huge iced cake my Aunt had presented us with three days before. My birthday’s on Christmas Day, you know. This was for both. "Well, we'd left it in an old fibre suitcase on the back seat and I tell you we couldn’t get to it quick enough. I think we actually ran those last few yards. "When we opened the car door I don’t know if we were more scared or furious at what we saw. The opposite window was smashed in, the suitcase broken and torn to pieces and there, sitting in all the confusion, was a great brown bear pushing the last of our cake into his mouth, "We just shouted in his face and told him exactly what we thought of him and he fell through the window and lopped off into the woods with the last of our Christmas feast still sticking to his fur." ANN’S STORY €CT F it’s a matter of food," I said, "I suppose my most miserable Christmas was a_ boiled egg-alone, and perched high in a London Square in a bare room without another penny for the gas. "But I wasn’t the only miserable wretch and it turned out a lovely day in the end. An English writer who was well known and really far from poor lived round the corner. My telephone bell rang. "O, please come and see me. Come now," said the voice at the other end. "Coming," I cried, and hung up. "Whatever's the matter?" I said, when I got there. "Everything," he said, "It’s Christmas Day and I’ve just had the most melancholy Christmas Dinner."

"So have I," I said self-pityingly, "What did you have?" "A boiled egg," he replied. * %* * LAURIE’S STORY AURIE looked up, and laughed. "I had a boiled egg once," she said, "Or rather-I didn’t. And it wasn’t in London, it was in Australia," she added. "T was rooming with a friend but she’d left to take a job. Everyone seemed to have gone. I was apparently the only one in that beastly gloomy house. It was Christmas Eve. And then someone rang to také me to a show. It was "Carter the Great." Do you remember him? I think he came here tpo.

"T don’t know if I was just miserable or whether the show was too grim. Anyhow, when I let myself into my room somewhere about midnight the first thing I saw--I’m still positive I saw it, sure and certain-was a frightful thing hanging from my light in the middle of the ceiling. It looked like some kind of rat or bat or something. Anyhow it was terrifying, with long hairy legs and claws and just hanging there upside down, and I turned and fled, ° "TI remembered that my friend Rona on the floor above never left her door locked even when she was away, so I fled upstairs and without attempting to undress or ttrn.on the light flung myself into her bed. I was instantly frozen with horror to find myself beside, not Rona but the old landlord-an old Swede, filthy dirty, dressed and obviously drunk. "TI spent a perfectly vile night on a settee in the fusty sitting room. "TI must have been pretty exhausted because I slept rather late and crept back through that dead, silent house to my room. There was no sign of the apparition on the lightshade. I was just too miserable to go out. I curled up and tried to read. "Somewhere about noon a tap came to my door. It was the landlord. He stood there and looked at me through bleared and drink-stupid eyes. "I jus’ come to see..." he muttered, "shall I boil you an egg?" "No," I answered, and locked the door, * i e "Ooo," said Sheila, suddenly, "I’m going to sleep. See you to-morrow," and she pulled the clothes over her head.