Christmas thoughts, Puddings and the people we miss.
5.12.2013
I read this post the other day which caused me to reflect on Christmas and how lucky I am. “Countless people for many reasons do not have anyone to spend the festive season with, being alone without what most of us take for granted, family, love, gifts and food.” I have only been away from family and friends at Christmas time on a few occasions, though I could ring everyone it was a very different space to be in, making it merely another day. Like many of today’s societal ills homelessness, poverty and unemployment, there is only so much government will do, there is an expectation on agencies such as the Red Cross, the Salvation Army and the community in general to help ease the burden faced by families and individuals who are enduring these moments in their lives. These supports are always stretched to capacity, how can we help? In many instances, we could just care, do we know someone who will be on their own; could we make room for them at our table? Thoughts to ponder really!
Christmas for me has always been about family, with my folks having eighteen siblings between them it was frequently a packed house wherever you went. My favorite was Christmas at my maternal grandmothers, with my many Uncles, Aunts and cousins, the preparations would commence many weeks ahead with my Nan, making Christmas puddings in October or November she would then hang them on the verandah where inevitably one or more of us would bang their head on a swinging pudding, funnily enough this collision though often causing a lump on someone’s head it did not hamper the taste. Of course the pudding would contain plenty of threepences, sixpences and shillings, but only one two bob. Even if you were full to bursting you would still fit in extra pudding there was always some kudos for the person with the most money.
Funny how I jumped to the best bit first! The whole day was a moving feast. We had assorted nuts in shells, accompanied of course by all manner of drinks including beer from a keg, the opening of the keg was a ritual in its own right. Once you heard the piercing squeal of the spear entering the keg the celebrations had commenced. Everyone pitched in to get lunch to the table, mainly because once the keg was opened the kitchen slowed down, my Nan loved a draft beer or three. An array of hot and cold meats, roast and steamed vegetables with accompanying gravies and sauces were ready about one o’clock, Nan said grace and we all tucked in even when cooking for forty plus there was always plenty to go around and oft times way too much. Once the dishes were cleared and washed before anyone could collapse on one of the many beds around the house and veranda, we would sit and gasp as the best part of the meal appeared. Nana would carry several hot steaming puddings in on a tray remove the cloths turn them onto a plate then with great theatre pour brandy onto each of them and set them alight. As children, we oohed and aahed at the purple and blue flames mouths watering for our slice of pudding and brandy custard. Well custard anyway the brandy custard never made it to the kids' table. It was not until I got older that I noticed when Nan poured the brandy on the puddings she firstly put it into a glass, then poured, ensuring there was always a wee drop in the bottom for her. As Nan aged, Christmas and its traditions moved to one or other of her children’s homes. When she passed away at eighty four, we still gathered, albeit in smaller groups. Even now, the traditions I knew growing up continue within my family, it would be nice to think they carry on in the lives of our children and their families.
I was lucky to have a father who valued family, Christmas and its traditions as much a Nan. Though we moved away from the hot meal to salads there were still all the trappings that go with the festive celebrations. Saying grace moved from Nan to Dad then to me, it always makes me proud as I say thanks for what we have and for those who gave us the gifts of tradition, memories and most of all love.