Chapter 21

Father Christmas had been to our house by the time I woke up just before seven o'clock on Christmas morning; there was a bulging pillowcase at the bottom of my bed that hadn't been there when I went to bed. I hadn't heard him creep in, so I knew that I must have gone off into a deep sleep fairly quickly.

I went to the bathroom for a pee and to brush my teeth, and then went to see if Jen was awake. She wasn't, but a very gentle kiss on her lips quickly rectified that situation.

"Happy Christmas, Jen, darling!"

"Happy Christmas, darling Jon!"

Well, that was worth another rather longer Christmas kiss. And another.

A few minutes later, we had both put our dressing gowns on, and were downstairs making a pot of tea in the kitchen.

The gentle hiss of gas in the oven told us that Mum had already been down to put the turkey on; a fourteen-pound bird with another two pounds of forcemeat stuffing was going to need a good five hours moderate cooking. And Grandpa Shaw liked his Christmas dinner on the table at one o'clock prompt, so that he wouldn't have to rush his lunch before listening to the Queen's Speech at three o'clock.

Jen took the tray of mugs into our parents' bedroom, and I went and got our pillow cases from our rooms. Every Christmas that I could remember, we had climbed into their bed to show them what Father Christmas had brought us. Normally it was Dad who then got us back into bed while Mum tried to sleep until she really had to get up, but as it was now a reasonable hour, we felt no compunction in making conversation as we showed them what we had received.

We reminded them that it used to be three or four o'clock in the morning when we charged into their bedroom shouting 'He's been! He's been!', and they agreed that seven was a much more civilised time. They also appreciated us making them a cup of tea!

Father Christmas always brought us useful things; but he padded the pillow case out with treats like half a dozen satsumas, a Terry's Chocolate Orange, a bag of monkey nuts and a small bag of assorted toffees. I received a pack of St. Michael underpants and another pack of socks from Marks and Spencers, Jen got knickers and socks, and we both also had a catering box of a thousand teabags and a colourful teamug. We thought that we had done rather well, and said so.

Jen pointed out to Dad that Father Christmas had accidentally left the price on the teabags, and that he seemed to use the same Cash and Carry store that Dad had a card for.

"Have you ever seen him shopping there?"

"I don't think so, but I have to admit that there are sometimes a few customers who look a bit like Elves in mufti, they're small and difficult, with sharp elbows and loud voices. Anyway, it proves that he's a careful shopper if he goes to the Cash and Carry."

We laughed. We'd never told Dad that we had heard from people at school that Father Christmas didn't exist; when at the tender age of twelve we had asked Mum if the rumour was true, she said that Dad did still believe in him, and it would upset Dad if we let on that he wasn't real.

Mum finished her tea and had first go in the bathroom; by the time the rest of us got downstairs there was a pork pie on the table to go with our toast. Mum's parents always had the tradition of eating pork pie for breakfast on Christmas morning, and she kept it going.

Then we quickly finished dressing, put on our hats and coats and went off to Church for the Christmas morning early service; it was always a quick service of three carols and a couple of readings, and then everyone headed back home to get their Christmas Dinner underway. The Vicar was also keen to get back to the Rectory for a cup of tea and a sandwich break before having to do the eleven o'clock Communion service.

The previous year, our parents had taken us to the midnight church service because we had begged them to do so; we had found to our horror that not only was it a full service PLUS Holy Communion, but there were so many people there queuing for Communion that we didn't get home until two o'clock. There was also a definite smell of beer and cigarettes in the air; quite a high proportion of the congregation appeared to have come straight from the pub...

No wonder the Vicar didn't quite look forward to Christmas Day in the same way that we did - he spent a good six hours of it in Church!

Dad and Jen went to fetch our grandparents after we got back from Church; Dad's parents lived close to the centre of town and had never bothered owning a car, and Mum's father, Grandpa Shaw, was now getting too old and frail to drive. He had been gassed on the Western Front in 1918 and was always getting chest problems, and at 76 years of age he was finding it difficult to walk very far.

It was always good to see our grandparents; they had brought their children up quite strictly, but were unfailingly kind and generous to us, if still a little old-fashioned. They always insisted on using our full names, and we had to be careful not to let the odd bad word slip out - even 'blast', 'damn' and 'bloody' would cause us to be on the receiving end of a lecture about our manners!

Jen and I helped Grandpa Shaw into the house and got him out of his topcoat, and then we chatted to them in the living room while Dad collected his own parents.

We all had a glass of sherry together before Mum called us through to the dining room; the table was set for eight, and she had ignored the usual male / female seating rule in favour of putting me between our grandmothers on one side, and Jen between the two grandfathers on the other. As Grandma Baker pointed out, it was very definitely a case of 'a rose seated between two thorns'.

Jen purred at the compliment, but Grandma then blew it by asking why a beautiful young girl like Jen hadn't brought a boyfriend home for Christmas. Mum quickly jumped in and rescued Jen by saying that she hadn't yet found a lad worth introducing to her grandparents, and got a very grateful smile from Jen.

Not that Mum's intervention stopped Grandma in her tracks. Not much prevented Grandma from saying what she thought.

"And your mother tells us that you had a girlfriend to stay at the weekend, Jonathan. Why didn't you bring her round to meet us?"

I had to think of a way to be tactful in my reply.

"I thought about it, Grandma, but it was quite difficult persuading her to come and meet Mum and Dad in the first place, as she's pretty shy. I didn't want to scare her off by making it all too serious. I promise I'll bring her round when she comes up next time."

"Will there be a next time?"

"Oh, I certainly hope so! She seemed to like Mum and Dad once she got to know them."

"And what did you think of her, Jennifer?"

"Oh, I really like her, Grandma. I think we could become very good friends."

"She's a very nice girl, Mother, I'm sure you'll like her when you meet her. We did. Personally, I think Jon has done nearly as well for himself as I did when I married Maggie!"

I gave Dad a look of gratitude for his intervention; it saved me any more embarrassment. Our grandparents could go on a bit!

Mum filled the awkward pause in the conversation by asking me to check that the fireguard was in place in front of the fire; it was, but I took the opportunity of putting some more fuel on it so that it would be still going when we went through after lunch.

Before we started, Mum insisted that we all pulled our crackers and donned our colourful paper crowns. Dad got out his camera and took a few shots; he only had one flash cube, so once that was used, he was done.

Mum had prepared a starter with smoked mackerel pate and very thin slices of toast, she called it Melba Toast and was proud of the way she managed to cut very thin accurate slices. She had tried to teach me, but I never quite got the hang of it. Anyway, it was delicious and gave Mum an extra few minutes to check everything was just right.

Dad carved the turkey, and Mum then added the bacon rolls, stuffing and chipolata sausages to the plates before putting them in front of our grandparents. Jen and I were kept very busy passing the tureens of sprouts, peas, boiled potatoes and roast potatoes around the table

Once the main vegetables were served out, it was the turn of the gravy boats containing bread sauce, gravy and cranberry jelly. The whole of Mum and Dad's posh dinner service was in use today, and Jen and I had been subjected to the usual bloodcurdling threats about what would happen if we dropped any dishes.

We all did well with our meal; our grandparents clearing their plates despite all complaining bitterly that they wouldn't sleep a wink that night through indigestion! I had to get up from my seat twice to refill everyone's wine glasses; after all, as one of them said, Christmas comes but once a year!

I noticed that after we had cleared the first course, and Mum and Dad had brought in the flaming Christmas Pudding, that our four guests all accepted a slice of pudding, and didn't stint themselves on the brandy butter and the hot white sauce which also had a good splash of brandy in it.

Nor did anyone refuse a piece of Stilton and a few biscuits, washed down with a glass of port.

I was impressed with how much food the old folk had managed to put away; Mum had said that they didn't have great appetites most of the time, and I think that she was delighted to see them enjoy the food so much. I think it probably did them a great deal of good to be out of their own houses and in company, and to have the food prepared and dished up on the table for them.

Mum was delighted to receive so many compliments on her cooking; both her mother and her mother-in-law felt the excellence of the meal actually reflected well on the way they had taught her, and so were lavish with their praise.

We sent our grandparents into the sitting room while we cleared the table; Grandpa Shaw needed a little help getting up onto his feet, and Mum had to sort them all out with cushions in their chairs so that they were comfortable. She also removed the fireguard and opened up the draught on the fire, so it was soon blazing away merrily.

Jen and I went to the kitchen sink and began the washing up; Dad was making tea in the silver teapot and took the tray in to the sitting room, and Mum came back in and packed up the remnants of the meal into the fridge and the pantry. With four of us engaged, many hands made light work, and we replenished the silver teapot and rejoined our grandparents in the sitting room at about ten minutes to three.

Dad put the television on to warm up, and we all had a cuppa while we waited for three o'clock.

Once we had all listened to the Queen's Speech - and at Grandpa Shaw's insistence we all stood for the National Anthem at the end - it was time to crawl under the Christmas Tree and get out all the presents, sorting them into piles for each person.

Jen's idea of wrapping all the presents from the same giver in the same paper was very useful in checking that everyone had all their presents; we noticed quickly that Mum had nothing in her pile from Dad, but her saucepan was quickly discovered behind one of our grandparents' piles. She now had three almost identical boxes, in three different patterns of paper.

Jen and I opened our presents from our parents simultaneously; we showed everyone our new pullovers, and thanked Mum and Dad.

"It's great, Mum! It's exactly what I would have chosen if I had gone into Naylor's myself!"

"You wicked ungrateful boy!"

Grandma Shaw asked Mum what she meant by that.

"Oh, I took them into Naylor's on Friday to choose the ones that they liked for themselves, and now he's teasing me on the choice. Don't worry, Mum, I'll get my own back, there are some really striking patterns which I'm sure won't sell, and I'll get one in the January Sales and save it for next Christmas. Jen, dear, do you remember that pink and brown fluffy roll-necked one? Wouldn't it suit your brother better? Shall I return this one on Friday and exchange it?"

"Oh, Mum, that would be really cruel!"

I grovelled and apologised for trying to tease Mum; I too had seen the pullover she was referring to, and I had been sure it had been delivered to Naylor's by mistake, having been intended for a London shop on Carnaby Street. No-one in their right minds would have bought it. Mum laughed at her success in making my joke backfire on me, and of course everything was alright again.

We carried on with the opening of the presents, each taking it in turns to display our next gift to everyone before thanking the donor.

Our grandparents had bought us book and record tokens so that we could choose our own; we thanked them sincerely but were vague about what we intended to buy with the tokens - partly because we didn't yet know, but mainly because they wouldn't have heard of any of the bands we might mention.

Mum was over the moon with her new saucepans; she had never had any with copper bottoms, and she would be able to get rid of the worst of her battered RAF surplus aluminium ones, which were all they had been able to afford when they first set up house together.

Jen squealed when she opened her present from me; she loved the Panda hot water bottle cover, and I got hugged. Luckily we both remembered in time that we were in company, and missed out the kiss. I contented myself with the hope that one day very soon, Jen would hug me when the hot water bottle would be the only thing that had any clothing on!

I had asked Jen to give me the tray purse I had bought in Cardiff as her present to me; I wanted something that would remind me of her every time I used it. I remembered to express surprise and delight when I opened it, because our grandparents would have been most disappointed if they had realised that Jen and I both knew what every well-wrapped parcel contained - we had wrapped them!

Granddad Baker was interested in the tray purse, even more so when he learned that his son had one already.

"Can't abide these new-fangled tiddlers, these tiny halfpence and pennies. I keep dropping them, and they're not worth the trouble of picking them up off the floor. They're not proper coins like we used to have. That looks like a good way to keep them under control."

Jen and I could easily remember the days when he used to tip us a half-crown or a florin for birthdays or Christmas, or when he felt flush. Those WERE proper coins, which gave you a real satisfaction in your hand, and would either keep us in sweets for a couple of weeks, or buy half an Airfix model.

Mum promised to take him to the cobbler's shop after Christmas and help him choose a tray purse of his own; although Grandma collected the pension money every week from the Post Office and put it in her purse from which to pay the bills, she gave him pocket money to buy himself beer and cigarettes, and a tray purse would suit him well.

Grandma Baker had received a big box of chocolates from our Aunt Marge, Dad's sister, and she offered them around. She seemed disappointed when Jen and I only took one each. Mum had pulled out all the stops for Christmas Dinner, and even we two growing teenagers felt that we could eat no more that afternoon. (Mind you, when Dad suggested a little supper of cold turkey and chipolata sausages, cold bread sauce and hot fried potatoes at about nine o'clock, we found that we could just about manage another plateful or two!)

At half past four, Mum brought through the tea tray and the Christmas Cake. She cut the cake with due ceremony, and was complimented by her mother and mother-in-law for the soft icing. They both had false teeth, and it mattered to them. That was also the reason that Mum didn't put nuts in her Christmas Cake.

Dad and I took the grandparents home, and promised to pick them up in the morning for the Boxing Day celebrations.

On the way home, I mentioned that Grandpa Shaw seemed to suddenly be getting older.

"Jen said to me while we were washing up that he looked quite frail, much older than he did in September."

Dad got that serious look on his face.

"We don't know how much longer he is going to last; he's done very well, considering he was gassed quite badly, but he really seems to be struggling this winter."

"Has he seen the doctor?"

"Oh yes, but apart from antibiotics when he gets a chest infection, there's not a great deal they can do. The poor old boy just hasn't got the lung capacity any longer. He gave up smoking thirty years ago; and but for that he'd be long dead by now."

"Is Mum okay about it?"

"I think so; he's had a good life, and he says himself that he's made his three score years and ten with something to spare, and he's done a lot better than so many of his generation who never came back from Flanders. Of course she'll miss him when he's gone, we all will, but she's given him two grandchildren who have gone to University, and he's really chuffed about that."