LONG ISLAND TEA - BRITS ABROAD

THE RED SUIT

Contagious excitement filled the air as the seasonal music heralded in each Christmas season. Although our father was away in the army fighting in WWII and mostly everything was in short supply, they were still joyous occasions.

My two sisters and I crafted decorations from colored paper and glue, which interspersed with holly and mistletoe hung across the ceiling, and around the walls. My sister Mary and I got immense pleasure exchanging a few pennies for glass tree ornaments from a quaint shop just round the corner.

Most food was rationed but it wasn’t apparent in our house during this festive season. The Chicken we obtained from a farm was synonymous with Christmas, because it was too expensive to eat year round. Fortunately, our mother was attuned to the butcher’s hobby of collecting silver coins, which reflected on a generous quantity of beef, pork and ham. Brussels sprouts, cauliflower and potato were usually plentiful.

After a short rest, it was time for the Christmas pudding with threepenny bits carefully hidden inside, and all served with a good helping of warm Birds custard. Although the meal left everyone incapacitated, due consideration was given to the other traditional specialties including: Christmas cake with marzipan and icing on top, mince pies, a cheese board with biscuits, sliced apples, and grapes. For those still able to move there were tangerines, pears, dates, figs and nuts. Port wine and Manikin cigars were available for the Yuletide sinners.

The most memorable Christmas was the one we spent at my mother’s friend’s house a short distance down the road. The widow owned a small shop and was generous to a fault. The highlight of the party was the exploding Christmas crackers that showered paper hats and miniature toys all over the room, prompting us to scamper around on our hands and knees searching for them!

Tucked in bed at the appropriate hour, I received the usual advice about falling asleep. Even now I recall nodding off wondering how Santa got his fat belly down the chimney without getting soot all over it.

There was good news and bad news when I awoke on Christmas morning. The good news was that I received the farm yard I wanted. The bad news was that there were no animals. Before placing the gift to one side and going back to sleep, I pondered what to do with my present other than stare at it. ‘Aren’t toys things to play with?’ I thought. ‘How do you play with a farm yard without animals?’

Yes, I understood that everyone had to sacrifice during war time. How could I not - they never stopped reminding me! However, the farm incident left a distinct impression, but I don’t think it affected me, affected me, affected me.......

Another indelible memory during the war was of my mother sending me into town to invite service men to spend Christmas day with our family.

Our arrival in America in 1962 was just in time for Christmas and the awesome sight of colored lights decorating the outside of the houses. Months of preparation for the holiday culminated in only one day of festivity - No Boxing Day!

Before our young daughter went to sleep every Christmas Eve, I tied a pillow around my midriff, dressed in a Santa suit complete with a white beard, and threw a sack over my shoulder. While strolling around the outside of the house ringing a bell, my daughter gazed through the window in amazement.

At the next door neighbors, I enjoyed a little libation while entertaining their children, who were a couple of years away from the terrible teens. The younger of the two boys refused to enter the spirit of the occasion, and always announced "That’s not Santa, that’s Mr. Hawksford." I was tempted to hit him with the bell, but nice Santas don’t do that.

On Christmas mornings, I again donned the red outfit, making enough noise in our daughter’s bedroom to awaken her. Through sleepy eyes, she caught a glimpse of a red suit departing with the milk and cookies.

They were happy times and continued for a few years after our daughter no longer believed in St. Nicholas, but kept up the pretence to assure receiving the gifts.

Our three grandchildren also benefited from the Santa routine until the Salvation Army adopted the red suit. With doting grandparents in attendance, and wooden toys replaced by video games, our grandchildren still open their gifts in our living room on Christmas morning. The spirit of the red suit lives on in our household.

Copyright: Bill Hawksford.
bhawksf@optonline.net

OUR TRIP TO CAPE MAY, NEW JERSEY

The Austin 7 was a good recommendation for the vacation to Cape May. There was ample room for the luggage, with my wife sitting on my lap taking turns steering. The vehicle held up well through torrential rain and there was no evidence of a leak. On arrival, the topic of conversation in the lobby was the weather, with people reporting snow blizzards on their way from Philadelphia. The situation prompted my wife and I to question our sanity for deciding to visit the seaside in inclement weather during winter. "Why are we here?" demanded my wife, and I couldn't think of a good answer! The hotel staff that relies on tourists, created a subdued atmosphere, with their natural concern about all the room cancellations. In a bad attempt at humor to cheer things up in the lobby, I registered my wife as my niece, but the nuance was lost on the little old prim and proper lady behind the counter.

Our third floor room overlooking the ocean was ideal with the exception of the toilet-bowl, holding so much water that my pendulous parts got an ice-cold dip each time I sat down. And the flush was so ferocious, there was a danger of losing the family jewels if I didn't stand up quickly enough.

Rain was still pouring down the following day and the bitter wind whipped up white caps on the water and sent us scurrying to buy thermal underwear. Naturally we had neglected to pack them. To our dismay the local shops only sell winter garments in the summer and summer stuff in the winter, so we were out of luck and had to endure. The next day the rain was gone leaving us at the mercy of the wind, which continued to restrict our activities. Reading was the order of the day and we polished off everything in sight, starting with newspapers, then magazines, two books, brochures, menus and something we found in the room called 'Directory.' This last publication is recommended for anyone interested in communication and although the plot eluded me, it was well structured with plenty of characters and the Browns and Smiths taking prominent roles.

On the third day the wind had subsided, the water was calm and the sun came out like an English summer day. There was rejoicing in the streets with all the tourists sightseeing before there was a change of venue. We visited the ferry terminal, which is always a delight. Over a cup of coffee we watched the large vessels spill out their vehicles and take on new ones in a 15-minute turn around cycle. There was so much to see on this delightful day, that we decided against the usual two and a half hour round trip to Delaware, which is like an ocean voyage.

Cape May lighthouse area with the fish hatchery and the bird sanctuary overlooking the beach is always a pleasure. There were no birds, with the exception of a hungry noisy crow begging for food, because they had all migrated by this time of the year. Without the birds we were deprived of observing the serious bird watchers, whom we previously found interesting in their waistcoats of many pockets. Their equipment, which includes special chairs, cameras, binoculars and telescopes in all sizes, is also intriguing.

The sun brought out the beach people with small children building their kingdoms in the sand. Watching the kids from the comfort of a bench seat in the shelter, my mind wandered to another time when I was a boy at Clacton-On-Sea. Recalling the excitement of the sandy beach and sailing my small boat on the pond, I was jolted back to reality by my wife. Shattering the magic of the moment, she announced, "Come on, we can't stay here all day."

The cuisine at the Cape May restaurants was the usual high standard and was only exceeded by the wine. For whatever reason, my wife was compelled to enquire of me how it compared to the fare provided by the British army. I suspected she was torturing me again and I refused to speak to her for two days! The variety of fresh fish at our favorite eating place, The Tuckahoe Inn, was exceptional and there was ample raw meat to satisfy the locals. On the way out the bar was very noisy, which prompted me to whisper to the matre d’, "The natives are particularly restless today!" She looked at her watch and with a wry smile replied, "Yes, about this time!"

We naturally had out share of mishaps, spilling a container of coffee at a road side stop, getting lost returning from The Tuckahoe Inn where we had dined many times before, and exiting the hotel elevator at the wrong floor on three occasions. There was also the time I switched on my oxygen machine without connecting it to my nose and another occasion I connected the hose to my nose and neglected to switch on the machine. However, as I explained to my wife, it's all a normal part of life and should not be confused with advancing years. "Have you seen my glasses?" I enquired of my wife, to which she replied in her endearing way, "You're wearing them, you bloody fool," Was she casting aspersions on my mental state or just amusing me? The vacation was as enjoyable as ever with the tranquility causing my wife to fall asleep on the return journey, forcing me to drive all the way back without her valuable advice. Arriving home, the Austin 7 was shampooed, stored on a shelf in the garage and the engine put back on the lawnmower until the next trip.

Copyright: Bill Hawksford. Bill would like to hear from you. Email him at:
bhawksf@optonline.net