A Sister’s Second Christmas Story

© Helen Doyle Skarman

Christmas Eve when we were growing up in the ‘50s could have come straight out of the set for “The Christmas Carol.” Everything was decorated in true Victorian style. This is not too surprising considering that Mom’s favorite author was Charles Dickens. Queen Victoria would have felt right at home. Everywhere in the house, Mom put up Christmas decorations — candles, garlands, Santa Clauses, last year’s Christmas cards, choirboys, wreaths and more. Dad put up the outdoor lights and the Christmas tree, which we all helped to decorate.

On Christmas Eve we always went to church and came home to a truly festive dinner. Mom made her famous olive nut spread, to go along with the ham, cheeses and breads. Homemade oyster stew was heated up, steaming and ready to serve. Mom really loved oyster stew, but this opinion was not shared by all of us. I would somehow manage to eat the milk broth, but no way was I going to eat an oyster (I still feel this way). The elaborate Christmas centerpiece held at least four candles, to add to the candles on the buffet, in the windows and in the living room — every candle lit and glowing for us. The good dishes were precisely arranged on the special Christmas tablecloth. Mom always made a birthday cake for the baby Jesus (box mix, the only way to go in the ‘50s).

At the start of dinner, Dad said a special grace. At the end of dinner, we put the baby Jesus in the manger. This was always done by the youngest child. As the years went by, it all became more elaborate. Mom always had a flair for the dramatic and it really surfaced on Christmas Eve. Now there was a procession to the manger with everyone ringing little bells. After baby Jesus was placed in the nativity setting, we all stood around and sang Christmas carols. I can still hear Dad’s full Irish tenor lifting enthusiastically over the scene. 

On Christmas day, we opened our wrapped presents from Mom and Dad. On Christmas Eve, the special presents from Santa were placed in front of the tree after we went to bed. Those Santa Claus presents were laid out in a sparkling Christmas wonderland. My brothers and I sneaked out of bed very early and very quietly on Christmas day, before our parents or the sun were up, and played with our toys by the light of the Christmas tree. It was and is a magical memory.

Christmas for my family is not like it was when I was growing up. My husband’s relatives are Scandinavian minimalists. If you have a Christmas tree, you are well decorated. I’ve met everyone somewhere in the middle. No candles, but Dickens Village houses (all given to us by Mom and Dad), a manger and a tree. 

Our favorite Dickens Village is the Bishop’s Oast House. Because it had the name “bishop” in it, Mom thought they were giving us a religious house. If you look up the meaning of “oast,” however, you will find it is a place for drying hops. We’ve chuckled at this for years. Mom did not approve of drinking beer.

This year, our Christmas tree, manger and Dickens Village houses will light the house. Not the Victorian displays of my childhood memories, but in their way just as festive and welcoming. And, before we start our evening with family and food, before the party begins, I will quietly place Joseph, Mary and the baby Jesus in the manger and think about that first Christmas in Bethlehem.

As we fondly remember Christmases with our special Dad and Mom who are now celebrating in Heaven, I wish you all a Blessed Christmas!