Decorating on a Budget: Dutch Christmas, 1950s
My father disapproved of Christmas. My mother was pre-occupied with food preparation. Were it not for my teenage sister, Lenie, my Christmases would have been rather bleak. Thanks to her, they became memorable instead.
The war was over, but austerity reigned. In 1950, I was seven years old and I lived with my parents and my 14-year-old sister in a bleak little row house in a village on a small island on the west coast of the Netherlands. Our possessions were few, but thanks to my father’s garden, we had an abundance of home-grown vegetables.
My father did not disapprove of Christmas as such. He was a religious man and a regular churchgoer. He just frowned on the “heathen” symbols of Christmas — like Christmas trees and decorations. My mother was less rigid, but she was preoccupied with dinner. My sister, Lenie, took it upon herself to decorate the house. This had to be done unobtrusively, so as not to upset our father. My father, though well aware of the preparations, pretended not to notice them.
Our decorations included a small artificial Christmas tree, a bowl of Mandarin oranges, pine-branch wall hangings and “potato candle holders.”
Each Christmas Eve, my mother hauled a tiny artificial Christmas tree out of the attic where it was stored for the rest of the year. This was my mother’s contribution to the decorating effort. She then escaped to her dimly lit kitchen to start preparation of Christmas dinner. My sister took care of the rest.
The little tree was about 18 inches tall and it had fold-up branches. There might have been some tree decorations, but I do not remember them. I do remember how my sister unfolded the branches, clipped candleholders to the tips of them and then fitted the candleholders with tiny candles. She positioned the tree beside a bowl of Mandarin oranges on the small sideboard that sat against the wall that separated our house from the neighbours. On the other side of the wall, I knew, was the neighbour’s Christmas tree — a real tree with coloured electric lights.
I was in awe of their tree and, even more, of the electric lights. Surely, I thought, they must be rich. In reality, the neighbours were no richer than we were. The husband worked for the hydro company and their hydro came free with the job.
Our house was not hooked up to electric power, hence our use of real candles. They were a fire hazard and, as a precaution, a pail of water sat on the floor beside the sideboard all through the holiday season. We did have to use it once as my uncle brushed against the tree and his jacket caught fire.
In preparation for this day, my sister had bought a box of tapered candles, several sheets of red and green crepe paper, and some ribbon. She had been “loitering” at a Christmas tree lot and had collected, free of charge, a decent supply of discarded Christmas tree branches. Other supplies needed for her decorating efforts were always on hand: a number of potatoes and a wad of zigzag cotton wool.
My sister attached the tree branches to the living room walls and decorated them with red ribbons and fluffed-up pieces of cotton wool. A Christmas-tree scent filled the room.
We had the tapered candles, but we did not own any candle holders. Not a problem for my sister. She made use of what we had — our abundant supply of potatoes.
Each potato was made into two candle holders. My sister cut the potato in half and then carved out a hole in the top to fit the candle. She cut a small slice off the rounded side of the potato to stabilize the bottom. Then she stuck the candle into the hole in the potato, wrapped potato and candle with crepe paper and secured them with a ribbon. After Christmas, we would unwrap the potatoes and eat them.
While my sister was taking care of the decorations in our warm living room, our mother was in our cold kitchen prepping our Christmas dinner. The bulk of Christmas dinner was pre-cooked on Christmas Eve and reheated the next day. Our Christmas dinner would be pretty much what we had each Sunday, except for the meat. The choice of meat for Christmas dinner was an important one and always a subject of much discussion among family and neighbours. Weeks before Christmas, I could hear the women ask each other: “What are you having this year?” Top choices for Christmas dinner were chicken, rabbit and pheasant. My mother’s favourite Christmas meat was “Rollade.” This is a Dutchstyle roast made up from layers of pork, rolled in herbs and spices, then shaped into a loaf and secured with twine. On Christmas Eve, my mother seared the roast in a big pan on top of our gas cooktop, then left it to simmer all evening.
As per Dutch custom, our Christmas celebration excluded gifts. On St. Nicholas Day, three weeks earlier, I had received a colouring book from St. Nicholas and a chocolate letter “R” from my grandparents. On Christmas morning, we attended church. Except for the sermon, which dealt with the birth of Jesus, there was nothing to remind us of Christmas. The church interior was sombre as always. No Christmas carols were sung. It was wonderful to get home to a decorated house.
Ria Korteweg