Dear Pauline,

EACH Christmas my memory flashes back to one December day, in 1955, two weeks before Christmas. Looking out of our kitchen window snowflakes were beginning to fall. Robins and some blackbirds were hopping about and fluttering their feathers as they sensed the north wind and the snow on its way. Darkness fell early that December day. You had come home with me from school to play a while.

You asked my mother could I go to your house later in the evening as Nuala, your sister, would be putting up your Christmas tree.

As you know I was away from home for four years in hospitals in Dublin and had returned home earlier that year. Everything was wonderment in the countryside and the ritual of Christmas was new to my vocabulary. I had no memories at all of Christmas prior to my being eight years of age.

I was all excited. I hopped, skipped and jumped with you back to your house as the snowflakes tumbled down. Your dad, Ned Murphy, was unloading the pony and trap in the yard. He opened the door of the trap, and out fell this large Norwegian Spruce tree collected from Gavin’s Wood in Clogher, together with huge bunches of red-berried holly and ivy.

Your dad shook the snow from the tree and carried it into the small kitchen. Nuala, your sister, was well prepared inside with a large galvanised bucket and large stones. She had a large brown cardboard box filled with coloured lights on string cord, little balls of cotton wool and tinsel.

We all gathered round in amazement as Nuala and your dad put the tree into the bucket firmly supported by the stones. Then Nuala arranged the lights not yet lit, tinsel and cotton wool which looked like snowflakes and some Christmas cards on the tree. Mrs Murphy, your mother, was busy making tea and treated us to lovely treacle cake.

Nuala told us: “Close your eyes I’m going to do some magic.” The darkness seemed to last forever. Then there was a flash. We opened our eyes and there before us stood this magnificent tree all lit up. Nuala placed the star of Bethlehem on the top. We kids stood with our eyes popping.

What a sight. I was so amazed. In the window was a crib with thatched roof and standing beside it was a tall red candle to be lit on Christmas Eve. This was the beginning of a real Christmas. Nuala was excited as this was her special job that year.

Your mother was in a rush. She opened the half-door in haste to open the railway gates before the 7pm train from Claremorris came into view. It dragged lazily past your Railway Cottage on its way to Ballinrobe via Hollymount Station. All was well. The smell of coal from the train engine lingered in the frosty air.

It was time for me to go home. I said goodbye to you all and still can hear “Hope Santa comes” as I walked home, which was only a few hundred yards away, and I could hear the crunch of snow beneath my shoes. The moon and stars beamed down on the countryside. Your neighbour’s turkeys cackled in the distance, perhaps knowing their hours were numbered as the days slipped to Christmas. You went to England a few years later. We kept in touch. Just wanted to share that special memory with you. Your school friend. Bridie Bridie (Jennings) McMahon, Hollymount, Co Mayo