LOSING MY BEAUTIFUL DOLL
a plain navy hood. It would hold two of my dolls, side by side or head to toe. Oh the joy it would give and indeed did give!
The following year the excitement swelled again, this time my choice was a powder blue and primrose coloured doll’s cradle with a transfer of a Beatrix Potter Bunny at one end over where the doll’s head would be. I decided on this quite early on, but would I be good enough for Santa to bring me such a big gift? My sister Jo used to tell me that Santa had his elves perched in each corner of the ceiling in the dining room watching my behaviour at all times. I seriously believed this scenario, verbatim. Christmas morning proved that I must have been good enough.
I think it was the next year that Santa brought my exquisite doll which I called Cinderella. Cinderella was a thing of beauty, she was about 20 inches tall, with shining black hair. I loved her dearly. My cousin, Josie, had knit a stunning yellow dress and cap for her and her mother, my Aunt Molly (formerly Lenehan of the Garda Barracks, Mitchelstown) had knit a cherry red cap for her also. She truly gave me joy. However, at about the age of seven disaster struck. My mother, and indeed my father, were always doing their bit to help the foreign missionaries. Mam was never practical. On this occasion, she had the idea that she would raise some money for the missions. I was informed of the great “need” and really quite against my own wishes, my doll was donated to a raffle to be held in my school. The tickets were sold, and as a doner I was given the honour of drawing the winning ticket. You could buy several tickets for a penny and the raffle made the sum of four pounds, some shillings and pence. I have never forgotten the loss of my beautiful doll.
THAT RAFFLE AGAIN…
Dad was later to experience a similar loss on two further occasions. Dad did part time auctioneering. At one auction he was able to purchase a complete tea set of Belleek Parian China. This delicate, fine china was placed in the china cabinet of our parlour after Dad happily presented it to Mother. Some months went by and we realised that the tea set was no longer in situ. Consternation set in when it was discovered that the Belleek had gone the same way as my doll. In this instance, sacrilege was done, as I found out, years later.
Over the years I had often wondered about that tea-set. Some fifty years after the event I enquired as to where the winner of the raffle lived. I had always known her name and where she lived as a child. I called to her house, about six miles from Clonmel. She recognised me immediately. I told her I would dearly love to purchase the Belleek teaset, she told me that in fact the raffle was such that the tea-set was divided between two girls. Horror of horrors! So, in fact, she had received 3 cups, 3 saucers, 3 side plates, a sugar bowl and a jug. The other winner had gotten a cake plate instead of the jug and sugar bowl. The china had remained in a cardboard box from the time she married and only a couple of years before my visit, she was carrying it across her yard to her newly built house when the bottom of the box split open and the china smashed on the rough yard. When the tea-set was being raffled in our school, neither of my sisters, Jo or Nuala, or indeed myself, recognised it as “our” tea-set, we just thought it was like it.
When the china was found to be missing, Dad said he would never buy another present for Mam. But he still had to endure another disappointment. He had bought Mam a fur coat. I do remember the softness and warmth of this creation. Some few years passed, and Mam was preparing some children from the “Traveller community” for the sacrament of Confirmation. They lived in a tent near Sir Thomas’s bridge outside Clonmel. Dad used to drive Mam to and from the tent. Not too long into this practice, Mam decided that these children were short of blankets and low and behold, the fur coat (hopefully) ended up as a blanket on the bed! At least that would be better than the prospect of perhaps it being sold on.
Another memory is regarding my sister Nuala, who is 4 years older than me. It is of a Christmas morning. Santa used to deliver our presents to the ends of our beds. On this particular morning, Nuala stretched forward to get her present. It was a black doll. Bear in mind that in 1950, we children were not aware of black coloured people. So be it of fright or amazement at the unfamiliar, Nuala fell out of the bed and broke her arm. The fuss that surely followed, I do not remember, other than the proceedings of the day, being very delayed as Nuala had to get medical attention.
As adults, we know evocative and romantic perfume weaves its magic in our lives. Fragrant oils and waters were the order of the day as gifts for Mam and Aunty Madge (who lived with us). Mam might be given a bright coloured lipstick, which might be encased in a limited edition metal case to make it special for the season and not available all year round. My mother’s makeup routine was simple. After washing her face at night with Palmolive or Knight’s Castile soap, she would then apply Pond’s Cold Cream. By day, if the occasion called for foundation, she wore Pond’s or Max Factor crème puff pressed powder, and a bright red lipstick. This simple treatment worked well and she retained good skin for all her life.
To this day, a waft of the scents 4711 or Tweed can transport me back to mam’s dressing table. The Tweed bottle had a lovely chunky wooden top, which felt nice to the touch.
Eight years ago when our family holidayed in Germany, I came across 4711. I could not resist buying it along with its matching soap. It is good that some of the beauty buys of bygone days have stood the test of time and are still available.
Aunty was always given a box of handkerchiefs with lace edging and embroidered flowers, and a fine wool scarf. Dad’s gifts were always predictable, socks, gloves, a tie or a scarf. As we got older, we girls would always get what was called a “gift set”. These were nicely packaged toiletries sets, consisting of bath cubes, toilet water, fluffy milk bath, soap and maybe dusting or talcum powder. The scent of these was often lavender, rose, lily of the valley (which was my own favourite) , ashes of violets or fresia. All make for nostalgic memories. The boys, apart from the Santa gift, would get a gun, accompanied by rolls of bullets called “caps” in little round, red boxes. A game of snakes and ladders, Ludo or draughts was always acceptable, as were a spinning top and whip, or maybe marbles.
IN GIVING WE RECEIVE
My mother was the church organist in St Peter and Paul’s Parish, she saw this as a way of giving thanks to the Almighty for her music playing talent. She had won a gold medal in the All-Ireland Feis Ceoil organ playing competition. For a couple of years, before becoming choir master (of which Frank and Noel Patterson were choir boys), Mam prepared the Christmas Eve midnight Mass programme for the Sisters of Charity Convent. My sister Nuala and myself joined with the nuns in singing the Latin hymns, such as Kyrie Eleison, Gloria in Excelsis Deo, Credo in Unum Deum, Sanctus, Pater Noster, Adeste fideles along with the usual carols. The nuns made a big fuss of us and always had glorious chocolates, cake and minerals.
So, Christmas Day would come and pass. It surely was different to all other days. The joy of it would live on for quite a while. But let us remember, lest we forget, it was all due to our Lord’s birth and the visit to Him of the Maggi. As you know, they were wonderfully wise men who brought gifts to the Baby Jesus. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Don’t make any mistake, the size of the gift is not important. It is the thought put into its selection that matters. It is in giving that we receive!
I wish all readers, particularly those moving on in years, like myself, a joyful, merry and peaceful Christmas.