Family matters: Pat McDermott’s yuletide memories
An absent doll, unwanted train set, a goose the size of a truck and invisible elks … these are just some of the characters that fill Pat McDermott’s yuletide memories.
He presented a bird so big we had to borrow his son’s toy wagon to pull it home.
When I was seven years old, I woke up on Christmas morning hoping to find a Shampoo Sally doll under the tree. I’d written a letter to Santa outlining her many fine points. It always took my family a long time to get round the Christmas tree. My parents had to have tea and toast. My aunt and uncle had to have a smoke and a polite argument. My sister, who didn’t believe in Santa, stomped down in a blanket so she could sleep on the sofa until someone handed her a present.
There was no Shampoo Sally under the tree. Instead, I got a train set with a bright red engine, four cars and a caboose. My dad and Uncle Bob set it up under the dining room table. They told mum to be very careful not to step on the tracks when she carried the turkey to the table. I don’t remember what she said back, but it wasn’t very Christmassy.
My friend got a Shampoo Sally doll. It was smaller than the pictures and had to stay in the bathtub because it leaked water. The hair got so matted that one afternoon we cut it all off. When I told her about the train set, which everybody knew was a boy’s toy, she just shrugged. “If you’re a girl and your dad gives you a train set for Christmas, it doesn’t mean he always wanted a boy. I think it means he always wanted a train set.”
For some reason, Christmas memories are often the strongest ones of all. I won’t forget the train set and I won’t forget the year I lived in a share house in London and 14 of us decided to celebrate Christmas together. “You’ll be wanting a big bird then,” said the butcher and went out the back to look for a likely candidate. He returned empty-handed. The only turkey he had left wouldn’t feed four let alone 14. “How about a goose?” he asked and presented a bird so big we had to borrow his son’s toy wagon to pull it home.
Too late, we discovered it’s impossible to put a goose the size of a truck into a wee oven that last saw duty in 1942. Not even if you push and shove, and call the goose names. Not even if your neighbours call the police because it sounds like someone’s being murdered.
The police arrived, followed by the neighbours, and everybody stayed to share two cases of beer and 20 chicken curries from the takeaway on the corner. We sat around talking about what a great Christmas Day it had been, despite the shouting and the lack of goose.
And then there was the Christmas the MOTH (the Man of the House) and I packed up five kids and flew around the world to see Grandma in Canada. We were going to stay at a castle-like hotel en route. It was a six-hour drive on icy roads.
Ruff Red, who was a baby, kept busy tossing his dummy at the other kids and howling until they gave it back. Courtenay, aged four, looked out the window for elks. “An elk is a big, big deer, but bigger,” she explained.
Everyone shouted elk advice. “There’s one on my side!” “No – my side!” Despite frantic head turning, Courtenay missed them all. She was hysterical with grief. I was merely hysterical.
We reached the hotel in the dark and sat in ominous silence while the MOTH pried his fingers, one by one, from the steering wheel. He climbed out silently and headed to the hotel bar. Alone.
In the lobby, there were carols, a giant Christmas tree and a gingerbread house with a sign that said, “EAT ME!”
We calmed down and cheered up. I read from A Christmas Carol before bed.
Me: The Cratchits were cold and hungry, and Tiny Tim was sick, but they were happy just to be together.
Courtenay: Did Tiny Tim like elks? Anonymous child: He was so hungry he had one for Christmas dinner.
Me: If you need me, I’ll be in the bar with Daddy.
Merry Christmas