Christmas memories

Melda is a well-loved matriarch in the Cove. When I stopped in recently to ask her to share some of her Christmas memories, she put down her knitting and told me the following.

I was born in the PEI Hospital in 1937. Mom was a farm girl from a big family in Crossroads and Dad was a country boy from Alberton. His mother died when he was a small child and Dad was taken in by an aunt and uncle. His four sisters went to live with his mother’s relatives and his brother went to Mt. Herbert Orphanage. 

Mom and Dad married, I came along, and World War II started. Dad joined the army, training at Debert, NS before being shipped “overseas” to Newfoundland. Newfoundland was considered a foreign country in those days. On his return he received $2000 from the government that went towards building a house on land near my grandparents’ farm in Crossroads. That’s where I grew up. It was a beautiful property with a grove of trees, perfect for children. 

Dad was a labourer. Over the years he worked for a fox farmer, for Maritime Electric… here and there wherever he could find work. I have no idea how my parents made ends meet. Children weren’t in the know about such things. They were told, “Go outside and play.”

Mom and Dad never owned a vehicle. When they wanted to go somewhere they walked or hitchhiked. I didn’t like this situation, so in my teens I bought a car—before I even learned to drive! 

Our Christmases were modest by modern standards. The whole family would sleep over at my grandparents’ house on Christmas Eve. My little sister and I would hang our long brown stockings on something—the end of the bed? Christmas morning we’d dig down into the stockings for an apple, orange and some nuts in the shell. Then we’d open the presents under the tree: new winter boots from Dad, pajamas from Mother, maybe a doll or some little dollhouse furniture, maybe a knickknack from an aunt. 

Dinner in late afternoon consisted of chicken, or a goose if my uncle brought one, stuffing (bread, potato, onion), turnip, carrots, gravy, mustard pickles. Adults ate their dinners first, not like today! When they were good and full the children would be called indoors and served their meal, everything washed down with generous glasses of milk. 

I can’t remember everything that happened 88 years ago, but I do remember the November when Freda was two and I was six and we had our tonsils out. In the operating room as they started towards me with the black ether mask I clamped my hands determinedly over my face:  no one was going to touch me with that thing! But my hands were pried off and out came the tonsils. 

To reward us for our bravery my parents gave each of us a new doll—a major expenditure. So my big gift that Christmas was a simple clay piggy bank, which I have to this day! Who knows, maybe that’s why I started working in the bank at age sixteen… and marrying a banker.

That good enough? [She picks up her knitting and smiles.] Don’t know why anyone would want to read about me. Oh well. What do you think, is it going to snow tomorrow?