Nostalgia with Margaret Watson: Remembering Christmases from childhood in Dewsbury

Margaret Watson writes: For we remember when Christmas was celebrated in close-knit communities with families living nearby.

We didn’t have to worry if the buses and trains were running because relatives lived near each other and it was easy for us all to meet up for get-togethers.

Christmas really was a time of giving and receiving, a time for cleaning the house from top to bottom, and a time for going to church, even if you didn’t normally go.

It was a time when the pantry was full of food, the house was spotlessly clean, there was coal in the cellar, mistletoe in the doorway, and holly on the window ledge as a sign all was well inside.

In Springfield, where I grew up, it was a time for the children to go out carol singing to raise a little money to help our parents pay for all those extra festive treats which somehow or other we always managed to afford at this time of year.

By Christmas Eve, all the spice cakes and mince pies had been baked and Mrs Preston across the road had made our trifle.

All the Christmas clubs my mother paid into all year round at various shops had been cashed in to enable her to get everything we needed for a joyful

Christmas.

We couldn’t afford a turkey, but we were quite happy with a piece of pork for Christmas dinner, and for Christmas tea a couple of stand pies with lots of pickled onions and red cabbage.

There was always a couple of boxes of chocolates, usually Black Magic and Dairy Box and a bowl of nuts still in their shells, which we could never force open except with a hammer.

And it wouldn’t have been Christmas without a box of dates, a bowl of tangerines, a bottle of rum and a bottle of advocaat.

In addition mother always got in a couple of bottles of sherry bought especially to give a drink to the neighbours who called in to wish us Merry Christmas.

Not forgetting, the men who came every Friday evening to collect money for various bills, including the rent, the coal, the insurance and the “Provvie” man who collected on behalf of the Provident Independent Clothing Company.

On Christmas Eve, a new “pricked” rug, which all the family had helped make, was laid in front of a blazing coal fire, the house shone from top to bottom, and all the adults in the house went to Midnight Mass.

It was the most exciting time of the year, and it was wonderful to see everyone up our street as merry as could be and all wishing each other compliments of the season.

I was reminded of this the other evening when I went to visit my daughter who lives at the top of Oxford Road, and I had to pass all the big houses where I used to carol sing as a child.

It was a bitterly cold night, and, although I was snug and warm in the car, I shivered as I remembered the hours I’d spent trudging up and down this road and nearby Halifax Road, singing my heart out in the hope of raising a few coppers.

I looked up at the large houses with their massive gardens and long drives, and recalled how often I had walked up them with my heart full of hope.

How miserable it really must have been, going from door to door, standing out in the cold, and sometimes the snow and rain.

Sometimes there was no-one in the houses and we would be ringing the bell in vain, but I can never remember us being downhearted for long because we lived in hope we’d be more successful at the house next door.

i often wonder where we got that resilience – and such joy - from because we did sing those carols with gusto and with great sincerity and optimism.

When I look back, I can still see in my mind’s eye, me and my little friends setting off up Halifax Road on those cold, dark nights, laughing and joking,

We didn’t get pocket money, so every extra bit of money we got, we had to earn, but even then, we never regarded it as our own to keep, but handed it over to mother, who always gave us a little bit back.`

No-one will ever know the joy we felt when sometimes among the coppers we received there was the occasional sixpence or three-penny bit.

We were never what you could call well-wrapped up to face the elements as children of today are, for there were no warm, weatherproof anoraks with fur hoods for us – or fleecy trousers and fur-lined boots and gloves.

The kids up our street were a hardy lot who often wore pumps in winter as well as summer, and we never wore gloves – not even for snowballing or sledging.

Despite those cold winter nights my memories of carol singing are truly happy ones, and I forget the nights when I had to stamp my feet to keep the circulation going, and blow my frozen hands to warm them up.

Yes, we had chilblains and chapped hands, and I’m sure when it snowed I sometimes found icicles in my hair, but that didn’t stop me singing my heart out.

We used to split up in groups of two or three and when it came to sharing out our carol singing money, we were always scrupulously fair.

It was a common sight in Halifax Road on the nights before Christmas to see groups of youngsters standing beneath a gas lamp, sharing their money out, penny by penny.

Like the one in the picture above. Happy days.