Christmas Eve when I was young

Coming from a German background our main Christmas celebration has always been on Christmas Eve. I love the celebration. It is an extra special family time and I have kept some of the traditions I learnt through my parents going, but when I was young and a believer in Father Christmas, it was a magical time.

A couple of days before Christmas, my father and I would go to Mr Morrissey's fruit and vegetable shop and select a Christmas tree. As the Christmas trees you could buy years ago were only the branches cut off a pinus radiata, my father was always annoyed that we could never get a lovely straight tree with short needles like the spruces he remembered from back in Germany. We would always take ages choosing the tree, holding up one after the other, turning it this way and that trying to get the most regularly shaped one. Then he and I would carry it down the hill from the shops and back to Clitheroe. When home, he would try and shape the tree as best he could, often strapping it to a broom handle to make it stand straight. That was the last I would see of the tree until Christmas Eve.

Mutti spent many hours in the kitchen on Christmas Eve. Our feast in the evening was (and still is) a lavish smorgasbord of cold delights including a large variety of salads, smoked salmon, devilled eggs, ham, cheeses, breads etc. Usually there was so much we would have yummy leftovers for the next few days, which made catering easy for a while. The hot Christmas dinner of turkey and dumplings we ate on Christmas Day.

In the early afternoon we would dress up and go into the city to the tiny German Lutheran church in Goulburn Street. There was a short flight of stairs and at the top we would be handed a hymn book before we went into the church. It would always be dim and cool inside and at the front was a beautiful Christmas tree, not a branch tied to a broom handle, but a fragrant 4 metre pine tree cut from someone's property that morning, decorated and glowing with hundreds of real candles. A hand carved nativity scene was beside the tree. It was beautiful. Of course we knew masses of people and everyone would be smiling and nodding their greetings.

Mr Holler, the choir master and organist, would have been playing the organ quietly until the pastor was ready and then the music would swell, we would all stand and joyously sing one of the beautiful familiar German Christmas carols. I always enjoyed the Christmas services - the well known story, the singing, the choir, the happy people and sitting between my beloved parents.

After the service we were farewelled by the pastor, milled about outside talking to people we hadn't seen for ages before it was time to catch the bus and then the ferry to go home.

I can remember feeling quite confused one year while I was on the bus. I must have been very young because I couldn't explain how I felt. We had just been in a cool dim church where the atmosphere was calm and the people smiling and festive. Outside, on the bus, it was hot and sticky and through the windows I could see crowds of harried shoppers rushing about. The two experiences did not match up at all and until we were on the ferry and the view was calmer I felt quite unhappy.

When we got home Mutti would bustle off into the kitchen and I would go to play with my friends until I was called in to dinner. Our kitchen had a special area where we usually ate. The dining table that was at one end of our lounge room was rarely used except for special occasions such as when guests came or for Christmas or birthday dinners etc. We ate in the kitchen on Christmas Eve because I wasn't allowed into the lounge room at all until I was invited. All the doors and curtains had been closed for a few days so I couldn't even peek in there.

After we had eaten our fill of the goodies Mutti had prepared I would be sent outside again. By this time I would be very excited because I knew that Father Christmas would be arriving shortly.

Father Christmas always delivered the presents without me seeing him, so one year I was determined I WOULD see him. I sat by the front steps of Clitheroe and looked down the path that led up the hill. I envisioned him riding up in his sleigh with all the reindeer and me helping him take the
presents into the house. Our friend Annedore was staying with us at the time. While I was impatiently looking down the hill she called out that Father Christmas had been. How could that be? I had been keeping a really close watch......and then I remembered. We had chimneys at Clitheroe. I hadn't once thought to look up! Silly me!

Going into the lounge room was magical. We had a little old record player playing our one Christmas record that started with the pealing of bells followed by all the familiar carols. The room was dark, the beautifully decorated tree sparkled in the light of its and the many candles on all the Christmas ornaments, mainly wooden and hand carved which had been sent from Germany. Underneath the tree lay the brightly wrapped presents and beside the tree stood my doll's house which I got for Christmas every year (it would disappear around Easter time when the novelty had worn off and I no longer played with it all the time).

I was always overwhelmed and would sit quietly on the couch just taking the scene in. It was a sensory overload. The scent of the tree, the smell of the candle wax and the gingerbread treats that would be eaten later, the music and the special light cast by the candles combined to create an indelible memory. I'd feel too shy to get the presents and my father would hand them out, much to my delight.

Mutti had a nice singing voice and she would sing along to the record. We would have a marvellous evening and I would go to bed that night wishing we could have Christmas every day.