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Tuesday, 26 March 2013

Easter

Hot Cross buns weren't available immediately after Christmas, as they are these days, when I was growing up. I remember standing in a massively long queue with my mother on the Thursday before Easter outside the bakery at Mosman Junction, mouth watering in expectation of the rare treat. When the buns were finally bought I would open the bag and inhale the fragrant spicy scent deeply and look forward to breakfast the next day. It never disappointed.

We weren't a religious family but would often go to church on Good Friday all dressed up. As usual it was a social event where we caught up with people who were regulars and those who were occasional visitors such as we were.

Followers of my blog will know that I grew up in Sydney in flats called 'Clitheroe' and that most of the neighbours were surrogate uncles and aunties, particularly before any other children arrived at the flats. As all our relatives were in Germany it was wonderful having all these delightful people living around us.

Clitheroe was a two storey L shaped construction facing on to a lawn and garden. On Easter Sunday my parents and the neighbours hid chocolate eggs for me around the garden. I would be sent out with my little basket and the neighbours who were all leaning out the windows would clap and cheer whenever I found an egg. It was a very exciting day for a little person. I would then go inside, break up some of the eggs and go around the flats sharing the chocolate.

When other children arrived at the flats this little ceremony ceased and each family had their own Easter egg hunts inside. I guess things would have become a bit too complicated. Some of the neighbours still used to come down to our place and say the Easter bunny must have made a mistake because he left some eggs at their flat.

As I grew older I used my pocket money to buy Easter eggs for my parents. My friends and I would go to the shop of choice, Woolworths, to select the prettiest, best value eggs we could afford. In those days a little chicken was often stuck to the egg so that made it even more appealing.

One year after a long consultation with my friends I decided on what I thought were the two best eggs with the cutest chickens, handed over my carefully hoarded shillings and gently placed them in my Globite school case. I carried my bag home and nonchalantly strolled past my mother with the treasures hidden safely in my school case. She wasn't supposed to know that I had even bought Easter eggs. I had planned to hide them and make my parents search.

I went into my room, opened my bag and horror of horrors the eggs were squashed flat. Even the chickens were looking sad! My heart sank. I could never work out what had happened because there wasn't anything else in the school bag that could have squashed the eggs. I didn't have any money left so couldn't buy any more. What to do? I cried and sobbed the story out to Mutti who gave me a big cuddle and said that the chocolate would taste just the same and that she and Vati would love them particularly as they had been bought with love. It consoled me a bit.

I felt ashamed to hand over the squashed eggs on Easter Sunday. I had resurrected the chickens somewhat. My parents immediately opened the foil, tipped the chocolate into a bowl and made a big fuss about how extra specially delicious they were. My father smoothed the foil out and exclaimed about the beautiful patterns and colours and how carefully I had obviously chosen the best two eggs. By this time I had also eaten plenty of chocolate so I was feeling a whole lot better.

We had some friends who would pick us up from Mosman and drive us the very long one lane Ryde Road to their place in Epping which was 'out in the sticks' in those days. Mr and Mrs T had a son and had always wanted a daughter so they spoiled me rotten, just like our neighbours did. We were often invited to their place at Easter time because it gave Mrs T great pleasure to buy and then hide Easter eggs in the garden for me to find. She would get carried away and I would leave their place laden. Searching for the eggs got rather embarrassing when I got into my teens so I convinced my parents to invite them rather than going to their place. They would bring a huge beautiful egg in a box surrounded by chocolates and that was always was a thrill.

My mother always decorated the house for Easter. We had tablecloths which my aunt in Germany had embroidered with spring flowers, Easter bunnies and colourful eggs and on the table she put little pale green chickens which she had had since she and my father married in 1939. Eventually those chickens really showed their age and were replaced by nice plump yellow chickens which had featured on foil covered chocolate eggs.

For breakfast on Easter Sunday we ate boiled eggs. In those days commercial eggs were always white. Mutti would tie brown onion skins over the eggs and they would be a nice brown colour when they had been boiled. We sometimes dyed eggs and hard boiled them and they would be part of the decorations.

We always had a festive lunch, usually chicken, which was an expensive treat in those days. I don't know that there was dessert because we would visit our friends or would have guests over in the afternoon for excesses of cake and other sweet treats.

I have kept many of the Easter traditions taught to me by my mother (apart from going to church) and my daughters also decorate their place with chickens and beautifully decorated imported papier mâché eggs. When the girls were little we always had an Easter egg hunt which was great fun. I was never good at keeping count of the eggs and every so often we would find a little chocolate egg hidden in an obscure place ages later.

One tradition I haven't yet mentioned and don't even know the origin of, is 'grün Donnerstag' (green Thursday) which is the Thursday before Easter. My mother served up boiled potatoes, spinach and fried eggs. I hated the meal, particularly the slimy top of the fried egg and the glop of sloppy spinach. For sentimental reasons I insist on 'grün Donnerstag' but serve up a yummy spinach quiche instead.

Every generation establishes new traditions. Ours' is coming to the family coast house. We eat quiche on Thursday night, Easter buns on Good Friday, have Easter eggs on Sunday and watch corny religious movies during the day. It is really enjoyable.

Happy Easter everyone.






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