A Christmas to Remember

by Carol Matas

  December 17, 1888

  Deep snow this morning. The uncles are having a long discussion about feeding the cattle. Uncle James thinks that they should be hauling hay for them, but Uncle Wilf says that cows can push their noses under the snow and eat the bunchgrass. The haystack is as big as a house but Uncle Wilf says it won’t last that long — a haystack is like a bank account, and you can’t spend it too freely. Then Uncle James said that all the children could be sent out to eat frozen bunchgrass and Martha said she wanted to try.

  Miss McPhee has stopped being serious at school. Today we made Christmas presents. The girls sewed and the boys whittled.

  On the walk home I tried to pretend that Henry was my friend. Here are the things I talked about:

  1. Favourite names for babies. My choices are Katharina for a girl and Alonzo for a boy. Henry has no favourites.

  2. Whether it would be worse to be deaf or blind. Henry has no opinion.

  3. Will we have a Christmas tree? Henry says yes. I suppose that counts as conversation with a friend. A very silent friend.

  December 19, 1888

  Today Miss McPhee invited all the girls and the mothers to come for tea on Saturday and view her wedding presents. She boards with Dr. Jenkins and Mrs. Jenkins, and Mrs. Jenkins is putting on the tea. Auntie Nellie says that Miss McPhee’s people in Ontario are well off and that we will see some lovely things. Also, Mrs. Jenkins is known for her currant teacakes, so there is much to look forward to.

  I asked my pretend-friend Henry if he was disappointed that the men and boys are not invited to the tea and if he thought that was unfair and if he liked currant teacakes and he said no, no and yes.

  December 21, 1888

  It was the last day of school before Christmas and the last day of school with Miss McPhee. We had no lessons at all but finished off our sewing and whittling while we sang Christmas carols and Miss McPhee read us a long story about magic and treasure called “The King of the Golden River.” It was such a good story that even jumping-bean Martha sat still.

  Then Miss McPhee told us that she knew we would work hard for the new teacher (they still don’t know who it will be) and that she would miss us all. Then the girls cried and the boys didn’t, but before we could get too sad Miss McPhee said that now she didn’t have to worry about school inspectors ever again and that we should push all the benches to the wall to make room for games. We played tag and Red Rover and piggy in the middle.

  I threw often to my “friend” Henry but he never threw back to me. Being in school and not behaving ourselves made us all feel quite wild and we got hot and loud and untidy and Miss McPhee joined in and her hair came down and she didn’t even care. Finally we collapsed on the floor and had drinks of water and then Miss McPhee gave us bags of candy and sent us home early.

  Martha ate her candy, piece after piece, all the way home. I made one humbug last the whole way and now I’m going to save the rest for Christmas day. Henry does not have a plan about eating or saving.

  December 22, 1888

  In “The King of the Golden River” there are two wicked brothers. They are cruel to their servants and they do not share with the poor and they hoard all their money. The story says that they had heaps of gold lying about on their floors. I feel that I have just seen a treasure house like that. Of course, Miss McPhee isn’t wicked and her wedding presents were not lying about on the floor, but nicely arranged on the Jenkinses’ dining room table. But I still feel that I have been to some magic world. There were sheets and handkerchiefs and pillow slips, a big painting of the ocean in a golden frame, a dark green leather case for keeping pens and paper, a red satin quilt, a Chinese tea set, lamps, vases, a clock for the mantel and so many things in silver, like knives, forks and spoons and cake baskets, pretty cups and saucers, a butter dish and a dressing-table set with a mirror, brush and comb. Mr. Sutherland gave her a golden watch that you wear pinned to your dress.

  Everything was admired and discussed and everything had a story. We found out all about Miss McPhee’s family in Ontario. Her mother is sad that she has decided to settle out West. “She fears that it is not civilized,” said Miss McPhee. “But I’m a British Columbian now!” I thought of Miss McPhee lobbing the beanbag overhand across the classroom yesterday, her hair falling around her ears, and I wondered what being civilized meant. It would be lovely to have a house full of shining silver and a little gold watch to glance down on, but I don’t think married ladies, even in British Columbia, get to play Red Rover very often.

  The currant teacakes were heaven.

  December 23, 1888

  Great howling snowstorm last night. I woke up in the middle of the night because something was banging against the house and, once awake, I started to think how much I wanted to give Miss McPhee a wedding present. I could crochet her a doily or perhaps two if I’m not given too many tasks before Christmas, but then I thought of all those linens and silver and things from shops and I felt discouraged. I’m not that good at crocheting and a doily or even two is going to seem like almost nothing. I’m better at knitting, but it does not seem as though you give somebody a tam or muffler for their wedding, even if I did have the time to make one. And I don’t have money to buy anything splendid.

  I could have asked Auntie Janet and Auntie Nellie for an idea, but they are in a huge furor of baking and cleaning for Christmas. So I laid my problem at the feet of my friend-to-be, Henry. He was whittling and did not appear to be attending.

  December 26, 1888

  “Oh, little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie.” We sang this hymn yesterday. But that would be the opposite of Christmas here on the Duncan ranch. One word for Christmas: noisy. Two of the presents were for all the children to share. One was a puppy. Uncle James brought him in from the barn first thing. He is a small, roly-poly, brown and white dog with enormous ears and feet. Sometimes he trips over his ears and sometimes he trips over his feet and he loves to bark. The other present was a little cart that Uncle Wilfred made. The little ones took turns pretending to be a horse and pulling the others around the room until the cart turned over and everyone fell out. In the moments between these two ruckuses there was the sound of Martha playing her new tin whistle (nobody would admit to giving it to her), Sadie crying (she is too little for Christmas to be a treat) and Auntie Nellie singing.

  There was also a new noise from me. I had the most scrumptious present. Auntie Nellie gave me her mandolin. “It’s not my time for plunking and it is a shame for an instrument to go unplayed.” I’ve never owned something that was so real and grown-up and beautiful. It is three kinds of wood with ivory pegs and mother-of-pearl decorations. It has its own case, which it fits into perfectly. Auntie Nellie said she will teach me to play. “When the little ones grow up we can have our own orchestra.”

  On Christmas Day I learned the D chord and how to play “Row, row, row your boat.” Today I learned the G chord. Tomorrow I will learn the A chord and Auntie Nellie says with three chords I can play hundreds of songs.

  I want to do nothing all day, every day, except play the mandolin. (And eat gingerbread, which must be the nicest food ever invented, second to currant teacakes.)

  Today there was another great surprise. Henry spoke to me, not in answer to a question but all on his own. He says that he has an idea about a wedding present for Miss McPhee. But he won’t tell me what it is. I reminded him that we only had one day and asked if we needed to get busy making something and he said no. Then I asked if we needed to get to the general store to buy something and he said no again. What kind of present is not bought or made? This is like a riddle.

  December 27, 1888

  The tips of my fingers are sore with mandolin playing, but Auntie Nellie says they will toughen up. I can almost play “Grandfather’s Clock.”

  Henry is still being mysterious about the present for Miss McPhee, but he is definitely up to something. I saw him whispering to both the uncles and to Ollie and then they all grinned.

/>   I haven’t figured out the riddle of the present but I think I have figured out the riddle of Henry. He doesn’t like to accept help. He likes to give it.

  December 29, 1888

  Weddings are lovely! I remembered the comical pretend wedding at the mill last year where all the men dressed as women and I got to be the minister. This wedding was not comical except for the very end, and that is when the secret of our present was revealed.

  When the bride and the groom came out of the church the wagon was waiting for them. It was decorated with ribbons and the horses were perfectly groomed and all the harness cleaned and oiled and shining. Mr. Sutherland lifted Mrs. Sutherland (Mrs. Sutherland!) into the wagon and then Henry and Joe David popped up and started unharnessing the horses.

  At first I thought Henry and Joe David were just being naughty, but then the uncles started to laugh and to help them. Then Uncle James led the horses away and the boys grabbed the traces and began to pull. At first the wagon did not move and then Henry called out, “Flora, come and lend a hand!” and I looked at Auntie Janet and she just nodded, so I put my shoulder to the side of the wagon and off we went. There was great cheering and a rain of rice and old shoes. Along the way it started to snow, just lightly. Henry kept looking over his shoulder and grinning at me. We pulled the wagon all the way to the new house. Mr. Sutherland laughed and Mrs. Sutherland laughed and cried and said it was the best wedding present of all.

  This evening we could not stop talking about the wedding. We were supposed to be sewing but not many stitches were stitching. Auntie Nellie said that pulling the newlyweds home is a mark of community esteem.

  “That was a splendid idea, Henry,” she said, “How did you think of it?”

  “It was Father’s toy cart,” said Henry. “People pulling people. But Flora thought of the present idea in the first place.”

  “Ah, Flora,” said Uncle James. “Her shoulder to the wheel made all the difference.”

  “Yes,” said Henry, “Flora makes a fine cayuse.”

  I could have knocked him on the head with my thimble, but I’m going to save that pleasure for a surprise.

  The little ones are asleep now and it is so quiet that I can hear the hiss and pop of the fire and the puppy snoring in his basket. Day is done, as Mr. Longfellow would say, and this cayuse is going to bed.

  After growing up at bustling Fort Edmonton on the Prairies, Jenna found it hard to follow the stricter rules at the more “civilized” Fort Victoria. Even with new friends and different family ties, she still treasures her exciting make-believe world of Villains and Heroes. Adventure is never far from Jenna’s mind … and sometimes it erupts right into her life.

  The Daft Days of Christmas

  Thursday, December 23, 1852

  The Daft Days are coming! Our fattest goose is hanging in the storeroom alongside a haunch of venison, and our invitations have gone out for Christmas dinner. And for the first time I will be having it in a real home, and not in a Hudson’s Bay Company fort.

  In the forts we had a special dinner and a holiday on Christmas Day and saved the festivities for Hogmanay. But Uncle Rory decided that since he’s now an independent settler and retired from the HBCo, we can celebrate both Christmas and Hogmanay.

  I’m looking forward to midnight on Hogmanay, wondering who our first visitor in the New Year might be. Aunt Grace says the first-footer who crosses our threshold — we actually have a threshold now! — must be a dark-haired man, for any other is a bad omen. It’s also a bad omen if the first-footer comes empty-handed. He has to bring an offering. In Scotland it’s usually shortbread, whisky and a piece of coal, and the first-footer says, “Lang may yer lum reek,” which means, “Long may your chimney smoke.” Aunt says it’s a way of wishing the household a prosperous year, with plenty of food and drink and a good warm fire. As long as I can remember, the days between Christmas and Hogmanay have been called the Daft Days. I thought it meant “crazy,” because of the tomfoolery that went on in the forts, but Uncle says it means “foolishly, frivolously merry.”

  Even wee Annie is caught up in our “daftness,” tho’ it doesn’t take much to make her merry. Her favourite game these days is being bounced on my knee while I chant nursery rhymes, and correcting me when I make mistakes. (Which I do on purpose, to make her laugh.) When I sing, “The Daft Days are coming and Annie’s getting fat!” she squeals, “No!” and babbles something I take to mean “Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat!” She’s very clever for 19 months.

  Last week she helped set up the little figures for our crèche scene. She placed Baby Jesus in the manger with great tenderness, and was upset when later — to cheer her up after a fall — I removed Baby Jesus and put in a cow. “No,” she shouted, and smacked my hand!

  She loves hearing the Christmas story, and can point out Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, the angels, the three Wise Men and even the Star of Bethlehem (which I cut out of tin and fastened to the roof of the stable). She can say their names, too.

  Our preparations for the Daft Days began over a year ago, when Aunt decided she wanted to make a plum pudding for next year’s Christmas. Good thing she decided before the Home Ship left Victoria, as she had to order the currants and raisins from London. They arrived with the spring shipment and were hidden away until November 21, the Sunday before Advent. It’s called “Stir-up Sunday” because the Collect for the day begins, “Stir-up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people.” But it’s not only the people who get stirred up, it’s the plum pudding!

  The best part was “stirring up” and making a wish. We all had a turn, even Uncle and Annie, stirring from east to west, in the direction the three Wise Men were travelling. Annie wished for pudding!

  After the “stir-up” came the “drop-in” — a silver coin (good luck for whoever finds it) and a button (bad luck if the finder’s a man, for he is doomed to remain unmarried) — then came the “wrap-up” and boiling, and now it’s safely stored away until Christmas.

  My surprise for the family is safely “stored away” in the woods, but only until tomorrow. I pray it does not snow overnight or I will be hard pressed to find the exact spot!

  Today I’m gathering evergreen boughs to place over the window tops and the mantelpiece. Uncle ordered a box of cranberries from Fort Langley and I’ve been stringing them to wind around the boughs.

  There’s the kettle whistling — time for breakfast.

  Friday, December 24

  A morning of chopping, sawing, hauling, hammering — all done in a rush to prepare my surprise while everyone was out.

  First, off to the woods to cut down the tree (a little fir I picked out weeks ago).

  Haul it to the barn and stash it behind some hay bales.

  But how would the tree stand up? It couldn’t lean in a corner — it needed a stand.

  Off to the woodshed, find a wide board, saw it in half.

  Off to Uncle’s workshop for hammer and nails, then nail boards together to form a cross. Miss nail, hit thumb (several times). Hammer a circle of nails in the centre to support the tree.

  But would it fit? Should have measured the tree trunk first.

  Take stand to tree and, lo and behold, it’s perfect.

  As it happened I needn’t have rushed. Aunt and Uncle were delayed and I had an hour to spare.

  Christmas Day at Shady Creek Farm

  9:00 p.m. and I am finally able to record the events of the day.

  So, to begin. I crept out around 2:00 a.m. to fetch the tree, my plan being to have it set up in the parlour and decorated before anyone was awake. I’d finished hanging my little tin stars and was trying to figure out how to attach the candles, when in came Uncle Rory with a wooden horse he’d made for Annie. We took a moment to admire each other’s handiwork and whispered how good we were at keeping secrets.

  I returned to bed, my problem still unsolved. But when I got up again, some three hours later, what did I discover? My tree was aglow with candlelig
ht! Aunt Grace and Annie were with me, and the three of us stared in awe.

  Dear Uncle Rory! He’d gone to his workshop after I’d retired, made tin holders for my candles and fastened them onto the branches, thus turning my surprise for the family into a surprise for me.

  When Aunt asked where I’d gotten the idea of a Christmas tree, I said, “From Queen Victoria.”

  She didn’t believe me until I told her about a picture I’d seen in a London newspaper, showing the royal family around a Christmas tree. “Prince Albert took the custom to England from Germany,” I said knowingly, and explained how Lucy had spotted the picture at school last year, when we were leafing through the newspapers that had come on the Home Ship.

  By 2:00 our Christmas guests had arrived, all in their Sunday best. To make room for everyone, Uncle had extended our table by placing wide boards on sawhorses and spreading cloths over top. No one minded that one half was several inches higher than the other. Benches and packing crates served as extra chairs. As for the feast! A huge roast of venison and two wild geese (one brought by the Sullivans), mounds of potatoes, onions, carrots and turnips, Mrs. Sullivan’s bread (fresh-baked this morning), butter from Esquimalt Farm and large decanters of Mr. MacLeod’s blackberry wine. Everyone was in high spirits, passing pepper if someone asked for salt, or cranberry chutney if someone wanted butter.

  Then the plum pudding! Aunt poured rum over top, set it aflame and carried it in to cheers and applause. Mrs. Sullivan found the silver coin and old Mr. MacLeod, a bachelor, found the button. “But Jenna,” he teased, “I had my hopes on you!”

  When the last spoonful was eaten, we raised our glasses and drank a toast “to absent friends.” My eyes welled up, thinking of Father and Nokum smiling down from Heaven. I thought of Suzanne, too, far away in Fort Edmonton — oh, how I miss them! After dinner, the tables, etc. were moved out of the way and Mr. MacLeod took out his fiddle. We played Charades and Blind Man’s Buff, and danced a good number of lively reels. By this time Aunt had made a hot wine punch so the hilarity continued for another few hours.