‘Christmas at Whalley’s Corner’ by Leonard W. Wilson

From ‘Whalley’s Corner’ Series

‘Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!’ I yelled and everybody laughed.

I didn’t know what was so funny but Uncle Alfred messed my hair, then turned and helped Aunt Verna from the front seat of his ‘34 Ford. Aunt Jenny smiled and winked at me as Uncle George helped her and their youngest two, Reta and Bruce climb out of the back seat.
‘Timber!’
We all rushed around the corner of the shed. Dust flew as a young tree hit the ground. Its green branches held the small tree off the ground for a moment and then it collapsed in a heap. My brother Douglas stood back, his face alight with a proud smile. He held Santa’s early morning gift, a brand new saw over his head. Dad was across the yard in seconds. He lay Douglas over his knee and the slap of the blade spoiled the tranquility of the frosty Christmas morning.

There was the luscious smell of the turkey roasting as Mama held the door for our guests. Christmas decorations twirled and sparkled. The stove gave off a comfortable heat and flames flickered as my eldest brother Billy stoked the fire. My sisters Eleanor and Isabel took Reta to show off their gifts from Santa Claus. My younger brother Lyle and I watched with delight as Uncle George and Uncle Alfred carried in boxes of brightly wrapped packages.

I knew this was going to be our best Christmas since moving to Whalley’s Corner. Santa had already been good to us with a nice present and a stocking filled with an apple, orange, nuts and candies. The smell of the turkey roasting in the oven filled the house with its pleasant aroma and the reminder of our grandparents. They had sent the turkey by train from Biggar Saskatchewan. Pots on the stove filled with potatoes, parsnips, squash and Brussels sprouts bubbled and boiled on the stove. Mama had been cooking and baking for what seemed weeks. There was light and dark Christmas cake, plum pudding, mincemeat pie; star shaped cookies, and Turkish delight. And, the best part, Mama had told me that I was finally old enough to dish up my supper.

Clattering and banging at the door signaled the arrival of Donald, Jack, Bert and Earl. Aunt Jenny and Uncle George’s four eldest had walked from Burnaby, because Uncle Alfred’s car was too small, and the Pacific Stage Lines still did not have any buses running on Christmas day.

Daddy and my uncles extended the table with boards until it took up most of the room. Using wooden boxes and planks they were able to get all eighteen people seated at the huge table. I looked at all the bowls of food and wondered how I was going to be able to get some of each on my plate.

Instead of sitting next to one of my brothers or sisters, I sat at the end of the table on the far side beside my Aunt Verna. I could hear the chatter as the food moved around the table. Without leaning far forward I couldn’t see around her, and sat anxiously waiting for the platters and bowls to arrive.
‘Mashed potatoes, Leonard?’ Aunt Verna held the bowl in her hand spooning potatoes on my plate.
I tried to sound very grown-up as I mumbled, ‘Mama told me I could dish up my own supper.’
She said, ‘That’s all right I don’t mind helping you.’

I never handled one bowl or dish. I never had the chance to scoop any vegetables. Pour any gravy. Butter any homemade bread. I am sure the food was delicious but I cannot remember it. All I can remember was how I missed my first chance to dish up my very own Christmas dinner.

Previously Published
Len Wilson’s Weblog
Pioneer News, December 1996