Mandalay---Christmas Past
Without Prejudice
Love janette
Christmases at the farm were legendary, even now my girls continue to talk of them and set their own standards high to match Grandma Hancock.
the weather was typically hot and after came the hay season which was almost always excruciatingly brutally hot.
But Christmas Day was always preceded for us before the hour trip, with the opening of the presents. One year it rained so hard we had to erect the girls slide in the lounge room.
Another Debbie and Yvette getting 2 way radios and calling each other from their rooms.
We were convinced the Commander 64 we bought them didn't work as neither Bob or I could get a score out of it as we practiced on our very first video game.
The girls came in and got 20,000 points and it remained to him and I a big puzzle, not in the least interested in the new technology. but I was clever enough to type a greeting from Santa to the girls.
Then we would dress all the girls in brand new dresses and shoes and socks and pack the car with presents and drive to Loch. So serene and old and we would stop off there and buy Bob's Mum, sherbet bombs in a big white paper bag.
We would turn up the hills towards Soldiers Road, the farm not visible from the road, just a cattle grid and a gate. I smashed into the gate post when Bob let me drive his Xp station Wagon, the one with the gingham curtains his Auntie Oll had made him.
But as years went by we drove up in bigger and better cars and with more and more children.
There were heaps of them or so it seemed, the Hancocks, my husbands family. Tiny and Gwen, my parents in law and Kerrie and Ivan as children and the marrieds, Joy and Kevin and Ian and Merrilyn and Bob and I.
Merrilyn and Bob being brother and sister and married to brother and sister, Ian and I.
Pauline was single and my age, and she met her future husband at our wedding in Sydney. Her wedding coming later and I had married at 17, Bob was 23. the first year we were single and by the 2nd, were engaged, married and had a child and buy the next Christmas another.
I ended up in hospital Christmas that year, in Korumburra, I vomited up an egg boxing day and then don't remember much except going to hospital and being in a few day. complications after Yvette's birth, necessitating a minor op.
Not a great time to get sick.
But the Christmas dinners were fabulous, us setting the billiard table with a top on, with all the polished cutlery and crackers. Pretty glasses for the muscat and lemonade drink, Tiny preferring a portagaffe.
We could only just squeeze in there with us all sitting down. the table filled the room, only being small and having a piano in the room as well.
The piano stool was called into use as a seat and Gwen remembered Xmas dinners past where the kids stuffed the stool with unwanted food.
She was an incredible cook my Mother In Law. She always said she wasn't and would pick fault with everything she had prepared and meanwhile we all devoured it like starving wolves, not slowing until our top buttons needed loosening.
She was always self deprecating, Gwen, sharp as a tack, an immensely hard working woman, as farmers wives are. She helped Tiny with the milking, dressed in overalls and wellies and came up from the dairy with fresh cream and milk almost every day.
She made everything from scratch, and cooked in the tiny kitchen, the combustion stove going no matter what the heat as it had to heat the water.
We would arrive and everyone would open their presents and we would scoop them up and hide them in the cars so they didn't get wrecked on the first day at least.
On the table in the kitchen would be bowls of nuts and lollies and crisps. we would all have a Christmas Cheer drink and then banish the men and the women would take over the kitchen and lounge room.
We would set the table and set up a table for the kids in the corner, usually an old card table pulled into service. We always had turkey, usually freshly killed a few days before, and chicken, ham and pork. All the vegetables coming from Gwen's kitchen garden.
The taste was to die for, as she liked everything well done and rich gravy made from the roast drippings and thickened. We would crack open the crackers and dive on our little objects tumbling out, we were like magpies.
we would all wear the hats and tell the truly awful jokes and help clear away the dishes, ready for the dessert, plum pudding, of course, home made of course.
Always silver coins hidden inside and we could have it with cream, icecream or hot custard and sometimes we were given all 3 and told to shutup if we dared to open our mouths in protest.
Quiet Uncle Ken would be there and Nana Wooley, Gwen's Mum. Ken with his envelopes standing shyly to one side of the room and handing them out to us couples for our families. Such a great self effacing man, who had never married or had children.
he had his chance once but I think she broke his heart, he coming back from the war and she was with another. And he went no more dancing before the light of love which was a shame as he was a lovely man.
Nana Wooley was a tiny woman with usually a little Yorkie Terrier with her, always with a bow in it's top knot. Some of Nana's dogs lived 20 years, she pampered them so.
We would all lie around after eating the immense dinner and chat and have cups of tea and then would come afternoon tea. Was there no end to this woman's luscious food.
Mince pies that melted in your mouth, Nana and Gwens vying for best at show. Nana pipped it as she made her own mincemeat with old fashioned suet and a dash of brandy I think.
Gwen's Christmas cake has never varied in all the years I have known her and it's a Marshmallow Icing covered castle covered in delicate hundreds and thousands or rainbow crystals, silver balls, nestled in the valley of the peaks of snow like icing.
There is a layer of Marzipan and I am reminded of the Battenburg Cakes my Mum was so fond of. Gwen and her good friends and swapped recipes.
And as the hot afternoon stretches before us we turn on the tiny telly and watch the Queens speech for the tradition. Everyone hangs around for "tea", which is traditionally cold meat.
Not just any cold meat of course, the ham making its appearance, huge and sliced in hearty slices. tiny does the carving with the Stay Sharp Wiltshire knife. Tiny males sure to sharpen it beforehand, not trusting the stay sharp scabbard as sharpening enough.
There is fresh beetroot in vinegar and a tiny bit of sugar, bread and butter pickles, the cucumbers from the garden and bottled with vinegar and brine and mustard seeds.
Gwen makes the mayonnaise that is made from condensed milk and people have been known to spread it on their toast with nothing else. (Well, one person, anyway )
She has made an immense trifle with chopped jelly and jam roll and a drop of brandy or two, adorned with custard and then cream fresh from the "milking" that morning.
we are all stuffed full like Dresden Geese but still look forward to it and still eat. And finally the visitors are leaving and we stay on as we have about 3 weeks ahead of us of the hay.
That's a story in itself, the hay, and I will leave it for another time. Christmases at Mandalay deserve a story, just for themselves.
the one where Ian returned from the Vietnam War and where sometimes faces would be missing, having to attend their families Christmas. But for the most part we were those people who enjoyed comfort and tradition and for once forgot our ordinary lives and celebrated Christmas as people should, together in laughter and present giving and good will towards others,
Love Janette
Love janette
Christmases at the farm were legendary, even now my girls continue to talk of them and set their own standards high to match Grandma Hancock.
the weather was typically hot and after came the hay season which was almost always excruciatingly brutally hot.
But Christmas Day was always preceded for us before the hour trip, with the opening of the presents. One year it rained so hard we had to erect the girls slide in the lounge room.
Another Debbie and Yvette getting 2 way radios and calling each other from their rooms.
We were convinced the Commander 64 we bought them didn't work as neither Bob or I could get a score out of it as we practiced on our very first video game.
The girls came in and got 20,000 points and it remained to him and I a big puzzle, not in the least interested in the new technology. but I was clever enough to type a greeting from Santa to the girls.
Then we would dress all the girls in brand new dresses and shoes and socks and pack the car with presents and drive to Loch. So serene and old and we would stop off there and buy Bob's Mum, sherbet bombs in a big white paper bag.
We would turn up the hills towards Soldiers Road, the farm not visible from the road, just a cattle grid and a gate. I smashed into the gate post when Bob let me drive his Xp station Wagon, the one with the gingham curtains his Auntie Oll had made him.
But as years went by we drove up in bigger and better cars and with more and more children.
There were heaps of them or so it seemed, the Hancocks, my husbands family. Tiny and Gwen, my parents in law and Kerrie and Ivan as children and the marrieds, Joy and Kevin and Ian and Merrilyn and Bob and I.
Merrilyn and Bob being brother and sister and married to brother and sister, Ian and I.
Pauline was single and my age, and she met her future husband at our wedding in Sydney. Her wedding coming later and I had married at 17, Bob was 23. the first year we were single and by the 2nd, were engaged, married and had a child and buy the next Christmas another.
I ended up in hospital Christmas that year, in Korumburra, I vomited up an egg boxing day and then don't remember much except going to hospital and being in a few day. complications after Yvette's birth, necessitating a minor op.
Not a great time to get sick.
But the Christmas dinners were fabulous, us setting the billiard table with a top on, with all the polished cutlery and crackers. Pretty glasses for the muscat and lemonade drink, Tiny preferring a portagaffe.
We could only just squeeze in there with us all sitting down. the table filled the room, only being small and having a piano in the room as well.
The piano stool was called into use as a seat and Gwen remembered Xmas dinners past where the kids stuffed the stool with unwanted food.
She was an incredible cook my Mother In Law. She always said she wasn't and would pick fault with everything she had prepared and meanwhile we all devoured it like starving wolves, not slowing until our top buttons needed loosening.
She was always self deprecating, Gwen, sharp as a tack, an immensely hard working woman, as farmers wives are. She helped Tiny with the milking, dressed in overalls and wellies and came up from the dairy with fresh cream and milk almost every day.
She made everything from scratch, and cooked in the tiny kitchen, the combustion stove going no matter what the heat as it had to heat the water.
We would arrive and everyone would open their presents and we would scoop them up and hide them in the cars so they didn't get wrecked on the first day at least.
On the table in the kitchen would be bowls of nuts and lollies and crisps. we would all have a Christmas Cheer drink and then banish the men and the women would take over the kitchen and lounge room.
We would set the table and set up a table for the kids in the corner, usually an old card table pulled into service. We always had turkey, usually freshly killed a few days before, and chicken, ham and pork. All the vegetables coming from Gwen's kitchen garden.
The taste was to die for, as she liked everything well done and rich gravy made from the roast drippings and thickened. We would crack open the crackers and dive on our little objects tumbling out, we were like magpies.
we would all wear the hats and tell the truly awful jokes and help clear away the dishes, ready for the dessert, plum pudding, of course, home made of course.
Always silver coins hidden inside and we could have it with cream, icecream or hot custard and sometimes we were given all 3 and told to shutup if we dared to open our mouths in protest.
Quiet Uncle Ken would be there and Nana Wooley, Gwen's Mum. Ken with his envelopes standing shyly to one side of the room and handing them out to us couples for our families. Such a great self effacing man, who had never married or had children.
he had his chance once but I think she broke his heart, he coming back from the war and she was with another. And he went no more dancing before the light of love which was a shame as he was a lovely man.
Nana Wooley was a tiny woman with usually a little Yorkie Terrier with her, always with a bow in it's top knot. Some of Nana's dogs lived 20 years, she pampered them so.
We would all lie around after eating the immense dinner and chat and have cups of tea and then would come afternoon tea. Was there no end to this woman's luscious food.
Mince pies that melted in your mouth, Nana and Gwens vying for best at show. Nana pipped it as she made her own mincemeat with old fashioned suet and a dash of brandy I think.
Gwen's Christmas cake has never varied in all the years I have known her and it's a Marshmallow Icing covered castle covered in delicate hundreds and thousands or rainbow crystals, silver balls, nestled in the valley of the peaks of snow like icing.
There is a layer of Marzipan and I am reminded of the Battenburg Cakes my Mum was so fond of. Gwen and her good friends and swapped recipes.
And as the hot afternoon stretches before us we turn on the tiny telly and watch the Queens speech for the tradition. Everyone hangs around for "tea", which is traditionally cold meat.
Not just any cold meat of course, the ham making its appearance, huge and sliced in hearty slices. tiny does the carving with the Stay Sharp Wiltshire knife. Tiny males sure to sharpen it beforehand, not trusting the stay sharp scabbard as sharpening enough.
There is fresh beetroot in vinegar and a tiny bit of sugar, bread and butter pickles, the cucumbers from the garden and bottled with vinegar and brine and mustard seeds.
Gwen makes the mayonnaise that is made from condensed milk and people have been known to spread it on their toast with nothing else. (Well, one person, anyway )
She has made an immense trifle with chopped jelly and jam roll and a drop of brandy or two, adorned with custard and then cream fresh from the "milking" that morning.
we are all stuffed full like Dresden Geese but still look forward to it and still eat. And finally the visitors are leaving and we stay on as we have about 3 weeks ahead of us of the hay.
That's a story in itself, the hay, and I will leave it for another time. Christmases at Mandalay deserve a story, just for themselves.
the one where Ian returned from the Vietnam War and where sometimes faces would be missing, having to attend their families Christmas. But for the most part we were those people who enjoyed comfort and tradition and for once forgot our ordinary lives and celebrated Christmas as people should, together in laughter and present giving and good will towards others,
Love Janette
