Free Classic Christmas Stories by Frank Galgay Page B

and recompense of Him “who calleth the children.”

Memories of Christmas Past
    by Stella Whelan
    N
O DOUBT THERE WERE other signs and portents but when I
     was a child the Christmas season opened officially with the making and baking of
     the Light Cake and the Dark Cake. These operations provided a multitude of
     fascinating occupations of which I never tired.
    There were currants and raisins to be washed and dried; red cherries to be cut
     up; citron to be sliced; egg whites to be whipped into pearly mounds; yolks
     beaten into luscious, yellow cream; and flour to be measured, sifted and
     measured again.
    The black iron pot had to be carefully fitted with greased brown paper and this
     necessitated much careful work with the scissors. Our Number Seven Ideal Cook
     had to be well supplied with splits and coal, heated to a fever pitch and then
     banked down for the baking.
    Every detail was noted, every move watched with unflagging attention.
    The baking period itself was one of some anxiety. The rich brown smells that
     filled the house were glorious, but was the oven too hot? Was it hot enough?
     Would the cakes burn? Would they fall? All of these apprehensions I shared with
     my mother and I breathed a sigh of relief with her when the cakes emerged from
     the oven, fragrant and golden brown.
    But the end was not yet—the best was yet to come.
    In due course, when the cakes were deemed to be sufficiently
     matured, they were placed on the kitchen table for the Icing Ceremony. Involving
     none of the hazards of the actual baking, this was a task of pure delight. After
     the cakes had been duly spread with mounds of snow white icing, there were the
     bowls to lick. No confection in the world has ever tasted quite like it!
    This great project completed, the next landmark was the appearance of Santa’s
     picture in the Daily News and Evening Telegram . This event was
     eagerly awaited for once Santa’s picture had appeared in the positive that Santa
     had begun his journey from the North Pole and would be on hand to fill my
     stocking on Christmas Eve.
    Then the day came to order the Christmas groceries. These included table apples
     (as opposed to the barrel of apples that was always kept in the porch); Valencia
     oranges, grapes from Greece that came in small wooden barrels with bits of cork
     still clinging to them; “bought” biscuits and several varieties of nuts in their
     shells. When I was a child no one would dream of celebrating Christmas without
     nuts and a nutcracker.
    Amongst the groceries there would always be a bottle of highly coloured syrup
     which was a gift from the store where we “dealt.” There was also a box of
     chocolates from the China Man. With a long, blue laundry bag dangling from his
     shoulder, this patient laundry man came once a week to collect my father’s
     shirts. Our number was M-29. At Christmas time he did up the Good Table
     Cloth.
    On Christmas Eve all these goodies were symetrically displayed on the
     sideboard—a bowl of oranges on one end, a bowl of apples on the other. In
     between lay the dish of nuts flanked by the nut-cracker. The bought biscuits
     were placed in a barrel-shaped glass container known as the “Biscuit Jar.” I
     entertained an almost reverential awe for this object, believing it to be of
     untold worth.
    There was however, another side to Christmas, in order to participate fully in
     the great feast of the Nativity; the entire family had to be in the State of
     Grace. On the afternoon of Christmas Eve we would make our way to the Cathedral
     for confession and afterwards there was the joy of the first visit to the
     Crib.
    In those days the Crib was arranged at the altar of the Blessed Virgin. A
     carved, marble figure of the Child Jesus was laid on a pile of yellowstraw. His Mother hovered over him, her long white robes
     falling in shadowy folds, her face tender and luminous. On each side of the
     altar tall dark fir trees mounted guard over