Our family has its very
own ghost of Christmas past – her name is Betsy Hilda Morrison and
she was my grandmother. She died thirty years ago, but she wouldn’t
miss Christmas for the world (or otherworld in her case). She stands
like a beaming Yoda at the end of The Jedi
Returns benevolently looking on as the family continues the
traditions she established.
Betsy, or Bessie as she
was known, loved Christmas – she looked forward to it from one year
to the next. If she had had her way the Christmas decorations would
have stayed up until Easter, but my Aunt Zoe insisted on taking them
down at Twelfth Night. Christmas Day was not enough for Bessie. On
Christmas Day she and Aunty would arrive complete with presents at
our house in time for Christmas lunch and leave in the evening. But
on Boxing Day the process was reversed, we went to their house and
what would you know – Father Christmas always seemed to get
horribly confused because he had filled stockings for us there too!
So we had Christmas twice, thanks to Betsy Hilda. When Boxing Day was
over Betsy would look forward to the next big event – the trip to
the January Sales at which she would buy Christmas presents.
Anyone meeting my
charming grandmother could be easily be mistaken into thinking this
little woman with white hair she referred to as “baby’s bum
fluff” was a sweet old dear. But behind her considerable charm was
a formidable mind and memory and a will of iron. Betsy was a
matriarch of the first order and God help anyone who wronged her or
hers. This killer instinct came in very useful in the run-up to
Christmas as Granny did the rounds of the local whist drives. She
never came away without winning something. Her memory and head for
figures making her virtually unbeatable with a good partner. I
remember regularly getting into my Aunt’s car to be told “Your
Granny’s won another turkey!”
When Betsy died, my
Aunt continued the tradition of the family Boxing Day although by now
Father Christmas was mistakenly delivering presents for the next
generation. No longer oversupplied with turkeys Aunt would bone and
stuff ducks for Boxing Day, which were to my mind preferable to
turkey. And when Aunt Zoe died, it was my turn to take on Betsy’s
baton and celebrate our very special Boxing Day.
We live in Aunt Zoe’s
house and when we started going through her things I found the
Christmas Box. In it were the Christmas tree decorations with which
we used to adorn the tree, taking orders from a seated Betsy. Also in
the box were supplies of wrapping paper and labels, which dated back
twenty five years to a time when Betsy had had a corner shop in the
Forest of Dean, and which, when Betsy had retired, had come with her
to her new home. I still have the labels, I don’t use them – they
are far too old fashioned – but “waste not, want not,” as my
Granny would say.
Born at the end of the nineteenth century, Betsy
was brought up by her grandparents and used to keep me enthralled
with her memories of a very Victorian childhood, including memories
of Christmases of that very different time. Memories of a stocking
which might if you were lucky contain an orange no doubt inspired her
in making her family’s Christmas so abundant.This blog post is part
of the Meet The Family Blog Hop.
