Christmas 2015 and I'm still here

Christmas 2015 and I’m still here ©

By Michael Casey

This is the Christmas I could have missed, but the heart people at City and QE hospitals sorted me out. So I’m still here to bore you all. I can remember chasing DM and Vincent up our road after we had served Midnight Mass. Throwing  snowballs at the pair of them. Vincent was a happy man though a little slow, he died early. But that night he used his umbrella to protect him from the snow balls.

DM raced away and nearly fell on his bum, we chased after him, Vincent was just relieved that he was not getting any more snowballs thrown at him, so he put his umbrella down only to get hit in the face. DM got to the sanctuary of his front door, put I shot a final snow ball at him as the door closed, it bounced off the wall and hit his mum in the face.

Those were the days 45+ years ago. Danny and his sister both went on to Oxford, their dad was a Labour supporting bus driver. Danny later joined the Diplomatic Service and went to South Africa before later running for Parliament, and only just losing by a few 100 votes, he was a Tory by the way. My big brother was already at Oxford, and my other brother later went to Cambridge, our dad was a blacksmith and spent 40 years in the steelworks in Smethwick.

But then it always seemed we had cold and ice and snow. I’d go to bed and listen to A Christmas Carol on the World Service, tears streaming down my face. Our mother would be stitching up the turkey ready for the feeding of the 5000 in the morning. Really it was only 13, the family plus the lodgers. Through Jean the cat once stole a bite from out huge turkey, so mum cut a bit  out and the turkey went in the oven.

Another Christmas, I was maybe 25, a week or so before perhaps, the snow was heavy and part of the chimney came down, so we called the Fire Brigade. I had made a big snowman, so the Brigade put their spotlight on top of the snowman and pointed it up at what was left of the chimney. Just like 20^th Century Fox at the start of the films. Then dad punished a bottle of whisky and gave the fire crew Irish tea and Irish coffee. They lost track of their lump hammer in the darkness, so came back the next morning to collect it.

Christmases were full of such memories, as we got older mum or dad would not come to the Midnight Mass as they were too tired. Then we had moved out so I’d hitch a lift with my sister, and go to Midnight Mass together. Afterwards we’d have late night fish and chips and exchange good wishes. Simple innocent things, age reaching out to us, now I have children of my own and they sing as we have sung in our youth.

The presents don’t matter a damn, it’s the chasing your neighbour up the road throwing snowballs which is important. Its hearing the carols at Christmas, and remembering your dead parents, it is The Silent Night, it’s the smell of the incense and the candles.

It’s getting a hug from old  Mrs D & Mrs M, your mother’s old best friends, both now over 90. It’s thinking back to your old innocence and faith, to your hope beyond reason. Its asking God to polish you as you are in need of cleaning. And most of all its realising every morning is a new dawn, and yes there is no need to ask as the Light is always switched on.