By Anna Gaskell Observer Staff Writer It’s good to revisit memories. I always feel some affection for the little girl who looks out at me from that world. The world that photographs claim was real, once. It’s hard to believe we”re the same person, me and that little girl with the white-blond hair. I think about her more than usual at Christmas. Now, Christmas has become just as important a marker of our ages (and aging) as our birthdays.” We remember what we were doing, where we were, and who we were with on that day. “I asked a few friends to tell me some of their Christmas stories” Santa In The House It was night time, on Christmas Eve. She was seven years old, or was she six? The most definite facts about this memory are that it was dark, that she was in bed, and that she knew Santa Claus could arrive at any moment. She was waiting. She didn’t know whether she was trying to fall asleep or whether she was just happy pretending to be trying. She just knew that he would come. Even though they didn’t have a chimney, he would find a way. But she didn’t know when he would arrive. Each moment was a moment closer; she was restless with excitement and waiting. Her baby sister was asleep, unaware. This made her feel almost too awake, like she had to be the eyes for both of them. She thought she heard the tinkle of some bells outside. That would be Rudolf, surely. She pulled the covers up to hide her too-big smile. And then she saw him in the room, his shape outlined by the glow-in-the-dark stickers on her wall. It was dark but she knew he was there. And all the things she wanted to say to him, like thank you and like hi my name is Simone, left her completely. She could only pull the sheet right up to forehead and pretend not to be there. Santa Claus is in my room, she thought. Right now, at this very moment, he is here. It was too much. She prayed for morning to come soon. Jamming with the Cowboys and Indians. Young Eugene was growing up in Cox Village in the 1950s. Each year he looked forward to Christmas time more than anything else. It was the most joyous time of the year because at last, he and his friends were allowed a little freedom. Over the season there were plenty of Christmas sports: those bands that went around the island from one village to the next, beating the Big Drum. One morning he woke up to its Boom! Boom! Someone was shouting: “Cowboys a-come play Cox today!” Eugene rushed out of his house and met his friends on the road, and then together they joined the band. He loved the music; these people sang about life and how funny it was, and they sang to the sounds of the string band, the steel pans, and the booming of the Big Drum. He and a small crowd followed the band, dancing and singing, until they got news of another group playing close by. Then they had to decide which way to go. Usually the excitement of all this freedom got the better of them, and they moved on to dance with the next band, to go with it wherever it took them, or until they bumped into yet another one. They didn’t know if it would be the Cowboys and Indians, Sweet Lemon, N”ere Got Business, Cox Bull, Red Cross, or any of the others. That was the fun of it; it was always different.” One year, when Eugene walked home after staying with his Godmother, tripping by his side was a bewildered-looking sheep. He knew that Godparents usually just give you a chicken and a shilling, so this year was much more special. He saw his parents” eyes widen in delight when they saw the sheep walking by his side. Over Christmas time there was always plenty of wood for cooking; each family would collect theirs two weeks before the holiday started.” And they would go further than usual to find it, making sure they collected only the best. The wood was piled high behind each house. It would be needed for all the cooking, and of course everyone cooked the best food at Christmas. With his meal, Eugene was allowed to have a Bryson drink all to himself. And if his parents cooked fish, it was a special kind of fish that the fishermen had gone out further and deeper to catch.”” When he went to sleep it was on a bed recently filled with soft new grass from Clay Ghaut. He sank into it, exhausted after jamming all day with the Cowboys and Indians and N”ere Got Business and he couldn’t remember who else. He smiled in the dark, wondering who would be playing in Cox Village in the morning. Charlestown Lime Ever since her parents had given in and said, “Okay, now you”re old enough to go to Charlestown for Christmas Eve”, Tashan had done exactly that. Every year. It wasn’t so much about all the shops being open; it was about all the people that would be around. She could see who was with whom, and who was wearing what, and who should really be wearing something else. She remembered the first time she bought mini fireworks, and set them off in the square. You had to launch them from a Carib bottle. Bright hot sparks flew out over her hands; it hurt but she couldn’t let anyone else see that. Then it went up into the air. Now she was a little older and she saw all the young kids doing the same thing in the square. Firing a little too low, she thought. Well, actually aiming at people, if she was honest. So she stayed on the other side of the road or in one of the bars, out of the line of fire. In Eddy’s she suddenly recognised a guy she”d been at school with. He”d moved away early, but he was back visiting his family. The two of them had sat next to each other in class for so many years when they were younger. And now, even though they didn’t have the first clue about each other’s lives anymore, it was Christmas Eve and they were friends again.
