Christmas Time

In the afternoon, was the treat. The teacher collected a penny from each child to buy the delicacies such as pone, tuloom, sugar cake and sweets. We took turns at churning the ice cream until it became "hard" and the teacher served it out in cones.

Christmas was wonderful in Jackson Place where the family lived for nine years. My brother and I had the job to varnish the wooden chairs. That called for scrubbing, scrapping, sandpapering and applying the sticky stuff with a paintbrush. One year, a visitor had his pants properly tarnished with varnish.

With my mother at the helm and my two sisters in tow, they made pastelles and a sweet version called "payme." Some of the drinks were sorrel, ginger beer, white ponche de creme and green de menthe. My mom’s Christmas sweet bread, cakes and coconut bakes with accras disappeared within seconds of being served to her seven children.

The boiling of the ham was the highlight on Christmas Eve. In the backyard, a cooking oil tin aka pitch oil tin was placed on three fairly large stones. The pork ham which was encased in tar, was carefully cut loose and placed in the shining tin. Dry wood underneath the tin was lighted and the boiling of the ham started. This seemed to take an eternity. But we had lots of fun and games while the ham was being cooked.

Every now and then, my mother would "test the ham" by pushing in a fork to see if it could touch the bone. The smell of the ham used to start the secretion of our taste buds. My mom was adamant that nothing could be eaten or drunk until we had attended mass at the Roman Catholic Cathedral.

A friend of the family, Ben Ng Wai would sing ‘O Holy Night’ to a congregation overflowing into the flower garden in front of the church. Standing way up in the pulpit, the Archbishop Count Finbar Ryan, would preach his Christmas message in a voice of thunder. Just remember there were no microphones in churches in those days.

One Christmas day, when I was about seven or eight, my dad gave me a red toy car. There was a chain which had to be wound up before the car could move and the front wheels were adjustable. I kept that car through thick and thin for more than 25 years.

Eventually, when my first son Richard was about four, I gave it to him after ceremoniously outlining its history. At that time, he was accustomed to battery-operated cars and this old one was a real novelty. In less than 25 days, he had demolished the heirloom with a hammer. His reason was, "To see how the spring does curl up inside."

Three years ago, Richard — in his early forties walked in and said, "Dad, here are the keys for the red Mazda 323 F, PBB 3301. It’s all yours."

Whenever I visit his home, I get a big thrill playing with my grandson’s remote-controlled toy cars. Five-year-old Andrew and I enjoy competing in Scalextrix games. Maybe, this Christmas if I am lucky, for the very first time, I may win at least one race.

In early December, a passerby gave a dollar to a beggar. A few days ago, he saw the beggar with both hands outstretched. He said, "O gosh man. You overdoing this thing!" The beggar replied, "Business going good, so I open a branch."