I know I put this poem on a few months ago, but my sister Betty has specifically asked if I will put it on again for a friend of hers. Hope you dont mind... John CHRISTMAS IN YORK STREET 1944. When Tommy and I heard the old staircase creak, we half-close our eyes, but continued to peek. Wed snuggled for hours in our big double bed, now came the moment for which wed both prayed. That must be Santa, Tom whispered to me, his face a confusion of terror and glee. Doesnt he come down the chimney I said, for mother had cleaned it with lots of black-lead. Said Tommy the eldest, as loud as he dares; he musta come in by the big range downstairs. Im sure I heard footsteps, I swear its the truth, like someone was tip-toeing over our roof. A noise on the stair struck us suddenly mute. I hoped he would find where the stockings were put. Baggy and roomy, the kind sailors wore, wed begged them from Daddy, because they held more. The bedroom door squeaked and the handle turned slow, we quietly trembled from temple to toe. The door opened widely, and there stood our Da! Being held up by a half-amused Ma. That isnt Santa I thought, filled with dread. Maybe hes fell off the roof and hes dead! Thats it. I mused, watching through narrowed eyes, Daddies must fill-in, if Santa Claus dies. Dad looked as if he himself might be ill, till Ma hissed: I think youve drunk more than your fill; youve always stayed sober on each Christmas Eve. Ach Sarah he whispered, Ive just started leave.... Ive had a few drinks with my shipmates, he grinned, and just at that moment, we heard him break wind. It came like a fog-horn, a long mournful sound....... and went on for ages until it died down. From under the blankets spontanous laughter burst with a deluge remembered years after. Wed better tell Santa this pairs still awake. laughed Mum, adding, that was a rude noise to make. We stayed in convulsions; as they left the room Mums girlish giggles came back through the gloom. We finally slept, but when morning dawned bright we leapt to our stockings and found them packed tight with apples and oranges, and toys made from wood, plus six pennies, brassoed, to make them look good. The presents were meagre, but we were impressed knowing that Santa was doing his best. A war was in progress and Dad home from sea was quite the best present for Tommy and me. When I think of that Christmas, the laughter comes yet, but closely behind it comes tears of regret. Im the only one left from that memorable night, we huddled in bed filled with wonder and fright, till Dads body-function came mellow and free.... And left priceless memories for Tommy and me. John Campbell. 16-6-87.
Posted on: Tue, 12 Nov 2013 19:18:17 +0000
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