Month: December 2016
Christmas Stocking
Presented by Dorothy Lynn.
Traditional Christmas stocking fillers. Most of us remember Christmases just after the second world war and rationing. We really used socks , not pillow cases, and we were delighted to receive chocolate coin and fresh fruit. The anticipation and excitement of Santa’s midnight visit remains the same for children today, though their wish list nowadays probably includes bikes and computers.
13th December 2016
St. Stephen’s Day in Ireland
Presented by Kathleen MacFarlane
(to play, click on the arrow)
When I was a little girl (a very long time ago) my family lived in Roscrea, County Tipperary. I well remember, on what we call Boxing Day, the Wren Boys coming round and singing outside our home. I have often wondered about the meaning of this old custom and have done a bit of research to find out more.
St. Stephen’s Day honours the first Christian martyr, stoned to death shortly after the Crucifixion. St. Stephen’s Day is a national holiday in Ireland, but the celebrations have little connection to the Saint.
In Ireland, St. Stephen’s Day is the day for “Hunting the Wren” or “Going on the Wren.” Originally, groups of small boys would hunt for a wren, and then chase the bird until they either have caught it or it has died from exhaustion. The dead bird was tied to the top of a pole or holly bush, which was decorated with ribbons or coloured paper.
Early in the morning of St. Stephen’s Day, the wren was carried from house to house by the boys, who wore straw masks or blackened their faces with burnt cork, and dressed in old clothes. At each house, the boys sing the Wren Boys’ song. Such as:
The wren, the wren, the king of all birds,
On St. Stephen’s Day was caught in the furze,
Although he is little, his family is great,
I pray you, good landlady, give us a treat.
My box would speak, if it had but a tongue,
And two or three shillings, would do it not wrong,
Sing holly, sing ivy–sing ivy, sing holly,
A drop just to drink, it would drown melancholy.
And if you draw it of the best,
I hope in heaven your soul will rest;
But if you draw it of the small,
It won’t agree with these wren boys at all.
The Wren Boys would visit all the houses in the village and sing and dance and hopefully be offered food and of course a few pence. Those who gave money were often given a feather from the wren for good luck. The money collected by the Wren Boys was sometimes used to hold a dance for the whole village.
Wren boys, Limerick 1946
There are different legends about the origin of this custom. One is that St. Stephen, hiding from his enemies in a bush, was betrayed by a chattering wren. The wren, like St. Stephen, should be hunted down and stoned to death. Another legend holds that during the Viking raids of the 700’s, Irish soldiers were betrayed by a wren as they were sneaking up on a Viking camp in the dead of night. A wren began to eat breadcrumbs left on the head of a drum, and the rat-a-tat-tat of its beak woke the drummer, who sounded the alarm and woke the camp, leading to the defeat of the Irish soldiers and the continuing persecution of the wren.
13th December 2016
Sydney Harbour Bridge at Christmas
Presented by Tom Adair
13th December 2016
Doggy Christmas.
Presented by Agnes Blake
I have brought three little knitted stockings which were given to me by my daughter as a present for three puppies which we had just before Christmas.
We have always been dog people, first breeding standard wire-haired dachunds for hunting – which we subsequently showed in the show ring and proved to be extremely successful.
When the last of our hunting dogs didn’t produce a litter, I persuaded my husband that all we really needed was a pet and his response was,’If we are going to have a pet, let’s have a good one that we can show as well!’ and I chose a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, which we enjoyed so much, we bought another and another and, once more we showed them in the ring and bred them until we had a house full of Cavaliers – we even moved house with three bitches and eleven puppies!
We have become accustomed to having a house full of snoring dogs and now we are down to one old girl whom we shall miss terribly when she goes, but, mostly, the snoring in stereo. However, we still have the three little knitted stockings to remind us of Alpha/All That Jazz and Albert – the three puppies – in France, all puppies born in a year have to have names which start with one letter of the alphabet. That year, it was A.
13th December 2016
Language, language!
Presented by Marlene Reid
My object for a Xmas memory is a small rather battered Santa Clause, a Christmas tree ornament.
When I first went to Africa in 1968 Christmas felt very strange but in true British tradition and despite the sweltering heat we always tried to follow the Christmas traditions and one was having a Christmas tree, with the usual decorations which surprisingly were on sale in some shops. My Santa was one of these and hung in the middle of the tree which had to be collected from the Forest Dept. In those early days I did not have to accompany a warden to the forest and pick my own tree which he would cut as I did in later years. Santa was duly hung on the tree in pride of place at the front.
My son was about 3 years old and fast learning any new words that he heard. Unfortunately some were not so welcome for us to hear! The most used was ‘bloody fool’. How or where he heard it I do not know and can only think he had been a little egged on by the older children. My attempts to stop him were not being successful and so finally I used the old adage while pointing to the Santa on the tree ‘Santa will not bring you any presents if he hears you using those bad words’. He looked thoughtful but wandered off so I thought that would be it.
A little while later I was passing the sitting room door where the Christmas tree was and heard some conversation. I could hear my son’s voice and wondered who he could be talking to. I peeped in to see him sitting in front of the tree looking at Santa and saying ‘you’re a bloody fool Santa’. Utter defeat for my wiles. I said nothing and duly put out his Christmas presents. Not an easy child to coerce and now a grown up with his own son and still not easy to coerce. The Santa is battered and is pretty rusty but he always hangs on my tree as a reminder that it is sometimes best to accept defeat gracefully. I have carried Santa carefully all the way back to Portrush so he can hang on our tree this year with all the much more beautiful decorations. He still has his special place!
13th December 2016
Christmas Dinner at the City Hotel 1962
Presented by Norman Hamill
This is the Hamill family about to have their Christmas dinner in the old City Hotel in Derry in 1962. I’m there with my father and mother Charlie and Georgie, my two brothers Victor and Desmond and my Aunt Dorothy. I’m the only one in the picture still alive.
The old City Hotel was beside the Guildhall on the corner of Shipquay Street and Foyle Street. Built in 1888 the ‘City’ was Derry’s leading hotel for over 80 years until it was badly damaged by a bomb early in the recent ‘troubles’. After lying in disrepair for some time, it was demolished in 1972 and its site is now a car park and garden. Here’s a picture of the hotel’s exterior:
In scale and opulence the City Hotel was beyond the experience and even the imagining of a boy who had been brought-up in relatively small Coleraine. It was a marvel with its enormous public areas including a huge dining room. There, an imperious head waiter presided over a team of impeccably uniformed and thoroughly professional waitresses who were friendly without being overly-familiar. It short, it was a grand and stylish hotel from the Victorian era.
When street disorder broke out in October 1968, the City Hotel suddenly found it had become ‘headquarters’ in Derry for many famous names from the world of journalism. At the time I was a student at Magee College and it was a remarkable experience to be able to wander into the bar of the City Hotel, there to mingle with famous reporters whose names we’d only previously known from the BBC in London or from major newspapers.
Back in 1962 when I greatly enjoyed Christmas dinner in the hotel and in many other visits there with my parents in the 1950s and early 1960s, there was, of course, nothing to indicate it would, within a few years, host so many journalists covering such a major and unwelcome story of civil strife.
13th December 2016
Christmas Memories from Bethlehem
Presented by Sylvia Smith
Christmas candles and water from the River Jordan
13th December 2016
Sparkles from Alaska
Presented by Dorothy Chandler
13th December 2016
Our Christmas fairy
Presented by Joe Austin
I came to work to work for the chemical fibre company Chemstrand later known as Monsanto in 1959. As newly weds we were very pleased to get one of the company semi detached houses at Laurelhill Coleraine. Our next door neighbours were Harvey and Joan Rowan; Harvey was a chemical engineer and also worked at Chemstrand(Monsanto). Some time later the Rowen family emigrated to America and as they were leaving Joan gave us a fairy which she had inherited from her mother. This fairy had adorned their Christmas trees over the years. For the past 50 odd years she (the fairy) has stood at the top of our tree, as beautiful as ever, maybe her blue dress has faded a little. We still get our annual Christmas card from Joan , unfortunately Harvey has passed away. One year Harvey & I borrowed a Father Christmas outfit and Harvey dressed up and visited our children and I returned the compliment by visiting the Rowen’s kids. Having said all the usual things about being good children etc. I said Santa will now bid you good night be good and sleep well. As I left the room Billy their young son called “ good night Mr Austin” I replied I am not Mr Austin I am Santa” He replied” well you have Mr Austin’s slippers on!
When I was a child living in the country our post was delivered by a postman called Frank Donnelly. Frank was an ex serviceman having fought in the Boer War and WW1.He carried the mail in a large canvas bag around his shoulders. He was kept quite busy for at that time a lot of the locals were working in England/Scotland and the States and were sending money home on a regular bases. Christmas was a particularly busy time for him and he walked a lot of miles around the country. At most houses he got a glass of whiskey and by the time he got to our house he was well under the weather! He staggered in took the post bag from his shoulder turned it upside down scattering the contents on the floor, sunk down on a chair and said” Mrs Austin have a look and see if there is anything for you in the bag”!
13th December 2016
Objects and Stories 