Christmas 1957

Danny Adair

Me and Ma were in the living room making paper chains from old papers and magazines, trying to brighten the place up a bit. We lived in a tenement single end, one of the ones that hadn't fallen down yet, where three families shared one toilet on the landing.

I had never had a proper Christmas present. The best to date had been a home made wooden sword, but this year there had been wee hints that there might be something a bit special. I really wanted a toy train. I had seen one, a Triang, in a toy shop, and dreamed about it every night.

Da wasn't home from work yet and although Ma was sunny and bright, and was teasing me, I caught her a couple of times glancing at the clock.

I was packed off to sleep in the bed recess, while she listened to a program on the radio.

It took me a while to get to sleep, as I was excited and was trying to work out if it was really Santa himself that would bring my present, or if he just passed it to Ma. After I while I woke up to the sound of raised voices. It took me a bit to get my bearings and then I realised it was Christmas. Excitedly, I stuck my head through the curtains of the bed recess and I saw two things. A beautiful toy train laid out on the floor, with a ring a tinplate track and a clockwork engine and two trucks. The way it was positioned, I could see every detail as I peered out. The other thing I saw was Da swinging Ma about by her hair and battering her with his fist.

He was yelling something about her stealing from his pockets, and about all the sacrifices he had made. I dived back into the recess before he saw me and covered my head with the pillow. I do remember hearing a roar and what sounded like something being dropped.

When I woke up on Christmas day proper, I peeped through the recess, and saw him sprawled on a chair, snoring like the old pig he was, and Ma, curled up in the other chair sobbing gently. I could see the bruising on her face would be really bad this time, and her eye was already almost closed.

In the far corner lay the remnants of my beautiful toy train, which had been crushed by his tackity boots and then disintegrated when he booted it into the corner.

I learned later that when he finished work, he had gone to the pub with his cronies, to 'Celebrate Christmas'. They had stayed until closing time, and then gone for fish and chips, most of which ended up on his clothes rather than in his belly. Then his 'celebrations' had taken him to a carol service. It seems he always went to a protestant one, but only because it was easier to rob the collection there. While being ejected for this larceny, he managed to knock some things over and throw up in the church entrance.

Years later in secondary school, one of the Brothers set us an essay. It was meant to motivate and be inspirational. The topic was 'When I grow up I want to. . .' and my essay had only 11 words.

'When I grow up I want to kill my old man'. Being good Christians they beat the crap out of me.

Christmas? Nah, I don't think so.