The old year is almost over. Before long, the season of Advent will reach its triumphant end when a newborn babe, born in a humble stable at Bethlehem many years ago, infused new meaning and significance to the five words that matter in our war weary world: Faith, Hope, Peace, Love and Joy.
It is a star lit night when I decided to step outside my home and walk across to the nearby church hoping to capture the joy of that miracle birth. I sit in the last row listening to the choir rehearsing some of my favourite Christmas carols. As the air fills with their joyous anthems of praise, their voices blending in harmony as they render the well loved Christmas carols, ‘Silent Night’, ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ ‘Away in a manger, ‘Joy to the world,’ ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem,’ my memory journeys back to the time of my childhood, to the Christmases of yesteyear…
On a night like this I remember I had stepped out to offer a silent prayer of thanks at this very church, for the birth of my first grandson Herschel. He was born five days ahead of Christmas and exactly 61 years after I was born. Our shared birthdays have since, made Christmas much more meaningful for us and the entire family.
Santa
My first memory of Christmas was as a three year old, when I woke up to find the red stocking I had hung on the chair near my bed filled with goodies and a note from Santa wishing me a Happy Christmas. As I grew older the stockings were hung on the Christmas tree which we decorate the night before Christmas. The tree was one of the hundreds of freshly cut pine branches, transported all the way from an upcountry estate, which lined the pavement at the top of our street. Sold for, between Rs 100 to 200, the prices tumbled to an unbelievable low when tired vendors were ready to sell off the last of their trees and hurry home before the dawn of Christmas. I remember how we used to walk up the street close to midnight and purchase one of these trees at a bargain price, my brother helping my father to carry the branch on his shoulders. It would then be carefully placed in a large wooden tub which had belonged to my grandfather, and dressed up with decorations that had been preserved for generations in a large cardboard box.
My favourite was the silver angel propped up by a large silver star at the top- of the tree.
Christmas Day would begin with the traditional breakfast of kiribath, chicken curry, egg curry, prawn curry and katta sambol, and fruit. The food was served on a table laid out with festive Christmas decorations and a nodding Santa surrounded by little elves, as the centrepiece. The Christmas cake wrapped in red, green and gold paper and made by my sister, was served with wine once we returned from the morning church service.
We would then rush to the hall where the Christmas tree stood. Beneath it are dozens of beautifully wrapped presents waiting to be distributed.
Santa
Giving of gifts was the most eagerly awaited event in our morning activities. My father always played the role of Santa wearing that special Santa suit and mask reserved for the occasion. The names of the recipients would be called out according to their seniority, with priority given to the domestics, all of whom had served us faithfully for many years.
They were expected, like everyone else including us children, to showcase their talents with a song, dance, comic act or anything they were good at.
Our cook for over 20 years, R. Oinis Hamy, who proudly claimed she was feared in Boosa from where she hailed owing to her fierce temper, but stood barely four feet in height, was the first to receive her gift. Dressed in her spotless white cloth and matching jacket edged with beeralu lace which she wore only when she went home once in three months, she would accept her gifts with a regal bow after singing some of her favourite kavis. Liyum, piyum, mata kavuda naththalata gene”, was one I recall, she sang well.
Next came Ariyawathi who practically grew up with us. She invariably accepted her gifts with a loud giggle followed by a burst of tears. “It’s an occasion for joy and sentiment”, she would say, explaining the reason for her tears. William, our Man Friday did the baila, moving with surprising agility in spite of his seventy odd years. Dias our houseboy, an expert at imitating sounds, gave us a realistic version of the cock crowing and dog barking.
Christmas party
The Christmas party we held in the evening, for our non Christian neighbours was the highlight of our celebrations. My mother Muriel (nee Silva,) used her skills in creative writing, to put together an original production which could convey both the true meaning of Christmas and capture the magic of the festive season with a play she had written just for the party. The actors were the four of us, the children, and a few of the domestics who liked acting. We had to practise our lines for a fortnight to be word and action perfect. A role I played in one of her plays was that of an elf helping to make toys in Santa’s toy shop. As we sang ‘tap tap tap, as we clap clap clap, we are making toys for girls and boys, my sister Sunil wearing a red cloak over three pillows tied to her tummy, interrupted our singing with a “HO! Ho! Ho! I’m glad to see my merry men busy, enjoying themselves”.
Christmas cake
Making the Christmas cake is yet another delicious memory of the past. Even now, sixty years on, I still smell the rich flavours of the ingredients that went into this unique cake, like none other. My sister Sunil was its maker. Our kitchen oven was too small to accommodate the 30 pound cake and it was dispatched to the bakery across Vajira Road, while we, the younger siblings fought for a lick from what remained in the bowl.
Preparations for making the cake began two to three months ahead of Christmas.
I remember the many trips we would make to the Pettah where we would wind our way through a maze of narrow by roads till we reached the shop where my sister always bought her ingredients. The moment she pulled out her list the elderly Muslim gent would carefully measure out and weigh the different ingredients – cadjunuts , real cherries, flour, vanilla essence, currants, candid peel, chow chow preserve, sugar, butter. pumpkin preserve, dates, icing sugar (the cakes were always topped with almond icing as in wedding cakes). The winery store at Paivas was where we bought old arrack or brandy to give the cake its special ‘kick’...
Clothe
To shop for our Christmas outfits we were driven to the Pettah in father’s old CE 5 Morris which creaked through the twisting streets of the Pettah where he could find a parking place. We would then visit several shops before we made our final purchases, starting with Mowlanas, Sellamutthus, the Chinese shops Kundanmals, Hidramanis, to name a few. You could buy a reasonable shirt for Rs eight upwards, a nylex see through saree for just Rs 85, georgette saree for Rs 100, and Indian silks for Rs 200, in these much patronized shops. My father would get a silk shirt measured and even sewn by a Chinese tailor whose imported fabrics were usually purchased from Chinese traders who carried their ware on their backs or cycles. For shoes we would go to Ceylon Boots, DSI and Cargills and Millers in the Fort. Clark shoes with buckles were our favourite choice.
For dresses, we girls had the choice of a wide array of imported fabrics, which my mother got stitched by a needle woman who did most of the sequin on my grandmother’s Singer hand machine. Being fashion conscious, we wanted only the latest styles- my younger sister and I opting for the wide hoop skirts while sister Sunil preferred the narrow waisted, princess line dresses which made her look ‘ more dignified’.
Gift
For gifts and toys large retail outlets like Cargills and Millers offered a wide range of imported toys which, after packing and tagging, we stored in an unused cane laundry basket, which were distributed throughout the season to deserving visitors.
Merrymakers in search of liquors and local brews usually went away satisfied after visiting Paivas and Premasiri Stores.
Outside the Fort Railway Station tram cars would disgorge hundreds of last minute shoppers onto the wide pavements, where almost everything could be bought at give away prices - from cookery utensils, toys, to clothes straight off hangers.
Christmas then, was a family affair. Most of our cards were hand crafted and recycled from old cards. Messages were hand written and personalized . Besides cards and book marks with Bible texts, we made our own Christmas gifts although we also received imported toys which were plentiful at the time. Christmas meals were also home cooked in most households along with the cake, short eats and even ginger beer which my grandfather made from an old recipe that had come down from the family.
Carol singers were always an integral part of the Christmas season. Every year our house would be open all night to welcome these singers who were served with cake and drinks before they went away. One of the best choirs which regularly visited us was from the Blind School at Ratmalana, who had been trained by Ms Spenser Shepherd, then Lanka’s leading choir director. They were so good that even neighbours from down the lane crowded our garden to listen to the beautiful harmonized voices.
Commercialised
Sadly, today, Christmas has become one big giant commercial festival with cards and gifts bought over the counter. So my wish, as we look forward to another Christmas, is that we bring back those time honoured values of the past, now buried under false tinsel wrappings. Let us make Christ the centerpiece of our homes so that we can discover the real meaning of that birth 2,500 years ago that brought us hope of a new Resurrection.