Phyllis McKenna

 

I have my Christmas present!!!!!

Snow glistened like candy floss on the frozen ground, crunching footsteps creating mental images of giants feasting on the sugary confection. Multi coloured lights, sparkled, twinkled and winked from neighbourhood homes, unusual plastic shapes in garish colours, placed in unusual environments gazed blankly from white filled gardens. Santas with bulging bags climbed precariously on garden walls, perched dangerously atop chimney stacks, nodding bravely in time with the windy weather. Christmas! A joyous and expectant time of the year, made even more so for young Teresa Killen and her baby brother Josh. For tomorrow they were going to see the Big Man himself,  bringer of gifts, jolly person in a frozen world, bright red suit lighting up the dreary season.

Perhaps not so for parents and guardians, who had the mind blowing job of scraping together enough cash to fulfil Santa’s promises to the excited children. But hardship and sacrifice were forgotten when Christmas morning dawned and the glow from young faces lit up homes brighter than the tall pine tree in the corner.

Sleep evaded Teresa as her little heart raced and morning seemed a lifetime away. The sonorous snores of her Dad, the soft sighs from Mum and the fiddly fidgeting from Josh eventually guided her into the Land of Nod, safe in the bosom of the family unit….

 

Mummy’s voice roused Teresa from her dreams of  tinsel and toys and stretching  she anticipated the day ahead. Giggling dizzily, she quickly washed and dressed , listening to the  ceaseless chittering of her sibling. Three year old Josh was a constant thorn in Teresa’s side, although she loved him with a fierce protective sisterly devotion but not when he was trying to tag along with her and her friends. One Halloween past, Mum insisted they take him trick or treating, he wore Dad’s overcoat and cap with face blackened with soot and to their chagrin completely outshone their carefully applied makeup and fairy wings  ending up with a sack full of goodies they could only dream of.

 

At long last, the family trooped out the door, over muffled like Eskimoes, ready to brave the Winter blasts.  Teresa held Dad’s hand while Mum suffered Josh’s relentless questions:

“Where does Santa live, Mum!”

“ Does he know where I live”

“Will you tell him, promise!”

“Quiet now, love here’s the bus” Mum succeeded in silencing him for a while until they were seated on the top deck AND thankfully the rocking motion of the tram lulled him to sleep and they were saved. Teresa was different. Her excitement was hidden within her, anticipation bubbling inside. She was a quiet child, not known to show outward emotion but gifted with an incredible imagination fed by her avid reading capabilities and love for books. Teresa kept dairies into which she poured her heart, even at six years old, surveying and storing information garnered from everyday life, opinions of folk and activities around her, translating them into simple language and hence into small poems and tales she kept in her secret journal. Mum had become concerned about Teresa’s continual reading and had consulted her primary school teacher to seek advice.

“Mrs Hillen, don’t stop Teresa reading. It is so good for her, it is something she loves and will stand her in good stead in later years. If she wants to read the back of a cornflakes box let her.”

Words of wisdom to alleviate a mothers worry concerning her child’s mental health. Teresa wasn’t withdrawn and strange, she was literary and caught up in the magic of the written word. Future Christmas presents would now always include a book!

Today would be different, though. A trip into town on the No. 12 bus, a meeting with Father Christmas, a present and lunch in a café. Rare treats indeed!

Teresa was  a happy child, nearly always happy, except when Josh clung to her apron strings when not wanted,  but sometimes her child’s mind sensed a darkness in front of her and she would sit quietly, book in hand and lose the bad feeling in wonderful words.

 

Soon they arrived in downtown Belfast and with Dad shouldering the still sleeping Josh , they proceeded on foot to Robbs Department store. Teresa was numbed by the number and size of the shops and horrified by the hurrying hordes of humans intent on finishing their Christmas collections. Armed with umbrellas and walking sticks, pushchairs and prams, shifting and shoving, pushing and pulling, the spirit of the season all but forgotten in their quest for the Holy Grail!! With daring determination Mum directed her family through the door Robbs. There were no simple sentences to describe the sights, sounds and sensations that assailed them on the shop floor.

Christmas carollers chorused from overhead speakers, candy canes and coloured lights cascaded from every available ceiling fixture. Glass shelves groaned with gorgeous goodies, garish garments vied for space with beautiful boots and not so sensible shoes.  Perfumes pervaded the atmosphere,  several samples of smoky smells and flower fusions. Best of all the scents of the season, cinnamon combined with orange, ppine with peppermint, spices speared on savoury scones and sweets. A magical world for Teresa, enough visual variety, vocal cacophony to feed her imaginative writing skills for quite some time.

“Teresa, stop dithering. Do you want to see Santa at all. C’mon, love, hurry up. Josh is getting restless and your Da and I could do with a cup of tea.”

That said they joined the queue for Winter Wonderland. Robbs had outdone themselves this year. A white wooden Santa sleigh with rubber reindeer, stood ready and waiting, decorated in shades of Christmas red and pine tree green, to whisk excited little ones through the enchanted forest to Santa’s home in the store’s basement. Tiny faces, tinged with cold, shone ruby red with delight as the sleigh slowed at each glittering grotto, each painted piece presenting a picture pertaining to the season. Industrious toy making elves, hammering heartily  and hastily to hurry along production, jolly jumbo cooks concocting candy canes and creamy cakes, fairies flitting hither and thither fanning the weary workers and toy tin soldiers guarding the entrance to Santa’s sanctuary. And there he was! Childrens’ chatter ceased! Toddlers tears turned off! Bonny babies instantly slept and even grown ups grew quiet.

He smiled and the children Oooohed!

He waved and the children Aaaahed!

One by one he named them and they felt such a sweet terror.

Teresa was transfixed and when her name was called she had a little trouble moving.

 

TO BE CONTINUED……

 

 

 

“Read all about it! Read all about it!” The raucous call of the news vendor echoed round the vast shopping centre, halting folk in their quest for life’s little comforts, things they really, really couldn’t do without. It stopped overweight diners from shoving that last forkful in their open, glistening mouths. Children ceased their energetic play, not fully understanding, but sensing the change in the holiday atmosphere. Christmas time at Shepperton Mall and all was a glittering and a glowing with a multitude of twinkling, fiery lights. Artificial trees bowed down relentlessly with synthetic snow and wide eye angels gazed vacantly, toothy smiles directed at no one. Retail establishments exploded with extra illumination, content in the knowledge that craven consumer business would alleviate the extra electrical expense. Senseless secret purchases for unsuspecting relatives, hideous lace edged handkerchiefs for her, sets of sickening patterned socks for him. Toys for the children with hidden dangers in every dimension, no warnings given by the greedy, malicious manufacturers. Inflated prices, just enough for reductions in the January sales, items costing half the price a few weeks back. Unsuspecting Joe Public duped into thoughts of bargains, while sadistic, sleazy shopkeepers rubbed their hands like Ebenezer Scrooze. Season of good will, time of plenty provided its plastic.

“Breaking news! Breaking news! Under new management!”                                                                                       

 Hordes of last minute present searchers, reluctant to part with their ill-gotten gains but knowing it is expected of them. No generosity of spirit, emotional blackmail for husbands and lovers, fearing the wrath of the she devil if no gift materialises under the drooping tree.Cards to write, decorations resurrected from the dusty place in the attic, no tree yet! Well, hurry it up! The day’s nearly here.Wewant the biggest, the best, the nicest tree in the neighbourhood. Artificial, no way! We want a real, solid forest tree cut down in its prime, hacked to pieces for our enjoyment.A tree that has been torn from its roots, gouged from the earth, silently screaming for mercy, enslaved and on show for all to poke and prod, insult and hurt with rough handling. Stripped and humiliated, shoved into a  rusty coal bucket, legions of gaudy ridiculous baubles planted on protesting bare branches, glistening coils of fire hazard lights slither and snake around the softly pine scented needles of the massacred, once majestic inhabitant of the natural world. They say vegetation does not feel emotion  but sap slides slowly drip, drip to the floor from the wounded creature. Lights,lights and more lights, glowing Santas, prancing reindeer, evil elves lasciviously drooling after virginal fairies, gardens draining the National Grid. Merry Bloody Christmas! 

Santas, numerous in number,the unemployed, the destitute, sometimes even the drunk find jobs at Christmas. “Promise the little brats anything,” they are told, just make sure the money is spent in this store. Bitterly disappointed children on Christmas morning, parents watching as hope and excitement die in little faces. They feel useless, despairing, unable to provide a Happy Holiday for their kids. Dad out of work, mortgage unpaid, no money left for expensive gifts. Bloody store Santas! Why make promises to children they don’t even know? Despair to depression to the ultimate betrayal, abandonment, family left behind to grieve, to wonder why. But Dad knows, he let them down, better off without him, the bells toll his leaving. Black Christmas. 

 

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! New head of the festive season arriving soon!New boss, new rules. Read all about it! 

No one halted their frenzy to discover exactly what the breaking news was. No one seemed to care, too much to do, too little time, if they only knew just how little normal time they really had.  Hurrying, scurrying, poking and prodding at fat, dead, unlucky turkeys, the traditional birds of the season. What an honour for the innocent feathered avian. To be garrotted, plucked, stuffed in intimate places with foul smelling bits of dried grass, trussed, skewered, roasted and eaten by gluttonous hordes. An honour the bird could well forsake. 

“What’s that? You want me to put money in your bucket? You’re hungry, haven’t eaten for some time. Sorry, forgot my wallet. Ha! Ha!” 

Listen to me people, before it’s too late. Read the latest edition. Read all about it! Please! 

No listeners. All he asked to put things right were three wise men or women and a virgin. Scrap the last one, that would prove much too difficult. No sexism in his abode, all welcome, warmly welcomed! 

 Ludicrous Christmas jumpers, discarded gaudy wrapping paper clogging bins and littering the streets, caught on telephone lines, disintegrating, rotting, causing communication disruption. Reams of tinsel and silken ribbons strewn around for trips and falls, small people choking on fibrous skeins of unravelling packaging. Children queuing for false promises and a pound shop piece of garbage made precious and priceless because it came from Santa. Long lists, short lists, depending on the child, the greedy goblins suffering cramps in their fingers in their haste to list every toy in creation. 

Breaking news! Breaking news! The caller’s voice weakens as he valiantly attempts to save mankind, to instil in the animalistic hordes some semblance of humanity. To bring them back to humility and kindness, re schooled in the true meaning of the Season.  

On Christmas morning all is peace and love, gifts opened, fun and laughter the order of the day. Until the evening when parental personality changes, when  innocent children cower in the corner fearfully watching as their Mummy and Daddy imbibe copious amounts of alcohol then hurl hurtful abuse and  physically attack each other. More often than not the venom is turned on the child, who holds on to the meagre allowance of Christmas gifts, eyes closed tight to avoid detection.To no avail. The toy is ripped from their tiny hands, cruel words spat in their face, blows rained on the softness of arms and legs. Visiting relations bickering in the background, lifetime squabbles started on this day of days, families split for all time. Merry Bloody Christmas! 

Have you heard me, people? Have you listened? Too late! Too late! He is here! 

Thunder booms in Shepperton Mall and in all Malls across the world. Skies darken, icy winds blow through the buildings, on the buildings, in the buildings. A voice is heard, deep, dark and full of menace: 

“I have waited so long for this day. Biding my time, knowing the hordes of humanity as I so well do, after all I am a warm host to a considerable number of you creatures. I watched as Christmas disintegrated in front of my eyes. True to form, the human spirit sank into depths of greed and depravity, uncaring of others, self- importance gaining the upper hand. I told Him, you know, warned Him, but like all brothers he goes his own way.That surprises you, yeah! The Master of the Universe is my brother. Nice bro eh! Throwing his own sibling out of Heaven. Hah! Now it’s my time, no charitable mercy from me, no second chances to put things right. You are all to blame, your weak minds and sinful souls have been your undoing. Christmas! Bah! Humbug! Bah! The Season is mine! So fire ahead, continue with your twisted frivolities. I am Legion! I am enjoying the show!”