Christmas in Beara: ‘For me, we had the best house in the world’

Tinsel decorations hanging from the ceiling, big tins of USA biscuits and the search for the rogue Christmas tree bulb – MARIA C HENRY recalls Beara in the 70s

IN the 1970s, Christmas was always a joyous occasion in our house on the Beara peninsula.

As a child, it was a time of magic, hope and great excitement. However, for my mam and nan, careful planning formed the very essence of a West Cork Christmas. For them, preparation would begin straight after Hallowe’en.

They were great bakers and loved all the pomp and ceremony of the festive season, so they made dozens of cakes and puddings for family, friends and neighbours. I loved helping them stir the mixture while making a wish. As I closed my eyes tightly, my hopes were mostly about what I wanted Santy to bring me.

After the cake mixture was in the oven, I licked the tasty morsels off the bowl, which was considered a treat. After the baking, they stored away the cakes after a generous infusion of Poitín.

By early December, a steady stream of cards would start arriving. There were hundreds of them, some with very simple messages, like ‘to Breda and family from all the O’Sullivans’. The postmark might be the only clue to which O’Sullivans they were.

The immediate family and special cards took pride of place on the mantelpiece between the fresh holly. Other cards were hung on a piece of string that ran from wall to wall. Until the 8th of December,

Christmas was low-key, like a simmering pot in the background. But once The Late Late Toy Show appeared on our screens and I got to Cork city for the annual ‘culchie shopping trip’ – after that, it was full speed ahead.

Walking home from school became a wonderland as the windows of Harrington’s Hardware, Murphy’s Supermarket and MacCarthy’s Bar became like Toyland with their displays of toys, games, bikes and festive scenes.

Traditionally, on the 9th of December, my mam took the boxes of decorations down from the attic. Back then, it was considered bad luck to put up decorations before the 8th.

By the time I got home from school, the record player was blaring the Christmas tunes of Charley Pride, Boney M, or Elvis.

In true 1970s fashion, our house was normally furnished in colours of brown, beige and mustard, but now my mam had transformed it into a glittery and sparkly home. Chains of shiny red and green decorations covered the ceilings. They had to be symmetrical, and the drop had to be even throughout, before the chains met in the centre.

Scattered ornaments of snow globes, nutcrackers and angels were across every available surface. Tinsel surrounded the TV set, mirrors, and paintings.

My brother Martin got the job of setting up the crib. We had beautiful hand-crafted figurines of the Bethlehem crew. Mary, Joseph and Jesus took centre stage and, along with the Three Wise Men, the stables were full of plastic animals.

The tree stood in the corner of the sitting room with colourful baubles, beads, and tree trinkets hanging from every branch. My mam left a few decorations for us to hang, so we had the feeling we had been involved. My sister Angela insisted on placing the angel on the top of the tree.

The house always looked amazing. For me, we had the very best house in the world.

After everything was done, it was my dad’s job to do the Christmas tree lights. Everyone waited for the big switch on and on many an occasion, it was a case of removing the lights from the tree to find the damaged bulb. Every single bulb had to be checked because if one blew, none of them worked.

Putting up the fairy lights was a serious business. If there were no lights, it would be my dad’s fault.

By mid-December, the chatter of the playground was the content of our letters to Santy. The nuns, of course, weren’t keen on this topic of conversation, and kept swaying the matter back to the ‘Baby Jesus’ and the true meaning of Christmas.

Like a good Catholic schoolgirl, I agreed with them until the minute they turned their backs and my friends and I were back chatting about the Santy list and the impending holidays.

The Christmas edition of the RTÉ Guide was another addition that brought great excitement. In an era with limited screentime for children, it was important we didn’t miss any of the big TV shows or movies.

Red circles surrounded the viewing times for the once-a-year opportunity to watch them. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, The Wizard of Oz, Mary Poppins, Oliver Twist and the Wanderly Wagon Christmas Special were annual favourites.

Maureen Potter was ubiquitous on the screen and everyone looked forward to the panto on the telly where we would all shout ‘Look behind you!’

My mam was excited for the hour-long special of The Riordans, Mike Murphy, Gay Byrne and some of the latenight programmes that would be on after I went to bed.

In those last few days before Christmas, lots of relations and friends called to the house. There was always an exchange of little gifts and I loved to see them pile up under the sparkling tree. The teapot would constantly contain a fresh brew, and everyone munched goodies from the seasonal tin of USA Biscuits.

As the big day inched closer, the excitement would build and my mum sent me and my siblings on the hunt for the holly with the best red berries. Between that and all the extra housework, it was a very busy time.

While all these preparations were ongoing, I also had the enormous task of remembering to be on my best behaviour at all times. My mam milked it and loaded on the extra jobs and I couldn’t murmur a complaint because there was the eternal fear of the ‘naughty list’. It was torture.

But on Christmas morning, Santy always produced the goods.