Christmas Holidays

We three children were looking forward to Mother’s birthday, which was December 18th. December was ‘our’ birthday month, Cyril’s on the 20th, mine on the 10th: but the 18th was by far the most important. With a view to deciding what was to be done, we gathered round the schoolroom table, each armed with a statement of his or her financial resources. My assets were contained in an old purse that I kept hidden in a corner of the writing desk. This I emptied on the table. The contents were: one silver sixpence, one silver threepenny bit, and an assortment of coppers – total one shilling and tenpence halfpenny. Cyril was not in a much stronger position, and it remained for Ethel to retrieve the situation, which, I have to admit, she did most nobly. Lucky enough to have a godmother who sent her postal orders she was able to produce nearly ten shillings. Most magnanimously, she suggested that we pool our resources and give Mother one really nice present rather than three inferior ones. Cyril and I volunteered to draw and paint a birthday card between us, and we left it to Ethel to decide on the nature of the present.

It turned out to be a yellow tea-cosy, padded and quilted and embroidered, with braid round the edge, finished off with a curl at the top. Cyril and I considered it to be a dull gift, but Mother received it with joy. It appears that she really wanted a tea-cosy, a fact that Ethel had found out by some subtle means. Anyway it was a happy choice, and when it was presented to Mother on her birthday morning, after breakfast, she kissed us all round many times. A lot of cards and letters had come for her and some presents were set out on the sideboard in the dining-room, with our tea-cosy in the centre. I was not sure that I envied her when I thought of all the thank-you letters she would have to write. When I said so she laughingly said: ‘Well, darling, you shall come and help me and we shall get it done in no time.’

The birthday card we had drawn and coloured was there among the others. It was a strange effort, and hardly appropriate, but it had cost us some hours of toil and a small bottle of gold paint.

At eleven o’clock we got into our outdoor clothes, for Mother had promised to take us to the Christmas bazaar in Peter Robinson’s shop. It was a cold day, but Cyril and I, well wrapped up, were allowed to climb on top of the bus. The bazaar had all sorts of new ideas. There was a man got up as Father Christmas, but we considered him a failure and unworthy of the part; we had seen a much better Father Christmas at a school party the year before. There was a Punch and Judy show, rather special with spangles on the front, and we waited hopefully for it to perform, but all we saw was Toby, in a frill, having his dinner.

There were large tubs, full of bran, and by paying threepence you could have a dip but were not allowed to fumble too long. I got a very small paint box. It contained only six colours, and the hairs came out of the brush. Cyril got a hammer, but that came to grief next day when he hit something hard. Martha said it was because he had put his shoes on the table, but I could not see the connection.

The bazaar was very crowded and rather hot, and it was difficult to get near the special attractions. One novelty was a pair of mechanical minstrels, got up like the Christy Minstrels with stiff collars and large bow ties. One had bones and the other a tambourine. About a foot high, they sat on stools on top of a musical box, and, as the music played, they jerked and twisted and opened and shut their mouths.

There was a fairy who presided over a bower of dolls. She was really worth looking at, but the place was crowded with little girls and we had to move on. Mother bought several Christmas presents. I think that some were secret, for she had them done up quickly. Then Ethel spent a long time over choosing a gift for a special friend of hers, and Cyril and I, wandering off, got separated, and became rather anxious till we saw the others. Laden with parcels, we made for home. It was colder in the afternoon, too cold to ride Septimus up and down the terrace, so I spent the time in the schoolroom taking stock of my possessions. The purse was now quite empty, but my birthday had brought me several exciting presents.

First there was a box of sailors in white uniforms with straw hats and gaiters, all running; an officer in a blue frock coat and white helmet held his sword aloft. This was Mother’s present. Father gave me a box of coloured pencils, a great acquisition. Aunt Alicia gave me a box of puzzles, which were very ingenious and kept me occupied for hours. A surprise came from Uncle Robert, the one who was at Lloyd’s and whom we hardly ever saw; he gave me a book called Snap, which was the only time he ever remembered my existence. In addition I had some really useful but dull things. Cyril was eagerly speculating on his chances for the 20th, but his mind ran almost entirely on stamps. He already had a good collection.

Our bedroom had had to be changed. A leak had developed in the wall, and the paper and plaster were stained with the damp and were peeling off. An evil-smelling oil stove was put in the room to dry it out but did not seem to have much effect. From where we now slept, I could no longer see the plaster lady on the house opposite, but I thought of her, standing there in the cold. The one advantage of our new room was that we could look out on the terrace and see what was going on in the world outside.

Our drawing-room, with its two front windows, had a back room attached. There were two folding doors between, but these were never closed; instead heavy curtains hung on rings could be drawn across. The conservatory at the back, with ferns and a cork rockery, gave an air to the room, but reminded me of the dentist. I had better explain why. The dentist, Mr Stocken, lived in Euston Square. (He had a son who sometimes did our teeth, and whom Father christened ‘the Sock’.) In front of the dreadful Chair there was a sort of grotto or small conservatory. It had a large glass tank with goldfish, and this was supposed to distract our attention from the business in hand. But it never did. It only served to create a prejudice against grottos and conservatories. Mr Stocken had a ghoulish smile and what was considered to be a soothing manner, but his ‘Now, open, dear!’ made the blood run cold. I was never brave, and usually made a great fuss. I envied my sister. Ethel always took the business in her stride and had been known to go on with her piano practice till the moment came to face the executioner. 

Father had suggested taking Mother to a theatre for her birthday treat, but she decided that she would rather spend a quiet evening with us, which seemed to me a strange choice at the time. So when it got dusk we children sat on the floor in front of a roaring fire. Mother sat on a low stool and I cuddled down beside her. 

Extract from Slightly Foxed Edition No. 44, Drawn from Memory
© The Estate of E. H. Shepard 1957, 2017