Bah, Humbug!

Latest Blogs

Reader Comments

Passages
Hello Vivian, I turned the radio on while prepari

An Interview with John McCardell
I have met Dr. McCardell and heard him speak, and

Herban Marketplace
Hurray! How exciting. Just wish you could be in

Let There Be Peace On Earth
This sounds like a wonderful life learning experie

Dog Days and Hum Bugs
Thank you Margaret. That was quite a wonderful ca

Latest Local News

Whale Branch basketball teams win, prepare for postseason
Whale Branch High School celebrated its first senior class Wednesday,...
Ridgeland basketball teams roll past Hardeeville
The loudest cheers for the Ridgeland High School girls basketball...
Local Golf Notebook, Feb. 9: Okatie's Shimmin honored by Golfweek
Okatie's Gary Shimmin is Golfweek's Super Senior Player of the...

Home

Speakers Corner

Bah, Humbug!

Tuesday, 18 December 2007 06:16

I confess that I can become somewhat Scrooge-like at this time of year. I suspect that I am no different from many of my age (and indeed some younger folk) in believing that Christmas has become far too commercial and that the true spirit of this joyous holiday has been lost. However, it is not with such thoughts in mind that I put my proverbial pen to paper for the final time in 2007.
Rather, like Ebenezer, I have been resurrecting the ghosts of Christmases past in order to re-live some of my more memorable moments of the festive season.

My older brother Alan, who still resides in England, recently unearthed a collection of letters written to him by my dear mother during WW2. Alan was a pilot in the R.A.F and in December 1944 was stationed in Cyprus. With the aid of one of these letters I have been able to reconstruct an image of the first Christmas that I can remember.
    At the time I was living with my parents in Wembley, a suburb of London famous then and now for its stadium where, apparently, the Super Bowl may soon be played. We were relatively fortunate: our house had suffered but minor damage from the bombing; my father’s involvement in war time activities (fire watching in London, C.O of the local Air Training Corps, etc) meant that we had a meagre supply of petrol with which to run our ancient Morris the head lamps of which no longer had to be masked as part of the blackout regulations; he had a good job and a circle of well connected friends ( dare I say “black market” connections) which enabled us to enjoy some of the traditional Christmas fare not available to many of my chums.
    I well remember the turkey that year. Dad’s firm, as was the custom with many such companies, gave its employees a selection of ‘goodies’, in addition to a few ‘bob’, by way of a bonus’. The seniority of the employee determined the nature of the fare. Junior clerks (pronounced ‘clarks’) would get a small chicken but managers, such as my father, would rank a turkey. All well and good you might think but in those days turkeys did not come prepared for the oven. Rather they were delivered complete with feathers and giblets. The night before Christmas was not quiet and peaceful in my house as, together with my father, I struggled to pluck and prepare the wretched bird!
    Mothers’ letter also reminded me of my contribution to Christmas. I was in charge of decorations and this did not mean going to the local shop from which an array of ready made items could be acquired with which to adorn the Christmas tree and house. No such luck! I had to labour for weeks on end making the likes of paper chains, with which to decorate the living room, and baubles, made from pipe cleaners and painted milk bottle caps, with which to festoon the tree. Incidentally I also made my own Christmas cards.
    In retrospect the Christmases of my childhood, deprived as I was by comparison to today’s children, were probably amongst my happiest; none more so than in 1946 when big brother returned safely from the war to be with us.
    I can only hope that those families here in Beaufort County whose loved ones are overseas in the military will be happily reunited next year. When will mankind learn that “peace on earth and goodwill to all men” are not just words to be uttered but a way of life for all to practice!
In more recent times a Christmas that will ever remain in my memory also concerns a turkey.
Shortly after moving to this great country in 1967 I was introduced to the art of barbequing.
Not for me a propane gas grill but rather the good old fashioned Weber charcoal kettle. It was on this equipment that I learned the indirect method of cooking. Thus began a practice of which my wife thoroughly approves and which continues to this day, of my cooking the Thanksgiving and Christmas turkey.
    Many years ago, when we were living in Darien, CT., I used to order a fresh turkey from my good friend and sometime golfing partner, Al Palmer, whose family owned the local supermarket.
The rule of thumb for the indirect method of cooking a turkey is 11 minutes per pound of weight. I recall Palmers best, on this occasion, weighed in at about 22 lbs. necessitating a cooking time of some 4 hours.
    For those of you familiar with this method of cooking it will be appreciated that the coals, stacked as they are on the sides of the grill, need replenishing every so often. The weather in Connecticut in December is not as we enjoy in near tropical South Carolina. It can be extremely cold and to venture out into the garden to attend to the fire requires some inner warmth. Such warmth was acquired by this chef from the consumption of the occasional alcoholic beverage!
We have always eaten Christmas dinner at about five in the afternoon and so it was that with due ceremony I presented the splendid looking golden brown turkey to the family. Carving is something my father taught me and at which, although I say it myself, I am rather an expert. With suitable theatre I brandished my carving knife and fork, removed the leg and wing from one side, and thrust into the breast.
    Horror upon horror! I struck bone instead of plump white meat. I attacked the other side with the same result. My blood pressure was soaring as I cursed my friend Al for selling me a dud turkey.
    With little thought for the sanctity of Christmas day I telephoned him and really let rip.
“How dare you sell me such a bird” I yelled down the phone. Al let me rant and rave for a few minutes before he enquired if, one, I had enjoyed the odd cocktail whilst cooking for 4 hours and, two, if I had cooked the turkey the right way up.
    Oh, perceptive reader you have guessed correctly, I had cooked my plump bird upside down.
Neither Al nor my family has ever let me forget that Christmas!
It remains for me to wish y’all, as we now say, a very Happy Christmas and all that you would wish for yourself in the New Year. Peace, good health, love and understanding are top of my agenda.

Latest Blogs

Reader Comments

Latest Local News

Trackback(0)

Comments (0)

Write comment

BIFF - Saltus Wine Dinner

2012 BIFF Cocktail "Forces of Nature"

Lady's Island Oyster Farm