It was the day before Christmas and the Kerrs were at church. Mum was expecting a baby after New Year celebrations. All the Christmas gifts were prepared and hidden around the house to put out on Christmas Eve and Mum would make the final preps for our Christmas lunch during the rest of the day.
But the plans changed. Mum came home from church and
unbeknownst to us, she was in labour. It's all fun and games when you have a
baby. The best laid plans can always be toppled by unexpected events such as a
27 hour labour on Christmas Eve. We lived in a newish neighbourhood where at
least four of the neighbours were expecting babies and some others had already
come along that year. None of them, least of all my sibling, came in the order
they were expected.
Dad was the sort who left it all to Mum. The Christmas shopping, the Christmas
wrapping, the Christmas food and Santa. Dad's only Christmas Santa duties were
to pick up the Christmas toys from places like Farmers and DJs in the city.
As usual, his father and brother were expected for lunch on
Christmas Day for family lunch. Later, on Christmas Eve, Mum was dropped off at
Ryde Hospital to have her baby early. It was her third. My mum wasn't good with
blood, so for her it was a scary thing. All the women had to go it alone, as
you did in those days. The women in the street, who were also pregnant, hoped
the same wouldn't happen to them.
All the fun and games of little Christmas
miracles. Probably Dad was given the instructions about how to lay out the
presents for the six-year-old and the four-year-old. So much for all the best
laid plans of celebrating Christmas around the tree in our new home, with our
new kitchen, dining room, oven, etc.
Polly next door was briefed. She had had the phone installed at her house and would relay any tidings of comfort and joy that would come through at any time. She also promised to give Dad instructions about how to cook the chook and vegetables. Did Dad even know how to peel vegetables, stuff a chicken, carve one?
The arrival of Santa approached and Dad dutifully laid out the presents under
the tree. A doll house and a doll for Robyn and a cowboy set for Paul. We woke
up without our mother and opened our Santa presents. Neighbours called across
the road to check, all busy with their own Christmas and entertaining plans but there was no news.
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| Paul and the cowboy suit aged 4 |
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| Robyn and the dolls house aged 6 |
We dressed and went to
church. It was a clear and humid day starting at 20 degrees. We went to Christmas church,
as you do in any good Catholic household. Polly checked on the roast after
church and Dad drove to the station to pick up his father. Still no news.
It had been 24 hours. Lunch was served and the wishbone was broken. Dessert was
served. Christmas cake. We weren't a pudding and fruit type of family. Dessert
was interrupted by Polly at the door. The hospital was on the phone. Good
tidings at last. Mum had the baby after 27 hours.
In those days, new Mums rested up for about a week. You viewed babies through the glass in the nursery and in fact we weren't even allowed into the hospital. Lucky for Mum, her room was surrounded by a big veranda and no air conditioning meant windows you could even open and talk through.
That afternoon there lay Mum, after 27 hours labour, probably exhausted and
definitely disappointed. She had expected she would be given a Christmas roast
dinner but no, Christmas food had been provided the previous lunch and she had
to endure steamed fish and white sauce. Not Mum's favourite type of meal. Mum
was happy to see her littlies at last on Christmas day.
As we ran up and down the veranda, she was keen to hear what we thought about
our carefully purchased Santa presents. Dad was pretty proud of his efforts at
completing the Santa task until Mum asked him about how we liked the Indian
tent. “What tent?” asked Dad, who had incidentally bought it home from Farmers
in the city. Needless to say, he was told that he knew it was behind the door
in his bedroom. When we arrived home, I still remember him with his charade of
saying “Look what Santa left behind while we were out.” We loved that tent anyway.
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| The tent and the neighbourhood kids |
Oh... my sister born on Christmas day 1961 was actually called Helen Elizabeth (eventually)The nurses said we had to bring her back if she wasn’t named by Easter. We teased her endlessly. We still tell her she was adopted.
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| Robyn and her Christmas doll with Helen and Paul |
Happy Birthday Helen!
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