Really nice to have located this ‘Seasonal’ output from the columnist / commentator of, I’m fairly confident in dating, the first decade or so of the 1900s – a fascinating insight into an Edwardian Christmas. Not too sure that the ‘party’ is to my liking, and her ‘depletion’ of Christmas Spirit is a bit sudden. But they were very different times. Wonder if the photograph still exists somewhere…
‘A Lady’ is Festive
The sight of a thousand glittering flakes of snow lightly tossed from the celestial crib of Our Saviour, and the accompanying ‘plink, plink’ sound they make when landing upon the lamp casings and marbled steps that ascend to the secondary Heaven that is the abode of this writer, are perhaps the greatest heralds of this season to the sensitive soul and mind – as warming to the eye and ear of the righteous as they are freezing and forboding to the withered heart and organs of the damned.
Gladly transported and correctly repatriated to these civil shores, the suckling Infant implores us through gentle, soft eyelashes of blonde, that we regard Christmas as a time for taking stock, and boys that are good and clean and freshly attired in pink are bidden come to this author’s hearth – some wrenched from hovels and ripped from sin, their hides scrubbed and lathered and made to glow like plumpened fowl.
Sated with the pleasurable admiration of pictures of sailboats, ninepins and toy canaries in a catalogue, the youths stand at my husband’s commencement of the love’s meditation he draws from his tuba, upon which play not only his mushrooming and mushroom-shaped lips, but also a small wooden decoration of Saint Nicholas, which a spirited maid has contrived to be hung from the rim of her master’s instrument – a contrivance he will tolerate for some moments.
A photographer and his device are summoned by telephone from Twickenham, and he arrives accompanied by a stinking female whose hands, I notice, are bleached quite white (in marked contrast to the unquestionable blackness of her mind). Within a matter of hours a record of our charity is secured, and the magician of light is dismissed, with said whore, to his ‘dark room’, correctly and Christianly unsullied by remuneration, and instructed to return with his results at Easter.
Then, just as the warmth of Summer is depleted and the sun’s diminishment hands off to the lead skies of Winter, my good humour is exhausted too, and the party is clapped and shooed from our home – including the impish maid with a fondness for wooden decorations, who will undoubtedly return to whoring.
The Merriest Christmas and Most Prosperous New Year are Wished to All My Readers.