On the first day of Christmas
I remember Christmas as a child; my father was very strict. My sister loved decorations; we had a crib, and she asked could we also have a tree, but the answer was: “Oh no, that’s only for pagans.” No tree for us, the crib was more important.
The crib was paper, black paper; my mother bought the figures in town, in Clery’s.
But I remember my sister Colette, and how she loved Christmas. We had paper decorations, chains, we hung them with thumb tacks from the corners to the middle, although they got dusty and everything. Some would tear, and you would try to stick them together for next year.
Carmel Fitzgerald – Stories from Finglas