Thank you Matthew for another evocative and thought provoking Bright Side muse and the introduction to Jean Curlewis’ “Christmas in Australia”. I must say it resonates with me because it brings back memories of how peculiar or different my early Christmas’ in Australia were to those scribed in the story or even that of my friends. As first generation Australians, an immigrant family of “10 Pound Poms”, the Horniblow family’s Christmas was resolutely English.
From the spray on white, frosted stencils of fir trees and snowflakes adorning the windows of our house, to bob bons (crackers) and their paper crowns or table settings of candles and angels, we had all the trimmings of a traditional English Christmas. I am sure, if at all fitting, we would have even lit a log fire, eaten toasted Chestnuts and sung Christmas carols around the hearth on Christmas Eve. While the temperatures soared to the hundred degree mark and baked the paddocks to a tinder dry and crisp, golden colour, my mother would diligently crank up the stove and bake the traditional Christmas lunch . Mince pies, turkey with stuffing and rich gravy, roasted pork with crackling, or baked glazed hams, roasted potatoes and an assortment of other vegetables. A long lunch at the dining tables (yes , we joined two tables together, end on end to fit us all ) finished in a darkened room with a flaming Christmas ( plum ) pudding with the hidden lucky sixpences served with a lashing of brandy butter and whipped cream. What we were eating and celebrating in suburban Canberra was more befitting to be played out and served at a Christmas table in London or Sussex for that matter. Thankfully, while it did take us some time to become more Australian and recognise the folly of our Anglo traditions, we adapted to more seasonally appropriate norms of a hot, bright , Australian Christmas . Even going to the beach for a surf and dancing on the verandah.
Hi there John, many thanks for (all!) your support. Much appreciated. Funny thing is though, it does make me wonder what kind of Christmas lunch Jean herself ate. Maybe what she describes is more about her ‘desire' for it to be different (rather than what she ate at home), because I can say that I inherited exactly the style of Christmas lunch you describe! Which perhaps originates with her mother Ethel Turner being a (very young) English immigrant herself. But yes, I grew up with the same details, down to the crackers, paper hats, ham with crackling, dense, marzipan-iced, boozy Christmas cake and indeed the plum pudding with sixpences hidden within! It was only in my later teen years that Mum began to include more salads and hot-summer-appropriate kinds of fare. Glad to hear that you made it eventually though - to the very important traditions of Christmas surfing and verandah dancing! Wishing you and family a peaceful one, wherever you’re spending it this year.
Another interesting one, in part for personal reasons. Jean was 2 years older than my grandfather Gavin. While she was writing for assorted publications, he was a reporter for the Sydney Morning Herald. Like Jean, he wrote reviews (for films, and art exhibitions), though also serious stuff (he reported from Germany in 1939, months before the war, and was in France as a war correspondent until weeks before Dunkirk.
He followed my grandmother to England and married her, a couple of years before Jean and her husband went to live there. When Jean died in 1930, Gavin's father (Bishop George Long), died at 50 of a heart attack, likely related to the health issues he suffered from the Spanish Flu. I could go on and on. they seem like people whose paths might've crossed in Sydney.
Hi there Adam, many thanks for sharing these thoughts. Wow, indeed what strangely similar paths Gavin and Jean were both travelling. Well, if there paths didn't actually cross in Sydney all those years ago, I hope they're connecting now in some other realm, thanks to you and I both writing about them and acknowledging them. I wish you and family a peaceful Christmas!
Thank you Matthew for another evocative and thought provoking Bright Side muse and the introduction to Jean Curlewis’ “Christmas in Australia”. I must say it resonates with me because it brings back memories of how peculiar or different my early Christmas’ in Australia were to those scribed in the story or even that of my friends. As first generation Australians, an immigrant family of “10 Pound Poms”, the Horniblow family’s Christmas was resolutely English.
From the spray on white, frosted stencils of fir trees and snowflakes adorning the windows of our house, to bob bons (crackers) and their paper crowns or table settings of candles and angels, we had all the trimmings of a traditional English Christmas. I am sure, if at all fitting, we would have even lit a log fire, eaten toasted Chestnuts and sung Christmas carols around the hearth on Christmas Eve. While the temperatures soared to the hundred degree mark and baked the paddocks to a tinder dry and crisp, golden colour, my mother would diligently crank up the stove and bake the traditional Christmas lunch . Mince pies, turkey with stuffing and rich gravy, roasted pork with crackling, or baked glazed hams, roasted potatoes and an assortment of other vegetables. A long lunch at the dining tables (yes , we joined two tables together, end on end to fit us all ) finished in a darkened room with a flaming Christmas ( plum ) pudding with the hidden lucky sixpences served with a lashing of brandy butter and whipped cream. What we were eating and celebrating in suburban Canberra was more befitting to be played out and served at a Christmas table in London or Sussex for that matter. Thankfully, while it did take us some time to become more Australian and recognise the folly of our Anglo traditions, we adapted to more seasonally appropriate norms of a hot, bright , Australian Christmas . Even going to the beach for a surf and dancing on the verandah.
Hi there John, many thanks for (all!) your support. Much appreciated. Funny thing is though, it does make me wonder what kind of Christmas lunch Jean herself ate. Maybe what she describes is more about her ‘desire' for it to be different (rather than what she ate at home), because I can say that I inherited exactly the style of Christmas lunch you describe! Which perhaps originates with her mother Ethel Turner being a (very young) English immigrant herself. But yes, I grew up with the same details, down to the crackers, paper hats, ham with crackling, dense, marzipan-iced, boozy Christmas cake and indeed the plum pudding with sixpences hidden within! It was only in my later teen years that Mum began to include more salads and hot-summer-appropriate kinds of fare. Glad to hear that you made it eventually though - to the very important traditions of Christmas surfing and verandah dancing! Wishing you and family a peaceful one, wherever you’re spending it this year.
Hi Matthew,
Another interesting one, in part for personal reasons. Jean was 2 years older than my grandfather Gavin. While she was writing for assorted publications, he was a reporter for the Sydney Morning Herald. Like Jean, he wrote reviews (for films, and art exhibitions), though also serious stuff (he reported from Germany in 1939, months before the war, and was in France as a war correspondent until weeks before Dunkirk.
He followed my grandmother to England and married her, a couple of years before Jean and her husband went to live there. When Jean died in 1930, Gavin's father (Bishop George Long), died at 50 of a heart attack, likely related to the health issues he suffered from the Spanish Flu. I could go on and on. they seem like people whose paths might've crossed in Sydney.
All the best, Adam
Hi there Adam, many thanks for sharing these thoughts. Wow, indeed what strangely similar paths Gavin and Jean were both travelling. Well, if there paths didn't actually cross in Sydney all those years ago, I hope they're connecting now in some other realm, thanks to you and I both writing about them and acknowledging them. I wish you and family a peaceful Christmas!