Christmas Day 1998 by Lorraine Bichen
I awoke to discover the room had a distinct chill to it and I could sense snow swirling softly against the window. A dark but soft yellow light filtered through the curtains. I got up and looked out. Although it was still dark I could make out utter whiteness everywhere. The usual landmarks obliterated, the branches of the trees in the garden weighed down with thick heavy snowflakes and not a light to be seen!. The characteristic silence that goes with heavy falling snow shrouded this wintry scene. Even though it was Christmas Day and not many folk would be about, it was eerily quiet. The road through the village was like glass. Not a tyre mark on it and no orange glow from the streetlights.
The ‘Hydro’ had obviously gone!!! The hall light, always left on in case someone needed to get up through the night, was out. The hall as dark as midnight. No joyous carols emanating from the radio alarm for me!! No twinkling lights on the tree but more to the point – no turkey languishing in the humming oven with its preset timer which should have sprung into action at 6.30 am.
I made my way to the shelf at the back door and fumbled for my trusty ‘plicko’! It shot out a very welcome beam of light when I found the switch and using that to locate the primus and a variety of candles, held there for these occasions, I grumpily made my way to the kitchen. I fiddled with the matches, hearing the hiss of the gas but nothing happening in terms of flames, until at last I succeeded and a weak circle of blue flames flickered before me. Grandad was stirring now and I put a pan of water on to boil. A hot water bottle and a tartan rug would keep him reasonably warm for now. Then, excited cries and whoops as the bairns desperate to open parcels never mind whether there was electricity or not came tumbling down the stairs – the youngest still believing in Santa and desperately wanting to know what he had brought, the fact that the living room was lit with candles, only adding to the magic.
My son got the stove lit which frustratingly would heat the water to bursting point in the hot tank if none was run off and it’s glass doors kept shut, but would die away to an insipid glow if the doors were opened. No warmth from the stove then! But we could have a bathroom full of boiling water and steam!
Realisation dawned on the assembled family, as each hoisted in that no telly was possible, no hot breakfasts were forth coming and certainly the possibility of the usual turkey dinner plus trimmings was not going to happen! The cold encircled all of us, seeping through pyjamas, slippers and socks.
Grandad was becoming decidedly grumpy and not really showing much of the Dunkirk spirit he loved to boast about when remembering ‘The War’! He sat in front of the gloomy stove with his rug wrapped around him, his hot water bottle in his lap and a cup of insipid tea. His face took on a sepulchral glow in the candle light which was beginning to spook the bairns.
Suddenly the telephone sprang into life! My friend from the other half of the village! How were we? How was Grandad doing? And so on until it emerged that they had power! Electricity had been restored to the other half of the village. Why did they have electricity and we didn’t? I looked out the window and sure enough - twinkling lights from across the Ouse. My frustration mounted as I watched Grandad try to pull a Christmas Cracker with about as much enthusiasm as a sagging bean bag.
‘Dinna worry, tak the turkey doon here and we’ll cook it – join us for Christmas dinner!’ I was told.
Now that was well and good but how do you transport an 18 pound turkey half a mile down the road in these treacherous conditions? It was not possible to drive – that was obvious. No basket was big enough nor any carrier bag strong enough. And there was Grandad! However he suddenly remembered the Dunkirk Spirit when faced with the option of remaining in the decidedly unfestive house, or braving the weather in order to recapture something of Christmas!
‘A’ll eesy manage tae ging a few strides doon the road in thi sna’,’ he assured us. ‘A’ve bin oot in far wurse than ‘is!’ he snapped in his broad Aberdonian twang.
Then I had a brain wave – Necessity is the mother of invention, I think someone once said.
‘We can put it on the sledge!’
And so with no further ado, the bird was strapped onto the only wooden sledge we had. The others were plastic and it was felt not robust enough for this expedition! Grandad was booted and suited up with woolly gloves and toorie. Baskets were filled with all the accoutrements normally associated with turkey dinners and off we set.
It was a bit lighter now as a weak watery sun shone low in the horizon. The walk to the neighbour’s house was one of the most enjoyable and funny outings we have ever had at Christmas. The snow had abated and it turned into one of these beautiful Orkney winter days – flat calm, a thin yellow wintry sun trembling over the fields, and the air - as clear as cut glass. The sledge fairly whee’ed down the road with everyone skraickin’ and laughing lest the turkey should ‘tak a tumle’!
We had a fabulous Christmas with our neighbours and as we walked back home that Christmas night, laughing and chatting excitedly in the sparkling frost, I was almost grateful for the power cut, which instead of spoiling Christmas, gave us an opportunity to celebrate it, in, to quote Grandad: ‘The true Dunkirk spirit!’
