Pebble and the Ghosts of Christmas Past
When I was small I slept in the little bedroom at the top of the stairs, which is now the spare room where visitors stay.
In those days the wallpaper was cream with a recurring pattern of violets and for many years one of the rooms at Kirkstall Abbey Museum in Leeds had the same wallpaper, chosen no doubt because it looked like much Victorian wallpaper, although mine only dated from the nineteen-fifties.
I used to lie awake on Christmas Eve, staring at the wallpaper in the dimness from the landing light shining through the curtain covering the glass pane of the door. I was too excited to sleep, of course, and had a firm belief that Father Christmas (always Father Christmas in our house, never Santa Claus) would come during the night.
Luckily for me, he always did.
My son-in-law Gareth tells a story that one year his parents gave him a boat for Christmas as he was going to learn to sail. He was thrilled with it - though actually, when he came into the room it was so big that he simply didn't notice it - he couldn't tell what it was.
With me, a similar thing happened with Pebble.
One year - and I must have been very small - I came into the dining-room on Christmas morning and the carpet seemed to be a sea of presents.
I opened a few of the smaller ones before I even noticed that there was something really, really huge in the middle, wrapped into a shapeless lump of Christmas paper.
When I finally realised that this was for me, and unwrapped it, I found Pebble.
Pebble was a metal horse, about rocking-horse size. He was yellow with brown spots (hence the name I chose) and red pedals.
He was on wheels - you pressed on the pedals and he walked along, though never with much grace.
Actually, I enjoyed "feeding" him grass and letting him out on the lawn as much as I enjoyed riding him. I played with him for years - for long after I was too big to ride him really.
Finally his mechanism rusted and he spent many more years in the cellar. Sadly we got rid of him when Stephen and I moved back into this house, as there simply wasn't room any more. Then, a few years later, I saw an identical horse in a museum - - yes, that did make me feel old, since you ask!
That intense blast of pure happiness as I unwrapped Pebble is something you don't get very often as an adult. Dogs have it, I think - a happy dog seems to be all happiness - but I don't think people do, or not very often.
But I have had that feeling twice recently, both times in Florida. The first time was when I was swimming in the sea - in the Gulf of Mexico! - and found that there were pelicans fishing next to me. The second time was when I first saw a roadsign that said Cape Canaveral. Fantastic!
I'm writing this in the room where I first found Pebble, which must have happened, I suspect, on December 25th, 1960.
I'm in a room full of the ghosts of Christmas past, and I like that sense of history, that continuity.
In those days the wallpaper was cream with a recurring pattern of violets and for many years one of the rooms at Kirkstall Abbey Museum in Leeds had the same wallpaper, chosen no doubt because it looked like much Victorian wallpaper, although mine only dated from the nineteen-fifties.
I used to lie awake on Christmas Eve, staring at the wallpaper in the dimness from the landing light shining through the curtain covering the glass pane of the door. I was too excited to sleep, of course, and had a firm belief that Father Christmas (always Father Christmas in our house, never Santa Claus) would come during the night.
Luckily for me, he always did.
My son-in-law Gareth tells a story that one year his parents gave him a boat for Christmas as he was going to learn to sail. He was thrilled with it - though actually, when he came into the room it was so big that he simply didn't notice it - he couldn't tell what it was.
With me, a similar thing happened with Pebble.
One year - and I must have been very small - I came into the dining-room on Christmas morning and the carpet seemed to be a sea of presents.
I opened a few of the smaller ones before I even noticed that there was something really, really huge in the middle, wrapped into a shapeless lump of Christmas paper.
When I finally realised that this was for me, and unwrapped it, I found Pebble.
Pebble was a metal horse, about rocking-horse size. He was yellow with brown spots (hence the name I chose) and red pedals.
He was on wheels - you pressed on the pedals and he walked along, though never with much grace.
Actually, I enjoyed "feeding" him grass and letting him out on the lawn as much as I enjoyed riding him. I played with him for years - for long after I was too big to ride him really.
Finally his mechanism rusted and he spent many more years in the cellar. Sadly we got rid of him when Stephen and I moved back into this house, as there simply wasn't room any more. Then, a few years later, I saw an identical horse in a museum - - yes, that did make me feel old, since you ask!
That intense blast of pure happiness as I unwrapped Pebble is something you don't get very often as an adult. Dogs have it, I think - a happy dog seems to be all happiness - but I don't think people do, or not very often.
But I have had that feeling twice recently, both times in Florida. The first time was when I was swimming in the sea - in the Gulf of Mexico! - and found that there were pelicans fishing next to me. The second time was when I first saw a roadsign that said Cape Canaveral. Fantastic!
I'm writing this in the room where I first found Pebble, which must have happened, I suspect, on December 25th, 1960.
I'm in a room full of the ghosts of Christmas past, and I like that sense of history, that continuity.
posted by Daphne at 5:21 pm
2 Comments:
You've reminded me of the day a few months ago when, for the last time, I went to my late parents' house which is where I was born (a home birth).
I went into every single room to say goodbye and each room was full of ghosts or memories which is probably what ghosts really are. But each room was also completely empty having been cleared ready for the house sale and the house echoed in that way that only completely empty buildings can. I sat on the stairs and cried. And I remembered all the other times I had sat on those same stairs (and sometimes cried) waiting for friends or family or boyfriends to come visit.
I think you are so lucky to be living in a house full of memories. And I am glad many of them are truly happy ones.
I wish you many more moments of pure happiness in the future - yes, be like a dog!
Lovely little blog. I honestly believe everything we have ever experienced is still in the mind waiting to be rediscovered. I hope to publish mine upto the age of nineteen on the net next year. ( Of no interest to anyone really but I'm itching to do it anyway, Three quarters done.
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