- Winter: The Christmas Party
by Steve Wells
A series of memoirs in which our oldest member, Sir Reginald Breadbasket, talks about his memories of photography in the early days. (As revealed to Steve Wells over a glass of best London Gin distilled from the juniper trees growing round the croquet lawn at Falling Plate Hall.)
-o-O-o-
"The snow used to come early in Loose Chippings. I remember one year when it was really bad. Fill your glass and I'll tell you about it."
-o-O-o-
We never used to have a Camera Club Christmas party, but Alf insisted.
I can hear him now. "It's not right to keep to ourselves at Christmas. This is the time when people have parties and are happy. You remember that scene in 'The Christmas Carol' when Old Fezziwig is holding that party when everyone danced, even the young Scrooge, and everyone was happy?"
Joe said that as far as he could tell, Scrooge had got it about right and if Scrooge had been in the motor trade, as he was, there would have been no parties. Not unless you could buy them with Green Stamps.
But Alf would not be denied his party. Maybe it's significant, I don't know, but when he proposed the idea of a Dickensian party Betty, his wife, wasn't there. She was over at the vicarage talking about another party being arranged for the orphanage in the next village.
Alf didn't really care about parties for orphans - all he cared about was discovering the exact recipe for a Dickensian punch. As landlord of the Red Cow he was in a good position to experiment, and hangovers after several Camera Club meetings testified to the results. Betty spent her time between considering the food, arranging the decorations and making cold compresses for Alf's forehead as he tried to recover from his latest experiment.
It was the old story. Alf had the idea; Betty did the work. After a while, though, we began to think that maybe this time she was going to get the upper hand. Alf, with his permanent grey face, red eyes and throbbing head was in no state to notice anything. We noticed, though, that the food seemed to consist of endless jellies and sausages; not the Dickensian beef stew which Alf expected.
When the great day dawned the snow was already thick on the ground; the weather forecasts had said that all the roads were blocked. That didn't seem to make a great deal of difference to the residents of Loose Chippings because very few cars ever found their way into the village (even fewer found their way out!)
The time set for the Camera Club party was midday and at about that time a dozen people could have been seen ploughing their way through the snow towards the Red Cow. Alf had brewed his special punch for the Camera Club, and Betty was busy in the kitchen.
I don't know where he got the costume, but when I saw Alf dressed as Mr Pickwick I nearly fell over. It wasn't really the costume, so much as the fact that it was two sizes too small. He had knee breeches which wouldn't quite do up, and a long green coat which just about stretched over Alf's nether regions but which stood no chance of ever being done up at the front. As for the waistcoat; how he managed to do up that single button I shall never know!
I was just complementing Alf on the perfect fit of his costume when we heard a car coming down the road. At that time of year you don't get many cars in Loose Chippings; the odd tractor maybe, but that's all. It could only be the Vicar and it was. Wheezing along the old car picked its way between the snow banks, paused for a moment outside the Red Cow, settled to one side in the ditch and stopped. It wasn't going to go very much further that night; not unless we could get Joe's tow-truck out. Joe had already arrived for the meeting and confirmed that it wasn't going to go much further that night.
We were just helping the Vicar when we heard another car. When it arrived it wasn't a car at all but a small char-a-banc filled with screaming children.
"They're supposed to be going to the party", said the Vicar. "But I don't suppose we can get through now."
By this time Betty had reappeared. She was dressed ready for a journey and was carrying a number of large bags.
"It's no use", said the Vicar. "I'm afraid you have made all that food for nothing."
It all began to make sense. Betty had been preparing all the food for the orphan's party! "Right!" said Betty, taking charge of the situation. "Everyone inside. We will have a party - but we'll hold it here."
At first Alf as a bit upset. He wanted a small boozy Camera Club party, not a big children's party like this. Then a little girl, I suppose she must have been about eight years old, asked him to dance. You could just see him melt. He went onto that dance floor as if he was just eight years old himself. Then his gammy leg gave way; but instead of complaining he just settled down in a large chair and complained if any child wasn't actually in the act of eating jelly, drinking orange squash or dancing.
After a little while I realised that Betty had vanished, but not for long. She returned with a bowl of Alf's favourite Dickensian beef stew.
"A Merry Christmas to us all", proposed Alf, "God bless us, every one." With that Dickensian wish Mr Pickwick lapsed into a deep slumber from which he did not wake until late the following morning. Around him the party continued until the last scrap of jelly and Christmas pudding had gone.
It wasn't much to do with photography, but it was one of the best parties I ever went to!
top of page