The goat and the gungo

It was Christmas in the small town of Milk River, Clarendon, when the neighbour's goats ate my grandmother Celia's gungo trees to the ground. The gungo she was planning to use to make the usual gungo peas and rice for dinner.

That Christmas, everyone left the house to go carolling about 5 a.m. After we marched through the little community singing carols, we headed back home to continue our usual routine: a big breakfast, followed by fruitcake and sorrel, topped off with a huge feast later.

When we got home, my grandmother headed straight for her garden while I went for a container. In a joyous mood, I hastily went for the container, but when I returned, I saw my grandmother crying. The neighbour's goats had feasted on the gungo trees and were still enjoying the remaining few. I grabbed a stick and chased them out but Mum, as we affectionately call her, was very sad. It was very hard to calm her down.

She went to the fence, called the neighbour and told him what his goats did. But he was such a hard man. He just stood there and roared, "Haftah the goat dem nuh have no sense. So weh me fi do?" I was upset. If only I were older, he would have felt my fury. But he was a huge man I'd be no match for him.

Despite all that, we did not let that ruin our Christmas. We just changed the menu and used red peas instead. To this day, my grandmother still talks about the day the neighbour's goat ate her gungo trees.

keisha.shakespeare@geanerjm.com

Enjoying the ride of my life

One of the most vivid Christmas events for me was the year I got my shiny new BMX bicycle.

I had wanted one for some time, especially since I had long disposed of my training wheels. Finally, one day, I came home and there she was: a blue and silver beauty with light blue handlebars. Love at first sight.

Now it's a tradition that on Christmas Day, we all go to my aunt's house (I guess because she has the biggest one). This year would be even more special because her yard was nice and wide, meaning I could pedal to my heart's content. I should point out that prior to this, my cycling had been done on flat ground.

So, when we got there, I couldn't wait to take the bike out with my cousins; a couple of them also got new wheels. Unlike them, however, I didn't wait for an adult to ease me down my aunt's driveway which is very steep.

So you can guess what happened next. Lost control of the bike and got an unholy mix of gravel and steel for Christmas dinner. I don't know who says boys don't cry, because I howled like a banshee unashamedly. It was the first time I was falling off a bicycle, and it just happened to come at Christmas. Ow! Ow! Ow!

daviot.kelly@gleanerjm.com

Fun times with my family

Clad in my fabulous new outfit, my sister, mother, father (if he didn't have to work) and myself would journey to Dallas, in rural St Andrew, every Christmas Day when I was a child. December 25, during those days, was synonymous with spending time with my grandparents at their home along with other relatives and close friends.

It was a day always eagerly anticipated for both good and not-so-good reasons. Let me start off with the, ahhm not so nice ones. You see, to get to my grandparents home back then, we couldn't drive to the house but had to park a great distance away and then finish the the journey on foot. Not exactly pleasant. Just like hiking, family and friends would all meet up at a specific point and like troopers venture on our trek through the rivers and hills ... literally, just to get to our final destination.

With children of a prescribed age in front and adults behind, we did the annual workout with frequent stops to catch a breath. The unfit ones were often seen lagging behind, with one hand akimbo, climbing the hills gasping for air and about to fall at any minute. I never found the journey pleasant because I didn't think it was cute or becoming of a 'princess' like me to be walking such great distances, especially in the hot early-morning sun and in my Christmas outfit.

However, after all the torture and, in some instances, funny start to the day, once we got to my grandparents', all the pain was forgotten and it was time for one of the highlights of my Christmas. The time to hug, greet, catch up and, most important, eat and be merry with my lovely family and friends. This mini reunion would last until about eight o'clock in the evening. And then it was time to start the return journey.

So, with fond memories, we left Dallas and headed downhill again, only this time, it was much cooler and darker and there were no lights by the way. We had to carefully make our way down, holding hands, in some cases, so that no one fell. Once we made it down, we said our goodbyes again and headed to our individual homes. The memories weren't all we had to remind us of Christmas Day: sore muscles lingered for days afterwards and aches spoke volumes too. Looking back, I now appreciate them even more.

latoya.grindley@gleanerjm.com

New Year's recollections

My very first New Year's Eve party was in my living room when I was about eight. The guest list comprised two persons and the wine glasses were filled with our own form of bubbly.

The guests were my sister Roxanne and I. These parties were reserved for the years we didn't go to watchnight service at church and, believe me, a party for two was just as nice.

We did all the decorating work ourselves. The decorations were made of used wrapping paper from Christmas morning. We made cone-shaped hats. That we learnt to do from our father. He did it a couple of years for our birthday parties. One person would be responsible for cutting a couple of book leaves into squares for the confetti. The other would go and get the wine glasses out of the cabinet and wash them. Meanwhile, the bubbly was being chilled in the refrigerator. You may know the brand, Desnoes and Geddes in either kola champagne or cream soda.

We would then select the television station, which would help with the countdown. One year it was MTV, which did theirs from Time Square in New York. But the station never really mattered because it was muted until the big moment. The radio provided the music while we waited. I don't remember there being much discussion; we just knew what had to be done and we did it.

Close to midnight, we would wake our mother up, so she could make a cameo appearance. Daddy was already out with his friends.

With a sleepy mother on the couch, our wine glasses filled, we unmuted the television and counted, "10, 9, 8 ... ." At 1 our hand-made confetti went flying simultaneously with the world's, with 'Happy New Year' wishes all around. We felt accomplished.

Mommy bade us good night again and we began the clean-up. It was simple but fun. Maybe we'll return to the simple life this year.

sacha.walters@gleanerjm.com

Of feasting and frolicking

As a child growing up in rural Jamaica, Christmas was the most anticipated time of the year.

Sleeping late on Christmas Day wasn't an option. The excitement always got me up very early and by the time I got to the kitchen, breakfast was always in full swing. Breakfast was not something we had regularly. After breakfast, my cousins and I would occupy our time with balloons and 'fee-fees', driving the adults crazy. They lived close by so a visit to their home was a must.

Throughout the day, there would be pots bubbling in every conceivable corner. There would be two to three on the stove inside, where all my aunts would be bickering (an outsider would not believe that it was all loving banter). My uncles would be in the outside kitchen occasionally adding their two cents to whatever was the topic of conversation among the four or so sisters inside.

Occasionally, one of my aunts would step outside to check on the pot roast that was always done on a coal stove in some corner of the yard. Sometimes there would also be someone (usually a male) attending to a large pot of mannish water.

Neighbours were always popping in throughout the day and would be greeted with a cold drink and soup.

By mid-afternoon, we children were ushered one by one to have a bath. There were usually a lot of us, so we had to start early. We would then put on our new outfits. We always got new clothes at Christmas.

The main event was dinner. All who could hold (it was a very large family, my grandmother had 10 children and though they weren't all present, some of the 30 grandchildren were) had to sit at the table. There were at least three meats - chicken, fish and beef - accompanied by rice and peas, creamed potato, and potato salad. The only 'bad' part was that there were also vegetables and the adults kept an eye on us, forcing us to eat them.

We couldn't eat much because during the day, my dear grandmother kept us full with slices of cake and a bit of fish or chicken here and there.

After dinner, we were free to frolic about, creating a ruckus when we heard the horn of the ice cream man. That was the icing on the cake. Afterwards, we played until dark or until we were called inside by the adults.

nashauna.drummond@gleanerjm.com

Memories of the season

Christmas is really for children. My memories were filled with fun, food and family home for the holidays from overseas. Not to mention the new clothes from my mother in England, lots of toys and, of course, food. My holidays were mostly spent with the grandparents in Clarendon or Manchester.

Up to my late teens, we all gathered at either of my two grandmothers in Clarendon and the experience for the entire season was fantastic. My most memorable season was one New Year's Eve when four of my siblings and I accompanied our grandmother to watchnight service. We did this annually and the service was so long, we always fell asleep on the benches towards the back of the church while the adults jumped, pranced and got into the Spirit while singing and praying for the whole world.

That year, my brother coaxed us into leaving the service and going to Frankfield (seven miles away) to see a movie. He convinced us that we would get there by bus in time for the movie and be back in church before midnight. Off we went. When the movie ended, we took the only bus going in our direction but it terminated at Nine Turns, still miles away from the church. As the bus approached the stop, we saw my late father's Hillman Minx parked at his favourite watering hole in the square. We begged the driver to park in front of it and we jumped off the bus and bolted away in the dark.

About two miles from the church, we heard Dad's car coming and all five of us jumped over the embankment and into the bushes out of sight till the car passed. We were not yet out of danger as, upon approaching Grandma's gate, we realised that Dad was on the verandah smoking his last Craven A for the day. My brother went in and distracted him (boys were allowed out later than girls) and the rest of us navigated through the bushes to get past the house.

The clock was ticking close to midnight when service would be finished and we did not want to be caught. We barely made it just as the crowd was coming down the hill from church and we somehow cleverly mingled with them. My grandmother saw us and asked how she didn't see us in church and my older sister Pauline told her it was because we had fallen asleep on the benches again but woke up when they were shouting, "Happy New Year!"

barbara.ellington@gleanerjm.com