Afternoon tea is one of the formalities of a bygone era, but at Monart Destination Spa in Enniscorthy, Co.Wexford, this ritual lives on. 

My sister and I brought our mother here recently for afternoon tea to celebrate her birthday. On arrival we were led into the drawing room of the 18^th century Georgian house, where we were told afternoon tea would be served. The room was large but not cavernous and the huge open fire made it all feel very homely. The seating consisted of comfy sofas and armchairs set around low tables which gave the occasion a more relaxed feel, as opposed to formal dining. 

There is a set menu for afternoon tea, and the only decision that has to be made is regarding the tea. There is an impressive list of six teas to choose from, reading like a who’s who of the Orient: Earl Grey, Darjeeling, Assam, Lapsang, Oolong and plain old Irish Afternoon tea. We chose the Darjeeling and the Assam and both were impeccable.

The sandwiches brought to the table were all very impressive; corned beef and whole grain mustard on white bread, poached organic chicken with tomato tapenade on brown bread, smoked mackerel rillette on white soda bread and Wexford cheddar and farmhouse pickle on toasted brioche. A little more exotic than what I might make at home!

But the best was yet to come. On a tiered stand we were served lovely hot scones with small bowls of Chantilly cream and butter, and strawberry and gooseberry preserves. There was also an individual  blueberry polenta cake, a blackcurrant pannacotta, a piece of carrot cake, a piece of pan fried brack cake with an apple and rosemary compote and an individual lemon pavlova in a tiny glass for each of us. They were all delicious but the pannacotta must be given a special mention. It was wonderfully tangy and you could really taste the blackcurrant. On hearing that we were there to celebrate my mum’s birthday, the staff brought us some chocolate and lime truffles and peanut brittle sticks which were a nice touch.

Making an occasion of afternoon tea may seem a little dated and like something from a Jane Austen novel, but there is an old world charm to it at Monart. There is something really nice about taking a few hours out of the day to take your time over a cup of tea and be served delicious treats. It’s no wonder the Victorians loved having afternoon tea so much. In the words of the writer Henry James, “there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as Afternoon Tea”. 

Monart Destination Spa, The Still, Enniscorthy, Co. Wexford.

Phone: 053 9238999                                                                                                                                                                                

Website: www.monart.ie                                                                                                                              

Afternoon tea is available to non-residents of the spa. Booking must be made in advance and it costs 20 euro per person.

Caroline Kidd is a freelance journalist.

To see more of her work, visit http://www.caroline-in-the-kitchen.blogspot.com/ and http://www.caroline-vegpatchgirl.blogspot.com/".

On the 15th April 1912, The RMS Titanic RMS Titanic struck an iceberg on her maiden voyage from Southampton, England, to New York City, and sank, resulting in the deaths of 1,517 people in one of the deadliest peacetime maritime disasters in history.

The largest passenger steamship in the world at the time, the Olympic-class Royal Mail Ship RMS Titanic was owned by the White Star Line and constructed at the Harland and Wolff shipyard in Belfast. After setting sail for New York City on 10 April 1912 with 2,223 people on board, she hit an iceberg four days into the crossing, at 11:40 pm on 14 April 1912, and sank at 2:20 am on the morning of 15 April. The high casualty rate resulting from the sinking was due in part to the fact that, although complying with the regulations of the time, the ship carried lifeboats for only 1,178 people. A disproportionate number of men died due to the "women and children first" protocol that was enforced by the ship's crew. (No such protocol by the captain of the Italian cruise ship Costa Concordia that tragically struck rocks off the coast of Tuscany two weeks ago).

Titanic Belfast will open on 31 March 2012 to commemorate the ship's 100th anniversary. Housed in an iconic, 6-floor building, it is located in the heart of Belfast, right beside the historic site of this world-famous ship’s construction. 

As you walk through the doors of the visitor attraction you will be introduced to the building’s giant atrium surrounded by the four ‘ships’, hull shaped wings which house the beginning of the Titanic experience. Your journey takes you through nine galleries of this state-of-the-art visitor experience telling the story of the Titanic, from its conception in Belfast in the early 1900s, through its construction and launch, to its famous maiden voyage and tragic end. The story is brought up to the present with the discovery of the wreck and into the future with live links to contemporary undersea exploration.

The galleries will include:-

Boomtown Belfast – you will learn about Belfast at the turn of the century as a thriving boom town

The Arrol Gantry and Shipyard ride – experience a thrilling ride through a dramatic presentation of the shipyards and Titanic under construction

The Launch – watch the launch from the slipways

The Fit-Out – explore the sumptuous luxury and superb craftsmanship of Titanic’s interior

The Maiden Voyage – Be brought deep into the stories of the passengers, the crew and the heroes of the day;

The Sinking – relive the drama of the tragic end to Titanic’s maiden voyage

The Aftermath – visit the wreck at her resting place on the floor of the Atlantic

Myths and Legends – bringing together the many stories, media reports of the time and since, movies, legends and fantasies which have grown up around this world renowned tale.

Titanic Beneath – voyage to the bottom of the sea in our unique Ocean Exploration Centre with live links to contemporary undersea exploration

The building will also house a community arts facility for local exhibitions, performance and conferences, gallery/temporary exhibition space and a family restaurant, café and shop.

Visit the Titanic Belfast website for up to date information.

As an only child growing up in a village (Blackrock) in Dublin in the late 1950s, my parents always made Christmas a special time for me.  I was fortunate enough to get most of the things I requested from Santa each year, including the obligatory stocking which contained a pencil, an orange and a bar of chocolate!

However, one year in particular stands out and I have never fogotten it.  I was about 7 or 8 so it was probably 1961 or 1962.  

My parents ran a drapery shop in Blackrock so Christmas was one of the busiest times of the year for them.  When 5  o'clock came on Christmas Eve, the shop was closed and my mum and dad and myself loaded the car (a Prefect!) and began the long journey to Sligo where my mother had been brought up on a farm.  During the journey, I always hid under a rug in the back of the car in case Santa would be delivering his presents and saw me, thereby ruining my chances of getting what I asked for!

Well, that year I asked for a doll's pram. As soon as we arrived at my nanny's I left out the mince pie and glass of whiskey for Santa, hay for the reindeer in the hayshed and went straight to bed, closed my eyes tightly and tried to ignore the sounds of revelry and story telling coming from downstairs.  

Sometime during the night I awoke to the sound of bells jingling! I was so excited, yet terrified I might be seen by the great man!  I held my breath until the sound went away and didn't sleep another wink until I was able to creep down the stairs.  Before I could go into the sitting room and see if my dream had come true, my Uncle Tom (my mum's younger brother) met me and said "you just HAVE to come with me and see this".  Well, out we went to the hayshed and there they were - the reindeer's footprints, yes loads of them and the hay was gone! 

"I thought I was imagining things last night" said Uncle Tom "but I'm SURE I heard Rudolph's bell ringing and now I KNOW it's true".  Uncle Tom told me years later that my eyes were like saucers - can you imagine the magic of thinking that Santa and his reindeers had come to deliver my present and actually LANDED and fed reindeer before continuing on his journey!  And of course my pram was in front of the fireplace in the sitting room with the whiskey and mince pie gone also!

Of course, Uncle Tom had arranged the whole thing by ringing a bell and running some poor cow around the hayshed after I had gone to bed (probably after drinking Santa's whiskey!).

What a memory!

Father Gallagher, a stern man of the old school led his flock most of the time but was known to drive them when he felt circumstances demanded it. For instance he was convinced that the bible got it right where it said that it was ‘easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.’

One way of paving the way to Paradise was to contribute in generous measure to the various church collections held throughout the year. Of these, the Christmas collection was one of the most important, when the congregation and particularly the business people, were expected to give generously.  

Contributors were noted and placed on a list according to the size of the contribution, the largest of course being first. This list was read out on the Sunday after Christmas and there was always great interest as the congregation listened intently to find out if Mrs. Hannon had held on to the top position, or if, maybe Myles Doyle, the Postmaster, or some other aspirant to the top spot had displaced last year's winner.  

When the moment of truth arrived the congregation shuffled, eased into a comfortable position, coughed noisily and fell into an expectant silence. The priest turned around with his list and the show started. ‘Mrs. Hannon, one pound,’ he commenced.

Well, no surprises there. Mrs Hannon, who always arrived late and always sat in the front row, a fox fur draped around her neck in the fashion of the time, straightened herself importantly, the tall feather in her hat fluttering triumphantly as, once again, she found herself in the winners enclosure. Her fox fur was always a wonder to me and I always felt a little sorry for it as it hung there around her neck in the fashion of the time, its little beady unseeing eyes and limp paws dangling helplessly over her undulating bosom.

The list went on and we lost interest as the priest reached the one and sixpences. But where was Myles Doyle, we wondered idly. His name hadn’t featured in its usual place, generally well above the ten shilling mark as befitted his status in the community. Then suddenly it came.  ‘Myles Doyle, one shilling,’ the priest read. We were shocked into alertness again by Myles diminished position on the list.

Father Gallagher read the name once and then pausing for effect, ‘Myles  Doyle -- one -- shilling,’ he repeated again, spacing and emphasising the words, his voice shaking with indignation as it rose several decibels. A rustle of disbelief ran through the audience. What moment of misguided misanthropic folly had allowed Myles to disturb the social equilibrium of our village? What could it be?  Both men kept cattle. Myles owned a lot of land; Fr. Gallagher had very little, and often had to resort to the ‘long acre' for grazing. Was it true they had fallen out over a piece of land belonging to Martin ‘Fat’ Gilmartin that was coveted by both? Was Myles sending a subtle and public lesson to the priest in retaliation for what he saw as his unseemly greed? 

It was the focal point of conversation in the village for weeks and we laughed as we repeated and savoured the priests emphasis.  ‘Did ye hear him ----- Myles Doyle, one shilling,-----  Myles -- Doyle -- one -- shilling.’   We laughed as we mimicked the derision in the priests voice.

For those who witnessed the gladiators, the Christmas collection of 1961 ranks in memory alongside the March blizzard of ‘47 or the Night of the Big Wind of 1839.

Gathering Holly

When I look back at the Christmas's of my youth I always feel happy. I had a feeling of much love and affection from my Mammy and my Daddy.

I loved in Dublin until I was 5 and then I moved to Bray, with my twin brother and my sister. Bray, even then was a big town with 3 churches and lots of shops. It was a paradise at Christmas, with Woolworths having lots of decorations and toys for us to gaze at with wonder. My Mammy would take us to see Santa in Pym's in Dublin - what an exciting time that was for us.

Every Christmas Eve, my Daddy would take us to see Grandma and Granda. We loved visiting them because Grandma always had chocolate for us. My three Aunties were still living there, so there was lots of laughter and fun. We would then visit my Uncle and Auntie in Sutton. It was our favourite place to visit and they always had a big tree and my Auntie always gave us crackers and biscuits. I, in turn visited them with my children and my children now visit them. My Auntie still 50 years on gives us the crackers and biscuits.

On our way home, Daddy would visit friends and exchange presents. Sometimes he got presents of bread and bananas and we ate them all the way home. He would ask us to count the Christmas trees in the house all the way home to stop us fighting.

We would get home tired and cranky, but the house was always wonderful, with a crib and a tree in the kitchen. There was always a lovely aroma of ham boiling and Mammy would make the stuffing for the turkey. She wasn't the best cook but her turkey and ham were always delicious. She couldn't bake as she had never been taught but a bought pudding and cake were fine by us.

We fell into bed tired after all the visiting and nearly always woke at 5 am. Santa had always been and after looking at our toys, we would get dressed and go to 6 am Mass. It was always dark and frosty, but we loved going to the early Mass and we would go straight to the Crib and wish the Baby Jesus "Happy Birthday!." After Mass we would go home for breakfast. The rest of the day was magical and my Daddy, sister and I would go for a walk down the beach every Christmas Day. I still walk on Christmas Day but not on the beach. I was happy then and thank God I am still very happy.

Let me take you back to 1956, a small child of five. An only child, just Mam and me. This Christmas stands out so vividly. Mam getting the Christmas tree and we decorating it together. All the decorations were so delicate, Mam had them wrapped in newspaper from one year to another. It seemed so tall to a little one looking up at the star on the very top. At night I’d look out the window and stare at the stars and wonder at the black sky behind  all of these wonderful twinkling stars and I had one all of my own on my tree! The Christmas Crib, so special as Mam told me the story of this tiny baby.

Santy, this special man was only mentioned a few days before Christmas. This special Christmas Eve, Santy was coming to our town, Athlone, on his way to the Army Barracks. He had to cross over the Bridge and my Mam held me tight as we waited among crowds and crowds of people to catch a glimpse of this wondrous amazing man. I remember being so small I could only see legs all around me, when suddenly I was lifted high in the air by my Mam and heard the bells in the distance. There he was, in a bright red suit and a big white beard. He was in a beautiful open carriage drawn by white horses and he was standing up shouting “Hello girls and boys, I know you are all good children “ and he was throwing bags of sweets in every direction. Imagine one bag landed in my arms. I could hear my heart pounding, as I watched Santy move away to the sound of the fading bells. I looked into my Mam’s eyes and saw tears rolling down her cheeks. I rubbed them away and we hugged tightly.

In those days we didn’t have Television, but we had something far better -  A Radio where you could hear voices, plays, music and singing. Ours was a small black Bush with two knobs on the side. A big circle on the front with a needle that moved when you twisted the knob. Mam said Santy was going to be on the Radio that very evening so we swiftly walked home to hear his voice. I remember so many people wishing my Mam “A Happy Christmas” men lifting their hats as they passed by. What stands out in my mind is the smiling faces of everybody and this bursting emotional feeling throughout my body and mind.

We got home and immediately Mam made me a big mug of Cocoa and on went the Radio. The news had started with the news reader saying “A very special person” had just popped in before he headed off on his long journey around the world.” Santy” and he began to call out names of so many children. Then I heard “Rita” he was calling MY name and he said he was on his way now and all children had to go to bed immediately. I heard a door opening, I heard the wind howling, Santa was leaving the North Pole to come to ME and he called out MY name on the Radio. “Children I’m on my way. Off to bed now “ I heard the reindeers and the bells and Santa calling Rudolph. His voice rang out as he headed on his way to me. I listened and listened until there was no sound left, but my head buzzing..

My little heart racing, my face red with excitement, I literally jumped into bed and squeezed my eyes shut. My mam had to take me out gently as I still had my Hat, Coat, Gloves, Socks and Shoes on! I couldn’t sleep, I tried so hard. I remember mam getting into bed beside me, we snuggled up Mam wrapping her arms around me. I remember saying to Mam Shhhh “Mam I hear him coming up the stairs….Listen. His feet on the steps. Mam listened and said very gently, “I’l just check the door and make sure it’s open!!

Eventually I fell asleep to wake up to my red tricycle, books, sweets and my Christmas stocking full to the brim. The little baby was in the crib, just born. A magical, wonderful memory of my Christmas Past with my Mam.

Christmas day 1940 was the day when I decided to make my dramatic entrance into the world. It was not the best Christmas ever for my parents or indeed for my older siblings. The house was chaotic. The turkey was abandoned - languishing sadly in a dish in the scullery.   

My mother, with the help of the local midwife and prayers to Saint Philomena and Saint Jude (patron of hopeless cases!), delivered me safely in the big bed upstairs, while my father paced the floor and my brothers and sister wondered why Santa had forgotten all about them.

However, all was well at the end of the day, and my father always remembered that Christmas as the one where he got no Christmas dinner! My mother's memories were more vivid! My own memories of childhood Christmas in West Cork were wonderfully happy ones.  

Christmas eve was the time to collect the turkey from the local farm and the big box of goodies from Auntie Nora's shop. The contents were always the same - Elite biscuits, Cadbury's chocolates, a Dundee cake, apples, oranges, bananas and exotic dates, with a picture on the box of a hooded man riding a camel. A calendar and a big red candle were Auntie Nora's gift to us.   

As the youngest in the house, it was my privilege to light the candle at teatime, and place it in the window to guide Mary and Joseph to a place of safety.   

Christmas morning - up before dawn. Feeling the bulging stocking at the end of the bed. Shrieking with excitement as presents were opened. Walking to the early morning Mass, my gloved hand in my father's cold one.  Listening to the muffled voices of the other Mass-goers. Frost glistening on the roadway. The church warm and dimly lit.   Kneeling before the baby Jesus in the crib, the straw making a golden haze around his head.   

Rushing home after Mass. Rashers and sausages sizzling on the stove. Daddy lighting a massive fire in the sitting room. Sharing presents with the family. Neighbours and relations calling. Port and sherry being sipped by the adults while the turkey, ham and vegetables are prepared. Then the feast!   

Afterwards, slumped by the fire to doze and eat chocolates. Card games, quizzes, sitting on Daddy's lap while he whispered the answers to me when my turn came to answer questions. More eating, more games, maybe a sing-song.   

Then bed and a good night's sleep in preparation for St. Stephen's Day, when we dressed up and sang the WREN around all the neighbouring houses, and gathered enough money to go to the matinee in our local cinema. I don't remember what films we saw, but I do remember the fun and the noise, and the devouring of sweets, and the thrill of being shouted at by the cinema owner to be quiet or we would all be put out. We never were put out, but oh, what memories, and what times they were - those Christmases of my childhood.

Christmas day 1940 was the day when I decided to make my dramatic entrance into the world. It was not the best Christmas ever for my parents or indeed for my older siblings. The house was chaotic. The turkey was abandoned - languishing sadly in a dish in the scullery.   

My mother, with the help of the local midwife and prayers to Saint Philomena and Saint Jude (patron of hopeless cases!), delivered me safely in the big bed upstairs, while my father paced the floor and my brothers and sister wondered why Santa had forgotten all about them.

However, all was well at the end of the day, and my father always remembered that Christmas as the one where he got no Christmas dinner! My mother's memories were more vivid! My own memories of childhood Christmas in West Cork were wonderfully happy ones.  

Christmas eve was the time to collect the turkey from the local farm and the big box of goodies from Auntie Nora's shop. The contents were always the same - Elite biscuits, Cadbury's chocolates, a Dundee cake, apples, oranges, bananas and exotic dates, with a picture on the box of a hooded man riding a camel. A calendar and a big red candle were Auntie Nora's gift to us.   

As the youngest in the house, it was my privilege to light the candle at teatime, and place it in the window to guide Mary and Joseph to a place of safety.   

Christmas morning - up before dawn. Feeling the bulging stocking at the end of the bed. Shrieking with excitement as presents were opened. Walking to the early morning Mass, my gloved hand in my father's cold one.  Listening to the muffled voices of the other Mass-goers. Frost glistening on the roadway. The church warm and dimly lit.   Kneeling before the baby Jesus in the crib, the straw making a golden haze around his head.   

Rushing home after Mass. Rashers and sausages sizzling on the stove. Daddy lighting a massive fire in the sitting room. Sharing presents with the family. Neighbours and relations calling. Port and sherry being sipped by the adults while the turkey, ham and vegetables are prepared. Then the feast!   

Afterwards, slumped by the fire to doze and eat chocolates. Card games, quizzes, sitting on Daddy's lap while he whispered the answers to me when my turn came to answer questions. More eating, more games, maybe a sing-song.   

Then bed and a good night's sleep in preparation for St. Stephen's Day, when we dressed up and sang the WREN around all the neighbouring houses, and gathered enough money to go to the matinee in our local cinema. I don't remember what films we saw, but I do remember the fun and the noise, and the devouring of sweets, and the thrill of being shouted at by the cinema owner to be quiet or we would all be put out. We never were put out, but oh, what memories, and what times they were - those Christmases of my childhood.

When I was single and lived with my parents, I loved cutting all my mother's cooking first. This was ok to do sometimes but not at Christmas, so Mam and I had a little fun at times, especially on Saturday nights after I having a few beers. She would have cooked the Sunday joint and after storing it in a safe place I would search to find it, then I would have the first slice as this to me is the forbidden piece. This simple bit of fun now brings back memories of christmas past.

Christmas time came about and all the readiness of the season began with Mam making Christmas cakes and pudding. The smell of baking and boiling the Christmas pudding was a joy to behold. The pudding was the first made and after many hours boiling, it was taken from the pot and hung over the nearest door. At this stage in the process I would keep a very sharp eye on events. I waited for a chance to cut a slice but it was very late when it was hung, having decided to go to bed and sleep I had to wait for another time to cut it.

The next morning I went down to the kitchen and discovered that the pudding was taken down and hidden from me. Mam felt very secure about where she had hidden the pudding and teased me about I not finding it this time.

Christmas Eve was held in their tradition from my parent's younger years, so we as a family enjoyed this by going to midnight mass. After receiving the sacrament of communion we would then go home and have a late supper. Mam loved this occasion for the best tablecloth was on display, along with the best china. 

Then all the the goodies would be taken out cakes and pudding to be tasted. Mam cut the Christmas cake and placed it neatly on a beautiful dish, then she picked up the Christmas pudding and was gleaming with pride with her creation all wrapped up in tinfoil and it appeared to the human eye a masterpiece, so mam said laughing that she had beaten me this time with her hiding place it was too good and Mam knew that I would never find it. 

I then said to my mother she was good but I was better. Mam looked somewhat bemused by this statement, as she peeled back the tinfoil that surrounded the pudding. What a sight to see this pudding perfect in shape. She had hidden the pudding in the washing machine and felt it to be a perfect place to hide it from me. Mam placed the pudding on the kitchen table and felt really good about where she had hidden it, but before Mam cut cut the pudding I asked her to turn it upside down. As she turned it she started laughing heartily as the bottom of the pudding became more visible she saw that it had been cut and a big piece was missing.

This simple memory is recalled by me every Christmas time, as like any one that came from a family of nine children we as a family have many memories all given to us by our parents, who are no longer with us as both have passed away, but if they were alive today they would in their tradition, wish everyone a Happy Christmas and Happy New Year!

CHILHOOD in early 1960s Ireland for a child was a dull, dark and depressing place, with the daily drudgery of walking to school in over sized shoes, older sister’s coat, in the howling wind and rain, bags on backs and heavy hearts in shoes, shanks mare was the only mode of transport at least in rural Ireland as it applied to me.

Home was the one thing that maintained the sanity especially the weeks building up to Christmas. The school bell would ring at 3.30 pm and a stampede would ensue for the front door. The rain did not matter now. I was going home and Christmas holidays were here.

This was a particularly busy time of year for my mother. Christmas always seemed to add that little extra strain and pressure on Mum, money was tight and Dad's work on the buildings scarce to say the least. We were a large family ten in all, five had already flown the nest to work in England when I was a child of eight or nine.

Mum always did her best to make Christmas special. Everything was homemade and home grown. We had a small holding of land so Dad did all the tillage to provide food for the winter months. Rich fruit cakes, plum puddings, homemade jams, & mince pies were all made well in advance. Of course she had me and my siblings to help, sticking fingers into mixing bowls at every opportunity. Then there was the fresh butter and fresh brown bread and currant cakes, a busy time indeed. The smells linger in my nostrils to this day and takes me right back to the cosy kitchen, with us all gathered around, and the big old black Stanley range with two massive ovens, fired up like an engine from  a steam train. Dad's  job if he happened to be at home was to keep that big black monster fed with turf and any other thing that would burn in it.

My brother and I were sent to a neighbour’s house some two miles from our home to collect the live turkey a few days before Christmas. We had some fun with that turkey, especially when my brother dropped the bag and the turkey escaped through fields in Mayo before being eventually caught by my brother. In the end we made it safely home -and so did the turkey, at least for another few days. It was  one of Dad's jobs to take care of the turkey and he always did in humane fashion. By the time he was finished Mom had her nice 25 lb oven ready turkey (well almost). A Christmas candle was placed in the front window to welcome the onset of birth of Christ.

Christmas eve, Mum spent time preparing the bird & preparing the stuffing. The ham was boiled up with all kinds of flavours &  finished off in a hot oven with honey mustard & cloves until golden brown on Christmas day. I still can smell it. 

On Christmas morning Mum would round up all the children dressed in Sunday best and march us all off to first mass at 6am. The winters were colder then, everywhere was frosted up and the only sounds were shoes on frozen ground and sounds of excited children. It’s a memory that will never leave me fifty years on.

Returning home to a warm kitchen, a hearty breakfast was enjoyed by all. Dad would have kept an eye on things while we were out, and he went to mass later. Mum liked it that way; her kitchen was her domain and no place for men where cooking was concerned. Once breakfast was over Mum would give us all our chores, peeling all the various vegetables; cleaning etc. She did all the finishing touches herself as only she could. About three o clock, the stage set for the big feast. Everyone would be called to the table by Dad and the feast commenced once grace was recited.

Later in the day we would receive our presents, usually one novelty item like a china tea set, scarf/gloves an orange, and sweets. Santa was not as rich in those days, but we were always happy with what he gave us. We would always have a walk after the big meal usually up through the land, with Dad keeping an eye on the livestock. The remainder of the day was spent playing cards,  board games, & jig saw puzzles in front of blazing fire in the sitting room followed by loads of Mum's treats. Dad would “entertain” us later when he would break out the old accordion, and sing songs & Christmas carols.

Even though Mum and Dad are no longer here, they have left me a great legacy of great memories, and I have passed on the Christmas traditions to my children. Quite recently my son who lives in Canada phoned me asking for Grams recipe for the glaze for the ham, some things never change!

Where ever I am in the world these days at Christmas time, as I now find myself travelling to visit my two adult children on opposite sides of the globe I always seek out a church for the Christmas services.

Sometimes on our way home either with my daughter or son we reflect on times past at Christmas time-and as we look skyward we try to find two very special stars to guide us on our journeys home.