Lansdowne Crescent: Chapter 35
Christmas was celebrated in the usual way on the home front during wartime.
Jean Day continues her account of the lives of neighbours in a Worcester Street in the early decades of the Twentieth Century.
Sunday of that week-end we kept as Christmas Day - that is to say what Christmas dinner we had we ate on that day, and we had a Christmas tree too. It was a typical Sunday in many ways. The morning was devoted to taking Betty for a walk, and Peter was much in demand as a horse, a lion, a mouse, and an elephant in miraculous and swift succession.
The afternoon was observed in the usual sacred way, those of us who did not openly retire to our beds tacitly observed the laws of silence, and each reclined in his or her arm-chair before a blazing fire and sought oblivion with varying degrees of ugliness. Peter always won at this game, he could look extraordinarily plain at full length on the sofa, with his eyes shut and his mouth wide open.
With the arrival of tea we wakened up, and each accused the other of sleeping, while loudly denying having closed one's eyes even for a second oneself. Tea over, the lights were turned down, and with all solemnity the Christmas-tree duly bedecked with candles and covered with tiny gifts was brought in, and for half an hour we imagined ourselves back in baby land, watching the delight of Betty and Margot.
Then followed the time-honoured reading of Scrooge, and this made us feel that it was Christmas indeed. The Scrooge reading was followed by perhaps the best set of charades that even our talented family have yet risen to. As if determined to give us something to remember, Peter excelled himself that night. After supper came music, and then the elders went soberly to bed, while the rest of us sat up imbibing tea and discussing the affairs of the universe far into the night. And then good night, more casual perhaps even than usual for the very thought that was in all our hearts.
Good night and good-bye. He went back to Grantham next day, and on Christmas Eve sailed for France.
Now for the news from the rest of the Crescent.
We were invited to another wedding party this year, in Brecon in Wales, but we didn’t feel like we could go to go to it as we were in mourning for Frank, but of course the Bests were in mourning for three sons.
Mark Day married Gwenllian Best. I have of seen the pictures and heard all about it. She was a beautiful bride with her long dress and capped veil. There were embroidered flowers along the neckline of her dress and she had the prettiest fancy shoes. Mark was in uniform, of course, and this time Bobs had his on too. He acted as his brother’s best man. Caroline and JCR Day were looking smart, if somewhat older. John Duncan officiated, and Una Richmond was there, looking pretty as usual. May and Muriel were both in the picture, but none of the children. But the family dog got centre stage right in front of the bride and groom. Gwenllian’s bouquet was lilies and roses. Her bridesmaid, her sister, Dorothy, wore pale yellow and had ferns and carnations. Her mother, Julia, carried quite a large bouquet too and a dark dress, as of course they are still in mourning for their three sons.
Mr. Best, who is called Charles William, and is a Chartered Surveyor, works as the county surveyor also looked very smart in his morning suit. Walter Best and his wife Bessie were there and as well as John officiating, Mrs. Best’s cousin Henry Church-Jones, the Vicar of Builth, near, Brecon, officiated for part of the ceremony too. The wedding reception was held at the Bests’ house, Penbryne on the Hay Road just outside Brecon.
Mark went back into the war, and Gwenllian will continue to live with her parents and sister until after the war, but probably will spend some time with Caroline Day with whom she gets along very well.
