WHEN I was a little girl growing up in a sugar estate community and going to my first Christmas party at my private school at the backstreet, I felt happy and excited wearing a new little white dress with printed red apples, a pretty little pink beaded basket and my long hair flowing down my back in a mass of curls. My mother looked at me with pride as I walked down the street, for though we did not wear crowns, we were as little girls, our mothers’ princesses.

The traditional festive season filled the air with a warm, inviting scent and made everything seem so merry.
Houses were cleaned, new curtains put on, yards spruced and though there was no electricity for spectacular fairy lights, no Christmas trees and splendid decorations, there was that glow of cleanliness that was refreshing to the mind. Mothers went on regular shopping trips to the town of New Amsterdam and we got little toys to play with as the season approached, while the special gifts were hidden until Christmas morning.

As children, one of the things we looked forward eagerly to was the mixing of the cakes. My mother had two white enamel buckets that she kept specifically for that purpose and we were given turns with the pot spoons to mix. It was tiring for our little arms but quite a thrill and whenever she wasn’t looking, we would take a little dip with our finger and lick it. At the end of the mixing, though, we were given the spoons to lick.

Not everyone had ovens then to bake, so mothers would take their buckets and pots of cake mixture down the street to Aunty Rebecca. She was a cheerful African woman with a huge oven made from clay that held many pans of cake at one time. It was quite fascinating to watch that process; when it was done, we had many pans of fruit and sponge cakes.
I wonder now how we managed to eat all that cake.

And with just a few days more to Christmas day, the joy felt like a warm hug, carol singing through the streets and the festive, enjoyable taste of sorrel, mauby and gingerbeer drinks. All the homes made different drinks that were shared around for neighbours who lived like family. Gates were not closed and doors stayed open late in the night as music from the radio stations filled the air, laughter, gyaffing and men having their little drinks.

Christmas Eve for us kids was a great thrill and joy; we were dressed in new clothes and travelling with many other families in the big bus to New Amsterdam. The town was so beautifully decorated and so busy with toys and goodies everywhere it left us awed beyond words. The red apples and bunches of grapes we only got at Christmas looked quite yummy and I imagined tasting the sweetness on Christmas morning when my mother would give me my little basket of goodies. But for now I had to pay attention to the ice cream cone my father handed me that was bigger than my hand. It is, to date, the most delicious ice cream cone I have ever eaten from a small shop just inside the New Amsterdam market.

I awoke early the next morning to loud cheers of ‘Merry Christmas’ and an incessant knocking on our front door. My friend from down the street, near Aunty Rebecca, wanted to show me the doll she got for her Christmas. That was when I received my special Christmas gift, a pretty doll half my size with blue eyes and long brown hair. I felt so happy and dressed up in my little red dress. I greeted the other children in the neighbourhood as we showed each other our gifts.

Such sweet innocence there was then!
And on that specially blessed day, the enchanting aromas of Christmas filled the air as men laid out tables in each home with drinks and women lit up the firesides for the favourite curries of duck, chicken and mutton. Everyone’s homes were opened that day, sharing food and drinks with each other and even strangers passing by could have stopped for a plate of food and a few drinks.

Christmas celebration as it was then, the joy, the warmth and the camaraderie, an unforgettable time.
And Christmas Eve in New Amsterdam was memorable.

Days have gone by, but every Christmas brings back the merriness and euphoria of that time.