By Nickey Corrigan

The year has now reached December. The fire is burning brightly. The rain and wind are blowing outside. My mind drifts back to my childhood Christmas; no computers, no Facebook. Santa’s selection was much smaller then.

Born in 1941, during the war year, we lived in a thatched cottage a few miles from Drogheda. There was no electricity, no central heating, no running water. The water was carried in buckets from the well a quarter of a mile away. The mantle lamp was a great source of light.

Christmas cards were sent to everybody. Mr King, the postman from Termonfeckin, was a busy man. I would help by delivering the post to some people who lived down long lanes. My reward was a few penny toffees.

The holly and ivy trees were in Larry Ward’s, which is now Bellview Kennels. I would cut some from each tree and bring them home. People from Drogheda would come and collect some of them for decorating their houses.

The Christmas pudding boiled mostly in a cloth. Cutting sticks for Mary Jane Kenny was a day’s work. No sticks for the pudding would sink. My reward would be a piece of pudding and a bottle of lemonade on Christmas Day.

Mass on Christmas Day was at seven o’clock. Serving Mass in Sandpit Church, Father Domigan would give me and the boys half a crown.

The fire is nearly out, it’s time for bed. My dreams may bring me back to the good old days.

My childhood Christmas.