I haven't written any books with Christmas in them but Loving Ellen (Book 2 of Mapleby Memories) has exactly the right cover. I can imagine little Ellen's excitement when she wakes up on Christmas morning and sees a bulging stocking at the end of her bed. And that imagining has made me remember some of the favourite gifts I received as a child.
The first one I can clearly recall is a pair of rabbit fur mittens. I was about 5 years old. The fur was on top, the palm was leather, and there was a gathering of elastic at the wrist so they wouldn't fall off. They were so soft and warm and I wore them for most of the Christmas holiday, indoors and out, often rubbing the furry side against my face. I adored them. In those days it was real fur too. Nowadays it would be faux. We also used to eat rabbit in those long ago days not long after the war, so it seemed entirely natural to use their fur for hats and gloves, whereas now rabbit pie has all but disappeared from the British culinary tradition and rabbits are mostly children's pets.
Another present I remember was a doll house. It was really special although I didn't know how special until years later when I realised my parents had made it for me. It was only a few years after WW2 so toys were in short supply and money was too. But by using wooden boxes, scraps of wallpaper and carpet, and by contriving beds, chairs and sofas out of matchboxes plumped up with cotton wool and covered in old dress material, they conjured up the most marvellous gift. It had four fully furnished rooms and a family of tiny rubber dolls. The baby's cradle was half a walnut shell. I loved it beyond words.
I remember, too, the artist's palette, 3 canvases and box of oil paints I received from a much older cousin when I was about 14 and fancying myself as a painter. My poor grandmother and my father patiently sat for hours while I painted them. Although I am no artist I did capture their likeness and my mother hung them in the hall until I left home. She then removed them somewhat rapidly and I am quite sure with a sigh of relief.
I remember the baby doll too. I insisted it was a boy and called him Michael. Maybe prescient as that's my husband's name! He was almost new born baby size and my mother, who had kept my old carry cot ready for another child who sadly never arrived, let me use it for Michael along with the covers and shawls I had been wrapped in as a baby. I had a doll pram too but I don't remember how or when that arrived or whether it was new or second hand. I do know it was maroon though.
Then, when I was about nine years old, I had the book Christmas! I don't remember what my parents gave me, but everyone else gave me a book. I had a great many aunts and uncles and cousins, so that was quite a lot of books. At least ten, and not a single one replicated. Nor had I read any of them before. There was What Katy Did, What Katy Did Next, Little Women, one of Enid Blyton's Famous Five books, Swallows and Amazons, Children of the New Forest and Heidi to name a few. I don't remember them all but I know my parents had a very peaceful time because I spent Christmas with my nose in one book after another. And although I already loved reading, I think that was the year I started writing too. I can remember turning a cupboard in my bedroom into a desk with pencil, rubber and notepad laid out neatly on the shelf and a small stool tucked underneath. None of my early scribblings survived but I do remember writing about a girl called Dorothy although what her story was about is lost in the mists of time.
Christmas for children is wonderful if they are lucky enough to be part of a caring family. Nowadays, so many years later, I enjoy my Christmases vicariously through the eyes and excitement of my grandchildren, and, although I hardly dare admit it, my grand dogs, cat and horses!! According to my granddaughters they are so much part of the family that they can't be left out. However I don't think dog biscuits, catnip and hay nets will have the same lasting memories for them that my early Christmases have for me.
As I get older I relish the memories and know how lucky I was, and still am. I hope you have your own wonderful memories too.
Merry Christmas!
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