This year I spent Christmas alone on yacht 'Lady H', but dont feel sorry for me as I actually had the company of CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow. Christmas Day itself was spent modifying the dinette on 'Lady H' - and Christmas dinner was a delightful piza with fried eggs on top, chips and salad - and a slight sprinkling of sawdust!
This is the first Christmas on 'Lady H' that I have spent alone but it has given me a chance to do a fair few chores so I am NOT complaining. Christmas is La Maddalena (Sardinia) is an Italian Christmas which means that, although they celebrate, it does not have the commercialism of Christmas in the U.K. On Christmas Eve there were a number of bars that were virtually throbbing as work colleagues celebrated the holiday - without, it appears, the need for a photocopier! Or is that old hat and I am just shopwing my age? Christmas Day morning, the shops were open for last minute shopping then everything went quiet for the rest of the day. Boxing Day, being a Sunday, I woke to the sound of church bells which was rather nice - and as it was almost 11am I did not complain.
This is the fourth Christmas I have spent afloat and it got me thinking about my Christmas Pasts. Below is something I wrote for my daughter years ago.
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As a child I don't remember Christmas being so commercial. Perhaps because most homes did not have television, and those that did only had one commercial channel, people were not exposed to adverts of what we 'must have'. The commercialism has been insidious over the years to a point where one can hardly believe reports and statistics. 'The average family spends £1,400 on presents'. etc etc. Yet frequently shops report a lowering of takings early in December, yet the advertising goes on, and suddenly, days before Christmas, they report sales are up. Could the public simply be doing their Christmas shopping later when their December pay cheques have been cleared? Most people live on credit, and it makes sense to buy at the last minute to reduce interest charges. But I digress, for the purpose of this story is to tell you of some of your Dad's Christmas Past.
Nowadays it is almost the norom to 'publish; one's Christmas list and make sure family and friends aware of what you want. Note, I say, what you want, rather than what you would like. Gone are the days when the unexpectedness of a present was the norm.
When I was about ten I longed for a Mamod Steam Engine to power some of my Meccano creations. I really didn't think I would get one as I knew times were hard, but my parents knew that it was what I longed for.
About a week before Christmas I spied a cardboard box on a high cupboard shelf, and I tool a peek. In it was a sparkling polished brass, green and red Mamod Steam Engine. For days I recall being excited at the prospect, but come Christmas Day when I stripped the wrapping paper and opened the box I sensed disappointment. Not at the gift, I hasten to say, but at the lack of surprise. In this day and age, we have simply forgotten the joy and surprise of an unexpected Christmas gift.
For much of my working life I was in countries that did not celebrate the commercialism of Christmas. In Oman, for example, Christmas Day was technically yet another working day but we kept flying to a minimum and most people did have time to celebrate the day. To give my engineers even more time off, I would act as 'Duty Crew' to see in returning scheduled flights and cope with any unscheduled flights.
One Christmas Day, when all the aircraft were back and I had enjoyed Christmas Dinner with Brian and Pam Cox, my radio crackled into life. A pilot was asking for an aircraft to fly to Bombay to pick up an Indian dance Troupe who were performing at the Palace the following day.
Now I am not sure how many beers I had consumed with my dinner but it was enough for me to foolishly volunteer to accompany the pilot. The aircraft was a Sweringen Metro, a heap of an aircraft that held about 16 people, and sometimes had a toilet. I say 'sometimes' because the toilet was a pod that could be fitted or removed through the freight doors. This one did not have a toilet! The pilot was smart enough to realise this could be a problem, so armed with some large empty coffee jars we took to the skies for the 3 or 4 hour flight across the Indian Ocean.
Bombay is a strange place to fly into, and the authorities require you file a flight plan 24 hours in advance. We had not! When we eventually landed at Bombay, after first being told we could not land (we got round that one by telling them we were short of fuel) we were surrounded by armed troops who were immediately suspicious of someone emptying jars of 'coloured' water on their tarmac. No matter, a few phone calls and we were given the all clear.
The pilot left to go to the hotel as it was already going dark leaving me to organise fuel and food for our return flight. It was then that my problems really started. The refuelling company would not accept our fuel cards (a sort of international credit card for aviation fuel) and the catering company were suspicious of our credentials despite the aircraft having Royal Oman Police emblazoned on the side. Airfields are big, and by the time I had walked to and from Gulf Air's hangar to 'borrow' a few hundred gallons of fuel and food for 16 passengers I had probably covered about six miles, and each mile was fraught with armed guards and security staff. Well, to cut a long sad story short, It was an hour before dawn before I got to the hotel - and take off was scheduled for dawn. The dance troupe consisted of 12 women and one precocious boy of about 10. Within minutes of taking off the women were demanding toilet facilities and were quite indignant, in an Indian sub continent sort of way, when I suggested they use the now empty coffee jars. Women! How will there ever be equality of the sexes when they can't pee into a jar? Christmas afloat was always special. I recall your Mum serving up Christmas dinner, complete with Christmas Pud and sprig of (plastic) holly, on 'Rahala' in the Creek just north of Jeddah. And to add to the festive occasion our boat was bedecked (dressed overall) with signal flags announcing 'Merry Xmas to All'. Amazingly, a passing Arab in a small fishing boat wished us Merry Christmas. When I asked him if he could read the flags he replied. "Of course." and, tapping his chest proudly, he added. "Me ex-Merchant Navy!" Christmas in a marina in the sun is always special. It is a coming together of people from different countries, even of different faiths, from different backgrounds, but all with the common connection of the sea. Makes for good drinking buddies!Whilst in the Med I heard a tale of one woman quietly 'popping' corn in the middle of the night to fill her children's stockings in the Indian Ocean as they had been delayed by light winds and would not make the Maldives until the New Year. She told us that the children, and her husband, were delighted by the surprise and that simple gesture resulted in their best ever Christmas afloat..
Another story was of a French couple who were pursued by a rusty coastal freighter, only to be caught and presented with fresh bread and wine simply because it was Christmas day.Your first three Christmases, daughter, dear, were spent afloat on 'Rahala' in Cyprus. A small boat requires small decorations and even smaller presents. We had made a Christmas tree which stood no more than 9 inches tall, and we even bedecked it with miniature decorations made from cooking foil.
For your second birthday you got some Lego. You were far too young for it, but your Dad loved to make things with it, and you laughed at his mock tears when you pulled his latest creation apart.
Perhaps what makes Christmas really special is not what you do, what you give, or what you receive. It is what you remember about it in years to come that makes it special.May all your Christmases be special - and NEVER peek at your presents before hand! Oh, and NEVER volunteer to go to Bombay on Christmas day!
--- Seasonal Greeting to one and all! Tim Carrington - www.lets-go-sailing.co.uk
