Classic Christmas Stories by Frank Galgay

the infant with coloured lights
     glimmering in the branches.
    The shepherds at Bethlehem were no more enraptured than I was at that moment.
     This uniquely Newfoundland version of the Nativity is firmly embedded in my
     vision of Christmas.
    When I reached home there was another delightful surprise. The supper table was
     laid in the Front Room. A bright fire was blazing in the grate. At that time the
     vigil of the Feast was a day of fast and abstinence. It was our custom to serve
     lobster salad for the meal, lobster at that time selling for forty cents for a
     fat, one-pound tin.
    The Light Cake held the place of honour and everybody had their first taste of
     Christmas Cake for dessert. Altogether there was such an abundance of happiness,
     so much warmth and gaiety that I thought my childish heart would burst for
     joy.
    That was a long, long time ago and everything is different now—so many old
     customs abandoned, so many beloved faces missing. If they could come back, what
     changes they would see!
    My father would be astonished to see that we are now a province of Canada; my
     brother would see television for the first time; my sister would know nothing of
     computers or the Man on the moon and someone would have to introduce my mother
     to the New Liturgy and explain to her that it is now alright to eat meat on
     Friday.
    Soon now the joy bells will ring out to announce that Midnight Mass is about to
     begin. There is a note of sadness in that joyful clamour and old grief’s long
     buried but never quite forgotten stir into life.
    I look back at that Christmas Eve of my childhood and it is like watching a
     miniature scene set in a crystal globe full of falling snow. The snowflakes
     settle and there we are, together again, untouched by sorrow and undimmed by
     time. The Holy Infant still lies on his bed of yellow straw as we kneel before
     him to celebrate the hour and the moment when the Lamb of God came down from
     heaven to take away the sins of the world.

A Bouquet of Christmas Memories
    by Helen Fogwill Porter
    W
HEN WE HANG OUR wreaths and festoons in preparation
     for Christmas, the most important one of all is not visible to the eye. Yet all
     of us have one such bouquet, unique to ourselves. The flowers may be old and
     faded, but they are none the less precious on that account. I’m talking about
     our bouquet of Christmas memories.
    All of our different bouquets have many features in common. Everybody thinks of
     the turkey, the tree, the stockings, the presents, the carols. But I want to
     talk about the individual family memories which mean little to outsiders. They
     all help to make Christmas the warm, happy family day it is. As I share my own
     memories with you I hope it will help you to make up your own private bouquet of
     half-forgotten family joys.
    At our house Christmas always seemed to start when the first little boy arrived
     on our doorstep with his box of rather grimy Christmas cards. These he sold on
     commission from a local wholesale business, and sometimes he had a selection of
     inexpensive toys as well. Each boy who took on this yearly job felt sure that he
     would make his fortune but the sad truth was that, long before the time came for
     him to turn over the money to the proprietor, a large proportion of it would be
     spent on candy and ice-cream. Then it was Mom and Dad to the rescue, not without
     a threat that they would not cover his deficit next year. But next year was
     always a long way off.
    Anyone who has ever gone to Sunday School will know the
     thrill and excitement that comes with preparation for the Christmas concert.
     Practices usually began in November and by the middle of December teachers and
     parents alike were convinced that this year’s program would be a complete
     failure. But when White Gift Sunday rolled around the fragrant smell of
     evergreen hung in the air, the children behaved as angelically as they were
     attired and everything went off very