NINETY-THREE years have gone by. Christmas is here again.

Times have changed, the excitement has gone. Gone from times I had as a child who, like so many others, were lucky to get a jam butty.


Sometimes we played in the little terraced streets, it was the time of the year when all the shops were lit up with Christmas presents.

We went looking at all the toys with our noses pressed to the glass. Things we somehow knew we would never get, yet it was so exciting. For once in a lifetime, we would be rich.


The stocking hung up over the big iron fire grate, which we hoped would have a penny in the toe, some monkey nuts, orange and an apple, an odd sweet if we were lucky.


But a penny, how many sweets would it buy? Most times we give it back to mam to put in the gasometer.


We shared one penny between us eating toffees. Christmas dinner: well, anything with a bit of meat and sage onion stuffing.


Mams did their best and we kids used to try and make a present for her. 
We decided to give her one year, a tablet of carbolic soap and a rubbing stone.

Being kids we didn’t know what real presents were like, it took us ages to get enough halfpennies and pennies saved by running errands.


But it was exciting as we wrapped our presents in newspaper. We hear of kids from poor countries, at one time we had poverty. 


It didn’t stop the excitement of our Christmases. We didn’t know if we got ‘owt or nowt but a penny, that was something.

There is no wonder or excitement today.

Kids say what they want. Kids yesterday took what they got.


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