The Eighth of December
Jacqui Wiley
The Eighth of December, the feast of the Immaculate Conception, a day off school and work thanks to the Catholic Church. The memories are of childhood, and of excitement. Calls of ‘Are you ready to go?’ still echo in my ears.
Dressed warmly in comfy shoes, Dad took my hand as my Mam took my brothers to make the journey with our siblings to catch the bus. It was ‘Culchie’ day in Dublin. The bus stop was three miles away, a long journey for little legs, but there were no complaints. ‘Day out in the big smoke, two adults and nine children.’ When we reached the big city, we all thanked Paddy, the driver.
We stood on the footpath with our mouths open in awe. Not a blade of grass in sight. Giants of buildings everywhere. Hands held and warnings given to stay together and keep in each other’s sight. We were mesmerised; shops lined both sides of the street. Women with prams, no babies, instead, fruit, sweets, wrapping paper and toys sat on breadboards. Their voices cried out in a linting tone,
‘Get you wrapping paper, five for 20.’, ‘Get the last of your Cheeky Charlies.’
We walked down Moore Street with stalls laden with vegetables, fruit, flowers and Christmas wreaths. The backdrop buildings housed many butchers with dead carcasses in their windows.
On Henry Street we visited Arnotts and Roches Stores, their window displays looking like the North Pole. The shops were full of twinkling lights, smells that itched my little nostrils and people everywhere. Where did they live? There wasn’t a house or animal in sight.
We went to a little café. We had sausages, chips, bread and butter and a glass of milk. Mam and Dad had tea. Mam asked for an extra cup, she filled the cup with tea, wrapped her sausages and some chips in a napkin and went outside. She gave them to a begging man outside. When we were leaving, he muttered, ‘God Bless you.’
They took us to Upper Liffey Street and gave us a one pound note to spend in, Hector Greys. That Emporium of wonder was every child’s dream. I bought playing cards, marbles and many other things. Dad collected our purchases to keep them safe. The dark closed in and the street came alive with dancing twinkling lights, as if the skies had come down to visit us on earth and all the stars had put coloured clothes on. I stood back and held Dad’s hand a little tighter, I was afraid I would be sucked in by its magic and never get home again, but with cold cheeks, I still smiled and relished in its wonder.
O’Connell Street, Cleary’s window, our eyes popped with delight at the displays moving and dancing behind the glass. The biggest clock I’d ever seen hung over our heads.
In Talbot Street, Mam dashed into Guiney’s – lace for our windows.
Last stop, Busáras. Buses almost kissed the open doors surrounding the back and side of the building. Dad called ‘Door number 5, Paddy’s waiting.’ Minutes later the bus door closed, the inside lights dimmed.
I didn’t notice when the city left behind because I was fast asleep cuddled into Dad. He woke me as we reached our stop. We thanked Paddy and wished him a safe journey and began our weary walk home.
Christmas had begun.
Jacqui Wiley is a member of Inklings Writing Group who meets on Tuesdays at 11am and Wednesdays at 7:30 pm in the Annebrook House Hotel. Aspiring writers welcome.