I
I am sometimes inclined to wonder whether,in very truth,those Polchester Christmases of nearly thirty years ago were so marvellous as now in retrospect they seem.I can give details of those splendours,facts and figures,that to the onlooker are less than nothing at all--a sugar elephant in a stocking,a box of pencils on a Christmas tree,"Hark,the Herald Angels."at three in the morning below one's window,a lighted plum-pudding,a postman four hours late,his back bent with bursting parcels.And it is something further--behind the sugar cherries and the paper caps and the lighted tree--that remains to give magic to those days;a sense of expectancy,a sense of richness,a sense of worship,a visit from the Three Kings who have so seldom come to visit one since.
That Christmas of Jeremy's ninth year was one of the best that he ever had;it was perhaps the last of the MAGICAL Christmases.After this he was to know too much,was to see Father Christmas vanish before a sum in arithmetic,and a stocking change into something that "boys who go to school never have"--the last of the Christmases of divine magic,when the snow fell and the waits sang and the stockings were filled and the turkey fattened and the candles blazed and the holly crackled by the will of God rather than the power of man.It would be many years before he would realise that,after all,in those early days he had been right.
A very fat book could be written about all that had happened during that wonderful Christmas,how Hamlet the Dog caught a rat to his own immense surprise;how the Coles'Christmas dinner was followed by a play acted with complete success by the junior members of the family,and it was only Mr.Jellybrand the curate who disapproved;how Aunt Amy had a new dress in which,by general consent,she looked ridiculous;how Mary,owing to the foolish kindness of Mrs.
Bartholomew,the Precentor's wife,was introduced to the works of Charlotte Mary Yonge and became quite impossible in consequence;how Miss Maple had a children's party at which there was nothing to eat,so that all the children cried with disappointment,and one small boy (the youngest son of the Precentor)actually bit Miss Maple;how for two whole days it really seemed that there would be skating on The Pool,and everyone bought skates,and then,of course,the ice broke,and so on,and so on.there is no end to the dramatic incidents of that great sensational time.
The theme that I sing,however,is Jeremy's Progress,and although even Hamlet's catching of a rat influenced his development,there was one incident of this Christmas that stands out and away from all the others,an affair that he will never all his days forget,and that even now,at this distance of time and experience,causes his heart to beat roughly with the remembered excitement and pleasure.
Several weeks before Christmas there appeared upon the town walls and hoardings the pictured announcements of the approaching visit to Polchester of Denny's Great Christmas Pantomime "Dick Whittington."Boxing Night was to see the first performance at our Assembly Rooms,and during every afternoon and evening of the next three weeks this performance was to be repeated.
A pantomime had,I believe,never visited our town before;there had,of course,for many years been the Great Christmas Pantomime at the Theatre Royal,Drymouth,but in those days trains were not easy,and if you wished to attend an afternoon performance at the Drymouth Theatre you must rise very early in the morning by the candle-light and return late in the evening,with the cab forgetting to meet you at the station as commanded,and the long walk up Orange Street,and a headache and a bad temper next day.
It happened naturally then that the majority of the Polchester children had never set their inquisitive noses within the doors of a theatre,and although the two eldest daughters of the Dean,aged ten and eleven,had been once to London and to Drury Lane Theatre,their sense of glory and distinction so clouded their powers of accuracy and clarity that we were no nearer,by their help and authority,to the understanding of what a pantomime might really be.
I can myself recall the glory of those "Dick Whittington"pictures.
Just above Martin's the pastry-cook's (where they sold lemon biscuits),near the Cathedral,there was a big wooden hoarding,and on to this was pasted a marvellous representation of Dick and his Cat dining with the King of the Zanzibar Islands.The King,a Mulatto,sat with his court in a hall with golden pillars,and the rats were to be seen flying in a confused flood towards the golden gates,whilst Dick,in red plush and diamond buckles,stood in dignified majesty,the Cat at his side.There was another wonderful picture of Dick asleep at the Cross Roads,fairies watching over him,and London Town in a lighted purple distance--and another of the streets of Old London with a comic fat serving man,diamond-paned windows,cobblestones and high pointing eaves to the houses.
Jeremy saw these pictures for the first time during one of his afternoon walks,and returned home in such a state of choking excitement that he could not drink his tea.As was ever his way he was silent and controlled about the matter,asked very few questions,and although he talked to himself a little did not disturb the general peace of the nursery.On Mary and Helen the effect of the posters had been less.Mary was following the adventures of the May family in "The Daisy Chain,"and Helen was making necklaces for herself out of a box of beads that had been given her.
When Jeremy said once,"Who was the man in the red trousers with gold on them?"no one paid any attention save Hamlet,who wagged his tail,looked wise and growled a little.
