This is the 23rd of 25 blog posts to celebrate my 25th published novel, A Skye Full of Stars. With the weather turning colder, I look back on my favourite Christmas as a child…
I was a lucky child as, because we were in the army, many childhood Christmases were spent in Malta or Cyprus. I remember being quite surprised when we came back to the UK and Mum and Dad invited our grandparents to share Christmas with us. It hadn’t been an option when we lived abroad and so Christmas had just involved my brothers, my parents and me.
There were always two big parties – one at school and one organised by the army. I used to scoff myself silly. Those were the days when I could outgrow or burn off any extra calories. I’m 5’ 2” so it’s a long time since I grew (upwards, at least), and calory burning now takes four Zumba classes a week. There were always presents at those parties too. I don’t know where the funds came from for the presents from school – although army schools were always well resourced – but I discovered later that my parents chose and paid for my present from the army party. And there was me thanking Santa.
We weren’t rich, but I remember getting lots of gifts on Christmas morning. Books were each individually wrapped, and some gifts were useful for school like felt pens or geometry sets. I had a fascination for geometry sets long before I knew how to use one. I suppose that most of these gifts were of the reasonably priced variety, but what did that matter? I could never have too many books. And I could never keep felt pens or geometry sets intact for long, so they always needed replacing.
Image: A young Sue Moorcroft with a Christmas book.
The Christmas Day that sticks in my mind was our final one in Malta, when I was eight. We were being posted back to the UK in January, which meant that everything owned by our family of five would very soon have to be packed into six big boxes, which were shipped by sea, and three suitcases we took with us. My parents met with joy my suggestion of a space hopper for my ‘big present’. It could be deflated and squashed into the corner of a packing box – so much easier than trying to find room for a bike or scooter.
It was generally Christmas afternoon when we’d be allowed out to play on anything new. My brothers, being older, probably weren’t too bothered about ‘playing out’ by then, but I was bursting to get outside on that huge, bubble-gum pink space hopper. I bounced around the parade ground like a mad thing. I boinged up, I boinged along, I boinged up and down steps, I landed on my back and banged my head, I got gravel rash and I had a fantastic time. The kids next door came out to have a go, then my brothers and my parents followed. Mum couldn’t get the technique at all and pretty much bounced on the spot, which made me cry with laughter. That big pink space hopper was the best thing ever … though I didn’t have long with it until it had to be packed in the boxes. Postings, packing and boxes were so much a part of army life that it didn’t even occur to me to complain.
But when I was reunited with my space hopper weeks later in the UK, at least the bouncing kept me warm. (Note: if anyone ever suggests to you that you exchange Malta for England in January, don’t do it. England was bitter cold.)
A Skye Full of Stars is out now!
