The Scent of Christmas Past

Pop! Snap! Pop! The air is momentarily filled with a cap gun chemical scent. For me, it's the smell of Christmases past.

My Christmas holidays meant getting up early to drive across the northern New Hampshire-Canadian border to my grandparent's house. They were born in England and moved to Quebec shortly after they married. Along with the wedding gifts, they also brought their own British holiday traditions, which I now share with my own family and friends.

The schedule never varied. We arrived early in the morning to find hot tea, cocoa and decorated sugar and shortbread cookies waiting for us. The smells coming from the turkey roasting in the oven filled the house with hints of sage and rosemary. We could peek in the living room, but no one was allowed to paw through the stash of presents left by Santa. My grandmother made sure that every grandchild-and later, their various dates-had at least one gift under the tree. For those of us that were into Barbie dolls, we each got hand-sewn doll outfits. As we got older, our gifts changed to crocheted scarves, hats and mittens that magically coordinated with our winter jackets. Since granddaughters outnumbered grandsons by an overwhelming margin, the boys had to make do with wooden toy trucks, and later on, socks and leather gloves.

Once presents were opened and put away, we grandkids were scooted upstairs to play games in the pool room. My grandfather had somehow managed to wrestle a 9-foot pool table up a flight of narrow wooden stairs. My grandmother tolerated this beast since it made the ideal table for laying out sewing patterns. While we imagined ourselves as great pool players and took turns playing board games, my mother, her sisters, brothers and in-laws set the kitchen table to accommodate the adults. Card tables were set up for the growing number of grandchildren. The adults dined on my grandmother's formal wedding china, which is now proudly displayed in my own china cabinet. Various sides to accompany the turkey-mashed potatoes, peas and carrots, stuffing, cranberry sauce, fresh dinner rolls and various home-canned pickles and beets -began making appearances. My aunts and uncles would try to keep my grandmother entertained while they surreptitiously added extra brandy to the dessert sauce simmering on the stove. The sauce would be poured over a Christmas pudding stuffed with dried fruit and spices, made from a closely-guarded family recipe. The sound of the carving knife being sharpened, and later, the electric knife, meant that the turkey was out of the oven, and my grandfather was busy carving the bird.

He only had to call us once for dinner. I remember longing to be old enough to sit at the "big" table. Over the years, my cousins and I went from elementary to middle to high school, but all remained seated at the kids table. I now realize that my grandparents planned it this way. Several of my cousins and I still remain close friends, and that friendship started with having all sit together for dinner. Once my grandfather said grace, we were allowed to pop our Christmas crackers. We each grabbed an end and pulled on them like wishbones. A successful pull was signaled by a "pop" and the scent of cap gun powder. These traditional British favours are brightly wrapped in foil to look like candies. Each cracker holds a paper crown, a corny joke and a small prize. Wearing the paper crown during dinner was mandatory. My grandfather would pull out his so-called "portable" 8 mm video camera and film us eating and mugging it up. We would get to watch previous years' videos after dinner and dishes were done.

Today, my Christmas dinner table is set with the same fine china my grandmother used to entertain her family. Each place setting holds a Christmas cracker, and yes, crown-wearing and pictures are required. The whirring of the electric knife means my husband is carving the turkey. I have only made my grandmother's Christmas pudding once, but it wasn't the same. I missed having my aunts and uncle punch up the sauce. Once we say grace and pop our crackers, I inhale the smell deeply, and smile. I know that somewhere, my grandparents are wearing their own paper crowns and smiling back.