First Christmas

Our first family Christmas in St Cuthbert's Village was probably the most memorable that we ever spent there. We had moved to the village in November 1974 and set about making this place our home. My parents had owned the house we had previously lived in and so had received money from the council under the compulsory purchase order scheme. I can't remember exactly how much mam and dad got for the house but I think it was probably about £2000, possibly a bit less than this.

The majority of the cash was spent on carpets and furniture for our new home. It was quite close to Christmas so decorating was to be left until later. We would have to live with the previous occupants taste until we got around to expressing our own. Apart from the typical seventies burnt orange living room walls this was alright. Mam had the council workmen round to deal with a few minor repairs. I remember a kick sized hole in one of the bedroom doors.

My bedroom was tiny. It had a small built in wardrobe, there was room for my bed, a dressing table and an old toy school desk, nothing more. Even so I was very grateful to have it. I cut out pictures of pop stars from the “Jackie” and “Diana” to put on the walls but when I wasn't sleeping I was usually looking out of the window at the fantastic view I had across the River Tyne.

School holidays came and Christmas was almost upon us. My older brother Freddie went out one evening to his work's Christmas party. A quiet evening at home was spent by the rest of the family before we all went to bed.

I woke up at about midnight with my eyes stinging. I came out of my room, there was smoke everywhere. I tried to walk down the stairs towards the toilet and bathroom but couldn't. There was no air to breathe, only thick smoke. Mam, Dad and my other brother Rob were up as well. Now there was no doubt about it. We were on fire. The design of our maisonette meant that we were able to escape easily by going upstairs and out through the front door and along the walkway to my Aunty Mary's house.

Aunty Mary hugged me, “Are you alright pet” she said. We all stood in her kitchen shell shocked by what was happening. Suddenly she started to laugh. “Oh Fred just look at you” as she pointed at Dad.. We all did. He was wearing his socks and a shirt that just about covered his modesty.

Freddie it transpired, had felt peckish when he returned home from his party and had decided to cook some chips. When he fell asleep at the kitchen table the inevitable had happened.

When the firemen told us it was safe to go back we went down to the living room to survey the damage. There wasn't much, a plastic radio on the workbench near the cooker was melted down one side but oh my god, what a mess. The smoke had settled everywhere. Mam knelt down by the new sofa and started to cry. “I can never have anything” she sobbed. I hugged her.

“It'll be alright , look it comes off” I said running my fingers through the black grease. Fortunately she had chosen a PVC three piece suite.

We woke up the next morning and spent our Christmas Eve in a massive clean up operation. The furniture washed up well but the smell seemed to linger for weeks after.

Dad went out and bought some paint and by the afternoon was making a good job of turning the kitchen ceiling from black to white again. The doorbell rang and I ran up the three flights of stairs to answer the front door. It was Jean and her husband who always used to pay the family a call on Christmas Eve.
Jean was an old school friend of my sister. Although Dorothy was married and had moved away Jean still kept in touch with us. My mother was a talented dressmaker and had made both Dorothy's and Jean's wedding dresses.

“You'll have to excuse us Jean” I began to explain as I led them down the stairs “We've had a fire”

Dad was standing on a step stool still with a paintbrush in his hand. As they chatted about the previous nights events he looked up to inspect his work.

“It looks canny now” he said as his flat cap slipped off his head into the bucket of paint.

Freddie was keeping an incredibly low profile but was eventually forgiven even though at the time I think my Mam would have quite cheerfully choked him.

I couldn't tell you what presents I had that year, if I went anywhere or did anything but 1974 was still an unforgettable Christmas.