Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Christmas Tree (10/09/08)
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TITLE: Memories of a Noble Tree | Previous Challenge Entry
By Diana Smith
10/15/08 -
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I remember very clearly the first Tree of Christmas that I saw. At twelve years old I was working along with my family at the Blair House in Ayrshire, the ancestral home of the Baron and his Lady. My main job at that time, besides occasionally helping my mother in the kitchen, was to keep the candles in the house stocked and lit. It was a dirty job, my fingernails often full of beeswax and smelling of greasy smoke. But it was generally light work, suitable for a girl my age, and it left the longer, sunny days free for me to wander the hills of heather.
That December the Baron’s family was in residence, the Lady abed with a recurring fever. The Baron had announced they would celebrate the season at home together, instead of traveling to court as was their custom. This left their daughter crushed. At fifteen, she dreamed of marrying well and spending all of her time at the court of Queen Victoria. Celebrating Christmas at home with her boring brothers seemed dreadful, however, a father’s word was law, and so there she found herself.
As a consolation to his daughter, the Baron recruited my father to tromp through the woods in search of a strange gift. At court the year before, Prince Albert had presented his Queen with a custom of his Germanic homeland. A full, fresh fir tree was brought into the palace and set in a place of prominence. The Prince himself carefully wrapped lace and ribbons around the emerald needles, while the children helped to hang intricate hand-blown glass balls on the branches. As a finishing touch, the Prince had slim candles tucked into the tree, twinkling magically when lit in the evenings. The Baron planned to unveil his own Tree of Christmas to cheer up his daughter and bring some of the wonder of court to Scotland.
The two men dragged a healthy Scotch pine into the main hall through the back door. With sweat and sap soaked jackets they hauled the tree upright, placing it into a pyramid-shaped stand my elder brother had made up. The tip nearly brushed the ceiling, while the branches at the base spread gracefully across the rug. As the snow melted off the tree, we all helped to gather what was needed to decorate. There was such a mixture of things assembled, each of us with our own ideas. My father offered some berries and dried fruit he had brought in from the barn while my mother hesitantly held out a roll of lace she had been saving for her own Sunday dress. The Baron’s youngest son had a box of small wooden toys, along with some elegant jeweled angels snuck from his mother’s treasures. His eldest produced a box of glass balls he insisted were even more wonderful than the Prince’s. The Baron laughed and warned him not to drop any. Of course, I had run around the house gathering all of the smallest candles I could find, my perfect contribution.
I am sure I cannot describe the wonder of that first tree to you now. It was like nothing we had ever seen before. The look of adoration and awe on the faces of both the Lady and her daughter were well worth the work. The candles were the most beautiful part, as they sparkled like the sky must have on that Holy Night long ago. The coloured glass shone like jewels and the smell of the pine needles was warm and fresh. It made the Big House seem like a palace indeed, and each of us found ourselves at one time or another standing at the base of the tree admiring its beauty.
From that point on it was understood that the Tree of Christmas must always be presented to the women of the house. All around the country, the British people began celebrating a happy Christmas with this touch of royalty in their modest homes. It became a part of the holiday. I still feel like a twelve year old girl today when I see the lights of a Christmas tree, when I smell the strong scent of the evergreen. And the joy of the season swells up in my heart with the memory.
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