24December1996

24 December 1996
My dear folks,

Another day done. We have tramped home again through the snow under the gaze of a full moon. Cathy & family we left behind at the church where they were attending mass. A small brass band summoned worshippers, who hurried up the shadowy streets between the high houses, the lamplight occasionally catching their faces. I told Jones that I was reminded of Breughel. She suspects I may be thinking of someone else. Who knows? Most families mark Christmas with either an illuminated tree in the garden or a festive symbol in a window. You are left in no doubt of the importance of the season here in Germany. Christmas is more real, somehow, in the German countryside than in a big city. It’s hard to imagine Jesus being born in a Victorian house in Maida Vale & the wise men jetting into Heathrow with the necessary visas.

Our landlady, who was setting the breakfast table as we arrived back, wished us a frolische Weinacht & we returned the compliment. That’s about all we are capable of saying in German, other than Good Morning or thank you. It’s most frustrating to be limited to the same all-purpose phrases. We are resolved to come & spend three months in Germany as soon as we win the lottery so that we can pay the Germans the compliment of understanding them a little & making ourselves understood.

Today, for the first time, the sun shone, palely & coldly from just above the hills. It was a sun hoisted up for decorative purposes only. But how lovely. We ambled over to Cathy’s via the back roads, with a stop at the vintner to stock up on the sparkling wine we’d approved the day before. We keep several bottles chilling just outside the lounge door where nature provides the ideal fridge. Anita, who shows a precocious appreciation for such things, is much taken with my habit of swilling wine around in a glass to catch the nose before taking a sip. She pokes fun at me by imitating the motions, sticking her finger up against her nose which makes her look like a piggy.

After lunch, Cathy took Anita off to sing carols at an old folks’ home. Rolf led the rest of us up into the hills for a wander along snow covered tracks. Most were wearing boots but I had on unfortunate rubber-soled shoes which slipped wickedly on the icier sections. For my survival, I collected two long sticks which I used as stabilising poles. My companions were torn between sympathy & amusement. Even my good wife failed to conceal her laughter as my feet shot out from under me for the umpteenth time. But I bore the indignity with good grace. On the next occasion, I shall wear Rolf’s spikes. Micaela complained once or twice on the uphill but quickly regained her breath & her spirits on the way back. She prefers her horse’s feet to do the walking.

After supper, Rolf led us to the Christmas tree where he insisted on a little family singing before any gifts were opened. We went along with this but pleaded for a halt after Silent Night, something he acceded to, although we sensed that he hadn’t got his money’s worth. As a consolation, Anita fetched her guitar &, reading the music, gave creditable renderings of several Christmas carols. She won sincere applause. Erica then fetched her new flute - an expensive model capable of playing the most difficult music - & launched into a couple of classical pieces. These, with just one or two apologies for slips or hesitations, she accomplished with bravura. Micaela finally demonstrated her own talents by picking out the tune to The Little Drummer Boy on Anita’s guitar. It can only be a matter of time before we have a family band.


Wednesday 25 December
It’s hard to imagine a day more perfect than that which dawned this Christmas. Before us, the vineyards lay white & still. The sun rose full & warm into the bluest sky imaginable. There was hardly a breath of wind. Jones could not bear to be in the room for a moment after breakfast & took herself out on an initial walk while I settled down to my computer books & laptop for an hour. I am reading “HTML for Dummies” with a view to putting up a Web-Page advertising the Quinta. On the table beside me are the bottle of Christmas wine & home-made cookies from our landlady. Hanging beside the stairs is a framed certificate stating that her guesthouse had been voted the best in some competition, which didn’t surprise us a bit. It’s lovely place to stay.

Then Jones led me along a route to Hambach that went me via the vineyards where warmly clad families were strolling & occasional walkers were out with occasional dogs. I stopped to slip on the spikes Rolf had lent me as a stream had frozen over part of the road & the surface was wicked. Not that this seemed to trouble the children who skidded merrily along. On an adjacent road, a van was pulling three children in line on sleds. We breathed a silent prayer for them for they must have been out of the driver’s line of vision & there are crazy drivers about, even in the heart of snow-clad Germany.

We lunched on smoked salmon, toast & pink champagne! Since you insisted on having a part in the Christmas goodies, mother, we decided you put the smoked salmon against your name & toasted your good health. Then we toasted the good health of others. Jones, who hadn’t had a walk since we’d arrived at the house an hour earlier, was champing at the bit to get out again. So off we went, she, Rolf & I, down through the vineyards, past the ice-sheathed trees all glistening in the sun.

Christmas dinner fell to Rolf, Cathy & Jones. Rolf took out a compact Finnish hot air oven - one of his many culinary acquisitions - to roast the turkey. Jones made the stuffing & the rest was sort of shared out. We sat down around the carefully decorated dining table & drank more champagne from the glasses the family had inherited from Mrs Gohdes. In-between times, I had various attempts to fax a letter off to Whitefish from my computer but either the settings were wrong or the line was busy - as the fax software insisted was the case. (Ditto Rolf’s attempts 24 hours later!!)

To allow dinner to settle before we attempted Christmas pudding, we trooped upstairs to watch a video of Northanger Abbey. Anita voted this an especially good idea as she wanted as much available space in her tummy as possible when pudding arrived. The video was not the success of the year. We none of us particularly liked the heroine who had a very sharp nose & just too wide-open innocent eyes, nor much the hero who might equally have played the villain. I’m afraid we spoiled by Darcy & Elizabeth who are forever our models in such things. What’s more, the producer seemed to have run out of time for he ended the production in a great hurry with the arrival of the hero & a far warmer kiss than Jane Austen would ever have allowed.

Christmas pudding made up for any possible disappointment. Cathy had stuffed the pudd with coins which were eagerly collected by the girls while the adults reminisced on the Christmas puddings & coin collections they had enjoyed in years past. The day ended, as all our days end, with the final tramp home. The snow has been worn off the main streets, but it still lies compacted on the lesser roads, perfect for a squeaky trudge under the moonlight........Blessings.......T

Thursday 26 December
God knows where it went! I recall our morning walk to Hambach. At last we have perfected our route, turning off the main road & into the vineyards shortly after leaving the guesthouse & then snaking through the village streets. The distance is 3 kms, further than I thought; Cathy checked it in the car. Again, the day was perfect. It was good enough after lunch to tempt the 3 girls to join us on a walk. There’s a marvellous cartoon stuck to the back of Cathy’s kitchen door showing a country couple - in the guise of pigs - striding vigorously through the hills followed by their reluctant teenage son who is dressed in flashy leathers. “Can it be, Son,” asks the father, “that you no longer enjoy these family walks as much as you used to?” “Bingo, Dad!” replies Junior. The artist has exactly captured the mood. The Gohdes girls stuck the cartoon up to make a point, given their father’s insatiable appetite for just such outings.

So there was a special pleasure in having the whole family trooping along, up through the narrow village streets & then along the track through the vineyards which leads to the animal enclosure. There’s a family of fat goats their, parents & youngsters, all used to being fed by the numerous human visitors. There is also a donkey which enjoyed similar treatment but he apparently ate so much rich food that his health began to suffer & the owner has put him in a smaller enclosure away from such danger. Temperatures remained below freezing & every shrub & leaf was still coated in ice from the freezing rain several days earlier. The girls peeled several of the delicate ice coverings off the leaves, each in the exact shape of the leaf it occupied & showing all the fine tracery of the veins. They were like perfect glass leaves...just too lovely!

There was time on our return for a session of poker - using counters for cash - & a viewing of Persuasion, an altogether finer production than that we’d watched the previous evening. The heroine started out a bit watery but she improved subtly & credibly until she won all our votes as well as the heart of the hero. The dialogue was splendid, including the quote from the father of the bride to be: “You want to marry Ann! Whatever for?” He was not among the good guys, as you may imagine.

Finally to a Chinese restaurant for supper....and what a supper too! The place was packed out. We had our own little section, beside a window, which Cathy had booked weeks before. It was the fourth sitting reserved there that day, we understood. Easy to believe. Supper catered for everybody’s tastes, Micaela’s wish for vegetarian food, Rolf’s & Jones’s for hot dishes & the rest of us for a good selection. All for a very reasonable price too! We were most impressed. The day - or rather the night, for it was 22.30 - ended, like my letters, with a walk back through the snowy streets.

I am reminded of one exchange between the two asbestos throats, Rolf & Jones. Jones was helping herself at home to a generous portion of Rolf’s liquid fire sauce when he spotted her & warned her to be careful, saying it was extremely hot. “I know,” replied Jones, ladling it on, “it’s my third helping!” What more can one say?

London: Home. We waited 40 minutes - cursing - for the bus at Heathrow & then walked 2 kms from Hyde Park, carrying or pulling more bags than you’d believe. I’m not sure why. Maybe because we needed the exercise. It was a wonderful week but it’s nice to be home in our cosy flat, even so. Let’s see if I have any more success trying to get this off to you.

Blessings
T