AS THE NIGHTS DRAW IN I REMEMBER THOSE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS

Sometimes I stare at the fields next door, coffee in hand, and can't help but get nostalgic at this time of year, as Halloween approaches and the promise of Christmas whispers in the air.

I've tried many times to emulate the Christmasses my Parent's gave us in the Sixties but I don't think I've ever come close. They were perfect.

My parent's both fought in the Second World War and formed part of that generation who survived. The generation tasked with rebuilding the country and their civilian lives. 

Being Roman Catholic they created a large family. Two sisters and three brothers. By the time I came along at the start of the Swinging Sixties the rest of my siblings were older and my eldest sister was engaged to be married.

My parent's also had their own relatives and friends and combined with their children it made for a large bustling social network.

As time went on , in the late Sixties, my Sisters were married and had their own children. Now there were in-laws and I was an uncle and still not yet ten years old!

With all these people in our lives, the natural festival to celebrate with them all was Christmas and when they all got together in our house it was like half of Preston had descended on us!

On Christmas Day after all the frenzied prezzy opening in the early house of the morning and the late afternoon Christmas dinner, my Dad would go to the local for a pint, later taking my two Brothers when they were old enough. Things got going again that evening with family and friends either arriving or leaving as everyone now had one thing on their mind. Boxing day.

Boxing day was the social peak of the year and our house was even more packed than on Christmas Day. My poor Mum and my Sisters really had their work cut out to provide everyone with food and drink all day long. I seem to remember Christmas leftovers coming out, tinned hams, Pec luncheon meats, gherkins, cocktail sausages stuck in half a grapefruit, vol-au-vents and tons more party food laid out on huge trays covered in doylies. It was buffet central!

There were huddles of bottles everywhere too, in every room, ready for the taking: Tizer, Dandelion and Burdock, Sarsaparilla, Mackison, Pale Ale and the rest. Hard liquor was available in my Dad's home-made bar: port, snowballs, cherry B, brandy, gin, rum and my Dad's weakness, Bell's whisky. The counter was complete with ice buckets and jars of lemon slices and glaced cherries.

The whole day was buzzing with children, young couples, elderly folk and youngsters like me, eyeing up the talent who'd been brought along. I tried not to flirt with cousins [there were so many there it was hard to remember who was who!] and stick to friends of the family!

Most years the local Catholic Priest popped round as well and by the time he'd got to our house he'd had a few sherries already! I never knew if it was the sherry or the cold weather than gave him his rosy cheeks!

Like all good times Boxing Day also drew to a close and I remember it was the saddest feeling in the world to imagine Christmas being over for another year and the lights and crib being put away in a box in the cold attic once again.

Those glory days of huge family Christmasses are long gone now. I have a small family, which is, I'm pleased to say, slowly growing. Although their's no religiousness now, we still fill our house with lights, love and happiness and I always pay homage to those wonderful and huge Christmasses of my childhood in some small way, whether it be a glass of sherry or kiss on my Grandson's cheek whilst he's asleep on Christmas Eve and I remember.

I can never hope to emulate Christmas long past. It seemed so damn special back then. I was just a kid, gob wide open, staring in wonder at the fairy lights on the tall tree. It looked like a rocket! I regret never thanking my parents for those many great days and especially my Mum, who toiled and tasked to make it happen every year until she left us early in 1977.

In many ways I'm still staring in wonder at those old fairy lights and, with a tear in my eye, embrace the vivid memory and look forward to retrieving our own lights from the loft once again this year and watch my Grandson's own little face light up as my daughter's once did and my own all those years ago.

Do you get nostalgic at this time of year readers, as the nights draw in?