Memories are like ghosts. Ghostly.
Wispy. Fuzzy.
I have such a memory of one Christmas in the late Sixties or early Seventies, when the family was still healthy and intact.
School was out for the holidays and a peaceful aura had settled over the house in the week before the Big Day.
My patents' life was probably frantic, but I didn't notice. The biggest thing for me was not being at school and the prospect of loads of new stuff on Christmas Day! Priorities!
My memory proper is about watching telly.
We had a lounge - me and my older brothers called it the boys room - with a half-size snooker table, stereogram and a black and white TV.
There were drawing books and pens around - we all loved drawing - and ragged copies of Creepy and Eerie at the side of the armchair.
There will have been a Radio Times or TV Times somewhere too, and maybe I had looked up what I ended up watching that day.
I was on the carpet in front of the gas fire, my belly with my chin propped up in my hands. Not fantastically comfortable but kids seem to like it.
The Christmas tree was up and lit with fairy lights. It may well have been morning but I have to ask whether anything was on TV in the morning back then?
The film, black and white on a black and white telly, started Arthur Askey, who was causing mayhem at a railway station. At some point a spectral train flies through the station and all hell breaks loose. I can just recall the ghostly steam rising from the loco as it charged by.
I think the film was called The Ghost Train.
It's a rare and semi-solid childhood memory, where most of the parts are there and one I treasure for it's simplicity, as the brilliant home it was in, where I grew up, was only part of my life a few years more after it.
Do you have murky Xmas recollections readers.


