MY FIRST WHITE CHIRSTMAS

        My teenage yearnings took me to Canada in 1966. Another independent search for peace of mind, far from the influences of an aggressive, drunken step-father. I did send letters home at regular intervals, and yes, there was the odd plea for funds to get me out of desperate situations.

        It was in these times I was prompted to sign off my correspondence with the words ‘Rainbows and smiles’. I found a desire to move on from ‘All my love’ as these words were no longer appropriate. My maturing ways saw the generalising and falseness of such epitaph. I was finding my own identity and definitely wasn’t projecting ‘all my love’ across the vastness I had put between son and parents.

     Rainbows represent the natural beauty of our world, smiles the happiness, humour and fun we can share in life. I was much happier to be recognised for these three parting words before I signed my name and sealed the envelope.

    So, it has been since those days, that I sign off wishing the reader “Rainbows and smiles”. I guess it has been refreshingly accepted for its intention and friendly wish. I have even signed off business letters in the same manner and with a little chuckle wondered what reaction it received in that world?

        It was my initial day in Montreal, in December ’66, that I witnessed my first snowfall. My first ‘White Christmas’. After arriving by Greyhound from New York late the night before, I woke in my room at Chateau Fontainbleu Hotel. Snug and warm, I walked to the window to scrutinize my surroundings. What a delight to see a landscape closing in and grey, being brightened by the sparkling snow shrouding all surfaces open to its embrace.

       I needed sustenance before venturing out to share this new experience. A breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup, washed down with black tea had me ready for the wonderland of downtown Montreal as light snow continued. As it happened, it was the first fall of the season and I was caught up in the euphoria of the residents, as they went about their business, smiling, laughing and greeting strangers.

       Nowadays, living in the tropics. I share the same joy with the first rains of the Wet Season.  So it was back then that I shared with high-spirited strangers, reveling in the offerings of the heavens.

       The one image that left an everlasting impression was the sight of a Santa, standing  outside a department store. I was attracted to him by the ringing of his bell. He stood on the sidewalk with snow upon his hat and shoulders. Beside him, a large clear plastic orb hung from a wrought iron frame. This sphere was a receptacle for monetary donations. There appeared to be more notes than coins, as people in happy mood virtually queued to answer Santa’s appeal. Childhood memories of movie scenes and Christmas cards. It moved me greatly. Santa in the snow collecting for the Salvation Army to help the needy enjoy the festive season.

       I gave my offering and felt damn good to be swept up in the mood of winter’s first snowfall. So far removed from frosted stencils sprayed on window panes back in Melbourne’s summer.

       In the weeks to follow, I found myself the recipient of homegrown charity. On Christmas Day  I was invited to join poor folk at their home in Fort William, Ontario. I arrived in their town on Christmas eve, knew no-one and had little money to celebrate with. I had hitch-hiked west in search of the work I couldn’t get in Montreal, because I didn’t speak French.

      When I arrived at the address I found a rundown house, with car bodies in the front yard and friendly dogs to greet me. No pretence at this abode. A down to earth family of five and three happy dogs. Large serving plates of food were spread on newspaper atop the living-room table. We ate pork, potatoes, sweet corn and cabbage and shared botlles of Molson beer. We laughed and swapped tales of both sides of the world. Strangers only hours prior, now embraced as part of the family. The true spirit of Christmas.

       My first White Christmas was so removed from the eighteen I had previously witnessed. Perhaps this one meant far more. No presents, no arguments over sharing bounteous novelties from well intentioned relatives. Just grateful souls blessed with humour and friendship. The seed of charity was further propagated.

Rainbows and smiles,

Dave in Darwin