OurChristmas

 

OurChristmas©2020TonyFallon1216

My younger days spent in Ireland I so fondly remember
The long long days of summer the promises of December

But money was scarce back then with little to borrow or lend
Credit cards were not yet invented so you couldn't overspent

That was the time before TV with no canned recreation
And what you were getting for Christmas was the conversation

Most people sowed their vegetables to help keep down the bills
It was long and heavy work plowing and molding the drills

The farming community raised food and went on few shopping sprees
I only remember branches we could not afford Christmas trees

Most farmyards had ducks or geese and always a rooster crowing
My mother took care of her turkeys when winter wind was blowing

No better clutches of turkeys were raised by other moms
No one in the County Roscommon had the like of her toms

She fed them Indian meal but often before it was dispersed
Us four children would add some sugar and eat it for dessert
To get her turkey plump and fat was my mother’s target
As she talked daily about the upcoming Athlone market
She raised many white turkeys that grew to enormous size 
And many years she came back to Rahara with a first prize 
She had justification to be happy proud and gay 
One of her turkey hens would be dinner in The Hudson Bay
From last years champion she would be a direct descendant
My mother's name would be in the Westmeath Independent

Many of her birds wound up too in Hannon's in Castle street
So families in Dublin and London eat Mrs. Fallon's meat
She didn't publicize her talent but some smart people knew
And over the years her reputation for turkeys grew and grew
People drove from Offaly who were worried about inbreeding
And to get advice on the best of food for champion feeding
The turkey money probably went to buy brand new toys
To be delivered by the jolly man known as Santa Clause
I don't know where mother got them or how she successfully hid
Because I spent two weeks searching for them I was a nosy kid
We would all be downstairs at sunrise early on Christmas morn
And we'd all be more interest in toys than the Christ Child that was born
To get to mass in the pony and trap would take near half an hour
And you'd be praying before you got there they'd be no shower
You'd get shillings from aunts and uncles if lucky maybe a pound
And go home to odor of cooking as the turkey was getting browned

The turkey and vegetables in the pot grew in our own field
Vegetables did not come frozen but had to be washed and peeled

That evening around the table I remember it was like a feast

None recalled the sin of gluttony preached earlier by the priest