I am in Caya Coco, Cuba as I write this on December 24, 2011 while self-exiled in my air conditioned hotel room by the heat and humidity of the Cuban mid-afternoon. But the strangeness of being in such a sunny and warm place on this Christmas Eve makes me recall the Christmases past of my childhood.
When I was a child in Ottawa in the 60s we had a large family based on the descendants of my great-grandfather, the Ven. Archdeacon, J.M. Snowdon: my grandmother, Mary Greaves (1899-1962), my great-aunt Kay to whom I was very close (Kathleen Baker; 1892-1981) and her very amiable husband, Massy Baker, and my great-uncle Allen (1894-1956) and his wife Edwina Higginson (1894-1984 ) to whom I also felt very close.
The party was hosted by my grandmother's cousin, John Magee (1920-2011), grandson of my great-great grandfather, Charles Magee (1840-1917) and his wife, Aunt Margie (Margaret Medland) at their house in Rockcliffe at the bottom of Maple Lane.
Uncle John lived in Ottawa as he was the head of the Canadian Transport Commission. He had a remarkable model railway in the basement and a lot of interest in trucks too.
Among the children, aside from my brother and myself, present at this annual event were Uncle John's two daughters: Cynnie and Diana, grandchildren of Uncle Allen: Harry, Rozzie and Jenny Jones and their parents, my mother's cousin Aunt Andrea and her husband Ralph Jones (who suffered from cerebral palsy so in latter years attended in a wheel chair). And there were the children of Uncle Massy's nephew, Dennis Evans and his wife Joan: Massy, Pamela and Michael Evans.
Uncle Dennis's soft-spoken and kindly mother, Aunt Irene also came. She had moved to Canada after the war, having been widowed when her husband Horace was killed horseback riding in the family estate in Ireland. Other regulars were Lucy Grout, my brother’s Godmother, a niece of Plunket Bourchier Taylor (1863-1944) who was husband of my great-great Aunt Flo (1873-1956), my great-grandmother's sister. Marion Holden (b. 1897), my grandmother's companion in Barbados and who lived with her in Ottawa at 66 Lisgar Street and later at 8 Elmvale in Lindenlea always came too. She was my godmother and my father's secretary. Her family were all in Spain. She died a miserable death of lung cancer in the fall of 1966 another great loss to me, second only to my grandmother's premature death in late-1962.
One year Uncle Fred Taylor (1906-1987), an artist, another grandson of Charles Magee and son of Auntie Flo, came to the party while visiting Canada from his home in San Miguel Allende, Mexico. He met his ex-wife and cousin, Uncle John's sister, Miriam, at the party for the first time in many years. One can read all about Uncle Fred and his brother, the notably successful industrialist, Uncle Eddy, in the book Fred Taylor: brother in the shadows by John Virtue (McGill-Queen's Press, 2008).
In 1973, Florence Magee (b. 1886; this is not my great-grandmother's sister of the same name) was introduced to me at the party as "Cousin Florence." She was a niece of my great-great grandfather, Charles Magee. She and her sister had evidently continued to occupy the original Magee farm house on the Richmond Road for many years after the land was divided up in a suburban subdivision. Aunt Kay used to mock the “Ottawa Valley twang” of our poorer rural cousins in South March (where Aunt Margie tells me there are family graves) but I had never met Cousin Florence even though by that time she lived on Metcalfe Street just a few blocks down from my father's office in the Medical Arts Building at 180 Metcalfe Street. Evidently there was some family rift evidently based on resentment of Charles Magee's success after leaving Nepean and going into successful businesses in real estate (developing the Sparks estate in Sandy Hill) and beer (Brading Breweries) and banking (he was President of the Bank of Ottawa on Sparks Street). About a week after the party there was an item in the Ottawa Journal to the effect that Florence Magee had been found dead in her apartment by police after the neighbours reported a bad smell coming from under her door. I did feel very badly having just met this "cousin."
In 1973, Florence Magee (b. 1886; this is not my great-grandmother's sister of the same name) was introduced to me at the party as "Cousin Florence." She was a niece of my great-great grandfather, Charles Magee. She and her sister had evidently continued to occupy the original Magee farm house on the Richmond Road for many years after the land was divided up in a suburban subdivision. Aunt Kay used to mock the “Ottawa Valley twang” of our poorer rural cousins in South March (where Aunt Margie tells me there are family graves) but I had never met Cousin Florence even though by that time she lived on Metcalfe Street just a few blocks down from my father's office in the Medical Arts Building at 180 Metcalfe Street. Evidently there was some family rift evidently based on resentment of Charles Magee's success after leaving Nepean and going into successful businesses in real estate (developing the Sparks estate in Sandy Hill) and beer (Brading Breweries) and banking (he was President of the Bank of Ottawa on Sparks Street). About a week after the party there was an item in the Ottawa Journal to the effect that Florence Magee had been found dead in her apartment by police after the neighbours reported a bad smell coming from under her door. I did feel very badly having just met this "cousin."
The children played in the basement while the adults smoked cigarettes and drank mixed drinks upstairs (I don't think anyone had beer or wine, rye and water or rye and ginger were favourites). Then what was to me the highlight of the event, Uncle John Magee playing the piano with enormous talent and flair while we all sang Christmas Carols. This went on a good long time. The feast was always turkey with stuffing and cranberry sauce, and roast ham. The men took turns to carve it. Afterward there Christmas pudding with hard sauce, Aunt Edwina's lemon snow, Christmas fruitcake, mince tarts, etc., traditional family fare.
One of the vivid memories of my childhood was coming out the Magee's house following prolonged goodbyes and heading to my father's large Chevrolet car (he had Impalas and then Caprices). It was a bitterly cold night and there was a lot of well packed snow banked up high. The night was very clear with a high round moon and the stars bright in the sky.
I felt ineffably happy.
I felt ineffably happy.
