The year of The Great Christmas Surprise came without warning when I was about five or six years old. I woke before dawn, jumped out of bed and went to where I had left my stocking (well, all right, it was actually the biggest pillowcase I could find) and stuck my hand in.
Strange. The present up the top wasn't wrapped. And judging by the shape, Santa had made a terrible mistake. I hadn't asked for a soccer ball. I was horrified when I pulled it out and realised from its clammy feel that it was a fresh lettuce. Next up was a cauliflower. Then carrots. And oranges, with that unmistakable fragrance. The deeper I delved into the stocking, the quicker grew the panic.
Not a single "real" present. Just fruit and vegetables. Wonderful produce, I admit now, but when you're a little fella, the only place for that sort of stuff is in a salad bowl on the dining table - not in a Christmas stocking. Santa had gone bananas - literally and metaphorically.
I didn't burst into tears, but I must have been teetering on the brink. I didn't panic, but I'll admit I was bloody close to having coronary failure. So I did the next best thing and woke my mother.
She just shook her head and said something along the lines of: "That's just a prank by your brothers''. Yep, my three elder siblings had - as we say in the trade - got me good.
They had waited for me to fall asleep. They had waited for the stocking to be filled with all the things on my list to Santa. Then, under cover of darkness, they had removed each present and hidden them under my bed, substituting them with the best, greenest, freshest produce from the dahlis (dollies, the Anglo-Indian families called them). After a few minutes, I could see the funny side, but I knew I'd never become a greengrocer.
To read the rest of this feature article, go to The Great Christmas Surprise.
Strange. The present up the top wasn't wrapped. And judging by the shape, Santa had made a terrible mistake. I hadn't asked for a soccer ball. I was horrified when I pulled it out and realised from its clammy feel that it was a fresh lettuce. Next up was a cauliflower. Then carrots. And oranges, with that unmistakable fragrance. The deeper I delved into the stocking, the quicker grew the panic.
Not a single "real" present. Just fruit and vegetables. Wonderful produce, I admit now, but when you're a little fella, the only place for that sort of stuff is in a salad bowl on the dining table - not in a Christmas stocking. Santa had gone bananas - literally and metaphorically.
I didn't burst into tears, but I must have been teetering on the brink. I didn't panic, but I'll admit I was bloody close to having coronary failure. So I did the next best thing and woke my mother.
She just shook her head and said something along the lines of: "That's just a prank by your brothers''. Yep, my three elder siblings had - as we say in the trade - got me good.
They had waited for me to fall asleep. They had waited for the stocking to be filled with all the things on my list to Santa. Then, under cover of darkness, they had removed each present and hidden them under my bed, substituting them with the best, greenest, freshest produce from the dahlis (dollies, the Anglo-Indian families called them). After a few minutes, I could see the funny side, but I knew I'd never become a greengrocer.
To read the rest of this feature article, go to The Great Christmas Surprise.
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