Aunty Doe’s Christmas Carol

Gerard Smith

The rocking-chair has been in the house for as long as I can remember. We call it Aunty Doe’s (short for Dorothy), because she’s the only one who sits in it. Back in the day Doe was a beauty, “God knows, she’d put you in mind of a movie star,” they’d say. Dorothy left Cavan for London when she was sixteen.

When I was a child she’d travel to Manchester to spend Christmas with us. I enjoyed her company, she was a great storyteller. But she never stayed beyond St Stephen’s Day. It seemed like she was in a hurry to get back to London; I felt Christmas was a burden for her, perhaps it was.

When we returned to live in Cavan, she once visited for Christmas. I recall it being a tense time as she had a boyfriend with her, a cockney geyser called Ronnie; I got the impression he wasn’t welcome in Cavan, perhaps he wasn’t.

During my college years I heard nothing of Aunty Doe; shamefully I never asked of her. Until I graduated college and decided to go to London. Once I had a job and was settled I selfishly sought aunty Doe out; the big smoke is a lonely place and I felt having a relative in it would help root me to the city.

After asking around I was given an address in Peckham south London, for which I found a telephone number. One Sunday afternoon I called, sure enough Aunty Doe answered. We arranged to meet in nearby Lewisham’s Irish Centre. I was delighted to see her looking as glamorous as ever; and slightly amused that she had a cockney twang, “The Cavan accent went a long time ago, sweetheart.” And so had Ronnie, he’d been dumped – thereafter Aunty Doe remained a resolute spinster.

I’d visit her Peckham high rise flat once a month and she’d serve me the cockney classic ‘Pie, Mash, and Liquor.’ The liquor is a green gravy; I hate green sauces of any kind as they remind me of the pea-puking scene from The Exorcist – but I’d force myself to eat it because she’d made such an effort.

As the years strolled on I visited less frequently, but I kept in touch by phone. When I did visit I’d steel myself to ask why she never spoke of our family? But I never did, as there was this unspoken mantra that seemed to pervade the air, “No talk of home…” Aunty Doe’s Cavan life was an enigma, and I respected that with the required silence.

One Christmas I was due to fly home when severe snow cancelled flights. I resigned myself to a Christmas alone, which I didn’t mind. Except on Christmas Eve I phoned Aunty Doe and told her my situation. She was delighted, “Come up to me for your Lilley and Skinner (dinner), I’ve got plenty in sweetheart.” My Aunty Doe from Cavan had become more cockney than one born by Bow-Bells.

After our dinner, she showcased a talent I didn’t know she had when she sang a beautiful rendition of the Christmas Carol, Silent Night. The day was lovely; and feeling emboldened by a few sherries I asked, “Aunty Doe, will you ever come back to Cavan, for a visit?” She looked out her window and stared at the sparkling lights of London City, “I will, one day sweetheart.”

I’ll always remember Christmas 1997, it was a special one.

Aunty Doe was true to her word. After Mam died, she’d visit Dad and my sister Maria. It was Maria who told me of her taking to the rocking-chair for a sherry and a night time sing-song. As we grow older, our roots pull us home – I know that.

Last year I was home alone for Christmas, until Aunty Doe decided to return and spend it with me. She immediately made the house her home, and the rocking chair her own. After a wonderful Christmas dinner, I made like my late father and fell asleep on the couch.

I was awoken after midnight by Aunt Doe’s beautiful voice singing softly, “Silent night, holy night, all is calm all is bright…sleep in heavenly peace…” The chair by the fire rocked gently to the rhythm of the Christmas classic. Rising from the couch I rubbed my eyes to clear that hazy twilight-zone we have in sudden awakening; and in that state I looked at the empty rocking chair – Aunty Doe died in 1998.

So, in the festive spirit I’ve put her chair by the fire and poured a sherry for my eternally enigmatic, Aunty Doe.