Outside, snow is falling softly. And inside, ‘Silent Night’ is playing on the old transistor radio. It smells of incense, candle wax and the old days, which weren't always good, but which I remember fondly. Come back with me to that Christmas Day, to an almost forgotten world that still shimmers through my rafters from time to time, if you look closely.
Sore knees and shining eyes
As long as great-grandfather Anton was alive, Christmas Eve was sacred. In the truest sense of the word. No matter how many children there were by then, how many grandchildren and great-grandchildren romped boisterously through the rooms: everyone had to come together at Christmas. Come what may. What else could one have done, all alone? After all, every hand was needed. Not for eating biscuits, which were guarded like the apple of one's eye, and if you were lucky, you might get a vanilla crescent and a Spitzbuben biscuit at the feast of feasts. Rather, it meant: down on your knees! In the days before 24 December, the big clean-up began. My floorboards and subfloors, my windows and ledges and corners and beams were polished to a high shine. By the women of the house, of course. Back then, it was still a (bad) habit for the lords of creation to stay out of the festive preparations and sit at the pub playing cards. But not great-grandfather Anton, who didn't have much time for the ‘pub brothers’ and preferred to go into the forest. These days he was on a special mission: he wanted to fetch the Christmas tree. It had to be a particularly magnificent one, after all, it had to be big enough for all the people who would gather around it in the evening.
Good food, good company
In those days, the Oberraindlhof was still closed to ‘strangers’ in winter. Guests only started coming years later, when the glacier railway was built and winter tourism slowly gained momentum. And then only on 25 or 26 December. Because on Christmas Eve, I belonged entirely to the family. The meal was what it should be: A hearty meat broth with noodles was served first, followed by sausage and beef. Then the roast was brought to the table, accompanied by potato noodles and red cabbage, which the grandmothers had prepared days in advance. And finally, as the crowning glory: the famous Schnolser Schneamilch. Anyone who has tasted it knows what heaven tastes like.
Singing, praying, giving
After the meal, the whole group gathered around the Christmas tree. They sang at the top of their voices and prayed the rosary together. That was important! Stories were also exchanged, from the past, from even earlier, from long ago. There were also presents. Not in abundance, but from the heart. Helli cherishes this memory like a treasure: ‘Every child received a gingerbread heart with their name on it. And at some point – he can't remember exactly when – there were skis for him under the tree. Skis! Imagine that: for a boy in the Schnalstal valley, there was hardly anything better.’
The magical midnight mass
While the family was still sitting under the tree, great-grandfather Anton and Elisabeth had to go out into the winter night before everyone else: midnight mass was waiting. Anton was not only a churchgoer, but also a choir director. The ‘Wiegenmesse’ (cradle mass) was sung, year after year. After mass, everyone listened to the church tower trumpeters, whose heavenly sounds echoed through the cold night air. Back in the warm parlour, the farm folk sat together until their hearts were full and their eyes were heavy.
What is your fondest Christmas memory? Share it with me if you like. I always look forward to hearing from you.
Yours, Oberraindlhof
