A Christmas story.

During the early years of our marriage, Mrs Red and I would almost always find ourselves on the same atching tan (stopping place/camp site) at Christmas. It was a traditional, but unofficial site that we knew as Brenda’s lane. Consisting of nothing more than a small clearing in a wood, there were no facilities of any kind. No toilets, no electricity and no water. What it did have however, was a nice solid access track, and several areas of hard standing. Hard standing is very useful when the weather turns nasty. It’s never pleasant to step out of your caravan and sink up to your ankles in mud. The clearing was only big enough for three or four families, but for us, that was just another plus. We spent many a happy Christmas there when the kids were little.

Most people think that Gypsies park their caravans in a haphazard fashion, but this is never the case. The first family to arrive on a camp quickly locates, and then occupies the best spot, the next family gets 2nd best and so on. The criteria for deciding just what constitutes the best spot, although obvious to your average Gypsy, is never the less often quite subtle. For instance, a pitch furthest from the entrance means that any traffic does not have to pass your door as it comes and goes, and by the same token, a stranger, or anyone who is up to no good will have to run a gauntlet of watchful eyes before they get to you. Being close to a hedge (but not under a tree for obvious reasons) means that you have some screening, and shelter from the wind. It also creates a small private space between caravan and hedge where you can store outdoor valuables. It also means that you can only be approached from one direction, and so the list goes on. Subtle but important considerations, unconsciously calculated in the sweep of a practiced eye.

The best spot at the Brenda’s lane camp was a slightly raised (and therefore dry) area right at the back. If you positioned your caravan right, you had a gorse thicket behind you, and a lightly wooded grassy patch, almost like a lawn, at the front. I always made the effort, and I got the best spot every year except one. Not having the best spot on this particular camp was no real hardship though, anywhere down Brenda’s lane was pretty good as winter camps go.

Our first Christmas at Brenda’s lane was in 1978. Our baby daughter Muzelley was 3 months old. We were very short of cash. Not short to the point of starvation, but we certainly had no money spare for anything extravagant. About a week before the big day, I was sitting on the bunk, looking out at the wintery scene beyond the caravan window, when my eyes lit upon a baby fir tree. Standing less than 3ft high, it was really just a sapling, but it was wearing a light coat of frost and it looked enchanting.

Later that day, I cut the bottom 3rd off a plastic 5 gallon drum and covered it with tinfoil. Then, taking care to sever as few roots as possible, I dug up the little fir tree and set it inside my makeshift pot. It was our first ever Christmas tree, and we loved it.

A few days after Christmas, I carefully re-planted the little fir in exactly the same place that I found it. To be honest, it looked quite bedraggled. It had dried out quite a bit and had lost most of its needles. I didn’t know if it would recover, but at least it had a second chance, which is more that most Christmas trees get.

When we returned the following year, the little fir tree was just as beautiful as ever. Healthy and shiny, with all it’s needles back in place. The only legacy of its Christmas indoors was its size. It hadn’t grown an inch. I dug up and re planted the little fir tree again that year, and for many years after that. It always recovered, but it never did get any bigger.

Eventually the powers that be closed the Brenda’s lane camp by putting huge concrete posts across the entrance. We were very sorry to see it go.

I was passing Brenda’s lane recently and I stopped the car and walked around the concrete posts and up into the clearing beyond. Our little fir is now about 25 feet tall and looks sturdy and magnificent. Off to one side, there is a fir tree sapling; it stands there like a child holding its daddy’s hand. As I looked up at our old Christmas tree, it seemed to say to me, “Well, after all the ups and downs, I’m still here.” “I survived it all and I have something good to show for it”

I turned and walked away, and I whispered under my breath “Me too mate, me too!”