If I wasn't the most gullible child who ever existed, I certainly ranked in the top ten. I wholeheartedly believed everything that I was told. If my parents didn't finally reveal that there wasn't any Santa Claus (when I was six), I would still believe in him today.
The above photo was taken when I just turned three. I looked older because I was unusually tall.
I have two Christmas tales to tell, but I'll save the second for another post. I should probably warn you that my Christmas tales are neither particularly uplifting nor happy - but that was a normal aspect of my childhood.
Ancient memories are crowding my mind at this sentimental time of year....
When I was five years old, I received an elaborate train set for Christmas. It was one of the most magnificent things I'd ever seen.
The train tracks were mounted on a very large platform, with an entire village - including a train station, church, school, shops, houses, etc. - all with lighted windows. There were tiny people and animals, electric lamp posts, even advertisement signs and telegraph wires. A huge snow-covered mountain was in the center, with a tunnel where the train went through.
The Gilbert train was equipped with electric lights, a whistle, and real smoke coming from the engine (liquid smoke from a bottle was utilized).
I was completely fascinated and could hardly believe Santa would present me with anything so fantastic.
What I didn't realize was how incredibly big the village was. We lived in a small place and the train set covered the entire floor.
The day after Christmas I leaped out of bed and ran into the living room to see my train village.
Imagine my shock when I discovered it was gone! Nothing was left but the train in a box and a few of the tracks.
I was curtly told that the train village was too big and Santa had to take it back.
I didn't cry or put up a fuss. At that early age I was docile and compliant. I was extremely disappointed, but Santa had to do what he had to do......
The train was quickly put away and I didn't see it again until I was twelve. My father took it out, set it up, and we (mostly he) messed around with it for a few days. Then he put it away again (deciding that it was too much trouble to maintain and annoyingly in the way).
So, I've kept the train in mint condition for over fifty years - in the same box that it came in at Christmas when I was five years old.
After I moved to Tennessee, I put the boxed train on a top shelf in my bedroom closet and nearly forgot about it.
Yesterday, ancient Christmas memories inspired me to look at the train again. When I retrieved it from the closet, I was horrified to see that mice had gotten into it and ripped the top of the vintage box to shreds. They even chewed the cellophane on the little boxes that the train cars are stored in.
My move to Tennessee has resulted in many disasters. The movers "lost" or stole an enormous amount of my most cherished possessions.
And most of the things that I still have were destroyed by dampness and mice.
I've been told (by well-meaning people) not to worry so much about "mere" possessions......
.....but I'm a sentimentalist, and possessions are all I have left....
Anyway, today I took a few photos of what's left of the train.
The top of the box was chewed by mice
The train is heavy and made of metal - - not like the plastic stuff they make nowadays.
Jon
(originally posted in 2020)
