INKLINGS: Santy, and other Irish Christmas parables | Columnists | Summerville Journal Scene

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INKLINGS: Santy, and other Irish Christmas parables

Published Thursday, December 17, 2009 2:08 PM

By Barbara Lynch Hill
Summerville Journal Scene ®

Today was always a special day in my family when I was growing up. December 18 was the day we put up our Christmas tree. We did that because it was my dad’s birthday, and it was the tradition in his family.

The tale of how that got started always makes me appreciate the beauty of frugality, even at Christmas, and especially in difficult economic times. My paternal grandparents were from Ireland; Grandpa Harry from Galway and Grandma Nellie, as he always described her, “was a comely lass from Cork.” My father was the baby boy in a family of four sons and three daughters. Money was extremely tight at the turn of the last century and his mother used some clever Irish blarney to make extremely frayed ends meet, especially during the holidays.

She concocted what she called a Santy Soup in which she sliced open two sausage links and fried up the meat which she then distributed like specks about the size of ground pepper, in a pot with bunches of potatoes and onions “so that everybody gets a bit of a bite.” Santy was what her people called Santa Claus in the “auld country.” In addition to the soup, Grandma Nellie initiated her own Christmas Treat system.

Each of her daughters was assigned a certain type of ornament to make for the tree. It could be paper stars, or a series of colored bows or buttons strung on ribbons. Whatever it was, it had to be made and kept secret and brought out with a great flourish and much applause at the last minute. This was their particular treat. Her older sons had the treat of going with their father to get the Christmas tree. An additional treat was for them to find nuts and holly to help decorate the house. Holly grew abundantly in Ireland and the tradition was carried on in Pennsylvania, using sprigs to border pictures, decorate mantles and hang over doors.

These things had to be gathered early and hidden outdoors. The tree and greenery were unlikely to spoil in northeast weather. Grandma Nellie had her little ones convinced that only her extraordinary children, who could keep such delightful secrets, were permitted such holiday treats. But what about baby Robert (my dad)?

Thanks to his fortunate choice of delivery date, his mother that year proclaimed his birthday as their new official decorating day, flaunting the custom of the time to do this no earlier than Christmas Eve. She also added a birthday cake to her soup supper on that night, which she made the same day – after she delivered – by the way. When dad got older and more inured into the glibness of the Irish tongue, he realized his own personal Decoration Day and cake were not only his birthday gifts, but his Christmas treats as well!

Times got better. Gifts got more abundant. But those things were never remembered as fondly as Santy Soup and present-free Christmas Treats. We decorate right after Thanksgiving now. By December 18 we’ve already enjoyed nearly three weeks of sparkle and glitter. But we always have two birthday cake ornaments for the tree. One is for the Christ Child’s natal day, of course.

The other one is for dad’s.

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