When I was a child, before my father died, we celebrated Christmas. We went to St. John’s Church and decorated our gateposts with poinsettias and marigold garlands, and we strolled by the posh shops in the European side of town. Some of them had mechanical toys. And there were beautiful dolls. Not for me, of course—those were for the English. But it was fun to see it. My father used to tell stories about when he grew up in Scotland. I couldn’t imagine a country so cold.
Since I started working for the Ladies’ Association, I’ve had to stop celebrating Christmas. The Church of Scotland doesn’t approve.
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