Marlene Campbell - Vintage Christmas: Holiday Stories from Rural PEI

To my mother, Glen, and my late father, Gordon, who made Christmas special for their five children.

I did not intentionally set out to write a book. I wrote my first Christmas story in December 2004 when I wanted to create a public program that would offer a tranquil and reflective approach to the busy holiday season. I wanted an authentic Prince Edward Island tale that a local audience would embrace. This is no easy task in a province where the art of storytelling is enthusiastically practiced and celebrated. As a child, I thought there was nothing better than to be in the presence of adults as they conversed; I learned to sit quietly and absorb their stories.

I had little time to prepare for my program and needed inspiration. I wondered if I had a personal Christmas memory that stood out in my mind. It didnt take long to write the 1964 story, A Bike to Grow Into. The audience responded positively when I read it aloud in the quiet, softly lit, historic church sanctuary. Memories were triggered. June Hutchinson MacLean, a friend and neighbour, approached me after the service and revealed her own Christmas storyseveral in fact. (Youll find three of them in this collection.) The following Christmas, I turned to her for inspiration. One question led to another and I realized I was unearthing far more than stories; I was discovering the long-lost traditions, values, and lifestyles of Prince Edward Islanders.

I realized everyone has a story and I needed to start asking questions of my own elders while there was still time. The things I learned gave me great appreciation for their resourcefulness and determination, as well as a greater understanding of family dynamics. It soon became natural for me to ask seniors, Do you have a Christmas story tucked away? I usually received the same answer: No, I have nothing worth telling.

Thankfully, I am a persistent person. Bit by bit, question by question, I brought stories to light. The process helped me accept my curiosity (some might call it nosiness) as a good thing; it helped me give a voice to those who thought their memories were uninteresting.

Year after year, I added one or two stories to my collection for the annual community Christmas program. They were read aloud, enjoyed, and then filed away. As the number of stories grew, my friend and co-worker Jean MacKaywho had helped me prepare the stories for oral presentationencouraged me to submit them to a publisher for consideration. Another co-worker, Carol MacFarlane, encouraged me to find an avenue to share them with a wider audience. It took me until the fall of 2014 to find both the courage and time to submit a sample to Nimbus Publishing. I am grateful for their positive response and have had the privilege of working with editor Emily MacKinnon to present this collection based on the experiences of real Prince Edward Islanders.

I am deeply indebted to the individuals who trusted me to enter their personal lives to capture, and set into context, a treasured Christmas memory. Without them, there would be no book. I hope future generations will be appreciative of their willingness to share. I also hope that their recollections, both happy and nostalgic, will bring joy to readers young and old and those in between.

I am still asking people for stories.

Veras Christmas Away from Home

(1929)

This story was written after a pleasurable interview with Vera Yeo Forbes in the fall of 2012. That Christmas, Vera greatly enjoyed hearing the story read aloud at a special evening of stories and carols held at her church, Lot 16 United. Vera died in January 2015.

I laid down my knife and fork and eased back in my chair to survey the dining room. As a recent newcomer to the nursing home, I watched for a signal that it would be appropriate to rise and go back to my small room. Within seconds, care workers began to move those seated in wheelchairs. Then the rest of us rose from our seats. I steadied myself with the aid of my newly acquired walker and joined the procession heading down the hallway into the main lobby, which branched off into the nursing wings. It occurred to me that we must look as though we were in a walker marathon.

Just as I reached the lobby, I saw a person waiting for me and knew immediately why she had come. Marlene, a local writer, was always searching for a new story and was sure I could provide her with inspiration. I did not share her confidence and had been able to avoid her request for an interview on previous occasions. My first excuse was a trip to Yellowknife where my daughter lives. When I came back from my visit I excused myself again, suggesting I needed time to rest. Then came a fall, which landed me in the hospital for an extensive stay, followed by family and medical consultations about what was best for me. Soon I found myself in the situation of leaving my residence and accepting the care offered in the nursing home.

So now I was caught, with no excuse to offer. She was standing right there and I will admit I welcomed the distraction. I didnt even bother with a greeting.

Okay, lets get this over with. Come on down to my room. She nodded and fell in behind me. Once we were comfortably seated, I said, So what is it you want to know? And so it beganshe wanted me to tell her about my most memorable Christmas.

Well, I thought, that wont be difficult. I knew exactly which Christmas was the most memorable. Despite the fact that I was only a few days short of my ninety-third birthday, my memory was still as sharp as a tack. As I settled into the story that was welling up in my mind, the mundane smells and sounds of my current surroundings gave way to the powerful memory of the Christmas of 1929.