By Christine Swan

When I was very small, I lived with my family in Whitecross St, in the heart of the City of London. At some point my dad acquired an elevated position in the Metropolitan Water Board which necessitated him moving away from his role at the Kay St Office, just off Hackney Road.

We moved to Bexleyheath which felt like a world away when we visited my grandparents in Walthamstow on Saturdays. My sister and I used to try to persuade Dad to cross the River Thames by more exotic means than the dreary Blackwall Tunnel. The Woolwich Ferry was a firm favourite but the pinnacle was crossing Tower Bridge, and probably adding several excess miles to our journey.

I was aware that my father worked but, as a small child, I had no idea what his employment entailed. Every Christmas, the Water Board children were invited to the highlight of the social calendar that was the MWB Christmas party at New River Head, Rosebery Avenue, Clerkenwell.

MWB Mike Quinn / Inscribed stone at the entrance to the former Metropolitan Water Board Headquarters, Hardwick Street, EC1

It is easy to walk past the building, which is now divided into luxury apartments. Unless you look closely, you will miss the interlinking letters of MWB carved into the stonework. To my childish self, this beautiful Art Deco building was as grand as the Ritz. The foyer had a polished wood block floor and multiple doors led to a vast hall and various offices and committee rooms with leather-backed chairs emblazoned with MWB in gold relief. It reminded me of Alice’s exploration of the white rabbit’s abode. Behind every door was somewhere exciting to explore.

The hall was decorated with a huge Christmas tree, festooned with baubles and twinkling fairy lights. It was magnificent and symbolic in its grandeur. To my small self, everything seemed huge and this Christmas tree was the largest that I had examined closely. I would always position myself close by and would make patterns of the shed needles.

All of the children were congregated in the main hall. My sister and I always had new dresses and our hair smartly coiffured for the occasion. There were a few children that we recognised from previous years but we made new friends too over orange squash and biscuits.

As the numbers of children swelled, we were invited to play some games which usually involved running around like racehorses. I can look back with fond gratitude to the adults who organised this event and gave of their time to supervise the throng. I always remember it being a lot of fun, laughter and giggles, jumping up and down and running around.

Then it was time for a film. We were ushered into committee rooms, via the toilets, after imbibing so much squash and running about, this was a necessary preparation. The rooms had blinds pulled down and a cine film projector set up at one end of the long, oak desk. A fabric screen was erected at the other end. We were shown a selection of Looney Tunes cartoons, including my personal favourites, Tom and Jerry. After having run about, the warm, dark room made us sleepy. The oak wood and leather seats creaked as children tucked up their feet and some rested their heads. Even the bright orange squash couldn’t keep us alert. “That’s all folks!” appeared on the screen in script text within a series of concentric red circles. The end theme tune and the harsh lights were our signals to wake up ready to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

We were led out of our committee room and into the foyer again. A party buffet had been laid out on trestle tables with white covers. Volunteers helped us to fill our plates with crisps, sweets, cake and biscuits. Parties were sometimes stressful for me as I stopped eating meat when I was about five years old. I remember this distinctly because I had just started school. My dietary choice seemed to make adults incandescent with rage. To this day, I don’t understand why. The charming headteacher of my first school summoned my mother for an emergency meeting in which I was described as an ungrateful and stubborn wretch. The headteacher indicated that she wished to throttle me by performing hand motions that I saw Mum replicate to outraged friends. Thus it was that I was effectively banned from school lunch, aged just five. Instead my poor mum had to collect me every lunchtime and return me to school afterwards. In later years, I became a trader in swede, parsnip and boiled cabbage if somebody was willing to eat the flesh on my plate. To this day, I still have a soft spot for the often overlooked winter vegetable stalwarts.

There were no such problems at the MWB Christmas party. I could choose exactly what I liked and was not forced to eat anything. This made for a happy and relaxed meal for me. We sat cross-legged on the floor and chatted with our new friends. By this time it was getting dark and usually raining. I never remember there being snow in any year.

There were more party games – pass the parcel, musical chairs and pin the tail on the donkey. We were then instructed to sit down on the floor again and to be very quiet. The magic of Christmas was about to begin. Was that the light jingling of sleigh bells? The volunteers told us that Santa Claus had just arrived and was parking his reindeer and sleigh – could we hear him? “Ho, ho, ho!” The excitement was almost unbearable. Small children were almost squealing in anticipation while sitting as upright as they could in order to see him first. And there he was!

It didn’t matter to us that every time we saw him, he was a little taller or shorter, more stout or slim, we invested in the fantasy completely because we wanted it to be true. Assistants helped Santa present a gift to every child, one at a time. We waited patiently until it was our turn. We were interrogated as to whether we had met the annual good behaviour requirements and what we had requested as our main Christmas present. Ah yes, he remembered, it was on his list and he wouldn’t forget to deliver it on Christmas Eve. He had a little something for each of us, handed to him by one of the assistants.

I can only remember one present. It was a box of plastic beads in the shape of different fruits but in the brightest rainbow of colours you ever did see. Luscious turquoise grapes, pink pomegranate seeds, scarlet apples and violet plums together with thread to create fantastic, wearable art jewellery. If I held a plum up to the light and looked through, the whole world turned purple. I was captivated. I confess that I am still rather a magpie and prefer bright colours. A few of these beads survived. I gave them to my daughter and watched her joy as she threaded them onto thread with her chubby fingers, just as I did. A few plastic beads remind me of Christmas parties and happy times, when life was simple enough. Christmas is a time for the child in everyone, a time to remember, to be grateful for the happy times we have shared and to create new memories.

Merry Christmas everyone.