Christmas 1982

Christmas 1982

My name is Luke Weyland. I live in Strathfield in Sydney Australia. The following, to the best of my recollection,  is a true story about what happened on Christmas Day in 1982.

I was aged 21, back then. When not in college, I would live with my parents in Mosman in Sydney along with two of my three sisters, Michaela and Julia. The rest of the time I lived in Bathurst where I was studying Social Science. My oldest sister, Antonia recently got married to a young doctor named Chris. They lived in neighbouring suburb of Cremorne.  My brother Marcus was also a doctor and lived in a township north of Newcastle called Tanilba Bay. He was staying in the Mosman home for about a week.  Michaela’s fiancé Albert would later arrive, in time for dinner.

Christmas Day started with Julia, Michaela and myself making pancakes with plain flour, milk and eggs. My family, along with my brother-in-law than sat around the large oak table consuming our freshly made pancakes which we covered with either fresh lemon juice and brown sugar or dripping with ‘Log Cabin’ syrup which is really Maple flavoured sugar, and drinking Earl Grey Tea from a porcelain mug. I was still wearing the same clothes as the day before.

After breaky we exchanged our gifts and then it was time for me to disappear. For I had recently joined a Pentacostal Church in Darlinghurst called Christian Life Centre. For I had become a Born -Again Christian earlier that year. Thus I had a quick shower, and dressed myself in the clothes I had pressed the day before.  I hopped onto my motorcycle, a Yamaha 100CC and rode off to church.   The gauge on my bike said that the tank was full – but I had forgotten that the arrow had started to point to full even when it was totally empty.

Usually, services at the church run for between one and a half and two hours, but because it was Christmas, it ran for an hour or so more.  Yet somehow, those three hours seemed to pass us by in no time. Christian Life Centre had its own band, they played we all swayed and sung- well known Christmas carols such as Hark The Herald Angels Sing, The First Noel and Away in the Manger as well as a few composed by the band. I loved the church experience everyone who enters the church is made to feel most welcome. I also attended the local fellowship group that they held regularly on Tuesday evenings close to my home.

After the service came Christmas pudding and cordial friendly chats at hugs with my fellow believers. I also examined the religious material at the church’s bookshop – was probably more like a stall than a shop. As I didn’t have the money to buy then but would buy at least one the following week.

With that all competed it was time to leave the air-conditioned church and return home. When I left home to go to church the day was perhaps a little warmer than usual. However, by the time I left the air-conditioned church, it was a scorcher. Both the extreme heat and the bright sun’s glare hit me. What a day for leaving my sun-glasses at home! I initially forgot where I had parked the bike hours earlier. I wandered the nearby streets till I eventually found my bike and began my ride back to Mosman.

My bike was heating up as I crossed over Sydney Harbour Bridge. I slowed down a little as cars and trucks whizzed past me at over twice my speed and a number came extremely close to knocking me over as they overtook.

About a kilometre from North Sydney’s Falcon Street exit my bike started to splutter and jerk, and then it stopped. I tried to start it again but failed. I pushed it up the hill, to the side of the road, terrified that someone would crash into me. I took off the lid to the petrol tank and discovered that it was bone dry. 

That day Push-Bike was to gain a new meaning, for me at least.   I pushed my Yamaha up Warringah Expressway’s hill. My lips were parched, as the sun burnt my face. Under my leather jacket, boots, gloves and jeans, my whole body, minus under my armpits was swimming with sweat (I remembered to put deodorant there).

Never to worry, I knew that I would be reaching the Golden Fleece petrol station very soon. I was looking forward to not only filling the petrol tank, but also to a rest and an ice coffee.  As I reached it, I saw a note on the glass door advising potential customers that the facility would be closed and would be open again on Boxing Day.  

I slowly coasted the bike down Military Road footpath and passed another closed petrol station. It too was closed. The road then went up again. Every couple hundred metres I would stop, then push on. Fortunately, the third petrol station in Cremorne, was open.   

Slightly rested, both bike and body refueled, I rode on to my home in Mosman, No sooner did I enter the kitchen door, I headed to the side room, which was my bedroom and fell straight to sleep.  Four hours later, or maybe more, Antonia woke me to tell me that it is time for dinner.

For Dinner we had a roast pork with potatoes, peas and pumpkin. All this was prepared when I was fast asleep as I was recovering from the heat and the bike pushing.  My dad loves the crisp oily skin (I don’t) so I gave him my crackling as well. Though I was a vegetarian back then, I made that night an exception so I did have some ham. 

For sweets we had first a cake that was made in the shape of a lamb, followed by a thick heavy rather alcoholic pudding with threepences and sixpences inserted and a lavish vanilla custard covering poured over it.    

After this, we settled in the lounge room I a rug like pillow. We played Irish Folk Songs, (My mum, though born in Australia, is of Irish heritage) and Polish Wedding Music. (My dad was born in Poland.)