Father Christmas
Jo Edwards (Mabbitt), 1960-67
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"Mum, Father Christmas wants to know what you would like in your stocking this year."
As grandmother to two young children, Jimmy (7) and Molly (4), I always find that Father Christmas has left presents for me, too, when I join the family at some unearthly hour on Christmas mornings. My son reminds me in early December that I need to write my letter, ready to be set alight in their garden fire pit, the sparks winging their way to Lapland - or is it still  the North Pole? I think Father Christmas may have moved his HQ since I was a child!
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In the Autumn, I saw a small print of some nasturtiums and immediately added it to my list. It was incredibly evocative, so much so that it almost reduced me to tears. I was transported back to the Spring of 1962. Molly Brown was my form mistress. Molly was something else! Inspirational, outspoken, bursting with enthusiasm - an outstanding art teacher, but a complete maverick. Her dyed black hair was always casually pulled back from her face and into a wayward ‘up style’. Heavily made up with a dark foundation and lipstick that was as wayward as her hair, her appearance was unusual but, strangely, completely right. Her clothes were stylish and usually aubergine in colour. She wore gold winkle-picker stilettos. Fishnet tights often completed the look, as did heavy gold jewellery. Molly was a one-off.
It was during afternoon registration, normally an opportunity for her to insist on us reciting the Greek alphabet (I can still do so) that she asked us whether any of us had nasturtiums growing in our gardens at home. I did. They were self sown and grew vigorously in the west facing border beneath an ancient brick wall. Molly beamed at me. The following day, she gave me a sealed envelope with instructions to give it to my mother. My mother replied to her letter, giving it to me in another sealed envelope to pass back to Molly. No explanation was forthcoming. Nothing happened until June when I was given another sealed envelope for my mother and returned the following day with one from her to Molly. A week later, my mother got up much earlier than usual and went out into the garden to pick all the nasturtiums she could find, both fully out and buds, plus a lot of leaves. These were gently placed into a massive carrier bag. I was told to go to school early and take the bag straight  to Molly’s art room.
Taking such fragile stems as well as my satchel on a crowded bus was interesting but I managed it. Molly was over the moon. It was the O level Art exam day and every entrant had to produce a drawing  of nasturtiums. Horrendous! Two years later, it was my turn. I went to school that morning with another huge carrier bag filled with nasturtiums. I took my Art O level a year early and did very well. Did I have an unfair advantage? Possibly, but it was actually my weaving that produced the high mark - a maroon mohair scarf with an orange stripe running through it. Molly and I decided on this unlikely colour combination together and it worked. I still have the scarf. It was very warm but the mohair really irritated my skin. Such a shame.
Nasturtiums always remind me of Molly and those summer schooldays.
Father Christmas granted my wish. The print is now on my wall and I love it. ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​
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