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other elderly people. But this had to be modified or even aban doned in Canada. Our grandpar ents were on the other side of the ocean, and other people — miles away. However, another custom developed. Since some of our friends celebrated Christm as on December 25th, we visited them on th a t day, and invited them to be our guests on our Christm as. . . It was wonderful to enjoy not one, but two C hrist mases w ithin two w eeks! As a m atter of fact, our friends are expected to arrive any moment now. Listen, can you hear the jingle bells in the distance? And the dog barking outside? Our friends arrive and we greet them warmly. M other tells us th a t we can all stay up tonight as late as we wish — at least until the arrival of St. Nicholas. And so we shall, not because of the gifts he’ll bring, but because he deigns to visit such a humble fam ily as ours and even m anages to find our place at night. The tim e passes quickly, and M other asks us all to sit down and be perfectly quiet while she tells us the story of Christm as. We have heard it many tim es be fore, but the enjoym ent of it is not m arred by repetition. Suddenly, while we are still immersed in the dram a of the first Christm as, there is a loud commotion outside, the ringing of bells and shouting, and as we open the door, St. Nicholas is rig h t there, in person, resplen dent in priestly robes, a tall or nam ented head-band, and a long beard. He greets us w ith a voice th a t sounds peculiarly like our Dad’s, questions us closely to see if we were really as good as we could have been, and distributes the gifts. It was not perm issable to ask St. Nicholas for anything. To do th a t would have been a breach of the m ost elem entary etiquette. A g ift was something th at was freely given and .grate fully accepted. W ith this, the climax of the evening is reached — or so it seems. Our cup of enjoym ent is full and brim m ing over, and we crawl happily into bed. But sometime during the night, deep in slumber, we become aware of the clanging of a cow bell, and now and then the strains of a violin, and then the drum beat which really wakes us up. We look out the window and see a group of men singing under it. They are the carollers — mem bers of our community who are trying to raise some money for a civic project, in this tim e-hon ored fashion. We watch as Dad invites them in. The leader pauses in the doorway and re cites a lengthy greeting — “vin- chowanya” — improvising as he goes along, invoking every kind of blessing upon each member of the family, in the coming year. Stories of the Soviet Ukraine. Moscow, Progress Publishers, 1970. 303 p. A t long last, the Soviet pub lishers in Moscow have decided to issue to the English-speaking world a representative selection of contem porary U krainian short stories. Eighteen Soviet U krain ian w riters are represented: the oldest among them is Ostap Vyshnia, the youngest — Yev- hen Hutsalo. Of those included only Vyshnia, Dovzhenko and Yanovski are no longer alive; the others are present day living w riters, some of them beginning their literary careers. The tim e span covered by the collection is about fifty years and yet — with one or two exceptions — there is a rem arkable uniform ity of both style and subject m atter. No won der: socialist realism perm eates m ost of the stories and the gen eral impression, th a t the reader gets from the collection is one of stifled talent and enforced mediocrity. Even outstanding w riters like Yanovsky and Per- vomaiskyi are represented by third rate contributions. The (C ontin ued on page 28) Dad responds in a sim ilar m an ner and offers each of the carol lers a glass of wine — or w hat ever it із th a t т а к е з them hap py. M other serves “zakuska.” By this tim e we are all so tired, we rem em ber nothing more until morning, which is C hrist mas Day. We dress and as we wash our faces in the cool w ater, Dad drops silver coins into the enameled washbowl. saying: “May you be as healthy as w at er, as bright as these silver coins and as gay as springtim e!” A fter a late and leisurely breakfast, Dad hitches a team of horses to a small sleigh called “cutters,” and we all pile in to go visit some relatives and friends. D riving through the fresh, fallen snow w ith sleigh bells jingling and horses pranc ing is a wonderful experience. Even the horses seem to enjoy it and are more frisky than usual. M other cautions Dad to be care ful as the snow is deep and the road alm ost obliterated. But she is too late, for in the twinkling of an eye, the sleigh has tipped, spilling us into the snow. We pick ourselves up am idst a great deal of groaning and laughing. The experience only adds to the en joym ent of the ride, for we are all well bundled up. The horses wait patiently until we pile in again and continue on our way. T hat was Christm as many, many years ago — but it seems like only yesterday. Tania E. Bishop Some of our subscribers, in read ing Mrs. Boshop’s account of Christmas on her family’s Cana dian farm many years ago, may be surprised at the appearance of St. Nicholas on Christmas Eve, or some other practice that differs from the usual. We should remem ber that Ukrainian immigrants adapted their ancient customs and tradition to the circumstances in their new surrounding' M.any prac tices were changed somewhat be cause of isolated dwellings [as on farms), unavailability of necessary items or pressures of employment. НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ — СІЧЕНЬ, 1973 27
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