on gathering.
Party games, holiday get togethers and the time travelling powers of Twiglets.
Sorting through the bookshelves at my parents’ home the other day—another story, but hugs to all those bracing for/deep breathing/sobbing through similar, for any number of reasons— I came across a blast from holiday seasons past.
Treasure I never knew I needed to find.
In between the biographies and coffee table books about gardening and The Royal Ballet, I found a small hardback of traditional, parlour-style party games that my mother turned to when when planning gatherings. The kind of thing you’d find in a cool secondhand bookshop.
But it got better.
Slipped inside the yellowed pages of the book were a couple of long-forgotten lists of birthday and Christmas party games, carefully written out by my mother, in running order …. Egg Cup Ping-Pong, Noises Off, Famous Names and (yes), Treasure Hunt.
There was her handwriting, smooth and familiar, and without a trace of the trembles or confusion that come with it now.
Kneeling on the carpet in front of the dark mahogany dresser, staring at these scraps of paper, I time-travelled back to our tinsel-decked, Seventies/Eighties family Christmases.
My mother loved a party and hosting family and friends. For one, legendary game, we’d split into two teams and, in different rooms, play parallel games of Pictionary against the clock.
Someone (usually my dad) would sit in the hall, clutching the master list of pub names and stage-whisper them to a representative from each group, who’d then maniacally dash back and draw out the clues on long reams of computer paper he’d brought back from his office.
The first team to get to the bottom of the list were the winners.
Things got pretty intense.
There may have been cheating. Pencils were definitely broken.
Finding the book of party games, and my mother’s lists, brought it all back.
I found her again in its pages.
My mum’s love of—and gift for—throwing a party continues to be an inspiration. Even my youngest cousin, who was a toddler when we raced back and forth from kitchen to hallway, and is now, unfathomably, thirtysomething and a mother herself, remembers them.
Today, I am powerless to resist buying the Christmas canister of the same, party-size Twiglets my mother served in the seventies in crystal bowls, along with Jacob’s Cheese Footballs (I’ve already tucked them away on top of the kitchen cupboards, next to the panettone we’re trying not to break into yet, and Lidl stollen).
This morning, my parents’ residential home emailed families to invite them to their Christmas fete. There will be party games, a raffle and everyone is encouraged to help out, bring donations and things to share.
You know what I’m thinking? Twiglets.
This reflection is priceless. I love when I come across the handwriting of my parents, and reading about how seeing your mum’s handwriting smooth and unaffected by the ravages of time and memory loss really hit me hard. That book needs a special place on the shelf. I hope you consult it for many years in the future when you have special events to plan.
How wonderful to find that slip of paper that brought back those special memories. That line about her smooth handwriting of yesteryear just brought a lump to my throat 😢. Thinking of you as you celebrate the beautiful and grieve all that is lost.