Family Dinners at Falstaff

This letter was sent by Marion Halpenny to Felicity Crocker, her granddaughter. Marion had one of her many bursts of creative energy and produced a number of letters to her granddaughters. Loosely called history, she has particular wit that jumps off the page. It is too bad she never became the published author she would have liked to have been.


July 14, 1994

Vancouver, B.C.



My dear Felicity:

As you already know, I was born into a rather large family. As I married, so did most of my brothers. Babies, well, they say cheaper by the dozen and I do believe everyone in my family believed this.

Before very long there were about 10 children- all under 10 years. As was the custom, Sunday was “visit Mother.” Everyone, and I mean everyone went. You were excused if you died between Sunday evening and the next Sunday afternoon.

My mother would buy a big roast of beef-cook if for about 4 hours until she was sure it was done. Veggies etc went with.

Since the dining room table could only seat about 10-12 people, the children of the Clan would have to sit in the kitchen to eat. Once the food was placed in front of my brothers and their wives, the children were forgotten about, to do as they will.

Potatoes were jammed up noses, peas fired from forks like catapults, meat chewed half way and spit out. Milk all over the floor. Not one parent could tell who ate what or how much. Needless to say it was liberally in hair, ears, eyebrows, on clothes and spread all around the general area of the kitchen. (Not much was actually consumed.)

The squeals coming from the kitchen were wild. I, of course, did not go into the kitchen at that point. I knew my wonderful children would never indulge in such wasteful behaviour and had just ignored the melée and eaten all of their food gracefully. I should tell you, none of the children were hungry. My Mother supplied candies from the moment they arrived until they went home. There was usually a liberal smattering of half eaten candies around the house. Stuck to everyone and everywhere.


My Mother and Father were saints just to put up with everyone every week. One aspect of the Sunday visits your mum Heather could probably enlarge on pertained to “Lassie Come Home” and football games. I can still hear my Mom saying, “the Lassie is watching “Lassie Come Home.” She always had a small smile on her face as she walked back out of the living room. (My brothers were furious.

Another aspect of Sundays at my parents’ house were the night terrors at least one of my children had every Sunday night. I guess I never did appreciate Sunday at my parent’s home. But, being a dutiful daughter, I went every week for many years. Then, too, I was the only one able to make gravy from the roast. Ha.



Your Grandma