"Festival at the East London Hospital for Children," in Illustrated London News, Vol 56 (1870)

"The Christmas-tree was at the end of one of the largest wards, and around it were gathered those patients well enough to get up, and nearly 200 other children who had formerly been relieved at the institution. It was, indeed, a sight to rejoice the hearts of those who were thus providing for these poor a few hours of unwonted pleasure. In front of this large group came beds on each side, whose little occupants, though unable to rise, were surrounded by toys and other amusements" (Source)

WIth the holiday social season now in full swing one finds oneself running into so many of one's dearest and closest friends one hasn't seen since last year. 

"Sam, you inveterate gossip," said an old chum in the buffet line last night at an especially lovely affair.  "I suppose you'll be blogging about this shindig when you get home.  Surprised you didn't bring your camera," he leaned in and added sotto voce. 

As you know, however, we have a strict rule in our little social club never to print, repeat or otherwise broadcast news about our members, a policy to which I strictly adhere although I sometimes wish that so much good material wasn't off limits, as it would make for sensational reading.  And yet that is how we are; we shun the limelight, we avoid publicity, we prefer to pass among you unnoticed and unsung, quietly doing good, lending a hand or a kind word here and there without hope of reward beyond the satisfaction of knowing that self-esteem comes from doing the selfless esteemable act.

And so it was to this particularly sumptuous affair -- part Christmas gathering, part charity fund-raiser -- that I had brought young Pam with the thought of broadening her horizons and expanding her circle of acquaintances beyond the narrow confines of classmates and the nuns at Our Lady.  If I could but give her some of the opportunities I had not enjoyed when I was her age I felt certain I would have accomplished something worthwhile.  Or rather, I mused, admiring the breathtakingly handsome attendant replenishing the shrimp bowl, the point was not to allow her to squander these precious opportunities as I had done at her age.  If only I'd shown more interest in my hosts and less time pursuing their staff, my life might have turned out considerably more Upstairs than Downstairs if you know what I mean.  These thoughts, however, were quickly brushed aside when I felt a tug on my sleeve and my charge resumed her place at my side.  

"I met the most interesting man," she announced.  "A friend of yours in that club you belong to."  She nodded discreetly across the room, and my blood ran cold.

"Dear god in heaven," I blurted out.  "It's C.V.A.  I can't believe his parole officer let him come here."

"C.V.A.?"

You could hear the sound of cheap china smashing as I broke the man's anonymity, but it was too late.  "Countless Vain Attempts," I explained, "to Behave like a Gentleman.  Now please tell me he didn't touch you.  He shouldn't be anywhere near you as a matter of fact, or any minor.  Not to mention in the same general vicinity as hard liquor." The man's attachment to the bottle was famous, along with his criminal record, but not, of course, common knowledge at the level of press, radio, film or on the radar of a sixteen-year-old with an iPhone which she immediately pulled out and commenced texting on, madly. 

"Wait til I tell everyone I'm going on a date with a felon," she said with glee, her thumbs a blur.  "They will be so jealous, you have no idea."

"He ASKED YOU OUT?" I bellowed, upsetting the waiter as he ladled out the shrimp sauce. 

To be continued.