Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

p YOUR NEEDLECRAFT Bella St. John sews her own last-minute Christmas gifts. BETTA IS ONE OF J. ARTHUR RANK’S TALENTED STARS. 7043 — He’ll just fit into a toddler’s Christmas stocking! Make this 12-inch clown from a man’s cotton sock. Pattern, directions, using remnants. 7100 — Cheery “ Santa” apron makes a handy helper during the holidays. Directions, embroidery and applique transfers for 17 -inch long apron. 7125— Bright-eyed, laughing vegetables to embroider on kitchen linens. Transfer of 6 motifs 6x7 inches. Color suggestions. Gift-quickies. 618 — Be an aritst with your needle. Simple embroidery makes these beautiful pictures. Transfer of two pictures 9l/2 x 11% inches. Color chart. 7283— Three little doilies to crochet for a thoughtful gift. Directions for 9-inch square doily, 9l/2-inch round, 81/ 2 x 13Y_>-inch oval. Send twenty-five cents (in coin) for each pattern to: Photoplay, Needlecraft Service, P. 0. Box 123, Old Chelsea Station, New York 11, N. Y. Add five cents for each pattern for first-class mailing. Send an additional 25 <f for our 1959 Needlework Catalogue. He shook his head. “That’s not the way I want it to sound at all. You say you need me. I know I need you. We’ll stay ... if I can swing it back home.” Elvis smacked one hand against the other, like he always did when he was excited. “Do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to buy a house for us here. Don’t laugh. I’m serious. No, I won’t be getting special treatment. Anyone in the outfit can live off the post when he’s not on duty. I’ll be with you lots of nights and on my days off.” His father interrupted him. “Do you think there’ll be snow by Christmas?” “You’re trying to change the subject,” Elvis said. “Yes, there’ll be snow. There better be snow. I’ve never seen snow at Christmas.” “I haven’t either,” said his dad. “Well,” said Elvis, laughing out loud, “there’ll be snow all around our house. And early in the morning on the day before Christmas we’ll go over to one of the villages and go to church. That’ll be about four or five in the morning. All the villagers will be walking along with lanterns to the church. “We’ll set up a tree in the living room of the house. And we’ll put candles on it — not light bulbs — and lots of tinsel. Then we’ll put the presents around it. Not wrapped. That’s the custom here. Maybe Frieda— that’s the girl who’s helping me with my German — can get away from her family and come over too. “We’ll eat at about six. Fish — carp from the Rhine — and stuffed goose and red cabbage and mashed potatoes and Christmas cookies.” “If I know your Grandmother,” Mr. Presley said, “by that time she’ll have found out where to get blackeyed peas and okra and corn pone . . . and we’ll have that, too.” Elvis laughed. “After dinner, we’ll go into the living-room. But before we go in, we’ll say the Lord’s Prayer . . . people here call it the Vater Unser . . . and then we’ll sing carols like Mom and I did last year. Some of the boys from camp will come. When we’re done carolling, we’ll open the doors and go into the living room. You’ll light the candles and wrap a piece of bread in silver paper and put it on the tree. That’s so we’ll always have bread in the year to come. Then we open the presents.” Elvis’ father shivered a little. “Maybe it’s going to snow before Christmas,” he said softly. They got up to go. As they passed the village square, they saw a roped-off section with a load of straw on the ground. “They get started way ahead of time here,” Elvis said. “They’re going to build a small manger there, with real live animals in the little barn. Frieda tells me that Christmas is a very religious season here. It’s really three days — the 24th for celebration, the 25th for prayer, and the 26th, St. Stephen’s Day, for prayer and celebration.” They walked on, stopping finally in front of the hotel. “All those things you’ve said about the way it is here at Christmas, Elvis. Your mother, your mother would have loved it.” Elvis clapped his father affectionately on the shoulder. “I know,” he said. Mr. Presley paused at the entrance to the hotel and smiled. “Good night,” he called. “Good night, son.” “Good night, Dad,” Elvis answered. “Sleep well.” He walked back to camp, sniffing at the sudden crispness in the air. Perhaps there really would be snow by Christmas. When he arrived at the barracks, he went to his bunk, undressed, slipped under the covers, and for the first time in a long while he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. — JIM HOFFMAN